#it's easier when someone breaks up with you

[miihho]

can do headcannons for Myung-gi? Thank you 😭😭

THE KIND OF GUY

(squid game edition boys) sfw

Myung-gi / Player 333

—HE'S THE KIND OF GUY who found himself in fights more often than he’d like to admit. His past was a tangled mess of mistakes and choices that led him down this path. Most times, when he was beaten down, no one cared enough to stop. They’d walk by, eyes averted, pretending not to see him lying there, bruised and exhausted. The pain was familiar, but it was something he had learned to endure alone. So when he found himself on the ground once again, bloodied and sore, he didn’t expect anything to change. He didn’t expect someone to stop and help.

But then, through the blur of his vision, he saw you. Standing there, glowing like something out of a dream, your eyes full of concern. “Are you alright?” you asked, your voice soft, but it was filled with genuine concern. He blinked, shaking his head as if to clear the daze.

“Yeah…” he muttered, wincing slightly as he grabbed your hand and tried to stand. “It didn’t hurt that much.” He forced a weak smile, brushing the dust off his clothes, but his body was screaming from the blows he’d taken. You didn’t look convinced, your eyes scanning him with a frown. “You have bruises everywhere,” you said softly, taking in the sight of his battered form. “You need help, can i treat you?"

He wanted to refuse. He wanted to push you away and tell you it wasn’t worth it, that he was just someone who always ended up in situations like this. But your steady gaze stopped him. He nodded, letting you lead him away from the scene, knowing this would probably be the first time someone would care enough to make sure he wasn’t left to bleed out in a corner.He didn’t expect much—just a quick fix for the bruises. But as you carefully cleaned his cuts and bruises, your touch gentle and your voice soft, something inside him shifted.

The way you didn’t rush, the way you took your time, treating him with more care than anyone ever had, started to break down the walls he’d built around himself. His body still ached, but there was a warmth in his chest, a quiet comfort he hadn’t felt in years. He wasn’t falling in love with you right away. But in that moment, as you tended to his wounds and your eyes met his, something began to grow, slowly and quietly—an unfamiliar feeling, one that made him want to stay just a little longer.

—He’s the type of guy who keeps a distance from everyone, always a little cold, a little aloof, because it’s easier that way. He’s learned to build walls around himself, to guard his emotions, keeping people at arm’s length so he won’t get hurt. It’s become second nature—familiar and safe. But when it comes to you, everything shifts. You become the exception to the rules, the one who manages to break through the armor he’s so carefully crafted.

In your presence, the ice that’s kept him safe for so long begins to melt. The walls that once seemed impenetrable start to crumble, piece by piece, as he finds himself opening up in ways he never thought possible. It’s a vulnerability he’s not used to, one that both terrifies and comforts him in equal measure. For the first time, he doesn’t have to pretend. With you, he can just be. And it’s that warmth, that quiet shift in his soul, that makes him realize—maybe letting you in wasn’t as frightening as he once thought.

—He's type of guy who’d get nervous around you, never having interacted with a girl properly before. This whole thing was new to him. He would rehearse a simple greeting in front of the mirror, repeatedly stumbling over his words.

"Hello, nice to meet you again," he'd say, practicing until it felt right.

But the moment he saw you, standing there, his mind went blank. Flustered, he blurted out, "Meet hello again."

His face flushed red with embarrassment, and without a word, he quickly walked off, leaving you laughing softly at his awkward charm.

—Hes the kind of guy who would drop to his knees with tear-streaked cheeks, begging for another chance. The kind of guy who would plead, his voice trembling with desperation, asking you to take him back.

— He’s the kind of guy who melts under your touch, leaning into the soft strokes of your fingers as they weave through his hair. With you perched on his lap, his arms wrapped securely around your waist, he looks up at you as if you’re the only thing that matters in the world. His eyes, brimming with warmth, trace every feature of your face, and his smile—soft, tender, overflowing with affection—speaks the words his heart can’t contain. To him, this moment is everything: your closeness, your comfort, the quiet intimacy of being held by the one he loves.

—He’s the kind of guy who would drop everything at a moment’s notice just to make you happy. If you told him you wanted your favorite food, he wouldn’t just order it—he’d make sure it came from the best place, double-checking the details so it’s exactly how you like it. If you said you wanted something more, he’d move mountains to find it, his every action steeped in quiet devotion.

—He’s the kind of guy who would hold your bag without hesitation, tie your shoelaces if they came undone, and memorize all the little things that make you smile. If you said you were cold, he’d wrap his jacket around you without a second thought, even if he ended up freezing. If you called him in the middle of the night, needing someone to talk to, he’d show up at your door, no matter how far or inconvenient it was. If you mentioned something you like, he’d make a mental note and surprise you with it later, just to see the joy in your eyes. He’d stay up late if you needed him, wake up early to make your mornings easier, and cancel his own plans just to be there when you need him most.

For him, your happiness is worth everything. He doesn’t just listen to your words—he treasures them, acting on them like they’re his life’s purpose, because loving you isn’t a chore; it’s his greatest joy.

—He’s the kind of guy who pays attention to the tiniest details about you. Like the songs you hum when you’re happy, the exact shade of your favorite color. He remembers your birthday without needing a reminder, but he also knows the little anniversaries you don’t expect him to, like the day you first met or the first time you smiled at him in that special way.

He’d go out of his way to buy you things that match your favorite color—not just big gifts but the little ones, like a keychain he spotted at the store or a pen because he remembered you needed one. He’d surprise you with your favorite snacks on bad days and bring you flowers that match the hues you love, just to see your face light up.

—He’s the kind of guy who listens intently when you talk, even if it’s about something small, and he brings it up later to let you know he was paying attention. He’d notice when you’re feeling off, even if you try to hide it, and he’d do whatever it takes to make you feel better—whether it’s running to get your comfort food, wrapping you in a blanket, or just holding you until the world feels a little less overwhelming.

To him, it’s the small things that matter most because those details are what make you you, and he wants to love every single one of them.

—He's the kind of guy who stumbles over his words when you get too close, as if your presence is too much for him to handle. You don't realize how his heart races, a frantic rhythm he can't control, every beat echoing the weight of your nearness. He tries to pull away, but it's impossible—you're the only thing that makes him feel alive.

—He's kind of guy who would stay away from you for months, not because he wanted to, but because he believed it was for your safety. He worried endlessly that if anyone saw you with him, they’d make you a target—hurt you just to get to him. The thought of putting you in danger was unbearable, so he chose the distance, even if it tore him apart inside.

—Myung gi is the kind of guy who’d make you believe he has pure intentions, but the truth is far darker. He wants you all to himself—every moment of every day, your laughter, your smile, your touch. It's all his in his mind. The thought of anyone else having even a fraction of you fills him with jealousy, and he’ll do anything to keep it that way. You’re his everything, and in his eyes, no one else deserves a piece of you.

—He’s the kind if guy who secretly craves being treated like a precious little one, wanting to be praised for being good, his heart swelling at every word of affection you give him. When you look at him with that soft, loving gaze, calling him "baby" and showering him with overly sweet pet names, something inside him melts. It's not just the words, it's the way you care for him—like he's fragile, like he’s yours to protect. He acts tough on the outside, but deep down, he’s soft for you. Your attention, your affection—it’s everything to him, and he’s more than willing to be the one who melts under your love. He’d give anything to hear you speak to him like that forever.

(he's so IWBWIWHWIWJ😭😭☹️👊🏻)

[robo-writing]

So that idea you had with 70s Logan being selfish while eating you out... could we get an expansion?

*cracks knuckles* let’s get into it

Logan loves pussy, short and sweet. His problem is that he loves it a little too much.

It makes for a great time with whatever lucky lady he’s got in his bed (or the couch. Or the kitchen.) but it also means that it’s going to be quite a while before he tires himself, if that even happens. Where his younger self differs is that he’s firmly rooted in his “I don’t need meaningful relationships” attitude so if he’s bringing someone to bed, it’s for one thing and one thing only.

He’s got an urge to satisfy, and you just so happened to be the nearest thing around.

That isn’t to say he’s a total asshole; he tells you up front not to expect anything more than what he’s offering, and if you don’t take his advice? That’s all on you. His deal is a simple one, take it or leave it.

Now, assuming you accept, you’ll be happy to know that he can talk the talk and walk the walk—that is to say, he’ll have your legs shaking within the first five minutes guaranteed. Something about his enthusiasm is half the show, the other half is how adamant he is about keeping his lips glued to your pussy.

Over and over again you cum—your weeping cunt crying out against his fingers, his smug grin as you beg him for a break—only to be met with the sounds of his tongue flicking at your clit. Your hands tug at his hair, begging him to stop, trying your damndest to wiggle free from his iron hold but he doesn’t budge in the slightest. If anything at all your movement just annoys him further, and in turn, makes him take out his anger on your sensitive cunt.

“Stop fucking movin’” he muffles against your sex, but it’s easier said than done. Even when you slap against his arms he doesn’t flinch, instead opting to glare at you from below while his fingers scissor you open.

“Stop being fuckin’ difficult—“ he starts, growling out when tears start streaming down your face. It’s immediately met with a slap to your puffy cunt, the shock of it sending you reeling forward.“Don’t whine, you asked for this.”

You want to argue, tell him you asked for a one night stand and not a torture session—unfortunately for you, your brain cells leak from your ears every time his beard scratches between your thighs.

And then, somewhere between the long-drawn out agony of your nerves being lit on fire is the smallest ember of pleasure. An echo, and then a roar, a spark that turns into a roaring fire and then something just clicks.

All of a sudden you’re going from stop, Logan, I can’t to yes, more, please between what little semblance of sanity you can muster.

The sudden change in attitude makes him grin. “Told you you’d enjoy yourself.”

[arahir]

Real talk..do you have any real advice on how to make friends as an almost 30 year old woman…

three easy (coughcough) steps: 1) pick an activity 2) commit to the horror of being known 3) know when you're vibing and know when to pack it up.

pick an activity. mine are gardening, hiking, reading, writing, geology, and chickens, and i've made and kept friends through each of those. make your own list of things you want to do, and want to meet other people who do. you can do it in a structured setting, which i recommend. most cities have clubs, activities, and people who are trying to organize. my city has... regular volunteer clean ups along the river, organized hikes, a few very nice community colleges where you can take random classes, gardening events, silent book clubs, a discord for lonely 30 year olds, etc. likewise, you can meet people online through these activities. writing has got me a lot of great friends! having these activities is also important because it will let you keep the friends you start to make by giving you built in places to show up together.

commit to the horror of being known. i don't know how else to put this. it will be embarrassing. you will say stuff and you will go "why the fuck did i say that?" and they will say stuff and you'll think the same thing. this is, unfortunately, how it works. you have to be a fucking idiot at times, and it's fine, because no one wants to be friends with someone who takes themself too seriously. be embarrassingly into whatever you're into. and then when you meet someone you think could eventually be a friend, you have to put a feeler out there. my favorites are "hey have you been to X on Y? i really want to check it out." "have you seen X and do you want to see it?" "we should grab coffee!" it works a surprising amount of the time. all you really need to make a friend is one good conversation and one person throwing a line to another.

know when to pack it up. okay unfortunately, if you're doing this regularly, you're going to meet people who you do not actually want to be friends with. also unfortunate: it isn't dating, and you can't break up the same way. i met a girl who thought i was her reincarnated lover from the 1300s. i met a girl who tried to recruit me into a sex cult. i met a woman who tried to get me to join a lesbian farming commune. i met a guy who seemed cool and then tried to cheat on his girlfriend with me. we roll. and sometimes, we roll away from people, at extreme speed. guard your time and do not waste it on people you don't want to be friends with.

other points i'll add are: consistently follow up with people (even if that means adding them to a calendar), understand when you are the one not being vibed with and don't take it personally, don't lie to try and be what you think someone wants you to be, and practice. all of this takes practice. i was largely friendless for a lot of years because i didn't like talking to people, couldn't not try to be cool around them, and was a shitty person. you're already ahead on all three counts. and another word of encouragement: making one friend usually means making a half a dozen, because people will bring their own friends with them. i've certainly made a lot that way. it's really only a process you have to go through a few times before it starts coming faster and easier. good luck anon! <333

[moody-alcoholic]

Break in

John Price x reader. WC: 1.9k. CW: break in, canon typical violence.

_____

You hate the winter, it gets dark too quickly. The temperature drops and you hate the cold. The worst thing about winter though is how much it makes you miss your husband. Everyone at work talks about getting ready to spend time with their families, or family and friends coming to visit them. You don’t even know if you’ll see John over the Christmas period. 

Last year he left on boxing day, the year before that he was gone for over a week until the 2nd of January. He missed Christmas and new years. You thought you would be used to it by now, him being away but it doesn’t seem to be getting any easier. At least this time he’s in London, he’s on a base most of the time. He keeps telling you if he’s lucky he’ll be there until way after the new year. 

That means he comes home at the end of each day, you get to spend time with him and do things you’ve not been able to do in previous years like go shopping for christmas gifts. It doesn’t matter though, it shouldn’t matter, it’s just one day of the year. You could just do a delayed christmas again, it never feels the same though. 

You hitch your bag over your shoulder as you walk through the gate to your townhouse. It’s way later than you would normally get home but the house is still dark so clearly John isn’t back yet either. You’re carrying shopping bags in each hand putting one down so you can fish in your pocket for the house key. You close the gate behind you and make it up to the front door. 

Your body freezes as you reach out for the lock. Your breathing stops, eyes going wide. Goosebumps rise over your skin. 

The door has been kicked in, you can see the damage on the wood where they’ve used a tool to pry it open. 

The shopping bag you’ve got round your wrist is pulling your hand down. You don’t know what to do, you should call the police. No, you should call John, maybe he broke in, forgot his keys? But then why didn’t he call you. There’s a pretty sophisticated security system John installed when you first bought the place. You would have got a security notification if it was activated. 

