#it's something i get frustrated about often

[tangents-within-tangents]

Like fr to everyone talking about headcanons/AUs/"having fun" in the notes: the word you are looking for is REinterpretation. Not to go webster or anything but

-Interpret: explain the meaning of information, words, or actions. (explain, expound, clarify)

-Misinterpret: interpret something or someone wrongly. (misunderstand, misconstrue, mistake)

-Reinterpret: interpret something in a new or different light.

It seems in fandom spaces the word interpretation is often used at times when what they actually mean is reinterpretation (or sometimes just reaction or impression, ex: your opinion of a character is subjective and valid, but that's not the same as an interpretation).

If your "interpretation" is completely divorced from or contradicts the text, it's not an interpretation anymore. It's a reinterpretation. A reimagining. And yeah you can totally have your fun, go off! Just don't act like it IS an interpretation. Because valid interpretations come with supporting evidence, which is the whole point of the og post.

I think this bit from OP's other reblog describes it best:

this is one way it gets messy that fandom is a space for both media analysis and transformative works even though those two things don’t always co-exist comfortably or necessarily serve each other.

This is the crux. Both happen in fandom because both are a form of engaging with a work that you appreciate. But one literally relies upon analyzing what IS presented in the text, and the other upon reinventing and transforming that text (and headcanon sometimes straddles this line in between). So the important thing is recognizing the distinctions and not mixing them up. And it goes both ways:

-“He would never act that way” we know, it’s an intentional recharacterization bc we're exploring something different right now

-“But he's just a poor meow meow” not relevant right now because we're analyzing how the writing actually portrayed him

Textual evidence doesn't matter when we're just having fun and making incorrect quote memes, and headcanons don't matter when we're analyzing thematic content. The distinction helps us to have more productive conversations. And crossing the streams can sometimes take us to harmful or frustrating extremes.

To borrow an example from Rowan Ellis: You relate to a Taylor Swift song and feel seen in your queer identity? That's great, no one can stop you from experiencing the song that way even if Taylor didn't intend it. But if you turn that around and say this is proof that Taylor herself must be secretly queer, or worse that she's somehow queerbaiting? Please stop!

Another example: Someone once pulled the "we're just having fun, you can scroll past" card on me when they were straight up bashing the writing for not going the way they wanted. Please, have your fun, I won't stop you. Write a fix-it au where your blorbo comes back to life. Vive la fanfic! But when you say "the writers should have done [random specific thing] if they wanted me to believe he was truly dead" whilst blatantly misinterpreting the thing the writers did do to confirm it so it can fit into your theories/denial? That's not 'just having fun' anymore, that's flawed/unfair criticism and I'mma push back on it. (I didn't actually, just for the record)

Headcanons by definition are not canon, and I think you'll find most people are totally fine with you having whatever headcanons you want, so long as you don't start claiming that they are canon or that your way is the only way. That's where people have a problem.

But even headcanons that don't contradict canon, that could fit into ambiguous gaps where canon did not confirm or deny the possibility either way, are still headcanons. They aren't presented in the text itself and therefore not useful to analysis and criticism.

And I think this is where the distinction can feel blurry at times. Because some headcanoning is based on evidence from the source material. So some may think it's the same as media analysis, but I'd call it extrapolation rather than interpretation. It uses canon evidence in more of a imaginative/conspiracy theory/inspiration to bounce off type of way. Especially since fanon is often about filling in gaps.

Fanon focuses on the story, and treats it almost as if it and the characters are living. But media analysis relies upon treating it as media. On recognizing it was written by a person who made choices and used literary devices and elements intentionally to convey meaning (even if we can debate on what that meaning is).

Subtext is not just whatever you want to project onto a story. Subtext is an actual literary device. Meaning that is intentionally implied by the author because you shouldn't spell everything out and it's important to let the readers participate. It's what the characters aren't saying but the author is.

Unreliable narrator is also a literary device, that is intentionally crafted and indicated throughout the whole text. It's the author saying something through the character saying the opposite. It's not an excuse to ignore whatever you want to ignore of what the narrator says.

Characters aren't people and they don't actually make any choices. Everything they do, everything they are, was written and crafted by the author.

(In short, when I analyze character arcs or critique writing choices, I'd love for the discussion I get to point out things I may have overlooked or misinterpreted. Not for it to just shove in a bunch of irrelevant headcanons, character personifications, and Watsonian explanations that have nothing to do with my arguments.)

Fanon is very open-world concept (and open multiverse lol), but analysis is about looking at what the author did give you, what they chose to include or not and what it is meant to show us.

Writing is about crafting an iceberg that implies a keel under the water. Therefore analysis is about studying the iceberg to try to interpret that keel. And fanon is about exploring the whole ocean. And transformative work is about idk cutting off chunks and making ice sculptures.

All of them are very cool and fun in their own right but I think we can see how they can definitely clash and get in each other's way.

Not “Only my reading of canon is correct” or “Interpretations are subjective and all valid” but a secret third thing, “More than one interpretation can be valid but there’s a reason your English teacher had you cite quotes and examples in your papers, you have to have a strong argument that your interpretation is actually supported by the text or it is just wrong and I’m fine with telling you it’s wrong, actually.”

[hy6erion]

Hii! I know I just send in an another request but this idea also popped into my mind and I feel like you could write it quite well so I didn't want to send it to someone else.

Viktor×reader, where readers way of expressing their love and care is by taking care of people and trying to help as much as possible to make life easier for everyone they care about (opening doors, making food, helping a friend study, all the small and big things). I think viktor would struggle to accept that reader cares for him and isn't just babying him. Him slowly realising that he can ask for help not only when it's absolutely necessary but also just when he wants help because it would be easier. But then also getting stuck with the feeling of the reader being so caring for everyone. Love confession or something? Idk

Sorry for sending two requests in a row, take your time please.

~🍒

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐞 - 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✰⍣..𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩- 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞.

�� 𝐧𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧, 𝐠𝐧! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭/𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭

𝐢 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 (╥╯^╰╥)

Viktor was used to doing things alone. It wasn’t a matter of pride—at least, not entirely. It was habit. Necessity. He had learned early on that asking for help often led to disappointment, so he learned to manage on his own. He had learned to be independent, to push forward no matter the difficulty, to adjust his grip on his cane and keep moving even when his leg ached and the weight of exhaustion pressed against his skull.

That was why he struggled with you. Because you—without hesitation, without expectation—made his life easier.

It started small, things he could brush off. You holding open doors when you walked ahead of him, waiting just long enough so he wouldn’t have to catch the handle himself. You adjusting his chair in the lab before he sat down, subtle, like you hadn’t even thought about it. You bringing him tea when you got your own, setting it down beside him without a word.

But it wasn’t just him.

You did it for everyone. Helping Jayce reorganize his disaster of a desk when you noticed him getting frustrated. Bringing Claggor coffee when he was pulling an all-nighter. Tutoring some first-years when you saw them struggling with equations you could solve in seconds.

You were thoughtful in a way that seemed effortless, as if your care for others was woven into your very being.

And it unsettled him. Because the more he noticed it, the harder it became to ignore.

He had spent years learning to work through pain, through difficulty, through exhaustion. He only ever asked for help when there was no other option. And yet, with you, help was simply given—before he could even think to ask.

And worse than that, you didn’t just do it because of his leg, or because you pitied him. You did it because you cared.

That realization was the most difficult thing of all.

The lab was quiet save for the occasional scratch of pen on paper and the rhythmic tap of Viktor’s cane against the floor as he moved back and forth between his desk and the chalkboard. He was immersed in his work, half-formed calculations filling the margins of his notebook.

Until—

“Viktor.” Your voice, warm and familiar, pulled him from his thoughts. He looked up just as you placed a plate of food beside him.