You drop the bags on the floor backing up down the steps and reaching into your pocket for your phone. Your hands shake as you walk back down the path until you hit the gate. It takes you two attempts to click John's name before you finally bring the phone up to your ear. He won’t pick up the first time, you let it ring out for a few seconds then call him right back. Then he’ll know it’s important. 

“Hey, love. Give me a second.” He says before there’s silence on the like, it feels like the silence is lasting minutes not seconds. You feel a lump rising in your throat, a breath hitches in your throat. You feel silent tears run down your face as you look into the house windows for movement.

“Sorry love. I know I’m late-”

“John, there's someone in the house.” You say before he can finish his sentence. You don’t have time, your heart picks up in your chest. 

“What do you mean?” He asks, the tone of his voice is darker.

“I came home and the door was kicked in.” This time your words come out with a sob. You feel sick.

“Okay, I'm on my way.” You hear shuffling, the sound of keys. You don’t know what to do, panic rises in you.

“Should I call the police?” You ask. 

“No. I’m coming okay, 10 minutes, I'll be there I promise.” You hear him snap his fingers. “Don’t go in the house okay. Stay outside.” You hear a car door close, then another.

“Okay,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

“I’ll be there soon.” He says then hangs up. You’re still looking in the house for movement, you don’t see anything, the rooms dark. You shiver as a cold breeze moves in, it could snow soon, you don’t want to be outside when it snows. 

…

John turns the normally 15 minute drive into less than ten, even down the congested London roads he breaks several traffic laws to get home. He’ll deal with the fines later, but the last thing he needs is to get pulled over now. 

“What if-” “Don’t even fucking say it.” He snaps at Ghost sitting next to him. His hands grip the steering wheel as he turns down the street towards his house. The place is quiet, it’s almost 9pm. He parks up pulling in so fast he almost hits another car. He can see you, stood on the pavement outside the house, your face red with tears, your arms wrapped around your chest.

They both Jump out of the car and John makes a bee line towards you. His hands come up to cup your face. 

“You’re okay, go wait in the car.” he says brushing your tears away with his thumbs. You nod letting out another sob, he watches as you head over to the car getting in the back.

“Take the top floor, I’ll sweep the ground.” He says to Ghost as he walks through the gate towards the house. John takes the lead removing the sidearm from its holster bringing it into his hands. He toes open the door, the house is dark, there’s no sound, they could be gone already. 

Ghost is silent on his feet moving up the stairs as John continues down the corridor to the kitchen. He brings the weapon up to his eyeline as he adjusts to the darkness. They have an advantage here, they know the layout of the house better than the intruders, hopefully.  

Ghost finds the first guy on the top floor. He’ll be working his way down now. As soon as John is done he will work his way up. The back door was still locked but it could have been locked from the inside without a key. There’s no mess, the place hasn’t been ransacked. They weren't looking for valuables.

The ground floor is clear as John works his way up to the first floor. He heads straight for his home office, maybe they were looking for a different type of valuable. 

John finds the second guy in the spare bedroom. Tying him up and throwing him in a closet with tape over his mouth. No need to shed blood in his home, besides gives him something to do tonight other than paperwork.

He meets up with Ghost outside his office pushing the door open together. The window is wide open with the whole place being ransacked. Ghost walks into the room, looking down out the window. John sighs, they’ve missed one and he has no idea what they could have been looking for. Ghost turns to look at him, putting his pistol away. John already knows what he wants to say.

“Don’t fucking say it.” He sighs putting his own pistol away

…

You’re sitting on the sofa with a cup of tea in your hands. John said the place was clear that they didn’t find anyone. Maybe they got spooked when you came home, heard you and ran. That's what you tell yourself to calm your nerves. John walks into the room, he comes over to the sofa and sits down next to you. 

His arm goes round your back and you lean into him. 

“You did great.” He says rubbing your thigh with his other hand. You don’t know what to say. Someone broke into your house, even with all the security measures John put in place someone got past them and invaded your home. 

You’re not even thirsty but you bring the hot tea up to your lips anyway taking a sip letting it burn your throat. 

“What if you weren’t here?” You say, your voice is quiet, your head dipped down as more tears come. The panic and adrenaline gone your mind is filled with what ifs. 

“Don’t worry about that, I have things in place.” His hand comes up to your chin pulling your face up to look at him as you put the tea back in your lap. “You’re safe here, I promise.”

You don’t believe him, it’s going to be a while before you’re going to feel safe in your own home. Even though whoever was here was gone before John got home, they were still here. It could have been so much worse. 

You lean forward putting the cup of tea on the coffee table, it just tastes bitter anyway. His hand rubs your back almost like he’s trying to rub the tension out your muscles. You close your eyes his arms wrap around you as he leans back into the sofa. 

“You’re safe I promise. I would never ever let anything happen to you.” He kisses the top of your head. You let out a long breath, that you believe but it’s not always that simple.

“Will you stay? Please don’t leave, at least not for tonight.” 

“I will, I’m going to be here with you.”  You turn in his arms to look up at him, his deep blue eyes blinking down at you. He leans down pressing his lips to yours. You let yourself sink into the fermilia kiss, his tongue brushing yours as his hands run up and down your body. This is where you feel safe, in his arms, with his touch. 

The knock on the door pulls you out of the kiss, he turns to look. 

“Let me go chat with him then we’ll go to bed okay?” He says his thumb coming to brush the tears escaping your eyes. You nod sitting back up straight.

He’s not gone for long, coming back in and offering you his hand. You take it and he guides you up to bed, his hands don’t leave you, running up and down your body as you make it to the room. He helps you change, pressing kisses round your neck and shoulders, his fingers brushing hair out your eyes and tears when they fall. 

Eventually you crawl into bed together, he rolls over to turn his bedside light off, the only light left on in the room. 

“Leave it on.” You say, you’re not sure why, you just don’t want to be in the dark.

“Okay, whatever you need love.” He says pulling your back against his chest and wrapping his arms around you. You close your eyes, listening to the sound of his breathing in your ears.

“I will always be here. Even when it feels like I’m hundreds of miles away I will always be here for you.” He says as he kisses your cheek. You smile at his words, even if you’re doubtful, it’s what you need to hear. 

“I love you.” You say as he squeezes you tighter.

“I love you too. You’re safe, you always will be, I promise.” His hand moves down to your waist pulling you against him further. “Get some sleep, I'll be here with you. I’m not leaving your side.” 

“Promise?” 

“I promise, I’ll protect you, forever. You’re safe, just get some rest.” He nuzzles his face into your neck. You try to stay awake, fighting the sleepiness that comes over you as he runs his hands over you. You can feel his heartbeat, his warm breath in your ear. 

At least you’re not outside in the cold, you’re warm and safe in his arms. Strangers broke into your home but you know it won’t happen again because John won’t let it happen again. 

____ It was supposed to be short but I don't know when to stop.

[frownyalfred]

Hi. I'm not a canon purist and enjoy some fanon content very much, but I do think people in the fandom should at least familiarize themselves with the canon content and source material. It's easier to break the "rules" so to speak and experiment with canon when you know what that actually is. I've noticed a lot of fans that are only familiar with fanon criticise content that doesn't line up with what they believe to be canon but isn't. The Red Hood for example. I've seen writers who portray him as the violent criminal he is in much of the canon be completely decimated by Jason fans who only know fanon and the retconned version of Red Hood and completely deny canon even exists and refuse to even glance at the comics. Transformative works are important and playing in the sandbox is for everyone but fandom literally cannot exist without canon. Canon is important and people can do whatever they want with it but they should respect it enough to at least look at it.

Hi anon, I'm going to hold your hand as I say this, and I will say it as gently as I can: This is still a form of canon purism.

We can absolutely agree that readers shouldn't berate or abuse writers for how they choose to portray characters in fic, whether that's a more canon-faithful characterization or a popular fanon version. If readers don't like how a character is portrayed, we should encourage them to hit the back button instead.

I want to draw your attention to some of the words you used in your ask above: "should" "respect" "decimated" etc. Those are some strong words to describe how you think people need to behave, in order to exist in fandom. Of course, there is no fandom without canon source material -- I'm not denying that. But with such a wide and varied canon, the DC fandom has examples of the Red Hood you mention above, AND the "retconned" version you also reference. Both are canon, as in actually, officially, canon. WFA is canon, and that Red Hood looks very different from the Red Hood you describe.

Now, I think your issue is that you enjoy a certain version of canon, and you're frustrated that the fandom doesn't also, as trends ebb and flow, enjoy that canon as much as you do. Again, I want to acknowledge that just because a certain version is popular, it doesn't give folks the right to berate authors for writing a different version. But again, I don't think that's what we're really talking about here. From your ask's tone, I think you're suggesting that people should, in order to participate in fandom, read that older canon, that different version, or as you say, "glance at it" before enjoying or writing the fanon version.

Guess what? They actually, really, really, don't have to. It sounds like you have some issues with judging your fellow fandom members who don't read what you do or reference certain canon. But the magic of this fandom is, you can enter it at any point. We're a big pool, and if someone's entry point is the Lego Batman movie and that's it, that's still valid.

Fandom stems from canon, yes, but I almost never hear people talk about movies, or web comics, or other media when they talk about "required reading." It's always a comic. I really wish people would reflect on that before suggesting it as the one true path to being a fan.

The other thing I don't see asks like these reference ever is the reality that sometimes a fandom outstrips its canon material, and that that's an eventuality in some spaces. Fanon interpretations become popular, and people write about those specific characterizations or scenarios. They ebb and flow, like I mentioned, and some are more canon-faithful than others. Some completely reject canon, and again -- it's still fandom. It doesn't make it better or worse than a more canon-faithful fic. It's just different.

I had a couple asks about this topic a few weeks ago, and I'm assuming you haven't read those or you likely wouldn't have sent me this ask. But in them, I discuss how sometimes we need to suck it up and be unhappy that canon-faithful fics aren't as popular in a fandom at a specific time, and stop punishing fellow fans for writing and enjoying those fics. And we really need to stop shitting on them publicly on Tumblr.

Because often, what you're really saying is that you wish more people would write more canon-faithful fics, and stop writing ones about fanon topics you don't enjoy or think are accurate. And to that, I again say, there is nothing you can or should do to change that behavior from others. If you want to read it, write it, enjoy it, etc, do it yourself. Build the comic-faithful community here, write fics and promote challenges, create a discord channel and discuss your "required reading" there.

We are all writing and reading fanfiction at the end of the day. It is a great equalizer in many ways. My silly Lego Batman fic is just as valid as a canon-faithful rewrite of a certain Batman issue. One is not better than the other, or more deserving of respect. You will never get me to admit otherwise on this blog.

tl;dr: people should absolutely not berate authors who choose to write canon-faithful characterizations. however, there are layers of judgement and disdain many DC comics canon-faithful authors/readers have for their fellow fans that I think we need to examine critically in order to coexist respectfully.

[aventurineswife]

“Teach Me Gently, Guide Me Kindly”

Summary: While struggling with a challenging lesson, you find solace in Anaxa’s patient and gentle guidance. What begins as a simple study session turns into a quiet, meaningful moment of connection, as he helps you understand difficult concepts with care and warmth.

Tags: Anaxa x Reader, Fluff, Teacher-Student Dynamics, Soft!Anaxa, Gentle Teaching, Comfort, Slow Burn, Learning Together, Patient!Anaxa, Warmth, Quiet Moments.

The cool breeze of the evening swept through the open windows of the study hall, rustling the papers on the desk. You were seated at one of the many tables, half-focused on the lesson, your mind wandering with thoughts of the day. The quiet hum of the building and the soft tapping of Anaxa’s chalk against the board helped you stay in the moment, though your mind had a tendency to wander.

Anaxa, ever patient, turned back from the chalkboard and caught your gaze. His one eye softened in amusement, and a slight smile tugged at his lips. “You seem distracted,” he said, his voice low but gentle.

You chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of your neck. “I guess... it’s just hard to focus with all these new concepts,” you admitted, your voice trailing off in a sheepish tone.

Anaxa’s smile widened as he stepped closer, leaning against the desk near you. “You’re not alone in that feeling,” he reassured you, his voice carrying an unexpected warmth. “Learning can be difficult, but that’s why I’m here.” He reached over and gently placed a hand on your open notebook, pointing to a particular equation. “Let’s go over it together.”

You felt your heart flutter, not from the complexity of the lesson, but from the tenderness in his words. There was something about Anaxa’s presence that made everything feel less intimidating. Maybe it was his calm demeanor or the fact that he always made sure you felt understood, but with him, learning seemed like less of a burden.

With a soft exhale, you nodded. “Okay, let’s try again.”

He leaned down a bit, his face close to yours as he explained the next step in the equation, his voice low and careful. “The key is in breaking it down. Each part has a purpose, a connection. See?” His finger traced along the page, guiding your hand over the numbers. “You’re very close, just trust the process.”

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a little less pressure with his gentle guidance. You’d been working on this for hours, but with Anaxa, it almost felt like a quiet shared moment of peace amidst all the study. His presence was more comforting than you expected from someone with such a scholarly reputation.

When you finished the problem together, Anaxa leaned back, his smile full of quiet pride. “There you go. You did it.”

Your eyes sparkled with accomplishment, and you couldn’t suppress the small laugh of joy. “Thanks, Anaxa. I think I finally get it.”

He placed a hand over his chest, as if to modestly accept the gratitude. “It’s you who deserves the credit. I’m just here to help point the way.”

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze with a quiet warmth in your chest. “You’re a good teacher. I’m glad you’re here.”

Anaxa’s smile softened, and for a moment, he simply stared at you as if he were savoring the moment before he stood up. “I’m glad to be of assistance.” He made his way back to the board, his movements slow and purposeful.

The room grew quieter as you both returned to the lesson, but the air between you was comfortable, a gentle understanding that made everything feel just a little lighter.

And as the evening light faded and you worked through more lessons together, you couldn’t help but appreciate how much easier learning had become in his presence.

[dollya-robinprotector]

I’d still like to know what you consider copying if you’re willing to answer! ^_^

I just look back and realize you asked about "artstyle", which I don't really have an answer for. I believe artstyles are meant to be "adapted" and "improved" and there's nothing too definite to be called "copy artstyle" for those who genuinely want to learn. Ah, but there are still some shitty examples, so follow me down on this...

For example: Rei17, is known for being an absolutely massive A-hole and treating people like shit, but also a legend for having the most magical use of colors, lighting and composition, along with a perfect dynamic for anatomy.

That is to say: an "Artsyle" is made up of many elements. One cannot copy an artstyle if one can't copy everything that artstyle is made of, and that's a LOT of work, especially to copy a master of masters like Rei17. Instead, they mimic some fractions, that make things easier. But then that's not "copy artstyle" anymore, that's "copy concept", "copy color", "copy composition", etc... and suddenly it's not really very "copy" anymore because when we break it down, those fractions becomes "knowledge" that's really "learn-able":

For example: Turn out Rei17's color skill is a very clever use of color theory and by learning about it, many and many other artists can also use it so vividly, without even looking remotely like Rei17's "artsyle"

Taro-K from TamoTaro

Or you can have some cases who tried to mimic everything - the entire artstyle, and fail miserably. For example, this artist I know from some time ago:

left: copy works from that artist and right: original works from Rei17

above: copy works from that artist and below: original works from Rei17

Now, this is called traight-up copy too, I think you can see why:

left: copy work from that artist and right: original work from Rei17

this artist also copied Azling

and once again failed miserably because he lacked the knowledge and didn't understand the fundamentals behind the drawing :)

Now that I saw those messy lines without a horizon line or focal points again it indeed reminded me of something.... ah!

Now, joke aside, I honestly cannot give more insight into this problem since I'm not exactly too keen on just one artstyle myself. BUT I know it when someone learned from my "concept", "paneling", or shits like that, and especially my "designs".

I remember one time there was an artist, who appeared on tumblr dot com one day, and drew their Whitney with the exact choker tattoo I gave my Whitney, with the exact 4 little triangles on the side too. And when I reached out to them and said I was more than happy to let them use my design, but they needed to know the "lore" behind it, they admitted that they saw my drawings on the top tag and just thought it was a common thing, and despite my efforts to communicate, they never reply again, and then fade away with all their drawings......

Mystery...

Recently, I reached out to some artists I've noticed were kinda of copying or referencing my works, and to my relief, they all admitted their wrongs and were willing to make up for it. For example, when I put a drawing that references my work, side-by-side with my drawings like this, do you see the issue?

This case is not the only one, but it is the mildest of the conversations I have had in the past few days addressing almost the same issues. I've asked the artist for permission to use this drawing as an example of obvious referencing.

yup, they admitted they learned from my work but did not ask because they were "shy and afraid of asking because that would bother" me.

And to that, I say: "ALWAYS REACH OUT AND ASK FOR CONSENT FIRST". If you can ask, just ask. If given permission, wonderful! And if not, oh wew I just avoided upsetting my fav artist any further! Or if the artist doesn't respond: oh I should still be respectful and give them the credit. Do it, be respectful, and give credit to your source of learning because confrontation is never a nice thing to face.

And if you want to ask about copy and heavy ref in Designing, especially Character design, I think that'll have to be for another day because I'm so tired now U_U) I hope this post can clear up something and give someone who needs it some insights

And remember: ALWAYS ASK FOR CONSENT AND GIVE CREDIT!

[cyber333angel]

Hey there cutie I’m wondering if you could write a Abby taking readers virginity blurb or head cannons or whatever I love your writing and how you write her💗💗💗

DRINK WATER

abby herself wouldn’t be a virgin she’s actually quite experienced but it would be her first time strapping someone and she was definitely hooked when the two of you did it.

you would have begged her to go further than just her fingers and her mouth, being so happy when she gives in and tries to make it a special experience for you. getting all the things that were needed ready for you on the bed. abby would take it reeeally slow, like fingering you and eating you out while you whine about wanting her to put it in. the strap would already be on her waist while she’s eating you out in fact it’s the reason why your so impatient, you can see what you want but abby won’t let you have it until she thinks your ready.

she just teases you, sucking on your nipples that are spilled out of your bra, her thick fingers in your cunt spreading you out while she whispers to you. “ abs just put it in already! please..” your hips are squirming under her as she smiles, “put what in baby?” grinning at you like it’s funny and laughing when you start to pout. “don’t tease..” while she entertains you she places your legs on her shoulders, sliding her fingers sensually up your thighs while she prods the silicone against your cunt. “mm’please abs..” you say reaching for her arm or anything to get her to stop the ache between your legs.

“i know sweet girl, gonna give you what you want.” spreading you apart more to let a glob of spit roll down your pussy, connecting at the spot where her dick is kissing your messy entrance. she places her large hand on the pudge of your tummy looking at you with reassurance, “you ready?” and she knows your ready, more than ready she just loves to see you beg. “yes! abby I need you..” your impatient. lowering your hips down closer to her dick until the tip of her stretches out your hole, mewling at your girlfriend with the cutest face as your eyes squeeze shut. “your such a needy baby.” she says with a chuckle, pushing the rest of her length into your pussy with the tone of her soft voice, “shhh oh I know princess, feels good huh? takin all of me first try my good girl.”

somehow, the sympathetic praise made it so much easier to take the current 5 inches you were being given, another 3 to go with you already losing your mind spread out in the bed. it didn’t take long for you to be on the verge of cumming, the way abby flowed her hips against yours and hit those sweet spots she usually finds with her tongue, you were already familiarized with this saccharine pleasure.“oh abby..mn think im gonna c-cum!” your sweaty skin slapping against each other doesn’t slow down as abby rubs your cheek with one gentle hand, other hand still placed on your hip for control. “yeah baby? cum for me, look so pretty with you nice nd full of me.”

it’s like her words were a command, abby only having to thrust into you roughly a few more times to make you cum, with the help of her fingers rubbing at your clit. “that’s it, atta girl..” moving her digits in a circular motion that she always does has you creaming on her cock, a ring almost at the base of it where it shows how much you took. “feels so’good abs!” you cry and she nods, kissing the crook of your neck and working her way up to your face. “can see that you love it pretty girl, legs are shaking like crazy.” making you both break out in laughter.

your first time with abby was so sweet and gentle, it felt so natural between the two of you and she never rushed you into anything too intense that she thought you couldn’t handle. and when she pulled the strap out of you, you could see how much of it you actually took and it wasn’t all of it so she told you while you were laying in bed with the snack she gave you and the blanket she rolled you in that, “we’ll have to train you to get all the way to the bottom next time huh?” sigh >.<

[kngrose]

Bully!sevika with reader and the fawn response. Reader that instead of fighting tries to appease sevika. Instead of trying to run away clings on harder. That does everything she's told. Reader that internalizes sevika's insults can even predict them before she even says them, calling herself useless and a waste of space. Reader that doesn't even raise her hands to shield herself anymore.

bully! sevika

when reader has a fawn response

WARNINGS: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. mentions of harassment, bullying, manipulation, general abusive themes

from roselí ᡣ𐭩 : anonnnnnnnnn. i love your brain.

Sevika would have mixed feelings about this this. Of course, there’s something wholly satisfying about the fact that you submit to her willingly— though she would make you do that regardless— even going as far as to make the job easier for herself.

But there’s a part of her that craves the fight, the challenge, the need to break something.

At first, she found it amusing.

She prides herself on being able to break people, to see them fold under pressure and end up scurrying away at aby given opportunity. But you? You never fight back. Never lash out, or run. Instead, you cling to her. Even as her harsh words cut deeper than a blade, or her hands gifted you another bruise, nothing. No scampering, no fire behind the eyes.

You fold under her like paper in the rain. When she barks an order, you dont hesitate. When she sneers at you, you nod along like you deserved it. Like a pathetic little dog.

Of corse this would arise questions in her. This wasn’t normal compliance. This wasn’t even a work of fear. There was something deeper to it. She could only wonder what could have made you conditioned this way. What poor parenting you had. But she never wonders long; that’s neither here nor there.

Regardless of who scattered your brain into this mess, you were hers to play with. And play she did. What started as amusement for her quickly turned into something darker.

She shot you a glare as you clumsily knocked her drink over, the contents spilling across the table in a way that was almost captivating. "Sorry," you mumbled, your voice so soft she had to strain to hear it.

"Course you are," Sevika shot back, her scarred lips curling into a snarl. She leaned back in her chair, her dark eyes narrowing as she watched you. "You always are."

And you were. You apologized for things you hadn't even done. If Sevika so much as raised an eyebrow at you, you were tripping over yourself to fix it, to smooth it over, to keep her from growing angrier.

Her jaw tightened as she once’s you over.

No fight. No defiance. Just desperation. You didn't raise your hands to shield yourself anymore. You didn't even flinch when her voice dropped to that dangerous tone everyone else feared. Instead, you stood there, wide-eyed and apologetic, waiting for the next insult and clinging to every word like your life depended on it.

Maybe it does.

Sevika didn't like it. Or at least, that's what she told herself. There was no satisfaction in bullying someone who crumbled so easily. So willingly. Someone who doesn’t challenge her.

She didn’t need to exert that brute force that she naturally carried. Didn’t need to use all of the hurtful remarks that had crossed her mind, the ones she’d been waiting to use. Never got to see your face scrunch up at said words. It just wasn’t pleasing.

But then why couldn't she stop? Why did she keep poking, prodding, testing to see how far you'd bend before you finally broke?

Suddenly, a lightbulb crackled in her mind.

"Do you— do you want me to leave?" you asked softly, pulling her from her thoughts, eyes downcast. Sevika stared at you, the usual sharpness in her expression giving way to something unreadable.

"…What?"

"...If I'm that much of a bother, l'll go." Your voice cracked, but you didn't look up. "I-I don't want to get in your way anymore."

Something in her chest twisted, something dark. Darker than she’d care to admit. She leaned forward, her mechanical arm resting heavily on the table. "Don't be stupid." she said, her tone gruff but quieter than before.

You blinked up at her, confused.

"You're not going anywhere," she muttered, blinking slowly. "Just... don't make a habit of spilling my drinks, yeah?" You nod quickly, a faint, shaky smile pulling at the corners of your lips. Maybe she had been wrong about you before, maybe you’ve given her a challenge after all.

She knew how to break you.

please let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglist to be notified whenever i post, xx

taglist: @opropheticsoul @randomperson291 @arevik2345 @gravegoer @d3eathnotes @nikaachuuuu @elwerostinky-13 @maiiluvs @sevikasfan @hearrrtfillia @facelesshere @vanillasundaeblob @jannesyjane @bamtorriii @simp-of-the-day @hellokittyfeenie @livingdeddghirl @trizxyp @finefocks @pleasantlyhotgarbage @halle5s @ariariarr @herlilkitty @lominaria @xxblairslairxx @croissantime @saturnknows @bloodyskns @theogkqthxrjne @malacrnaruza @softsy @slut4sevika

[bokutosbabe]

hi !! i wanted to request for your most recent event could you do ness with 🧁 and 🍊 ?? i love your writing so much :3 also if the events close please just ignore this! ^^

hi! tysm for giving me the opportunity to write abt ness, i love him!

an alexis ness orange citrus cupcake :)

જ⁀♡⊹｡° let me love you goodbye

♡ a/n — for my more than a married couple event !

♡ content — alexis ness x gn! reader, gn! reader, ex bf! ness, ness being peer pressured into breaking up, mentions of kaiser (once), pining (ness), reader does try to stay strong, second chance romance

♡ synopsis — when you and alexis ness broke up, it shattered something in you that never quite healed. well, or so you thought.

You hadn’t seen Alexis Ness in almost a year.

After he walked away—after you walked away—it became easier to think of him as someone from a chapter of your life you’d already closed. No texts, no calls, no random appearances at the coffee shop where you used to meet. It was like he’d erased you as easily as wiping dust from a mirror.

And maybe that was for the best.

Because loving Alexis Ness had been all-consuming.

He was kind, soft-spoken, and impossibly thoughtful when it came to you. But he was also impressionable—so much so that others’ opinions carried more weight than they should have.

And when Michael Kaiser told him that you were a distraction—someone holding him back from becoming his best self—he believed it.

He’d tried to explain, of course. Told you how much he loved you, how much it hurt him to let you go, but he couldn’t risk his future. He couldn’t let anything interfere with his soccer career.

You’d cried, argued, and begged him to see that you weren’t the obstacle he thought you were. That you were rooting for him, standing in his corner no matter what.

But it wasn’t enough.

So, when the two of you broke up, it shattered something in you that never quite healed.

When you saw his name listed as your partner for the marriage simulation program, your first reaction was disbelief.

Your second reaction was anger.

Of all the people they could have paired you with, why him? Why Alexis?

But as much as you wanted to march to the program administrator’s office and demand a change, you didn’t. Instead, you gritted your teeth and resolved to survive the next few weeks.

It was just a simulation. Nothing more.

You could handle being around him again.

The first day was awkward, to say the least.

“Hey,” he greeted you at the door of the shared apartment, his voice careful, like he was afraid you’d bolt.

“Hey,” you replied flatly, stepping inside with your suitcase.

The apartment was small but cozy—a living room that flowed into a tiny kitchen, and two bedrooms tucked away in the back.

“Uh, I took the room on the left,” Alexis said, fidgeting with his shirt sleeve. “But if you want it, we can switch.”

“I don’t care,” you said, brushing past him.

The air between you was heavy, filled with all the words you hadn’t said to each other in a year.

The first few days were a study in avoidance.

You spoke when necessary—coordinating chores, reviewing assignments—but nothing more.

The points staring at the two of you in your living room, the bright red number of '2'...only because you'd split the chores. Other couples were already in the hundreds.