He frowned. “I didn’t ask for—”

“I know.” You shrugged. “But you haven’t eaten all day, and I was making something for myself anyway. Figured you’d appreciate not starving.”

Viktor’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” you repeated easily. “But I wanted to.”

That should have been the end of it. You turned to leave, already heading back to your own work, but Viktor’s grip tightened around his pen.

“…You do this for everyone.”

You paused, glancing over your shoulder. “What?”

“This,” he gestured vaguely at the plate, at the general atmosphere of you. “You help everyone. You—” He exhaled sharply, frustration edging his voice. “You don’t have to keep looking after me.”

You blinked, head tilting slightly. “I don’t have to. I want to.”

Viktor shook his head. “You should not waste your time worrying about me. I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can,” you said, more firmly this time. You took a step closer, crossing your arms. “But just because you can do something alone doesn’t mean you have to.”

Viktor opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure how to respond to that. He had spent so long believing he was only allowed help when it was absolutely necessary. When he physically could not continue without it.

But you—you were offering it simply because you cared.

And he didn’t know what to do with that.

It took time.

At first, he tried to resist. If he needed something from a high shelf, he would stretch for it. If his leg ached after hours of standing, he would grit his teeth and bear it. If his hands trembled from exhaustion, he would steady them himself.

But you were there.

Not pushing, not forcing—just there. And it became harder to ignore the fact that things were simply easier when he let you help.

The first time he asked for something—really asked, not because he had no other choice but because he wanted to—it was almost painful.

“Could you… hand me that book?”

You didn’t comment on the hesitation in his voice, didn’t make a big deal of it. You just passed him the book and went back to your work, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

And maybe, for you, it was.

So he tried.

He let you carry an extra cup of tea back to the table when he saw you holding two. He let you adjust the strap of his bag when it had slipped. He let you—just once—walk beside him at his pace without feeling the need to keep up.

And then one day, without thinking, he said, “Could you help me with this equation?”

And you did. No hesitation. No expectation. Just a simple, of course.

And he realized—he liked it.

He liked knowing that there was someone who cared enough to notice when he needed something. He liked the ease of it, the weight lifting from his shoulders.

But then— Then he caught himself watching you help others. Not just him. Everyone.

He told himself it didn’t matter. That it was simply who you were.

But the next time you reached out to help Jayce with something, something hot and tight twisted in his chest.

“Do you—” He hesitated, words feeling foreign in his mouth. “Do you care for everyone the way you care for me?”

You looked at him then, truly looked, as if you were searching for something beneath his carefully neutral expression.

“No.” Your voice was quiet, but certain.

His breath caught.

You took a step closer. “I care about a lot of people. But you—” A small, almost nervous smile played at your lips. “You are different.”

Viktor swallowed. He had spent so long avoiding the truth that it almost knocked the air from his lungs.

You cared for him. Not because you pitied him. Not because you saw him as weak.

But because you wanted to.

Because you loved him.

And suddenly, he was laughing—soft, breathless, incredulous.

Because maybe—just maybe—he loved you too.

[4rticbolt]

Sleepy Stalls |Master-list|

Trafalgar Law x !GN!Reader, Fluff, Crack, soft!law, unironically sweet, head-cannons, reader is a mechanic here, overprotective!law because secretly he cares too much, stubborn reader, comfort.

The Heart-Pirate Captain with an s/o who struggles with sleep...

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1st of all, this is insomniac central. Law cannonly has nightmares, so you could definitely infer he struggles with sleep himself. Most likely kept up by whatever's gearing through his mind.

So he'd be incredibly understanding with you.

Law's the type to put you before himself. So no matter how tired he was he'd always check up on you. Whether you're working in the engine room, eating lunch, or relaxing in your room--he’d quietly seek you out. Your captain was keen, and he’d been observant of your habits.

The surgeon wouldn't be overly concerned--but he would worry. You're his precious crew-mate, and lover, so he's over-protective. Not in an annoying way, but selflessly.

And since Law is a doctor he would have a lot of sleep-aid; from herbal properties to medication--he'd give you anything that you needed or asked for. Even if he ends up as hypocrite in the process. He would act nonchalant and impassive about it, but deep down it wore on him.

So, knowing the masks he upholds, Law would 100% have chill out time with you in his office. His presence soothed your restlessness much like his own, so be prepared to snooze off in each other's arms or space.

If you'd cuddled him or sat close, he'd be out like a light, leaving his head to gently bonk against your shoulder or thigh.

You wouldn't expect him to be the clingy type, but if you're there--he'd prefer you much closer.

He would find comfort in your pulse, especially when you're asleep. As it wasn't often you were. Law would take in your form and put his finger's to your wrist, slowly nodding off as the soft thump..thump, thrummed against the pads of his fingers. His touch would be uncharastically gentle, and unnoticeable, just another calm gesture to his line of attributes.

If you ever had a bad night, he wouldn't push, but he made it clear his presence was there. Silently offering you rant, or seek comfort. Law just wanted you to know he’d always be there for you, no matter the burden you believed yourself to be. If you need a break he’d easily give it to you. If you needed him—he’d take easily take you his room.

Law isn't officially 'cold' or 'uncaring' when comforting you, he's just an awkward dude who isn't the best at it... but he is an amazing listener. He would stick close and let you recline, gently running his hands through your hair.

“Just relax, I got you…”

. . .

However, if you'd ever been stubborn about your sleep, he'd meet your pettiness with his own. He'd scold and lecture, but it was never meant harmfully, he was only frustrated that he couldn't solve your issue faster.

Law would never make you feel bad or ashamed about it, because it's not always your fault. There could be thousands of things wrong, but he wasn't going to let himself be one of them. He wouldn't bullshit you, and it might come off rather blunt, but he just wanted to get straight to the point. He didn't want you getting hurt, not on his watch, or in general.

"____-ya, I don't need my star mechanic running on nothing. Nor' do I need you passing out on my sub. You're tired, and you can't even pull through a shift in Nav. I need yo--If something happens I need you, I'm not losing you because of your recklessness. So just take it easy. Alright? You're on rest for the day, and that's final, don't make me babysit you. I trust you enough that I don't already have to."

Despite his 'harsh' words, they were true. But of course you felt the need to prove yourself...leaving you to fall asleep on the floor as you'd been trying to clean up. Law found you covered in oil and dirt--pathetically snoozing off on the engine room.

His gaze softened, but he was frustrated. Law knew you were doing your best. Trying to prove yourself, even if you didn't need to. Because you already had, to him and the crew, your skills far surpassed their own, and he'd been immensely grateful for you.

Law would carefully pick you up, bringing you to his office as he'd wiped your grime covered hands and face with a warm cloth, taking off your shoes as he'd tucked you into his couch. Watching you with tender eyes as he always did, ending up into another lecture when you'd woke up. But you'd been used to it by now.

Your captain had always been adamant about your health, no matter your argument or overwhelmed nature--you were one of his top priorities. Not in a tasking way, maybe at times--but he was just an awkward idiot showing his care for you.

. . .

Though no matter your difficulty or his own, he'd stick up for you. Your atrocious schedule had been acknowledged by the crew, which initiated light-hearted teasing. They'd seen you variously asleep across the sub, in the most awkward positions and places, along with the bags under your eyes. Everyone knew you'd been trying to do it alone, especially since your room was closest to the engine room--dealing with valve tweaks and motor-issues. You hadn't thought twice about the conversation. It'd simply flown over your head beside your captain's.

Shachi had used his dark humor, joking about putting night-aid in your drink so you'd to finally get some well-earned rest...

The joke seemed a little far-fetched, but it wasn't meant weirdly. It was...in a way of concern, because he knew you were stubborn. And Shachi had wanted you to get proper rest...though it wasn't the smartest thing to say. Especially with your captain in the room.