It was easy for them, they may have actually liked their partner.

Still, you couldn’t ignore the way your heart twisted every time he smiled, or the pang of longing when he casually said your name, like he hadn’t shattered your heart a year ago.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. He didn’t matter. Not anymore.

But then, one evening, everything changed.

The two of you were tasked with planning a mock anniversary celebration as part of the program.

“You always liked candlelight dinners,” Alexis said quietly, glancing at you from across the table.

The words caught you off guard. “You remember that?”

He smiled faintly. “I remember everything.”

You looked away, focusing on the flickering candle between you. “It doesn’t mean anything, Ness. It’s just a simulation.”

“Is it?” he asked, his voice laced with something you couldn’t quite name. Regret? Hope?

Your throat tightened, but you didn’t respond.

Later that night, as you cleaned up the mock dinner, he spoke again.

“I was wrong,” he said suddenly.

You froze, your hands stilling on the dish you were drying.

“About everything. About you,” he continued, his voice breaking slightly. “You weren’t a distraction. You were the only person who ever truly supported me, and I was too stupid to see it.”

Your chest ached as you turned to face him. “Why are you telling me this now, Ness? A year ago, I begged you to stay. I begged you to believe in us. And you walked away.”

“I know,” he whispered, his eyes glistening. “And I’ve regretted it every single day since.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “You can’t just say that and expect everything to be okay.”

“I’m not asking for everything to be okay,” he said, stepping closer. “I’m asking for another chance. To prove that I’m not the same person who let you go.”

For a moment, you considered walking away. Turning your back on him the way he had on you.

But then you saw the sincerity in his eyes—the same eyes that once looked at you like you were his whole world.

And maybe, just maybe, you could believe in him again.

The simulation ended a few weeks later, but your story with Alexis Ness didn’t.

This time, he stayed.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt whole again.

the ending is rlly crappy but my brain wasn't working

i hope you liked it!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[watarfallar]

Incorrect quotes because they're funny

Scar: You have an impressive pain tolerance. Grian: Thanks, it's the trauma.

Scar: Where are you going? Grian: To either get ice cream or commit a felony. I'll decide on the way.

Grian: Scar, no. Scar: Scar, yes.

Scar: Do I least have a chance to explain myself? Grian: This is America, so nope! Scar: This isn't America, this is OHIO!

Scar: How do ethical philosophers feel about murder? Grian: Well, it’s frowned upon. Scar: Okay, but what if the reason you want to murder someone is to make your life easier? Scar: That’s okay, right?

Scar: Grian, this morning, I called you abhorrent and reprehensible, and I’d like to withdraw that statement- Grian: Aww, thanks- Scar: But I can't. Those are the 2 words that best describe you.

Grian: Remain CALM! slaps Scar multiple times

Scar: My head hurts. Grian: That’s your brain trying to comprehend its own stupidity.

Grian, in the hospital: Will you visit me when I get out? Scar: Lol nah, I hate graveyards.

Grian: Would anyone know any good vendors for professional-quality brass knuckles? Scar: I know you’re serious, but you say the scariest shit sometimes.

Grian: Can I have your number? Scar, visible texting: I don't have a phone.

Scar: I wanna sleep for 40 hours. Grian: You know that's called a coma, right? Scar: Scar: That sounds so refreshing, I could totally go for a light coma right now.

Grian: You are, of course, wondering why it is I have brought you here tonight. Scar: Actually, Grian, after all these years, I just sort of go with it.

Grian: Try not to roll your eyes at me. Scar: I don't have pupils.

Grian: Hey. Scar: pissed off You… complete …ASS, Grian! You show up here after WEEKS, and you say “hey”?!

Scar: I love hearing Grian shouting at someone else. It makes such a nice change.

Scar: Any idiot would know that. Grian: I knew that! Scar: See?

Grian: I know this isn’t going to end well and I don’t care. So don’t you try and stop me, Scar! Scar: I wasn’t stopping you. I was asking if you had a spare camera so I can record this.

Grian, looking at their reflection: Now, that's rubbish. Who's that supposed to be? Scar: Well, that's you. Grian: Me?! Is that what I look like? Scar: You don't know? Grian: Busy day.

Scar: hiding something in their coat I think we should adopt another kid! Grian: No. Scar: Why not? Grian: Because when you say “kid”, you mean “cat”, and we already have fifteen of those. Scar: unzips coat Sixteen.

Grian: Breaking News, Scar has disappointed us.

Grian: You are an absolute fucking dork. Scar, singing: Yeah, but I'm your dork! Grian: sighs Yeah, you're my dork.

Scar: You know how some people consider “may you have an interesting life” to be a curse? Grian: Yes…? Scar: Fuck those people. Wanna have an adventure?

Scar: I think I should be allowed on ghost hunter tv shows. Grian: I think that would be dangerous for the ghosts.

Scar: Okay, two person huddle. Grian: You can't huddle with two people. This is just a hug.

Grian: I couldn't do this without you, Scar. Scar: Sure you could. Not as stylishly, of course.

Grian: CHARACTER. FLAWS. ARE. FUCKING. IMPORTANT. Scar: Me when someone tells me to stop eating mayo packets like they’re gogurt tubes.

Grian: What's gone wrong, Scar? Scar: Hey! That’s one hell of a thing to say to a person. Just because I’m calling doesn’t mean there’s a crisis. Grian: That’s technically true, I suppose. Why are you calling? Scar: Well… There’s a crisis.

Grian: I know one person who finds me funny! Scar: Okay, who?… and you can't say yourself! Grian: Okay then I'm out.

Grian: Did you ever have like a pet run away and find it or anything? Scar: I had a lizard that I burnt.

[fanficsbysteve]

The Key to my Heart

Note: Well, here’s an idea that I had, and it took me all of 3 hours to write. I wasn’t the hugest fan of the way things ended for Buck and Tommy so what you will read now is how I imagine it should have gone if the writers weren’t going for maximum shock value.

Also available on AO3 if you want to leave me some kudos there.

W/C: 1574

Rating: PG for some implied sexy times near the end.

***

Tommy sat and stared at the pictures of Evan and Abbie on his phone. Pics of them together, pictures of them kissing, everything. Tommy wouldn’t be shocked if there were some not so safe for work pictures on this phone of Abbie and Evan. Tommy’s mind was going a mile a minute, trying not to think too far into it. He had left Abbie by this point; he didn’t know Evan at this point either. He couldn’t fault them for being together. He couldn’t dictate who each of them slept with or had a relationship with just like he didn’t think anyone had any right to telling him and Evan about their relationship.

Evan was talking to Tommy, something about admiration. Tommy felt his heart dropping. Did Evan actually see him? Did Evan actually know anything about him? This was the man who spent a day and a night researching a cowboy dead 100 years, but didn’t know the Kinsey Scale, and had forgotten that he was 100% gay. Tommy tried to tune into what Evan was talking about, “So I thought, why be apart when we can be together,” Tommy felt his heart sinking further at this. Evan was jumping ahead. Tommy didn’t know how to handle this. He had been in this place before, he had been the person jumping ahead before and it never ended well, “So I wanted to give you this.”

Tommy was confused. This was not what he thought was going to happen. Evan was reaching into his pocket and came out with a key, “What’s this?” Tommy’s voice was breaking due to all the emotions he had been building up, but he cleared his throat to hopefully get it back to normal.

“Well, I originally thought to myself ‘Wouldn’t it be great if me and Tommy just lived together. We already spend so much time together and it would make being with each other so much easier’ and as much as I would have loved that idea,” Evan explained, “After 6 months of dating, it would have been going a little fast, and I’ve had so many bad things happen from going so fast. So, I thought of the next best thing. A key to this loft,” Evan gestured around to the loft around them, “That way you can come whenever you want, and you don’t have to wait for me to be home, or have to wait outside for me to let you in.”

Tommy was taken aback when the key was slid towards him. A key, that’s what this was? A key to the loft, “Thank you,” Tommy said, “I don’t have a key for you though.”

“You don’t need to give me a key to your place,” Evan replied, “I just wanted to give you a sign that you mean a lot to me. That you are someone I can see a future with eventually. Josh gave me this long speech at 911 HQ about Glee that made no sense to me cause I’ve never seen Glee, but it made me realize some things and myself, and about you, and about us.”

Tommy just sat there, staring at Evan. Staring at this idiot of a man who somehow can say the right things at the right times, but also somehow not, “I think we need to talk a bit more about ourselves before we consider the next steps,” Tommy said, “Learn more about each other before you decide that I’m your forever guy. There are so many things about me that you don’t know. That few people know.”

“I want to know about you, Tommy,” Evan said, “And I don’t want you to feel pressure to tell me everything, but I just want you to know that I won’t judge. You aren’t judging me for being with your ex-fiancé.”

“That’s to be determined,” Tommy chuckled, “Well as a start, I guess, I want you to know that I only came out as gay five years ago. I broke things off with Abbie, transferred from the 118, you can ask Hen and Howie about what I was like back then, and started a new phase of my life at Harbor Station. But I didn’t come out officially to anyone around me until two years after my transfer. I’ve got a lot of traumas related to being gay and I don’t exactly handle them in a productive manner.”

“I’m sorry that you had to handle things like this alone. You shouldn’t have had to be like that. You know the 118 as it is now would have supported you in everything right?” Evan looked at Tommy, his eyes showing he truly believed the words he was saying.

“I was at the 118 under Gerrard,” Tommy explained, “You only had to experience a fraction of what it was like. I’m at peace with where I am now. I just want you to understand where I’m coming from.”

“Doesn’t mean that I can’t still empathize,” Evan replied, “And in the spirit of sharing trauma from our past,” Evan said, “I was only born to be spare parts for an older brother who was dying from Leukemia. I only learned about this about 3-4 years ago.”

Tommy’s mouth dropped open at this admission. How was Evan so well adjusted knowing that, “I’m so sorry that you believe that. I’m sure you weren’t just spare parts.”

“Oh, I was, my parents told me as much,” Evan laughed, “Defective parts no less. The son my parents wanted died a year after I was born because my bone marrow couldn’t save him. I came to terms with all this years ago. After a huge yelling match with my parents,” Evan shrugged.

Tommy walked over to him and pulled him into a hug. The longest hug they had ever had. Tommy felt tears in his eyes as he held Evan. His Evan. Tommy pulled out of the hug and looked Evan right in the eyes, he had to say this now or he never would, “I have something to tell you,” Tommy said, “And I don’t need a response from you either, but I just want you to know this,” Tommy took a deep breath before he continued, “I think I might be falling in love with you.”

Now it was Evan’s turn to have his mouth drop open. Tommy felt a sense of peace from saying that, but he also felt a sense of dread. What if this admission to Evan made him realize that he didn’t truly see a future with him. What if this is what ended things? Tommy’s heart couldn’t handle that. But he had to let that out. A thousand more What If’s flooded his brain as he stood there looking at Evan, trying to get a read on his face, “I don’t know what to say to that,” Evan said flabbergasted.

“I don’t need a response,” Tommy interjected quickly, “Let’s just pretend that I didn’t say anything and go have our movie night,” Tommy looked at the clock, “Though I think we might be too late for that.”

“No, I do want to respond to what you said,” Evan replied. Evan also took a deep breath, “I don’t know what I feel about you. I don’t know if its lust, love, or something else that hasn’t been defined. What I do know is that I do feel something for you. Something that makes me feel like you are meant to be the one. The one that I spend the rest of my life with. The one that I have been looking for all these years. I might not be able to put it into simple words, but I just wanted you to know how I feel. Maybe it is love. I mean I’ve been in love before, but it feels different from that. More complete. Maybe what I felt before with someone wasn’t love. Or maybe because its with you, someone who makes me feel comfortable and at peace with myself, maybe it feels different because its with you. I don’t want to put a label on it but that’s how I feel.”

Tommy smiled at Evan. He did realize that he was falling in love with this man, and this just cemented it. He noticed how he felt as far back as that funeral for Billy Boils. How passionate Evan was about this long dead cowboy. His words that day stuck with Tommy, and he wanted to be Evan’s people. The ones that make life worth living, “That’s a great answer,” Tommy choked. He pulled Evan into another hug, and this time let the tears slide down his cheeks, “That was the perfect answer.”

Evan smiled and kissed Tommy, not a chaste kiss that they had been sharing lately, not a heat of the moment passion kiss that they shared at the hospital before the wedding. This was something different. Different emotions were brought into this kiss. Tommy enjoyed it, “So we definitely won’t make our movie now,” Tommy said into Evan’s mouth, “Did you have a back-up plan?”

“Well, we are here,” Evan said, “And you did make an implication when you arrived,” Evan started to wiggle his eyebrows in a suggestive way, “Might not be as quick though.”

Tommy smiled at the thought and let Evan pull him towards the stairs to his loft bedroom. This was a much better ending to this day.

***

                Note: I hate how BuckTommy ended just as much as the next person, so I decided to rewrite how I wanted them to go that night. So, this is what you get. In my brain now this is what happened, and the rest of the season so far is scraped. I also wanted to get you guys something as it has been a week since I last posted and I was starting to feel bad.

[redux-iterum]

Sorry for all the questions from me recently,, but I've been planning to write a fanfic that takes place before pinestar exists in riverclan, blast to the past if you will! I just wanted to ask if you have any tips or advice because I really look up to your writing!

No worries about questions! I'm happy to answer if I can. I'll try to give some advice on writing in general, and hopefully it'll help you.

Figure out what pace will help you keep going on the project, fanfic or original, and work with that. If writing 200 words a day every day or 1k words every three days is your comfortable speed and keeps you from getting exhausted, then don't force yourself to Stephen King it and write an excess of 2k every single day. Your goal is to enjoy yourself here and keep going until it's completed. It won't be worth it if you suffer the whole time.

That being said, at times you may need to strap yourself down and just get through the part you don't want to write. This requires some discipline and self-training, but it is doable. The reward of getting to the part you're excited about is completely worth the work of writing when bored. I can very much promise you that. Every single thing I've ever worked on, I've had to force myself to keep writing/drawing at some point, and every time I've been happy that I worked until I got my reward of the part I was psyched to get to. Hell, I'm doing that right now with the next book in this series! And, fun fact, the more you do it, the easier it gets. Sort of like exercise!

If you need to plan ahead of time to finish a project like I do, then you might could borrow my method of planning: write down one or a couple sentences describing the overall, most basic idea of the plot (literally just something like "[Character] in RiverClan finds a secret plot by [other character] to overthrow the leader, stops them, and then discovers that they were right to be suspicious about the leader's secrets and helps oust the leader"); write down all the story beats and character moments you have in mind in no specific order; break down the plot into more chewable chunks using the aforementioned beats and moments to help you figure out the connecting veins to each chunk; and from there, go smaller and smaller as needed until you have enough to work with that you're comfortable writing. I personally like to write a summary of each chapter as well - all of them - before starting to actually write those chapters. It helps me keep track of everything and prevents me from fucking up the story I had in mind by being impulsive and forgetting the plan.

Even if you love a moment, character or line of dialog, if it isn't working with everything else and is disrupting the flow of the story, don't be afraid to throw it out. It's hard and I hate doing it myself, but sometimes it's just time to get rid of something you're attached to. "Kill your darlings" doesn't just mean killing a character you like, it means taking out things that you love no matter how much it feels like ripping out a tooth. You can always find a way to use whatever it is later in something else.

If you have a willing beta/editor, by GOD, ask for their help. A second set of eyes is crucial to ensuring the quality of your story. The thing is that you're too close to your creation to know for sure if it's good to everyone else - even if it genuinely is amazing, you have no idea because you made it. Having someone outside the circle of sentiment to read and say, "Hey, this dialog doesn't sound very realistic" or "Huh, I thought this piece was foreshadowing something else, maybe clear that up a little" is, while painful to your ego, more precious than a pot of gold. Appreciate the critique you get. It's awesome for your growth. Do know that not all critique is going to be helpful to your specific writing style, but a lot of it is very much worth paying attention to and taking a minute to mull over and decide whether to humor it or not. This, too, you will get better at differentiating over time.

All this said, remember that if you're not getting a paycheck, you're doing this for fun. You are under no obligation to finish a story that's making you miserable. You'll have to learn the difference between "fic I'm in a boring moment of" and "fic that's actively harming my mental wellbeing because I feel obligated to complete it", and sometimes you'll need a second person to voice your thoughts to in order to judge that. If it sucks, hit da bricks! Don't punish yourself for having to stop, or even just taking a break. A fanfic is not worth your sanity. Trust me on this.

That shit got long and I apologize. Hopefully this helped!

[narcdoll]

can you explain what an npd split looks like for the pwnpd? what causes splitting, how it feels like, for how long it usually happens. i found articles about it and read them but most of them werent really insight, just how it looks for other people and how to deal when pwnpd split

splitting for pwnpd is usually triggered by a lack of attention/acknowledgement or supply. for me, when my needs aren’t met and I feel as if I’m not being paid enough attention to/people aren’t acknowledging me, I start splitting. keep in mind everyone’s experiences are unique to their own! these are just a few examples I was able to list that could be the reason behind why someone can begin to split

splits can last for hours to days on end, even weeks. keep in mind it’s completely normal if some of your splits are longer or shorter than others!

It’s pretty hard to explain how it feels when splitting, considering you can split for a numerous amount of reasons. sometimes I feel a gnawing sickness and resentment towards the person/thing I’m splitting over, or Instead I feel empty and numb. it really depends on the person and the reason why you’re splitting in the first place

when I’m splitting, I usually try and find something to distract myself with to get my mind off things. stuff like taking a shower, going outside, cleaning, or watching a comfort show/movie of mine always helps to clear my mind. I understand if this might not be helpful for you, and that’s completely okay! there’s plenty of other ways that you can cope with splitting. sometimes its easier to just release your emotions instead of bottling them up. ripping a piece of paper is probably the safest approach when it comes to releasing your anger. breaking or throwing something (safely) definitely helps, too.

I hope this information is helpful enough to you! I apologise if my wording here isn’t that great, I haven’t had the time to respond to these properly so I’ve been writing these on a bit of a whim. if there’s anything else you’d like answered/need advice with, my inbox is always open and I’m happy to answer them. take care!

[chocochiffonnn]

Silly Little Confessions

➸ Pairing: Student! Park Sunghoon x Student! Reader

➸ Word Count: 3k words

➸ Synopsis: Mustering the courage to confess your admiration to the school hearth throb, handing him silly but thoughtful gifts, you thought that had been the end of it. Not until... He joins you for a photo booth in front of the whole school.

➸ Warnings: So... this may have been too short for my liking lol, please understand if some parts feel rushed I wanted to extend it but I didn't wanna make it too long lmao

➸ Songs to play as you listen!

♫ Parachute - John K.

♫ Magic - Wrabel

♫ Easier to Love - Grant Schaffer

♫ All 4 Nothing - Lauv

●・○・●・○・●●・○・●・○・●●・○・●・○・●●・○・●・○・●

"Give the gift right now! Oh my gosh!"

How in the hell did you end up in such a situation?

A tiny handmade ribbon bouquet in hand, and a mini ice-cold tiramisu box you'd desperately pleaded the canteen person to keep before the event arrived, and a mini broom.

The said event being Valentine's day.

Valentine's day, the season of love, gift-giving, and confession.

Confession.

The word felt foreign and distasteful around your tongue, especially in a situation like this, where you are constantly being teased by your classmates, their cheers ever so loud and unaware. You are in fact, conscious as to why you're stuck in this situation.

"Park Sunghoon is right in front of you! Confess already!"

Ah. Fucking shit.

It felt as if you were going to throw up. Park Sunghoon, the bane of your very existence. Actually, no. The very inspiration of your existence.

Park Sunghoon, as cliche and ordinary as it may sound, is considered the school's heart throb. The student council's vice president, soon to be incoming president, full of wits and brains, the captain of the basketball team of your school. Not to mention, his friendly and approachable demeanor, despite him seeming to be rather introverted, he blends well with people when given the chance.

And his perfectly sculpted face. Oh god, that was another thing.

He practically has it all. If someone had asked him one thing he was bad at, and he'll stay silent. Because he practically had none, and that was the sole reason why girls and even guys flocked towards his very existence. He's practically like a god that descended from heaven.

Maybe that statement was a bit over the top, yet point still stands. Sunghoon is one of a kind. A lot of people admired him, and you were no exception to his charms. Yet, he is a year older, making him your senior. And you are just a simple love-sick girl who had this massive crush on a guy who was practically out of reach from your fingertips. Had you tried, it would still be useless.

Yet here you were. A moment ago, you were trembling in your seat near the door, as you gaped at the gift you were to give the said man. A handmade mini bouquet made out of paper, purple Angelicas which symbolized as inspiration, a small box of handmade tiramisu you'd left with the school cafeteria before school started... And a mini broom and dustpan made for desks. (This was an odd gift, but oddly, you noticed how Sunghoon always kept his desk cleaned. Maybe the broom will help keep the eraser shavings off his desk?)

It had been announced a small event in order to celebrate Valentines will be held right after lunch, with booths from different clubs to try. But, such thoughts did not even cross your mind as you were far too busy focusing on your gift.

You said trying will be vain, yet here you are, with a gift in hand.

All of a sudden, in the middle of your lunch break, a gentle knock came prodding at your classroom, and it opens ever so gently.

You were unaware of his presence, yet his smooth, silky, gentle voice made him all the more known.

"Good afternoon! The student council is letting everyone know that each class should head to the school gym after lunch as our event will happen there. See you all everyone, and happy Valentines."

Just then, all you heard were screams, gasps, and a thunderous cheers from your classmates who heard the announcement. You did too, but you had not looked to the side, afraid if what you guessed was right, and if Park Sunghoon really is beside you right now, then you'd be damned with a nosebleed, with a migraine, with an enormous barfing session.

After all, you are just a love-sick high schooler, experiencing a crush for the first couple of times.

You felt shiver run down your spine as a sudden cheer chimed, from none other than your best friend, Yutah.

"Give the gift right now! Oh my gosh!"

A series of screams followed suit from your classmates, given the fact that you are the only person in this classroom who had a crush on Sunghoon, their support was higher than anything else.

And maybe it was the sudden support, or the pressure you had felt, but after a couple of seconds with the door not closing, and you looking down to your fumbling fingertips, you had suddenly stood up with a loud thud.

The classroom fell silent.

You picked up your gifts with trembling hands.

Then they went crazy once more.

"Oooh! She finally had the guts!"

"Oh my gosh! After years!"

"Let's go Y/N!"

You coughed, turning sideways with feeble, uncoordinated feet. It was like all of a sudden, you hadn't known how to walk, and your hands are shaking so terribly bad. With a push of courage, your gaze slowly trailed upward. Bad idea.

Damn.

You failed to even notice the person beside Sunghoon, the student council treasurer. (which also had an undeniable crush on him too, you assumed)

All you saw is him. Park Sunghoon, right in the flesh. His smooth, pale skin raw and fresh for your eyes. Eyebrows that curved with perfection, nose that aligns with his facial structure ever so beautifully. Oh, and the lips? Curling into a beautiful smile. Sunghoon is the very epitome of perfection.

You felt yourself melt. Dissipate, as if the world swallowed you whole.

All you saw in front are like sparkling lights with bubbles flowers, and hearts, and a halo, and Park Sunghoon's angelic like face. Oh my fucking hell. Shit, shit, shit, shit.

Sunghoon had a questioning like grin, but you know that he knows what was going on. After all, you were not the first one to do this, and certainly not the last after the event. Though, stayed still, smiling ever so gently.

Nobody in the classroom dared to speak.

With a sheepish smile, you extend your arms and offer him your delicately packed and well thought out gifts.

"Well, uhm... I'm sorry for the sudden uproar of my classmates like that, it seems I've been— uhm, exposed."

You turn to look at them swiftly, with a frown. You’d make sure to scold each and every one of them later. Sunghoon chuckles, hell, even his chuckle was perfect!

"It's no worries."

You feel a bit of heat erupt from the smaller person beside him. The treasurer? She was boiling with rage? Well, not really that important.

"Sorry for that still."

With all the courage you can muster, you sincerely look at Sunghoon in the eyes. Truth be told, you felt sorry for him, but more so for yourself, knowing the consequences of doing such a thing will not only make you an embarrassment, but sooner or later, the school's talk of the town will perhaps, be you. How Sunghoon rejected you, how he laughed in your face, or snorts, or throws the gifts, or gets angry— such thoughts ran your mind.

Sunghoon extends his hands, to which you whisper a gentle wait, mumbling about explaining the gift you'd made and how you'd be over with it in a minute. You had to explain, otherwise, the present would be in vain.

"It's just a small gift I made. A mini bouquet made with paper, the flowers are Angelica flowers. Which, may seem weird but they signify how inspired I am by you, not just your physical traits, but you in general. I really see you as a great leader, someone who pushes himself to his best ability for the school. You're selfless, kind, and that nature of yours is something I really admire from afar."

You were full on rambling at this point.

"I also made you this tiramisu, I saw you eat tiramisu flavored things a couple of times before. But trust me! I wasn't being weird, just a bit observant. So I thought, maybe you liked tiramisu?"

Something sparkled within the young boy's eyes.

"And... This is such a weird gift, but I heard from somewhere that you're very tidy. So I got this mini broom and dustpan for desks, just incase, well uhm... You know, you need to clean it. I'm sorry, yeah well that's all!"

You hand him the gifts, and he takes it ever so slowly. Maybe it had been the cheers of your classmates, or the sudden encouragement you found, but you felt a little bolder to see his reaction, to see his mouth gaping and his adorable orbs gawking at the gift.

"... Tiramisu..." He mumbles.

So he does like tiramisu.

"Sunghoon, we have to go."

The small one— their treasurer spits back, tone laced with bitterness.

"Ah. Yeah." He nods, fingers still clasping the flowers, the tiramisu, and the little broom in a little basket you'd prepare for the gifts. You felt a soft smile tug at the end of his cheeks. Sunghoon looks up.

"Thank you for this, really."

You felt his eyes soften, expression unreadable for a suble moment. From the back of your mind, you’d thought he was just being rather polite.

But, aside from that, Sunghoon was also surprised by such a gift. How thoughtful. He’d thought.

You scratch the back of your head. Well, you were not expecting answer, really. Yet, the fact that he took it with such open arms (much different from your initial, negative thoughts) made you smile ever so widely. He looks pleased and satisfied, that was enough.

"No problem! Don't... Don't think I'm weird or anything, I just happen to be a bit observant, so maybe the gifts are a bit odd. But, well, I like you very much, Sunghoon."

Then, you jump and squeal, turning to look at your classmates who jumped around like muffled animals.

"I know the feelings are not reciprocated, but it feels nice to get that off my chest! Ahhhh!" You say to them, to which they hand over a couple of thumbs up, smiles, yet, no one dared to speak still.

You swiftly turned around to face Sunghoon, he was surprised by your sudden outburst.

"Well, that's it for my confession! I really really like you Sunghoon! I think you have an event to organize, thank you for your time!"

And to the surprise of everyone, you closed the door, leaving Sunghoon and his member to gape at what you had just done. Fuck. You did not want to hear his response, in fear of being rejected or denied, or being told you were just a friend. Hell, you weren't even close, what sorry excuse for a rejection is that if it were to happen?

And a few second after the door closes, your classmates shout, some even giving you a pat on the back, and a hug.

You fell weak to your knees and stumbled to your own chair. You placed your cheek, flat against the desk.

At least you'd done it.

You'd finally fucking confessed to Park Sunghoon!