The comment created laughter, despite the cold angry glint in your lover's eyes. A dangerous feeling was directed towards Shachi, and he paled, hiding behind his greatest weakness. Using you as a shield.

It seemed Law hadn't taken the joke like everyone else, he'd taken it literally.

"Yeah, you go ahead and do that and you'll find a shit ton of laxatives in your coffee." he threatened, pointing his fork at his subordinate.

"Woah--haha, only joking Cap!" He laughed, hitting your back, knocking you forward slightly. "Right ____? All fun here, I'd never," he continued, patting your shoulder.

"Yeah yeah, only jokes..." you said absentmindedly, withholding a mouthful of food.

Law only deadpanned, rolling his eyes at your clueless expression before laying off. This man does NOT play around with you, no matter the joke or tease.

[reignpage]

ok first of all hi reign !! how do u think the jjk men (in the eden u au) are about nudes? like do they send them, or would they only do so if reader asked, and if it’s not greedy enough for me to ask 😖 what kind of stuff would they send?

Gojo:

Bro has an album locked and loaded specifically for goth!reader. He saved his faves from the past and also made new ones where he wears goth inspired costumes with his abs on show and dick waving

Most of them are goofy. Like he does the helicopter thing, he does really cheesy overly pornographic moans and stupid lines because he can’t take himself seriously and he does it more just to be berated by goth!reader

When he is serious however, it’s only when he’s been driven to madness. Usually when reader is punishing him for being annoying by putting him in a sex ban or something

He’ll try to hold out as his own way of rebelling and standing up for himself but eventually, he can’t take it anymore, his knees are literally wobbling

Gojo sends a video and it’s the whiniest, most depraved, desperate, pathetic thing ever and he’s humping the bed whilst smelling a piece of clothing from reader and he’s all like, baby please -ngh- come on I’ve been good! I already said I’m -ha- sorry! Can’t you just sit on my -oh fuck- face? Just for a little bit? I won’t touch myself, I promise! Okay I lied fine, I will touch myself but you don’t even h-have to sit on my face, just show me your pretty face, and your pussy, but mostly your face!

Geto:

Very seductive nudes. He sends videos of him jerking off in low lighting, either at his desk in the office or in the garage, sat on his bike

Very aesthetic, doesn’t really go out of his way to make it so high quality and artistic, it just happens to be

Doesn’t ever send them out of nowhere. Really more for when the mood switches on text or something. He reads the room essentially

He does expect something back in return tho

Choso:

He starts sending after art!reader starts. Art!reader would drop hers randomly, just to tease him and drive him crazy, pushing him further and further until he tries to take revenge by sending a video of him aggressively jerking off, whimpering from the shame and embarrassment

Finds it generally uncomfortable to take nudes and send. And when art!reader encourages him, he’s not really sure how to do them, so they come off in weird angles, lighting, and poses

Has to ask his friends and cousin and they all give him terrible advice about how you just take a pic of your peen and let the ladies drool over it

He’s thinking, that doesn’t sound right

Will just ask art!reader how she likes it

Toji:

Boy is a nude EXPERT a connoisseur if you please

Man also has them locked and loaded. He’s taken them everywhere Jesus Christ. There isn’t a place on campus (and in adulthood) where he hasn’t taken them. If there’s enough privacy, he’s rubbing himself and fishing out his dick to snap a pic

But when he really wants to tease, really wants to get her wet and on edge, then he does pics that aren’t nudes, not really because they leave so much to the imagination

It’ll be shirtless pics of him in the gym, sweaty and shiny, and in his shorts is an unmissable hardness. He also sends videos but it’s in complete darkness, and all you can hear is his low breaths, groaning and a movement somewhere, the sound of rubbing, with just a little bit of wetness…and then reader’s name groaned just barely audible

Oh yeah, he’s an expert alright

Nanami:

Only starts sending after reader. He was very concerned with privacy and all of that. He even warned her not to send anything, especially not with her face in the picture/video. Eventually though, with just how many she sends, and often, he becomes frustrated and sends her one to silence her

It’s clumsy, blurry, terrible angle and lighting

But that’s what makes it so hot

He never sends out of nowhere, only when reader asks him to. And she always has specific requests like oh can you moan my name Ken? can you do it with my panties? ooh tell me some physics fact? narrate a chapter of that book you’re reading as you jerk off please please please

And he does as she asks

Every.

Time.

Sukuna:

Doesn’t send them. Neither does reader tbh. They both much prefer the real thing over nudes. Generally speaking, neither of them have much of a sexual appetite outside of each other, so it just doesn’t really happen

But if Sukuna did send nudes, they’d be very aggressive videos where he’s fucking his hand, imagining it’s her face, and he’s telling her, see what you did to me? you just gotta be fucking difficult, don’t you? this is what’s gonna happen to that pretty face when I get my hands on you

It’d be so scary highkey but reader would only smile to herself and think, what a piece of shit waste of space monster of a person, ugh he’s adorable

[astercontrol]

omg I have some complicated feelings about this.

so there's one comment in the notes about how "lazy" employees would refuse to send an email for customer convenience even though it would take "just 2 seconds" to send. Which... yeah, valid complaint

but it's more than just "laziness" on the part of employees (although there definitely are a lot of employees who have lost all empathy for what customers and patients are actually going through, and that's its own whole problem, and it's frustrating as hell for those employees who still do care).

It's also a systemic "laziness" on the part of corporations: a refusal to put certain things in their own employees' job descriptions and to allot enough staffing to do those things.

yes, at my pharmacy job it could take 2 seconds to send an email, IF there was an established template for emails and an easily accessible button to select, customize and send it for the patient who currently needs it. But if it isn't so seamlessly integrated into our job, it will require composing the email from scratch on our own.

Which still isn't a LOT of time and work… but, suppose it takes 1 minute. Then multiply by, say, 30 customers who need it done per day per employee (in a busy pharmacy day shift). That's 30 extra minutes of work for the employee who gets those 30 calls. Who, in many cases, is already assigned more work than physically possible to complete in a day, even skipping all breaks, and will be penalized for taking any overtime. If this extra email-sending is not explicitly a required part of the employee's job description, an already overworked employee is not likely to try and make time to do it.

Now, I'm the kind of employee who still does this sort of thing for patients who ask. And I did this even at my worst and most overworked jobs. Where it was thankless work, each individual case more likely to get me yelled at than praised by management (although, once I'd established it as an expectation customers had, I'd then also get yelled at for not doing it, by both customers and management, once the managers got the customer complaints). No-win situation for everyone.

Another source of frustration for the busier pharmacies I've worked in: The responsibility of calling for prescription transfers. Everyplace I've worked has had basically the same rule: If a patient wants to get a med transferred from one pharmacy to another, calling for it is the responsibility of the pharmacy that is to receive the prescription.

I think the reason is partly corporate self-interest ("no pharmacy takes on the extra work of making calls to give away their own customers to another pharmacy. The pharmacy getting the new business has to work for it.") But it's also probably an issue of responsibility for error-- if I call another pharmacy to transfer out a prescription because a patient told me to, I'm at fault if I've been given the wrong contact information and end up transferring it to the wrong pharmacy.

Or, if the patient hasn't even looked into whether the other pharmacy even CAN fill this prescription, they just think it'd be more convenient-- then, if I call the other pharmacy to transfer, they are likely to assume I know what I'm doing (especially if I get an entry-level, barely trained employee, as is often the case). They'll accept my word that they should be able to fill it. And then, if it ends up being something they don't sell, or an insurance they don't accept, THEN we've got the prescription stuck at a pharmacy that can't do anything with it, and it'll be another whole mess to get it back, and then it's my fault for not just leaving the work to the pharmacy that's invested in getting the new Rx.

In practice, though, the way it's done is ALSO an absolute mess.

At my busier former workplaces, it would go like this:

I pick up the phone. It's one of our current patients, calling to say they need their prescription transferred to another pharmacy. I tell them that they will have to call the other pharmacy to call us. They fight back, pointing out that this is extra work for everyone (because at that point, me calling the other pharmacy would be just one more call, whereas them calling the other pharmacy and having them call me would be two more calls.) I agree but reiterate that it's our policy. The patient hangs up. Then later-- assuming that those two calls out of my control actually went through-- our pharmacy will hear from the other one, and we'll start the transfer process.

BUT I'd better have made sure I added a clear note on the patient's profile about their earlier call, AND that my coworkers actually bother to look at the profile notes. Because, turns out that call wasn't just wasted time on the patient's part-- even though the patient may now think it was.

Because, if we don't have any record of the patient's earlier call, then whichever of my coworkers received the new call is now just getting a random out-of-nowhere call from another pharmacy asking us to give them one of our customers! And there've been issues with pharmacies that have done that without even having the patient's permission. SO we've got to call back again to confirm with the patient that they actually want this. It's the most excruciating game of phone tag and everyone involved totally hates it.

And this is before I even get into the subject of calls that involve doctors' offices or fucking insurance companies.

Which… no, I'm not going to get into that now. (crashes in exhaustion)

I think this is just a trend everywhere but I've been very frustrated this week by how much admin work is being outsourced to me as the patient/customer.

My orthodontist tells me I can make an appointment with the surgeon. I call the surgeon. They tell me I need a new referral. I call the orthodontist. They do a referral. I call the surgeon. Referral didn't come through. They tell me about their special unique system we have to use. I call the ortho again and walk them through the referral. I call the surgeon. They say the referral was missing some details so they have to do it again. I call the ortho.

The insurance company calls me about repair shops. I give them the name of the repair shop which I already gave them yesterday. They say they're not in their system but I can use them, but I have to call the repair shop to ask them to contact the insurance company. I call the repair shop and they say the insurance company is supposed to email them.

I feel like at a certain point these constant fetch quests become unreasonable?? Is it too much to expect these groups to communicate with each other instead of making me run back and forth between them???

[globaloppaaa]

how do we feel about boynextdoor having cuteness aggression :ppp

oh i KNOW they’re hiding it fr. thank you so much for requesting! i love little chats with my anons :))

warnings: none i believe!

leehan really does try to keep it undercover, and i think he does the best job at it? he can be really calm in most public situations, but when you two are alone? ohhh that’s a whole different challenge, because now he has you all to himself. he’ll slowly start to break, giving you quick, snarky remarks so that hopefully you won’t notice the blush creeping up on his face. but if you place his face in your palms and straight up ask him what’s wrong, he’s a stuttering mess.

“you’re always puffing your cheeks like that y/n, do you only get like this for me?”

(he’s silently combusting inside.)

jaehyun is not your strongest soldier. anywhere and anytime he is with you he just erupts into this fit of coo’s and pouts. he really can’t control it. try walking past him and watch the way his eyes widen as they linger on you, then his fingers start to tremor, then he’s pursing his lips trying to keep in how cute you look wearing his clothes… before you can even ask why his head looks like it’s about to explode, there he goes!

“oh my god look at you. how could you do this to me??”

“im wearing your shirt? didnt you ask me to-”

“i can’t take it anymore!”

sungho is another one who tries veryyy hard to keep his cool. he’s actually super sensitive about his and your feelings, which makes him attentive to your every move, but he feels so embarrassed ogling at you 24/7, so he mainly tries to find any kind of distraction to keep himself off of you. It’s hardest for him to keep it in when he hasn’t seen you in a while though, he’ll do his best but trust his hugs will be tighter and his kisses just a bit more feverish.

he scoops you into his arms, entangling you in such a strong embrace that you find it hard to exhale when he finally lets you go.

“sungie did you miss me that much?”

“you have no idea.”

taesan is gonna try to be soo nonchalant about it, but his inner romantic is screaming and clawing at his skin. forget him maintaining his dignity during any kind of conflict with you. the way your eyebrows furrow, and how you pout your lip for only him to see, oh and if you put your hands on your hips? hes a goner. can’t even remember what the initial argument was for because now he’s enamored. absolutely has to squish your cheek or squeeze you physically to get the frustration out.

“baby, you can’t keep doing this to me.”

“doing what?”

“there you go again, i said stop it!”

riwoo is like, totally natural about it? i feel like cute things are just a regular part of his daily life, and he’s always appreciated those softer, cuter moments with you. rather than getting aggressive he just basks in the cuteness with you. is NOT afraid to tell you you’re cute, because how could he try to lie? when riwoo sees something cute he just HAS to have it. though he does say it so often that you have to question what exactly is so cute to him, do you ever get an answer? nope.

“aww look at you!”

“riwoo baby you’re doing it again.”

“i can’t help it, look at you!”

woonhak is like, the worst person to keep collected about this. he gets overly expressive and dramatic when he’s talking to anyone, so when he’s talking to you up close and your big doe eyes have his full attention, it’s 10x worse. as soon as the rage hits he’s already making a fool of himself. He’s fighting it so hard in hopes it’ll help the agression subside, but he doesn’t realize he’s practically yelling over his own thoughts and laughing ridiculously to try and cover the thumps of his heartbeat.

“woonhak is everything ok?”

“YEAH YEAH ITS SO GOOD, YOU JUST LOOK SO GREAT TODAY. IS IT HOT IN HERE OR IS IT JUST ME-“

[azsazz]

Over Ice (Part 9)

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: She’s walking around Campus and BOOM right smack dab into Broody McBrooder!! She THEN finds out he’s the tutor for one of her hardest courses (personally Psych would be a good one) and they become super duper close with him and the team!!!

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 3178

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8)

Notes: ughhhh. i don't like this part. fml

_________________________________________

Annoyance courses through your veins when Rhys’ phone buzzes against the tabletop again. The devilish device has been blowing up with messages since before your tutoring session had even begun, as soon as Rhys walked into the room with a mumbled greeting, fully immersed in the device.

Each vibration has slowly chipped away at your feeble concentration. You quickly lost focus on studying, and you’ve had to re-read the same paragraph three times over, restarting every single time he received a new message. Not a single fact has clicked in your head, and the urge to collapse in defeat is all too tempting right now.

Rhysand is in no way phased by your unpleasant aura and blatant glares. His laptop is open, eyes glued to the screen as his fingertips fly across the keyboard. He has a paper due at nine in the morning, and although he’s known about it since the end of last week, between tutoring you, the Halloween party, hockey practices, and games, he’s up to his ears busy.

But he wanted to see you.

He’d spent all week thinking about you. During practice, he’d found himself glancing up into the bleachers, looking for you, hoping he’d catch a peek of you in that sinfully butchered jersey of his. That reminds him, he needs to get you a new one because you’re more than distracting in that scrap of fabric.

He’d searched for you the same way at the away game the Bat’s had this week, even though he knew you weren’t in the building at all, weren’t even in the same city.

And psychology is fucking ruined for him. He thinks about you the most when he’s sitting in class, staring at the lecture slides he should be copying down. It’s a good thing that the information comes so easily to him, otherwise he’s pretty sure he’d be fucked with the amount of time spent daydreaming about how your lips felt on his, soft, shy, intimate.

“You know, if I’m keeping you from something,” you finally say, snapping Rhys from his paper. It’s hard to keep the annoyance out of your tone but the surprise on his face, the way his brows knit together in confusion has a pang of guilt stabbing you in the chest. Clutching your pen in your grasp only helps a little. “We don’t have to do this tonight.”

You refrain from admitting that you really do need his help tonight due to the quiz you have coming up later this week. It’s the only night he’s available to tutor you, with his hectic schedule. Right now, his presence is more distracting than it is helpful, and from where you sit across the table, you can tell that he’s stressed.