And Park Sunghoon, well... From the back of the door you’d slam against him, he’d thought— how adorable and odd your confession was.

~~~~~~

"Mind if I join you?"

"Ah! Sure—What in the world!"

In no other parallel universe would you assumed such an event would happen. A few minutes ago, you'd reach the acceptance stage already, being the realistic thinker that you are. In the midst of your classroom, you'd find yourself melting in your chair, accepting the fact that you were never going to stand in the same world as Park Sunghoon.

Yet here he was, beside you, in one of the club's booth— a photo booth.

You'd gotten a couple shots with your friends, but you enjoyed this particular booth just a little more than the rest, which led you to go here once more as your friends explored other booths.

You had a mustache, disco shades, and the most brightest red hair in the history of anything red.

Needless to say, you looked like a dork.

"What- What are you doing here?" You nervously say to Sunghoon, who only chuckles at your hilarious costume. "I came to get a picture, too."

"I'm not trying to be rude or anything, but there's a line, and well... I'm here."

"So?"

Sunghoon shrugs, putting on something similar to your costume. Bright blue hair, mustache, and shades. You look at the line for the booth. Some stared at you, some were unbothered. You felt as if the stares are not because Sunghoon skipped the line, but rather, because of Sunghoon himself.

You bet they must have thought, why would Sunghoon of all people take a picture with you?

And truth be told, you thought the same.

"So? I mean um, we're gonna take a picture together, and-"

He cuts you off, "The timer's starting, just pose!”

3...2...

Out of instinct, yoy put out a confused peace sign, Sunghoon chuckles, doing the same.

"—And well, people are watching!" You whisper shout after that first shot. You were not given a time to react much however, as the timer came in front of the screen yet again. Sunghoon only stares at you momentrily. "What's our next costume?"

He totally just ignored you!

The booth in total had four shots. Sunghoon looks towards the props table, only to hand you the most goofiest cap ever… A fruit hat? Seriously? He wears a the blueberry one and you, a banana.

The timer ticks closer. "What's our pose?" He asks.

Somehow, you just played along with his sudden antics, opting to question him later. You held out a v with your hands, like a a sunflower pose. Sunghoon follows suit, doing the sunflower pose as well. You felt your heart burst out of your chest as his shoulders came to brush against yours.

Then for the rest of the shots, the two of you chose two more odd props and costumes, creating various goofball like poses as if the two of you are friends. Yet, you know, you felt the sudden tension of those that waited in the photo booth, hell, even people who did not line up came to stare!

However, despite feeling such tension, you felt Sunghoon's carefree and rather bright personality disregard his surroundings. Perhaps it had been your nature, or your ability to talk and babble, but truly, Sunghoon felt a bit more relaxed and casual as the two of you continued on taking photos.

Just a moment ago, Sunghoon, along with his president, was discussing some house rules in the stage in front of the whole school. Then, he went over to some of his friends in order to try some of the booths with them.

Though... Somehow, every time he walked, he tried something such as focusing or turning away, a glimpse of you appears in his peripheral vision. Similar as to when he reads and he highlights a part, a word, a sentence, it sticks out to him the most.

He does not know what has gotten into him, but you were like a highlighted word in one of the many books he's read.

Unbeknownst to him, after a couple of minutes of contemplating and fighting the demons in his head, he eventually loses, and his feet walked like it had a mind of his very own. Towards you.

Why had he done that? Sunghoon doesn't know.

Yet, the moment he heard your confession, he knows he felt it. He hadn't just heard it, unlike the other girls who confessed to him before. To each their own, confessing was a difficult task, so doing that much was admirable. However, more often times than not, once they want to give something to him, some of them run and never look back, leaving Sunghoon dumbfounded. Some, simply just hand him something unrelated to his interests, it made Sunghoon think if they are ever sure they are admiring the correct person, as some don't take the effort to see, to observe him.

They only admire him. They never try and see right through him. And although, Sunghoon in his own regards, had standards that are higher than the word high itself, all it really takes is to start with a simple: "I got this gift because it reminded me of you."

Is that really so much to ask for?

He asks very often to himself, every time the same routine came rolling around. And, despite such thoughts making him look very rude and not very gentleman like, Sunghoon knows that if he ever reaches the point of liking someone, he would do the very same to the person he admires.

Then you came along, with your heartfelt gifts, even gaining the strength and courage to confess how you’d like him. The flower that even had its own meaning specifically for him, tiramisu, his favorite dessert ever, and a silly little broom and dustpan for his clean and neat freak side. How come you’ve noticed all of these things?

Your confession too, he found adorable and cute. The rambling, the big gestures, the exaggerated expressions— not once has he seen or experienced such courageous confessions.

"I feel like you need to tell me of what happened back there, sir." You say with a chuckle, though from your stomach, you felt nervous as hell. You were walking behind Sunghoon, off to wherever his feet led him. A couple of eyes went down your way, but Sunghoon remains as composed and unbothered as ever.

Never in your life had you imagined to be walking beside the very Park Sunghoon. The person you admired, your crush, the person you just confessed to a while ago.

You look up at him, his tall figure, standing broad and poised. The scent of his perfume grew faint in your nostrils, his crisp uniform hugging his body ever so delicately. Sunghoon really is admirable.

You blush from the sudden thought, eventually somehow, Sunghoon leads you to the field, the fresh and cool air hitting your face. You were far too busy staring at Sunghoon's figure that was beside you to notice how his lips puckered into a thin line.

"Where do I start?" Sunghoon says, sitting down in the grass. He pats the space next to him.

"With everything?”

You sit beside him. Sunghoon looks at you, and you gaze at him back. Through his eyes that stared, all you saw was a man you admired for years. The quiet, subtle like you'd felt for him the moment you saw him smiling as he helped a student in the hallways, without a warning, it had just exploded.

Would it be too early to say that you admired, admired and liked liked him now?

You feel Sunghoon fumble with his fingers for a second.

"... Is your confession earlier sincere?" Sunghoon asks out of the blue, not once breaking the eye contact. Though tempted to pull away, you stay. You felt his expression crumble down for a moment, as if opening the most vulnerable parts of himself out to you in this moment with such a simple question.

You laugh, "Of course, Sunghoon. I know we're... Not really that close and all but I've liked you for quite a while now. Like is not even the right word— admire, maybe? I think you're such a cool person and honestly—"

Sunghoon cuts you off by gently intertwining his pinky finger that lay on the grass with yours. The sudden contact made you jolt, but Sunghoon only grins. That was all he needed to hear.

Then, slowly and carefully, his hand came into contact with yours and he found himself locking his soft fingers with yours. It felt like a little romance drama, the feeling of the slow and subtle tension as you awaited for his next move. And gosh, you felt as if you were suffocating in such a good way. Even his hands, it felt so soft and smooth.

He held your hand, just as tightly as you held your feelings for him for so long.

You could not speak. Was this even real? Sunghoon's hands are so—

"Thank you for that."

Is all he says before his grips on your hand tighten more so than before, afraid you'd leave his grasp and run off like the girls that confessed to him.

But your hands fit his like a puzzle piece in his, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

For you, it may have been a silly little confession.

But for Sunghoon, it had meant the world.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ END *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

reblogs are highly appreciated, tysm!

[knockyasocksoff2022]

Ideal No. 15

(7,119 words)

(A/N: Is this the longest chapter yet? LMAO, eat up! I had it mostly done before now, so IDK why it took me so long, if I didn't procrastinate, the total writing time was like three days, maybe. Plot bunnies are bitches, I guess. The moral of the story is: yell at me more in the comments! Only one or two more chapters to go!) 

Thanks once again to @fyodorsushankaaa for all the encouragement!

He looks like a scared puppy, readying to bolt. I have to act fast. 

It's impulsive, I know, but I'm not sure what else I can do, so I grab his bloodied hand. He flinches, hard, but I don't let go. I can't, too scared he'll slip away again.

"Dazai, you're hurt." Well, that much is obvious. I mentally scold myself. "What happened?"

He probably won't tell me if it's self-inflicted or not, but I need to know what sort of injury it is at least. The blood is spreading in a pattern that suggests a wound less controlled than razor lines. And Dazai doesn't cut himself, as far as I know. He kills himself with neglect.

He opens his mouth, then closes it, then again, then once more. Then he jolts up, trying to twist away. He makes a sound of pain so startling that surprise makes me let go when it should be my instinct to grip him tighter.

Without the support of my arms, he tumbles out of the booth. I rush to help him.

"I'm okay. I'm just a bit out of it because of the weather change, is all." His voice is raspy. He isn't even trying to fool me anymore. I won't complain. His admitting that something at all is wrong is a start.

I'll just do what I always do. Go along with it.

"If you were under the weather you should have let someone know."

"'M fine."

Suppressing a sigh, I try a different tactic. "It only causes everyone more trouble if you wait until you can't stand."

His wince makes me regret the words, but I have to say something to make him see sense.

"I-I'm sorry."

What does he have to be sorry for? I don't have time for that at the moment. He needs medical attention, but knowing him he won't let me bring him anywhere near a hospital. "I hardly care about that now. Come on, I'm going to take you back to the office. Yosano-sensei will treat you."

"No!"

He's hyperventilating, the first sign of a panic attack. Okay. I have to calm him down. What would calm him down?

Jokes!

"Dazai, your bandages are yellow. I will not allow you to let your writing hand rot off simply because you don't want to do paperwork. How am I to get you to do work, then?"

It doesn't work. Or, well, it does, but not the way I intended. He stops hyperventilating but then lapses into silence. "Sorry." He wilts.

We both sit awkwardly on the floor for a moment considering the situation. He has been eating more, lunch at least, but I can tell I'll still be able to lift him, easily. It scares me a bit, but I'm grateful for it now. It is easier to focus on his alarmingly skinny stature than the fact that he is, practically, in my lap.

His quiet voice comes from beside me, "T-the food . . ."

I don't want to ask him to speak up, but he's so quiet and his words are so slurred that I really am having trouble hearing him.

"I'm sorry?"

"The food, we shouldn't waste."

I want to shake him. That's what you care about? But I'm afraid he'll break.

"Of course, let me, uh, just."

He tries to leap away, I think, from my lap, but he just ends up rolling to the side a bit, his hand twisting further.

I hurry to the counter, give our order number, and inform her of the mess we made.

"Yes, it's almost done. Don't worry about the tea. It happens a lot. We'll be happy to pack your food in takeaway boxes for you, sir. But, may I ask why you're leaving so soon? Your order was marked as dine-in, was that incorrect? Was your experience not okay?"

The woman is so sweet, but what do I tell her? No, you're restaurant is lovely my colleague is just a bit suicidal. "Oh, it was fine, ma'am. . . . My partner is just feeling a bit under the weather."

She coos, glancing worriedly behind me, probably at Dazai, who must still be lying on the floor. "Oh my, I see. The noodles should help then. I hope he feels better soon. You two boys take care."

"Thank you, ma'am."

-

Dazai is indeed still on the floor. I look at him for a moment. There's no way he'll be able to stand long enough to get to the car. Given his state, what would be the most efficient and most dignified way (for both of us) to pick him up? 

After looking at his tender hand hanging limply, I go with the cradle carry.

(A/N: The cradle carry is more commonly known as the Bridal or Princess carry, lmao)

"I'm going to pick you up, is that alright?"

He blinks, taking a moment to comprehend the words. He must be more ill than I thought. But, to my relief, he nods.

He's warm in my arms. Not like the warmth of a lover, but feverish warmth. 

"Keep these steady, Dazai," I say just to break the silence.

He nods, not objecting to my using him as a shelf for the noodles. In fact, he crunches them as if they're far more important than tea-house takeaway.

The walk to the car feels long and short at the same time. Dazai isn't heavy, not at all, but I'm so worried I'll drop him.

As I lay him across the backseat, he grabs my arm. "No . . . Yosano."

"Dazai, you need a doctor."

He doesn't seem to get it.

"Please."

It's his eyes that get me. They're wide and round with innocence and fear, like a child's, like a stray cat's. He reminds me so much of Yozo that I can't possibly ignore his request. It would feel like abuse. 

"Okay. I'll take you to my house, but you're getting first aid either way. I'm not going to watch whatever injury you have fester. Understand?"

-

The drive takes a bit longer because I'm so careful not to go too fast or hit the brakes too hard. I even avoid steep downhills, given that he wears no safety belt.

He sits up as soon as I park, indicating that he was not asleep as I'd hoped. I shouldn't let my disappointment show. I don't need him apologising for I don't know what, again. So while I fix my face, I carry the noodles in. 

Of course, Yozoz makes her escape as I open the door. It made me a bit sad to see her go, but then I knew she'd have to leave eventually, and with the noodles in my hands I was in no position to stop her.

-

They fit nicely in my mostly empty fridge. I haven't had much time to shop due to my extended hours. This is not ideal at all.

I'm also lacking in bandages. I have plenty for Dazai's wound, but I have no doubt that the ones he wears like a bodysuit need changing and I don't have enough. I never thought he'd be here, at my residence. Oh . . . what am I doing? I'll need to order groceries.

Mourning Yozo's absence, but with new determination, I step outside.

To my surprise, the cat hasn't gone far. She paws at my car door, jumping up to the window. The relief I feel is more than should be warranted, considering she's a feral cat, but I feel it anyway.

"Move, Yozo. I need to open the door."

I don't expect her to, but she obeys. Trotting curiously to the left.

Dazai is even more out of it than before. He's like a child when they somehow make themselves heavier, only it's hardly his fault. Yozo watches me curiously as I carefully handle my colleague. She trails my steps, fascinated by the newcomer.