It’s in the way that he runs his fingers through his jet-black hair, tugging on the roots when whatever he’s typed doesn’t make sense. You know this is his tell because it’s followed by the prominent clicks of the backspace key for each letter he removes. Clack. Clack. Clack.

You can fully see the exhaustion written on his face, the circles beneath his violet eyes, and how every so often you’ve caught him rubbing his fists into his eyes. The bruise on his jaw looks better than it had the last time you saw him, splotches of yellow-green dust the area instead of the deep purple coloring it was when the injury was fresh.

He must see your frustration on your face because his shoulders drop in shame.

“What? No, I’m here,” he insists, shoving his computer away from him. Yeah, maybe a break is what he needs. Shame crawls up his throat. He’s supposed to be your tutor, and he’s been so caught up in his own work that he forgot that he’s supposed to be helping you.

Rhys frowns when his phone jolts against the desk again. You take a calming breath, closing your eyes, but they still prickle with frustration. You’re just as frazzled as he is. If you don’t pass this quiz, you’re not sure there’s hope of salvaging your grade.

You’re arguably just as exhausted as Rhys. Your other classes are also on the verge of kicking your ass, and you can only blame it on the fact that you actually have a semblance of a social life this year and aren’t holed up in your dorm room 24/7 outside of your classes, studying your ass off. No, you’re hanging out with your roommates more, meeting new people, going to hockey games and parties, both of which are things you never thought you’d be into.

And trying to keep up this façade as Rhysand’s fake girlfriend isn’t easy. Amarantha seems like she’s everywhere. You can barely count the number of times last week Rhys messaged you about her. You meet up with him when you’re close and able, in the commons, the food halls, you even met him between the stacks of bookshelves in the library while she pretended to peruse the non-fictions, but you can’t be everywhere at once. It’s a lot. Just last night, Amarantha was at the hockey house when Rhys arrived home. She had sunken her blood-red claws into one of the freshmen who’d been invited over for a few beers with a small group of players. Azriel had warned him of the devil under their roof, and Rhys had showed up at your dorm with a sheepish smile and a box of cookies from the convenience store he passed on the way over.

If he didn’t have those sweets in hand—and if your roommates hadn’t gone to a movie that you wanted to see but couldn’t because of the amount of studying you had to do—you would have slammed the door in his face.

You spent the night studying alright, but it wasn’t the words in your psych textbook. You couldn’t help but examine Rhysand, who sat across from you on your couch, the way that his hair fell from his brow when his chin tilted down to his own work. The way that he held the chocolate chip cookie in his mouth between his teeth as he wrote in his notebook. The zip of excitement you felt when your fingers brushed against his rough ones in the cookie box.

Your cheeks warm at the memory. You swear you can still feel his touch, the sheepish smile he gave you when he pulled his hand away, letting you pick whichever cookie you preferred. You wanted to lean over and taste that soft smile against your lips. You managed to find the restraint, offering him a gentle smile in return before stuffing a bite of the chocolatey goodness in your mouth as you ripped your gaze from his.

“No, really,” you try to insist politely. “If you need to go, you should. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.” It’s difficult to hide your cringe. You really do need his help.

Rhysand stares. He doesn’t know what he’s done wrong, and when he opens his mouth to ask what has you so on edge tonight, his phone pings with another message, and realization sets in like a boulder in the pit of his stomach at the way your gaze drops back to your book.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, snagging his phone from the table. It’s Cassian, again. His roommate won’t let the fuck up in the group chat, demanding mandatory attendance from every single member on the team at the party he’s hosting at the hockey house the night before team plays the Springview Wolves.

Rhys would be worried about the potential jinxing Cassian’s text puts into the universe if he didn’t know that this is the one superstition his defenseman has. The past two years, the entire hockey team had attended one of Cassian’s pre-celebration parties. It was the last party before their meet with the Wolves, who they’d then slaughtered in a 6-2 game. The following year, they’d beat them in nail-biting overtime with a snapshot that could’ve broken the plexiglass had Azriel missed. Safe to say that this party has become as much as a tradition as it is a superstition, and Rhysand needs to be there.

But right now, he needs to be here, focusing on you and the psych class you’re bombing.

“Look, if you’re too busy to tutor me I’d rather you tell me now so that I might have a chance at finding a new tutor before this quiz.” It’s difficult to mask the disheartened etch to your voice. Who are you kidding? There’s no way you’ll be able to find a tutor when the quiz is two days away.

Yep, you’re officially screwed.

“I’m not,” Rhys protests, shaking his head. Something about the idea of another person tutoring you has annoyance flaring in his veins. He silences his phone, something he should have done as soon as he walked over the threshold of the study room. “It’s just Cassian, anyway.” Rhys slides his chair around the corner of his table so close that your knees knock into each other. The touch sends a shockwave up your thigh and you try not to recoil at the surprising feeling. “Sorry. I’m done texting. Remind me what you’re working through, and I can help with any questions you have.”

You’re apprehensive to let this tutoring continue. It’s become very clear that Rhys has other priorities. He’s the captain of the hockey team for fuck’s sake; he probably has more on his plate than you think he does.

At your hesitation, he questions, “What?”

You shrug, feeling completely defeated. All you want right now is to crawl home with your tail between your legs and curl into a ball in your bed. You’ve pretty much accepted that you’re going to fail this class, tutor or not. There’s no way you’re going to admit any of this to Mor’s cousin right now, so you deflect, lamely. “I don’t know Cassian that well, but he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy that likes to be ignored.”

Rhys rolls his eyes, and your breath hitches as the corners of his mouth twitch in amusement. Sadly, a grin doesn’t break through, but it lights a fire under your ass. You want to see that smile, and you’ll do just about anything to make it happen.

It’s sad, almost, how much effort you’d put into earning that grin, but not apply that same energy toward studying.

“He’s going through our roster in the group chat, calling every single person out by name to make sure their schedules are cleared for the party we’re throwing this weekend.”

You catch yourself before your eyes roll into the back of your head in what might possibly be the most dramatic, epic eyeroll ever.

“Wow,” you feign an amused laugh. “That sounds dramatic.”

“That’s Cass for you,” Rhys says, amused. He crosses his arms and places them on the table. It takes effort not to watch the way his muscles pop beneath his t-shirt as he leans in closer. You’re only a foot away from each other. If you wanted to recreate the kiss you shared on Halloween, all you’d have to do is angle forward, tilt your head, and his lips would be on yours. You wonder for a fleeting moment if Rhys was as thrown over the kiss that night as you were. If he still thinks about it, can still feel the phantom sensation of your lips pressed together.

You remember that you shouldn’t be thinking about the kiss at all, and you sit back in your chair.

“You know,” Rhys starts, and you don’t like the telltale signs of a scheme that lines his tone. You almost groan out loud but settle on shooting him a warning look. “Since you’re my girlfriend—”

“Fake girlfriend,” you correct instantly.

Rhys rolls his eyes and tips back onto the back legs of his chair. “Fine. Fake girlfriend,” he mimics and you toss your pencil at him. He catches it against his chest and the smile you’ve been waiting to see finally cracks his face. Fuck, he’s gorgeous when he does that. You’re even gifted those pearly white, straight teeth of his. You’d keel over in your chair like one of his many conquests if it wouldn’t give him an ego. You almost miss the end of Rhys request with how entranced you are. “You should probably make an appearance at the party.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. Realization strikes you like a fist. Rhys all but preens in his seat. You blink as his words settle, frows knitting together. “Wait, no, I can’t.” His face immediately falls. Rhys’ face scrunches adorably and you’d really like to reach out and smooth the crease between his brows right now.

There are more than a handful of reasons that you should not show your face at the hockey house party, the most prominent being that you’re his cousin’s best. She doesn’t want you anywhere near him, and you can’t break that promise even more than you already have.

Well, I won’t tell anyone if you won’t. His words echo in your head and you shove them away as quickly as they arrive.

The second reason you shouldn’t be going to his party is that you’re barely even friends, you’ve somehow been sucked into a mess of a situation, pretending to be his girlfriend in exchange for tutoring. Tutoring that right now isn’t helping improve your grade at all.

“Why not?” He challenges. “What if Amarantha shows up?”

“Because I have other plans,” you answer plainly. You don’t need to give him a reason. You press, “I can’t be your buffer between Amarantha forever, Rhys. You’re a big boy; you can fight your own battles.”

He looks awfully like he doesn’t want to fight his own battles, with his lips pressed into a pout. If you thought that he was distracting before, this is an entirely new level of diversion. A much better kind, to be honest.

“You’re seriously not coming to the party?”

“No,” you respond, packing up your things.

“But what if she corners me and tries to kiss me or give me a hand job or something?” He asks.

Your eyes almost bug out of your head. “Then you tell her no, Rhys,” you state. “It’s really that simple. And don’t guys enjoy hand jobs? When was the last time—” He opens his mouth and you shake your head. “No, nope, I don’t even want to know.” You glare until he shuts his mouth, but the amusement lingers in his eyes.

He huffs. “Those nails are sharp,” is all he offers.

You wince. Amarantha does keep her nails long and pointed at the tips, crimson red, like blood. You almost look down to admire your own hands but catch yourself at the last second. You do not need to be thinking about how your fingers might look like wrapped around Rhys’ eight inches.

Your cheeks burn and Rhysand raises a brow in question.

He must read the plea on your face because he thankfully changes the subject. “What could you possibly have going on that’s better than free booze, good music, and seeing yours truly?”

“Wow, Rhys,” you scoff. “Your ego is unbearably suffocating tonight. Did you get your dick sucked recently?” You ask sweetly, then busy yourself by turning to a fresh page in your notebook.

His answering grin is fucking smug.

The muscle of your jaw twitches with how tightly you clamp it shut.

“Hoping it happens at the party,” he answers, suggestively.

You fake gag. “No way.”

“Didn’t say it was going to be from you,” he teases. “But if you want to, you’ll know exactly where I’ll be.”

Gods, this boy and his fucking filthy mind. You certainly haven’t forgotten that he’s your best friend’s cousin, but the fact that you’re his cousin’s best friend has either slipped his mind, or he doesn’t care.

Either way, this isn’t a good situation to be in.

You divert, pulling your focus back to the books splayed out on the desk. Studying. Right, that’s what you need to be doing instead of whatever…this is.

“I told you; I can’t go.” You try and reach for your pen that’s in Rhys’ grasp but he pulls it out of reach, ignoring the glare you send his way. Fine. You search your backpack for a backup but come up empty. Ugh.

“Can’t, or won’t?” He shoots back.

“Both,” you sigh, checking the time on your phone. It’s well past nine o’clock in the evening, and you really thought that you’d be back at the dorms already, curled up on your bed with your laptop overheating on the sheets as it played a movie. “Can we get back to studying?”

“In a second,” Rhys assures. Why does he want you to come to the party so badly? Besides the obvious. Amarantha surely can’t be that much trouble. She is a little bit of a nightmare and you could see how Rhys wants her to take the hint that he’s moved on, but if he’s that worried about her in the first place, why doesn’t he tell her that she’s uninvited? Or make the hockey team aware that she’s not allowed in the party? Why is flaunting you around the only answer? “What if I said please?”

“That wouldn’t magically cancel my plans.”

“What plans?” You frown. You wonder why he’s pushing this so hard.

Studying for this quiz is going to be impossible. You and Rhys might as well pack up and vacate the room so that people who are actually trying to study can use it. You’re almost positive that the group lingering by an overcrowded area of the library keep shooting you scathing looks every time you open your mouth.

“Gwyn is turning twenty-one and since Mor and I don’t turn twenty-one until next year, we’re planning on ordering in and getting a little tipsy at the dorms.” Rhys gives you that seriously? look that makes you glare. “Not that I care about your opinion, like, at all, but is there something wrong with that?”

“Only the fact that you’re ditching a party whose halls aren’t patrolled by snitches?” He explains, and he would think that the resident assistants live for getting college kids in trouble. “It’s the dorms! How freshman of you.”

“Whatever, Rhys. Some people don’t want to drink until they can’t see straight in front of a bunch of strangers.”

“I’d be your eyes for you,” he winks, as if what he said was comparable to a knight in shining armor defending a princess.

“Good,” you retort. “Because I’m about three seconds away from gouging them out if you keep hassling me about this. Come on, I really need to study.”

Luckily, Rhys relents. His shoulders fall and the feet of his chair meet earth again.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” he says, and cranes his neck to see what you’re reading about. “Let’s get you nice and ready for your quiz.”

_________________________________________

Over Ice Taglist:

@saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofbatboydreams @mrsjna @velarisdusk @bionic-donut @tenshis-cake @eleganttravelercloud @lilah-asteria @serena05 @bwormie @soph1644 @house-husband-of-castlemurdock @tothestarsandwhateverend @topaz125 @judig92 @se7enteen--black-blog @thecraziestcrayon @cherry-cin @itsinherited @justafictionalnerd @bookishbroadwaybish @405rry @w0nderw0manly @bbykaixx @marina468 @taechvita @marigold-morelli @esahintzkanen @miakxn @ssmay123 @webvics

[stxrsniolo]

ㅤִㅤㅤ ݁ ꉂ a little light in the darkness ᴖ ֽ ㅤᷭ

ㅤ﹙ 𝟑𝟑𝟑 ﹚ㅤּㅤㅤ˻ㅤaegan is typingㅤ˺⠀⠀gather round, for what you're about to read is as soft as a feather's touch: it's fluff, my lovelies, where hearts swell and smiles are sure to bloom. enjoy the warmth.

notes: i knew some of my babies here were having a rough few days and the stress, sadness, anxiety and frustration can feel overwhelming, so i made this for y'all. remember that i love you all so much.

the bond between y/n and the triplets was something special, a friendship that had woven itself deeply into the fabric of their lives, already feeling like more than friends; they were family by choice, each bringing something unique to the group. but lately, y/n had been a bit like a dimming lightbulb, her usual glow replaced by a shadow of sadness.

she'd been more about her thoughts than her usual chatter, her days spent writing, often being too hard on herself, and the triplets couldn't help but notice the quiet where her laughter used to echo, and they knew it was time for a rescue mission. back at their place, the air was thick with concern. "i miss y/n's giggle," chris pouted, his usual grin dimmed. "she's definitely in her feels," nick said, his voice soft, his eyes showing his worry. matt, always the empathetic one, suggested, "how about we go cheer her up? make today all about her?"

the idea was met with enthusiastic nods; they decided to hit the shops first, aiming to collect all the things that could possibly sprinkle some joy back into y/n's life. in the car, the energy was like a mini-party. "last time we did this, we ended up with more toys for ourselves than for y/n," chris laughed, navigating through traffic. "yeah, but this time, operation cheer-up is serious," nick declared, tapping away at his phone for ideas. "we're getting her the good stuff."

from the back, matt added, "don't forget those gummy bears, they're her happy button." at the store, they split up like a well-oiled machine: chris, the snack master, dove into the aisles with enthusiasm. "look at these! they've got mango and chili gummies!" he announced, his eyes wide with excitement. nick, the artist of the group, found the perfect set of pens and a sketchbook. "this'll give her something new to pour her heart into," he mused, adding them to their haul. he then grabbed a tiny rainbow flag pin. "for a little extra color and love." matt, the thoughtful one, picked out a small cat plushie, knowing it would wrap y/n in comfort. "this might just make her day," he said with a small smile. the drive to y/n's was like a rolling comedy show, with chris dj-ing, filling the car with feel-good tunes that had them all singing at the top of their lungs. "y/n's gonna flip for this," chris said, bopping to the beat. "but we gotta be sensitive," nick reminded, his voice a balance to their fun. "she might need some quiet time." matt nodded. "we'll go with the flow; if she needs calm, we'll be calm."