Once inside, I lay dazai on the counter and wash my hands at the sink. I have to swat soapy water at Yozo to prevent her from licking Dazai's wounded hand. She yowls in response. It's interesting how she acts with him as if he's a fellow cat in danger, not a human. Or maybe she thinks she's human too.

I want to start with the first aid right away, better while he's out of it, but his bandages are the one part of his body he keeps off-limits and I would never cross such a personal boundary.

I'll have to wake him, but I can wait a bit longer.

This is where preparedness comes in handy. I have an ear thermometer I bought but have never used. I take it out now, rubbing it with an alcohol swab and sticking it in Dazai's ear. He twitches but makes no move to stop me.

The device beeps, flashing a yellow 39 C. Not Ideal, but not life-threatening. 

Hmm, another dilemma. Medication will help his fever and pain, but he hasn't eaten yet. There's no way anything is making it to his stomach right now, so medication will have to wait.

"Dazai, wake up."

" . . . 'nikida?"

"Yes. How do you feel."

He just shakes his head.

"You're running a mid-grade fever, so that's probably why you feel so poorly. Now, I need to take your bandages off to get to your hand-" He shakes his head before I finish, I can feel him trembling. I'm not sure how much of it is chills and how much is fear at the prospect of revealing what's underneath that he keeps so carefully hidden. "Please, Dazai, your wound is infected. It needs treatment. I won't go above the elbow, I promise. I swear on my Ideals."

He stops trembling, stilling completely, as stiff as a board.

"It's okay?"

An almost imperceptible nod.

There's disposable plastic on the counter, my sleeves are rolled, my hands are washed and protected by latex gloves, and I have everything I could possibly need save for surgical tools, and yet, I don't feel ready. But when am I ready for Dazai Osamu? Since when does it matter if I am or not? I just have to do it.

The bandages are wrapped so tight his hand must be purple underneath. I take the miniature scissors from the kit and begin cutting. The bandages come loose, but I have to peel them away from each other. 

"Fuck me." I try not to swear, but the deeper I go, the tighter they're stuck with blood, plasma, and other bodily fluids that result from the inner layers of skin being exposed to the outside world. The bottom most bandages are closer to brown than white.

"M' trying."

"What?" What did he just say? He didn't mean- surely not . . .

"Said m' trying to fuck you, kun-i-ki-da~" His voice is strained with pain and slurred with fever.

Wh- Oh. He's delirious. Of course. As much as the returns of his clownery relive me, this is NOT what I had in mind.

"I'd do it so well, Kuni-kun."

Suddenly I feel as if I'm the one with the fever, the what creeping into my face, hands sweaty.

"Please, go to sleep, Dazai. You're not well."

"That's what the lady at the cafe said too."

"I'm sure."

I focus all my energy on tuning him out. Thankfully there's no smell, which means the infection isn't too bad. I sigh.

On the last layer, I hesitate. The bandages are still opaque enough that I can't see the skin underneath.

Dazai's other hand raises up in a sloppy thumbs up, then falls back down. He's exhausted, but I'm glad for his approval, and that he seems to be back to his silly persona.

I took a formal first aid course in High School, so the rest of the process will be easy, the most tedious part is cleaning until the water runs clear instead of red.

The skin is blistered, if he does have any self-harm scars, I can't see them. I'm not sure if that's a good thing. Some of the blisters have burst but the skin is still pink, not charred or brown. This looks to be a superficial 2nd-degree burn. Thankfully these can be treated at home.

Because this isn't exactly a fresh wound it isn't bleeding and I don't need to cool the burn, since it's at least a day old, which is good because it means I can treat it with less delay.

Given that the wound was covered, I suspect that the infection came mainly from not cooling the wound properly or allowing it to breathe, and the lack of antibiotic ointment, and choking his circulation did no favours. Scolding him would do nothing.

Once the wound is clean, I apply antibiotic cream and begin dressing it. Dazai doesn't flinch, he must be out. 

I lean down, examining my work. I almost wish I hadn't done it. A cool bath would've helped his fever and the sweating, but now I don't want to wet the dressing, and he'd never allow anyone to see what's underneath his bandages. (Even if I thought I could handle him naked. As unprofessional as that sounds, I know my limitations.) With all the weeping, perhaps I should change it anyway. I have doubt that he'll do it himself even if he's capable.

I bin my gloves and the plastic sheet and wash my hands perhaps a little harder than necessary. 

His fever isn't sustainable either, but I'll let him sleep for now, just to recover from the shock of it all.

Still, he can't sleep on my counter. I lift him as carefully as possible, he doesn't stir. I tell myself not to worry as I set him down on the sofa.

Yozoz climbs my leg, jumping onto Dazai's limp form.

"Off!" I whisper, but she doesn't move.

I have a spare bedroom, but I'm not putting him there until he's had a bath and some fresh clothes. I'll do that as soon as I can.

-

His face isn't relaxed as he sleeps, he frowns, his nose and eyebrows scrunched, still, I can't deny that he's handsome. And cute with Yozoz lying protectively on his chest, letting him use her to elevate his hand.

He twitches and shifts uncomfortably. He'll need pain medication soon, which means he'll need to eat. 

Instead of staring at him, I need to order groceries . . . And I need to call in.

How do I even explain this? Better yet, how do I explain this without betraying Dazai's trust and alerting Yosano-sensei to the fact that he's injured?

I mean, do I even need to? He cuts work all the time . . . or he used to. Yeah, I'd better call.

I swear for the second time today and dial the president directly.

"Fukuzawa-sensei, this is Kunikida."

"Yes, Kunikida, what do you need?"

"Nothing. I was just calling to inform you that Dazai and I are on a private case and we won't be back for a couple of days. You can cut the time from my pay if you like. But I just wanted you to know that nothing is wrong, no one needs to come looking for us."

"Ah, I see. Did you pick up this case during lunch? Will you be reachable in the case of an emergency?"

I look at Dazai. I can't leave him, not like this. "Yes . . . and no."

"Are you out of the city?"

"No."

"Alright. Seeing as your paperwork is complete. I will bother you no longer. But please do call again if you two plan to be on the case for more than a week."

"Of course, sir."

He hangs up. I rest in relief for a moment. Now that that's cleared up there's the matter of my almost empty refrigerator.

-

Dazai wakes at the sound of the groceries being delivered.

"Huh? Kunikida?"

"I ordered groceries." 

I don't think he understands me very well, but I'll only be going to the door, so I don't worry.

Yozoz hisses at the delivery man. I nudge her back, and she gives one final look of utter disapproval before retreating. I tip the man and take the bags inside.

When I come back Dazai has gotten into a halfway upright position, using his uninjured hand to pet Yozo.

"Be careful." The warning is a habit at this point.

"When did Kunikida-kun get a cat?"

I don't let his use of the third person worry me, it wasn't uncommon for him a few months ago."Recently. She was a stray."

"My, how charitable!"

I have to remind myself not to be relieved. He's only acting this way because of the fever.

"Helping the less fortunate when I can is in my Ideals. And right now, that includes you, Dazai."

He gasps theatrically, "Me?"

"Yes, you. You have a fever. You need to take medication. It'll help with the pain as well, but you need to eat first. Now come on."

"My, who knew the prime minister of meeting procedure land would make such a good doctor, and handsome too~"

I can't deal with this right now, him saying all these things. They say fevers make you honest, but he's clearly spouting, pardon me, utter bullshit. "Yes, first aid training is quite useful."

He frowns at my lack of reaction.

I set the groceries on the counter, and go to help him. 

"Ahh, I'm so weak Kunikida-kun! I couldn't possibly move! Carry me!"

Ugh. Now that he's more alert, carrying him feels less like a medical necessity and more awkward, without the adrenaline from seeing him so hurt, but I'd take this over him sobbing on the floor any day.

I must admit I've had daydreams about having him in my arms before, but never like this.

He won't be able to handle chopsticks, so it'll have to be broth. I can make a simple one in under thirty minutes. As soon as I finish stocking the refrigerator and cupboards, I turn to find Dazai sitting at the counter. His newly dressed hand is splayed out on the countertop. He lifts it, flexing his finger. He makes no sound, but I've known him long enough to see that he's in pain.

He abhors pain. It doesn't make sense. This must not have been part of a suicide attempt. He'd never do something as painful as burning or boiling alive, so how did it happen?

I don't look at him, not wanting to invade at the moment. Instead, I focus on readying the ingredients for the broth, falling into the rhythm of chopping vegetables.

"How are you feeling? Does it hurt?" I ask, still not looking. If it were anyone else I wouldn't count on a coherent answer, and I don't with Dazai, not really. He would never admit the extent of his pain, but I know he's aware, at least. This man is a cockroach. He's come to work with temperatures like this and higher before and none of us noticed until he passed out dramatically on the sofa.

"It's fine."

"It is" not "I am". A clear lie.

He's as stubborn as an ox, more stubborn than I myself can be at times. I have no choice but to go along. I place the vegetables in the pan with the stock and set the temperature. "Good. You have to eat before you take medication. The broth should be done soon."

He goes silent for a moment, then, "Mmm, Kunikida is so kind, getting all worked up over nothing." His words are soft, a gentle smile, almost . . . reassuring. His voice sends a wave of warmth down my spine.

Still, the sudden return of his demureness is a bit surprising.

"This is not nothing."

"Well you could have simply taken me to hospital, it wasn't necessary to bring me all the way to your home. I'm sure I've caused quite a hassle. I'm not sure how I can repay you for all of this."

"You mentioned before that you dislike hospitals, so I thought-"

"It hardly matters. There was no need for you to trouble yourself, I feel guilty now."

"Don't, you're my partner, it was no trouble at all." The words feel forbidden. It's immature, but my feelings make calling him my partner feel more meaningful than it should. He's so observant, can he see my guilt? Hear my heartbeat?

"That's impossible. I wish I hadn't troubled you at all." He looks down as he says it, picking the his new bandages. He sounds genuine, bitter and upset. Like many of today's events, it doesn't make sense. After all he's done to pester me so far, how can he feel so guilty for this? Or is it something else? Is this for all he's done in the past? That would be ridiculous, but somehow I believe it. Nothing he ever did was that horrible, it's all forgiven now. 

"Dazai . . ." I don't know what I should say, what I could say. He doesn't look up anyway.

"I won't trouble you anymore, Kunikida-san." It sounds so . . . final.

"Dazai, it wasn't-"

He's standing before I can stop him. I want to reach out to him, to stop him, but I know I shouldn't touch him much more, I doubt his aversion to contact has changed. Even with all his external polish and warmth, all those smiles, something frozen still resides within him, I know it. At times, I can feel its cold, like a gust of shivering wind, sudden, shocking . . . then gone.

And yet I find myself moving ever closer. Something deep in my gut knows I can't let him leave. I feel that if I do I may never see him again.

He sways, and sways and sways, and then . . . tips.

This time, though, I'm here to catch him. Again, he's too warm in my arms.

"Dazai, stop! You're in no condition to go anywhere. Please, sit, . . . stay. At least until you take medication. Then you can go as you please. But as your partner, it would be an abdication of my duties to allow anything to happen to you." There's that word again. Partner.

He whispers so softly, that I swear I mishear him, but it's quiet enough that I'm sure I don't. "Partner." Then he looks up. "Abdication, such a big word." The words are thoughtful, yet careless. He looks dazed. "Of course, you're just doing your job. Fine, but at least let me pay you."

Is he out of his damn mind? "P-pay me, what, you-?!" No. I can't lose my cool now. This isn't an office shenanigan. But then again . . . perhaps my scolding will be as grounding to him as his clownery is to me (am I the delirious one?)

"This is a favour, you will do no such thing. Now, stop talking nonsense!" I can't make myself call him an idiot, he still looks too fragile for that.

It seems to work, to my relief, he backs down. "Sorry." I don't like the bashful tone, but if it means he'll let me care for him without fighting, I'll take what I can get.

We sit, once again, in silence.

I'm relieved when the broth is done, busying myself with readying the bowl and placing it in front of him.

When I set it down, he looks at me for a long moment, then says a quiet "Thank you." and takes the spoon. 

His hand shakes a little. 

Right. I was so distracted by his attitude that I forgot a spoon might still be hard for him. What to do? For once, I don't know, there is nothing in my Ideals that tells me how to deal with an injured, delirious, Dazai Osamu in my kitchen.

"W-would you like some help?"

He looks up with wide eyes. Neither of us says anything. 

A moment passes, and I can't bear to wait, so I take the spoon from his shaky hand. 

He opens his mouth wordlessly and closes it the same.

We repeat the process, still silent, working like a machine, efficient. Both of us, I'm sure, are trying to distance ourselves from the reality of what we are doing. Before I know it the bowl is down to the dregs of vegetables.

Dazai nods once. "Your soup is very delicious, Kunikida-san."

"Thank you." The phrase is brief, almost curt, but I don't know how else to respond. My brain won't form words appropriate for this situation. I turn away, typing the last drops of broth into the plastic bowl the vet sent home for Yozo.

She laps eagerly, while I prepare the correct dosage of medication.

Dazai takes it without a hint of disgust, handing the cup back to me, then pushes himself up. It's too fast and he wobbles. I reach out but then retract my hands. He's not my charge, he's a grown man. He's fine. And he dislikes being touched.

I can't stand to see him go. Who knew I could be so selfish?

"Dazai, wait."

He halts but doesn't turn. His shoulders are tense. I shouldn't keep him longer.

"Just wait a bit. I will call you a taxi cab once the medication takes effect. Just for an hour, rest . . . please."

He turns so slowly I'm worried he's dizzy again, but he seems perfectly steady when he faces me. Then again, he seemed fine until he collapsed in the tea house.

"Alright. Where would you like me to sit?"

Anywhere.

"Wherever you feel most comfortable."

He nods, clearly uncomfortable again. Guilt makes my chest ache, I should let him go. He's made it this far. I'm sure he can handle himself.

"The sofa will be more than fine."

"Okay," I have to leave, I should. I have no business hovering like we're anything more than colleagues. "I'll be in the kitchen, cleaning, if you need anything at all."

"Don't worry. I won't."

-

I can't make myself stay away. 

So here I sit, mere inches away from Dazai. He fell asleep almost as soon as he sat down, despite his insurance on feeling fine.

His breathing is even, but I can see him shivering against the fever. I leave him for a moment, just to get him a blanket.