when they arrived, y/n answered the door looking like she hadn't laughed in days, but her eyes lit up like christmas lights at the sight of her friends and their bags of cheer. "what's all this?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper but filled with gratitude. "operation cheer up y/n, at your service!" chris declared, dumping snacks on her table like he was revealing treasure. nick handed her the sketchbook with a flourish. "for all your creative vibes," he said, his eyes sparkling with affection. matt, with his gentle touch, took her hand. "we missed you, y/n, so we're here to remind you that you're not alone." they made her living room into a little party zone, with snacks, laughter, and stories. chris did his best impersonation of a dance move he'd seen online, making y/n laugh so hard she snorted. nick shared tales from his adventures at pride events, his stories like little sparks of joy. and matt, just being there, his presence like a warm hug as he played with her hair softly. as the night went on, they shared more than just laughs; they shared hearts.

y/n opened up, and they listened, each brother offering his unique brand of comfort - nick with his supportive stance, chris with his boundless optimism, and matt with his comforting ability of understanding people. "i'm sorry for being a bit of a ghost lately," she said, her voice catching. "no sorries needed, y/n. we're here because we love ya," matt reassured her, his words like a balm.

🐦‍⬛ ㅤּㅤㅤ˻ㅤ whisper ㅤ˺ᅟ⠀ i appreciate the love shown through reposts, but let me be clear: my tales are not to be copied or adapted without a whisper to me first. my words are my treasure, and i guard them jealously.

my murder of crows: @courta13 @chrislilcumslvt @marrykisskilled @chrislova @sturnshood @inspiredangel @strnilolover @emely9274 @sturns-mermaid @blushsturns

in case that you desire to be tagged in future works, here's the taglist...

[lovesickchoi]

PROMPTS -

“i have sex with you alot in my head.”

“don’t go on that date”

PAIRING - soobin x reader

GENRE - smut

WARNINGS - friends to lovers, riding, lowkey switch!reader and switch!soobin

WC - 1.2k

the passive aggression in soobin’s voice when you told him you had a date tonight was unmistakable.

“maybe this one won’t be a total failure,” he spoke, not giving you so much as a glance up from his phone.

your head craned to look at him next to you on the couch, his own eyes still trained on whatever he was doing on his phone. he wouldn’t dare look up at you, for he knew your ears must’ve been red with anger. but soobin didn’t care—at least he didn’t want you to think he did.

“what the hell is that supposed to mean?” no answer. “hello? earth to soobin?”

throwing his phone onto the coffee table, he slowly turns his body to face you like it was the most difficult task in the world. “what do you want me to say?” he says, shrugging with his hands.

“you act like this every time i tell you i’m going on a date. can’t you maybe, i don’t know, be a supportive roommate for once?”

soobin rolled his eyes at your words. it certainly wasn’t the first time you two have had this conversation. “don’t even start. i’m always supportive of you. all i’m trying to say is that you keep going on dates with shitty guys and they never turn out successful. why can’t you just focus on yourself for a while instead of always having to see someone?”

“you say that as if you don’t hook up with strangers every chance you get,” you spit back at him, furious with what he was saying.

“i know that! but at least i’m self aware.” soobin hated the way your eyes noticeably filled with tears when he spoke.

the truth was soobin did care. in fact, he cared so much that his feelings for you would often times blur the lines between best friends and something more. you were right about his abundant hookups—which you had to endure as soobin’s roommate—but what you didn’t know was that they were a mere distraction from the fact that you were always dating people who weren’t him. soobin longed for the day he could finally be the one taking you out.

soobin knew he must’ve struck a cord the way you wouldn’t meet his eyes anymore, choosing not to fight back. he hated himself for it. he hated the way he took his frustration out on you. it wasn’t your fault, he knew that, and yet he let to start walking away from him.

wiping a tear aggressively from your eye before it could drip down your cheek. you stood up and brushed your pants off, doing your best to keep your cool. “well if you’re done telling me how to live my life since you’re such a saint,” silence ensued. not a word from soobin. “i have to go get ready.”

you eventually vanished into your room, hesitating at the door frame momentarily. maybe a part of you had hoped soobin would have more to say deep down. but your shoulders dropped in disappointment seeing he hadn’t left his position from the living room.

this wasn’t even the first time you and soobin had it out like this. different dates and hookups coming in and out of you and soobin’s rather small shared space made it hard to keep your personal lives private. you’d begun to think it had become a competition of some sorts.

the two of you always too busy playing roommate with one another, you both ignored the obvious sentiment beneath your frustrations. it was truly agonizing for you both, yet somehow you’d convinced yourselves it was easier this way.

and so, with every last ounce of hope drained from you, you finished throwing yourself together for your date. perfect mini skirt and blouse, perfect makeup, perfect hair. everything perfect except the frown that stared back at you in the mirror.

you were praying that soobin had been hiding away in his room as you made your way through the apartment. grabbing your coat, your purse, and your keys, you believed you were in the clear opening the front door.

that was until an out of breath soobin seemingly out of nowhere slammed the door shut. his hand rested against the door above your head as he towered over you, chest heaving from his sudden movement. “don’t go on that date.”

you look up at him in disarray. “soobin i’m not having this conversation with you again.”

“no, you don’t understand. i dont want you to go on that date.” he looked more serious than he’d been before.

you crossed your arms over your chest. “and why shouldn’t i?”

soobin opted not to give you a verbal answer. instead, he hooked an arm around your waist, spinning you so your back was now flush against the door. his other hand protecting your head as his bent down to kiss you.

and he really kissed you. like this would be his one and only opportunity to do so. soobin’s eyebrows scrunched with emotion, savoring the feeling of your soft lips on his despite you not having kissed him back.

you didn’t believe this was actually happening. it felt like something out of a movie. and after so many terrible dates and relationships, you were starting to believe something so good wasn’t meant for you.

but feeling soobin beginning to second guess himself and pull away brought you too your senses. hell—this was everything you wanted and more.

feverishly, you dropped your purse and coat off your shoulders. reaching up to grab soobin’s face in both your hands, your forced his lips to stay on yours.

you could feel soobin relax against you, smiling into the kiss. in one quick movement his hands were underneath your thighs and lifting your legs around his waist. you finally allowed your lips to part, tongue meshing so needily with his. you wanted this just as bad as he did.

you wanted nothing more than to continue kissing his perfect lips, but something in you needed to hear his voice to ensure once again that this was real. gripping his hair, you pull his face away from yours. he groaned at the feeling which left you all too excited.

“and what the fuck is this exactly?” you mutter quietly, only half joking.

soobin chuckles, his boyish dimples making an appearance. “this… this is the reason you cant go on that date. i’m done playing pretend with you. i’m done acting like i’m not in love with you. i’m done watching you go on dates with these guys who won’t treat you half as good as i would.” he pauses, releasing his hold and letting you stand on your own now. “i’m done fucking random people and pretending that they’re you.”

you’re not exactly sure how you both got there, but before you know it soobin had you stripped down to nothing but your undergarments. you straddled him on the living room couch, only his boxers and your underwear separating you at this point.

soobin’s hands feverishly ran across your body. not an inch of your skin would go untouched by him. soobin sat back in disbelief watching you take total control. it was better than anything he’d imagined.

you hiss at every roll of your hips, feeling his length pressing hard against the soaked spot of your underwear. you pressed sloppy kissing across his neck, taking in his sweet scent. soobin didn’t think he could be anymore addicted to you as he traced his fingers across your skin.