When I put it over him he still for a moment, then rolls over, still fully asleep and pulls it tight around himself. The trembling stops, and I breathe a sigh of relief. He'll be alright.

But I won't.

Watching him like this feels wrong, a guilty pleasure. This was never meant for me to see. I feel like a pervert, even though watching him like this brings no sexual pleasure, only a warmth in my chest.

I can only stare as his chest rises and falls. His hair fans out over my pillows making them look like they don't belong here, no, not that. They, and he look like they belong, but under his head, they look like something novel even when I've had them for years.

-

After many hours of fitful tossing and turning, he really stirs. And I've done nothing but watch him this whole time. How much working time have I lost? And why does it not seem to matter at all?

I don't think he meant to sleep so long. It's dark out now, and he'll surely need more medication if he even wishes to attempt a full night's sleep.

I jump up when he twitches, hurrying away, lest he think my intentions are anything other than platonic.

"Kunikida?" He calls out.

"Yes, Dazai," I answer, strolling in like I didn't just bolt from the room. How many times have I lied in the past day?

"Thank you very much for letting me stay, and for the food, both here and at the tea house. You can keep my noodles. I'll catch a cab now." 

He's up, standing on shaky legs before I can stop him.

"What?" The words fall out, clumsy and desperate. I hope he doesn't hear it.

He looks at me, appropriately confused. "Did I leave something, Kunikida-kun?"

My saving grace. The one thing I actually did besides watching him sleep."Your coat, it's in the dryer. There was some blood on the cuff, so I washed it." The perfectly reasonable explanation feels awkward.

"Oh, thank you again." He sounds so grateful it makes me uncomfortable.

"Please, don't thank me. You aren't troubling me. Your coat should be done in just a few minutes." I want him to stay longer, "Would you mind if I checked your bandages until then, I heard you tossing in your sleep." A small lie.

"I'm yours."

We both freeze. 

"I-I'm sorry?" I sound like I'm choking.

His cheeks reddened, embarrassed that I made something out of that, no doubt. Especially when I've probably said similar things in reference to our partnership.

"I simply meant that you are the expert and are free to do what you want, er, need to."

"Ah, yes." 

What do I do now?

Neither of us moves for a moment, like when you get stuck trying to pass someone in a door or corridor and do an awkward little dance. I don't want him to pass me. I don't want him to go.

Then he moves, walking to the counter, and placing his arm on it. I follow him, busying myself with readying the plastic sheeting.

He's in the same position when I come back, but lifts his arm and allows me to put the small section of sheeting under it.

I examine the bandages. I was right. As much as this is to keep him here, they do need changing. The wound is still weeping a lot. 

"I'll need to clean and change it again," I tell him, but I think he may have guessed based on the way he eyes his arm.

The experience is completely different now that he's coherent. But he doesn't fight me on the removal of the bandages, I watch his face, his beautiful face, and on cue, he gives his silent permission.

He doesn't flinch as I unwrap it, eyes scanning the wound analytically. 

He leans in, so close that I would barely have to lean down to kiss him. I'd never, of course, I could never. But the thought is very much there.

"I have seen far worse, usually I was the cause." He explains.

Right, the mafia. 

Here, in this house, I could forget. But, I realise suddenly, that it doesn't matter at all, not when it comes to him.

The process goes so much more quickly this time. I hate that I wish it didn't, but before I know it, my hands are on autopilot, and he's in fresh bandages . . . and ready to go.

Where's he going to go? Surely not the agency dormitories? He doesn't want anyone to know he's injured. Or will he just hole up inside? Or does he have somewhere else? A street corner? I shiver at the thought.

He needs another dosage of medications since it's been so long. He must be in pain, but if he's driving, he should wait to take it until he gets back. I still don't trust him with a whole bottle. But I can send him with enough to get him through the night until tomorrow morning when I see him again. I'd best pick him up and take him here in the morning. Someone might see me and know I lied if I stay too long, and his dormitory isn't exactly sterile. (Maybe he's cleaned it? I've only seen it in glimpses.)

"You should take another dose of medication in about an hour. I'll send you home with a pill, you can pick up another one tomorrow when I change your bandages. It helps with the pain as well. Actually, I should take your temperature before you go. If you're still feverish, I'll drive you."

He nods, then cocks his head. "Come here? I appreciate it, but won't we be at the agency?"

Right, he doesn't know.

I told the President that we'd be out for a couple of days, just because I'd be in charge of caring for the wound since Dazai refused to go to a hospital or Yosano, but maybe that's changed now that he's not feverish.

"I was under the impression that you wanted the injury hidden. You told me you didn't want to go to the hospital or to Yosano, so I told the President that we were out on a case. He won't expect us back." It feels shameful and stupid as I say it now, but I press on. He needs to know. "I was actually wondering where you were going. You can't exactly go to the dorms, and I'd prefer to change your bandages here where I have my supplies . . . Or, of course, I could tell him we finish early if you would rather!"

He's just standing there, frozen. I can't read him.

After a while he says quietly, "You lied to the president?" The words are shocking. Of course, they are, I'm the last person one would expect to do that, I know.

"You seemed highly uncomfortable at the thought of anyone knowing so I . . . I just did."

He looks down. Even without a fever, I can see he still feels that way. "No, no, I won't make you lie further. I'll find a place to stay. An old mafia safe house should do just fine."

"Oh, Dazai, I didn't mean to-"

"You've done so much. I am fine now. I don't need luxury, just a quiet place to sleep." He looks pale.

He's not fine. 

And I'm still not ready for him to leave, not ready to be alone with my thoughts.

He sits like a dutiful patient while I fetch his freshly dry coat. I'm not so deceitful as to wet it again.

He takes it, standing up once again. 

"Let's do this again sometime, eh, Kunikida-kun?" The statement carries just a trace of his previous humour. His eyes are far away, the deep brown irises glassy.

Just as he reaches the door, I remember. I didn't take his temperature! Or give him the pills! I grab his wrist. He whirls around, startled, looking again like a caught animal. I wish he wouldn't, but I have to admit, what I'm doing is quite creepy.

"Wait. I need to make sure your temperature is down before you go. I don't want someone kidnapping you, eh?" The joke, like most of mine, falls flat.

Something sparks in his eyes . . . and then they go cold. 

"Kunikida-san, I understand that you're just doing your job . . . but last I checked it's not your job to stop me from killing myself. Don't pretend to care so much, I am not your poor little charity case!"

Killing- who said anything about suicide? Is he planning to- Now? After he's done all this? Well, now there's no way I can let him go!

It looks like he's also realised his mistake. His eyes are stuck between wide open and narrowed to slits, it's odd. I take advantage of it. 

"Dazai, please. I just wish to help."

He says nothing, to my relief, no sour words about my ideals, or my having a saviour complex. (I don't. I'm just ever so foolishly in love.)

I'm afraid that if I step away to get the thermometer, he'll run, so instead, I step forward, placing my hand under his fringe. The contact sends a spark through me, and it occurs to me that I've never really touched him before, a brush of the hand, maybe, and of course carrying him, but never this. He's still warm. Of course, he is. In my haste, I overlooked something important. 

I learnt very quickly of Dazai Osamu's inhuman metabolism. It's how he processes all the junk food and alcohol so quickly. The medication must have worn off at least an hour ago. Has he been in pain all this time?

Oh, damn me!

"Dazai, I'm so sorry." 

He doesn't look like he's heard me. He sways again . . . and then he's in my arms.

He weighs almost nothing against me, but I can't worry about that now.

"You know, Kunikida-kun?" he mumbles into my chest, "I think I'm still a bit tired from the medication. Maybe I will stay."

"Why did you not tell me?" But the question is more for myself. I know why.

I'm a task-oriented person. I need goals or I'll fall apart, I know this. So I make a list.

Check his temperature. 

Make him eat something (somehow). 

Give medication.

Attempt a cool bath.

Fresh clothes.

Sleep.

He's completely out. I can feel his breathing, slow and shallow.

Taking his temperature is easy, getting him medicated won't be. I ought to try a cool bath first before he can protest. It will help the most before the medication kicks in. I hate to cross his boundaries like that . . . then again, he seemed to give me permission when he agreed to stay.

Fortunately, I don't have to decide. He wakes when I move him, his breathing shifting into quick gasps. I want to tell him he's okay, but what use would that have?

"I'm going to give you a cool bath. You can keep your undershirt and pants on, but I need to get your temperature down, alright?"

He nods.

Thankfully, this bathroom was designed with two people in mind, so there's plenty of room for him on the counter. He mutters something that includes my name and the words "undress me". I think he's trying to be cheeky, but it falls flatter than any of my jokes ever have.

Getting into the bathtub is easy. He weighs much less than he should. I prop him up, but with the way he flops to the side, like a fish, I can't possibly leave him. He'll drown. 

What to do, what to do? I can stay with him a bit, but I need to make more broth so he can take more pills. I'll think about it.

"Hey, you're just going to soak in here for a bit, so your body can cool down. May I wash your hair?" He's sweaty, so I may as well.

He nods, so I do.

The process is like nothing I've ever done. He "hmms" softly and I can feel him slipping into sleep under my touch. I thought that seeing him undressed (or in this case in just his pants) would be hard for me, but it isn't. All I can feel is concern, not pity, I don't see him as below me or anything, he remains my equal and as handsome as ever, but right now he just needs to be taken care of. He is not riddled with scars as I'd thought, but there is one, a large gash along his chest and other various small ones. It's hard to see them, though. In reality, the scars are perfectly visible, but when I look at him I don't see them, just those warm brown eyes. 

The bath is working, and he feels much less hot than before. He's more alert as well. If he just stays in a bit longer he might return to a normal temperature, at least temporarily which would help until I can get medication in him, but I still have to cook . . .

"Okay. Here's a towel, you have to get out now."

He shakes his head, confused as if just having woken up. Did he really go to sleep just like that? He used to complain of insomnia. How ill is he?

"Don't wanna." His tone isn't clownish, but tired, so very tired.

"Dazai, I can't- you're not in a complete state of mind, you could hurt yourself."

"What if you could make sure I didn't?"

What's he got up his sleeves now? I make my scepticism clear on my face. "Perhaps, what do you have in mind?"

"I could sing to you . . . like in that movie with the little girl who's really an adult."

"What?" I'm not even going to ask.

"Like this" He hums a note, then another. I don't recognise the melody, but it's pretty.

"Fine. But If you stop, I will come right back in here, so don't try anything."

"Got it, Kunikida-san."

True to his word, he keeps humming as I start in the kitchen. The song is very nice. I'll have to ask him what it is when he feels better.

-

The broth, a slightly different recipe, to keep things interesting, finishes quickly. All that's left is for it to cool to an edible temperature, and to get Dazai into some clothes.

I'm only 8 centimetres taller than Dazai, so my clothes should fit him well enough. I pull out a pyjama set from the back of my drawer, it was a gag gift from Katai when I went to university, with a little nightcap and all. I leave the cap and take the folded set into the bathroom.

-

He looks so soft in the matching top and bottom that I can do nothing but stare. He sneezes, snapping me out of the trace. Right, his hair is still a bit wet. The last thing he needs is a cold.

He manages to stand, albeit with most of his weight on me, and follows me to the kitchen.

-

"Why are you doing this?" He asks as I set down the spoon. I helped him again. He didn't ask me to, even as a joke, and I wasn't sure he would if I didn't just- so I just did it . . . It would appear that, in some way, somehow I'm in this even deeper than I thought.

What can I say? Oh, I could say so much. What can I say that would be professionally acceptable?

"It's my job." AH, if there was an award for shit answers.

He sighs, "AH, right, duty-bound Kunikida-kun. Poor thing." The words are teasing, but I know him better than that.

-

He makes himself at home in the spare bedroom, out practically as soon as his head hits the pillow. When was the last time he slept in a real bed?

What do I do now? It's not that late, so I can't go to bed, but I can't go back to work, and there's now ay I'd let myself leave. I can't think of anything, so, as always, I stay.

He looks so peaceful, his breathing even, face relaxed. I gave him twice the normal dosage of medication.

Despite his apparent calm I can't help thinking that he should be in my bed. I want to hold him, to keep him warm and safe. I want him to know someone needs him, someone wants him. At first, I wasn't sure this new him even needed that anymore, but his behaviour today . . . I want to wake up and see his smile, a real one. I want to be the reason for it. I want to give him so, so many reasons to smile. And when he can't smile, I want to be there for him.

Looking at him like this, a sudden courage fills me. The courage to put pen to paper. I pull out my notebook and start writing, looking up every so often at Dazai's sleeping face, just to amke sure I phrase this thing I'm feeling right (if there's any way to physically capture it. I'd try even if I knew for sure there wasn't).

When I'm finally pleased, I close the book. It's dark out now. I must have been writing for much longer than I thought. Well, I guess I should get to sleep.

IDEALS [kunikidazai]

(A/N: I've been palying around with ship names for these two and came up with Ideal Human because together these two make one perfectly functioning person. Kind of like how Tachizaki is Midwinter Snow because if their abilities)

SUMMARY:

Dazai Osamu is the farthest possible thing from the ideal woman Kunikida Doppo has written so much about in his notebook.

And yet . . . Kunikida is hoplessly in love with him anyway. Kunikida doesn't belive he has a chance with his coworker, I mean, have you seen the way he flirts with women? Straight as the rulers Kunikida used to use in his maths class.

Dazai meanwhile is also inlove with uptight but still charming coworker. But how can Dazai ever come close to the woman Kunikida has in mind?

Will these two damn idiots figure their shit out or not? God, I hope they do, for all our sanity!

(Summary sponsered by Edogawa Ranpo)

Categories: angst, fluff, getting together

Warnings: N/A

Thank you to @wildroseroguefor inspiring me to write Kunikidazai for the first time. Rose has lots of Kunikida content on her blog, check it out.