“you know,” soobin speaks up. his words slurred as he could barely focus on anything other than the way your cleavage spilled out of your lacey bra, grazing against his bare chest with every roll of your hips. “i have sex with you alot in my head.” he smirked up at you, eyes so fucked out behind his tousled hair.

you could literally feel your ovaries twitching at his words. if only you or him had been bolder to make a move sooner. “well it’s about time you got it out of your head,” you whisper, pressing a last kiss to the base of his throat.

you stood up momentarily, urging soobin to lift his hips so you could pull his boxers down with his help. finally coming back down to straddle him again, you shiver feeling him pulling your underwear to the side. his fingers were slender and cold to the touch, and you wanted nothing more than to ride him right then.

soobin falters for a moment, hearing a slight buzzing coming from your purse. it was your phone ringing persistently. he couldn’t ignore it. soobin tried to catch your gaze, but you were too fixated on where your hips were about to meet his.

“i’m pretty sure that’s your date calling wondering where you’re-“ you didn’t soobin finish his words as you sat yourself all the way down on his dick without warning. “fuck!” he yelled, gripping your hips for support.

you wrapped your arms around his neck wasting no time to ride soobin at an even pace. “oh my god,” you whined out. “you’re so fucking big soobin.”

soobin let out a throaty groan hearing your words. he watched you bounce so effortlessly in both pleasure and disbelief. your lewd moans mixed with his filled the room—your shared apartment. the place where you’d both been dancing around what you truly desired. eachother.

some time went on with you both like this, and soobin enjoyed watching you get yourself off at his expense. but all the times he’d imagined finally getting to have you how he liked, this was not it.

he suddenly gripped your ass, halting your movement completely. “binnie please,” you whined out, trying desperately to fuck yourself against him some more. soobin twitched inside of you at the nickname and your neediness.

“fuck, princess.” he spoke lowly, wiping some of your sweat-matted hair from your forehead. it was a sweet gesture that made your heart race even more, if that were possible. “i’m sorry, but this is not what my first time fucking you looked like in my head.”

soobin left you no time to response before lifting you and placing your back gently on the couch where you could lay down. he eagerly laid on top of you, pressing your knees into your chest so your legs were now resting over his shoulders.

soobin glanced over your body in absolute awe. “been dying to see you all spread open like this for me,” soobin basically moaned his words. seeing your leaking folds so up close and how easily bendable you were for him. it was enough to make him lose it.

“finish the job, binne,” you tease him, running your own fingers over your clit. that was all it took for soobin to begin slamming into you repeatedly. this position allowed him to have total control over you, unlike before. he trapped your body beneath his weight, hitting the right spot just perfectly with each thrust.

he rested his lips against yours as he fucked you into the couch. profanities spilling from him the closer his was, naturally pulling you nearer to the edge yourself. “i’m gonna cum so fucking hard,” you moan, almost as a warning. soobin could tell by the moans escaping your lips and the way you clawed at his biceps, begging to come undone.

he went in and out of you at an electric pace. he was persistent, and wouldn’t let up until he knew you were satisfied. eventually, all at once, a white hot orgasm overtook every ounce of your being. your body shook against soobin’s, calling out his name in a string of whiney moans. this was enough for soobin to arrive shortly after you—the tears prodding at the corners of your eyes, the tinted pink of your cheeks, the way your mouth remained slighly open even after you came. slow, high pitched breaths leaving your lips from the overstimulation. how could he not cum after that sight?

pulling out, begrudgingly so, soobing finished on your stomach. he groaned feeling your hand reaching down to finish him off, helping him ride out his orgasm. he couldn’t help but think how perfect you were for eachother. he released your legs slowly, massaging your sore hips from being held up for so long.

“that was long overdue,” soobin is the first one to break the silence. he felt butterflies erupting in his stomach at the way you laughed at his joke.

“i couldn’t agree more.” you smiled, reaching up to kiss his lips softly this time. your stomach begins to growl at your sudden movement, and you realize how hungry you’d been this entire time. “you know,” you chuckle, playing with soobin’s hair. “i was technically supposed to be eating dinner like an hour ago.”

a huge smile makes its way across soobin’s face. “let’s get cleaned up. and go put something nice on. i’m taking you on a real first date.” he pecks your lips once more and pauses before saying, “also your last first date.”

[hitorim106]

"A Wolf At My Window"

synopsis: Childhood friend Caleb pays you a visit in the middle of the night. word count: 1.8k notes: This is the first fic I've posted in a long long time (so nervous!!), but I want to post more Love and Deepspace Vocaloid song fics so.... I was listening to Romeo and Cinderella by Doriko and could not stop thinking about Caleb to this song so... Enjoy your food freaks. warnings: Forbidden love, friends to lovers, Juliet complex, childhoodfriend!Caleb, naive reader, love and obsession, coming of age, rebellion, not beta read we die like granny?

ロミオとシンデレラ

0:58 ──♡───── 4:41

Caleb had always been there. In the morning when the sky bled with pink and gold hues, waiting for you outside the door. At school, where his laughter was a shield, making sure no one saw how you shrunk under the attention. In the evening, when the soft glow of the lamp on your bedside was often shared with his silhouette, leaning against the frame while he teases you for reading romance novels instead of studying.

For years, he had been your constant. Your safe place. And maybe that's why you haven't questioned why his presence felt heavier than normal lately. Or why his gaze lingered too long. Why, when you met his eyes, you felt something tightening in your chest that had nothing to do with comfort.

Tonight, he wasn't waiting by the door. He wasn't teasing you about your choice of fiction, or ruffling your hair as he walked past. Tonight, Caleb was at the window.

You swallowed, gripping the edge of the blanket, staring at his silhouette through the glass. Your heart pounded. The rational part of you knew you should be started, maybe even a little scared. But you weren't.

With shaky fingers, you open the window.

"You know," you whispered, your voice barely above the wind, "normal people use the front door."

Caleb's lips curved as he pushed the window up further. His hands—big, sturdy—gripping the frame as he hoisted himself inside, "And normal people don't let in wolves after dark," he murmured, his voice lower than usual. Softer.

The air in the room changed.

He didn't step back. Didn't put any space between you two. Instead, he reached up, fingertips brushing against your cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. It was a simple touch. Barely anything. And yet, it felt like everything.

"Caleb—"

"Shh," he whispered. You froze as his thumb traced your jaw, tilting your chin up. "You always look away when I get too close."

You swallowed, "Well maybe you shouldn't get so close, then."

His smile deepened, but there was something unreadable in his expression. Something that sent a slow heat curling down your spine.

"That's the thing," he murmured, leaning down, his forehead nearly brushing against yours, "I don't think I can stop."

Your breath caught.

His other hand found your waist, fingers curling slightly—possessive, firm, like he wanted to make sure you didn't step away. But you weren't going to.

"How far can we venture tonight?" You whispered before you could stop myself.

Caleb stilled. His grip on your waist tightened just enough for you to feel the heat of his palm through the lace of your pink pajama top. Then, slowly, he smiled again. This time without amusement, without teasing.

"You tell me," he said, voice low, "but I'll warn you, I don't like being told to stop."

A soft shiver ran through you.

Your fingers curled against his chest, not pushing him away, but grounding yourself, "Be gentle," you murmured, looking up at him through your lashes, "I still don't like bitter tastes."

He exhaled, something like frustration flickered through his eyes. "Then don't tempt me."

You bit your lip.

And then his restraint snapped.

His lips found the corner of your mouth first, brushing, teasing, like he was waiting for you to push away. When you don't, he takes more. A slow, drawn-out kiss, his hands slide up, fingers pressing into the back of your back, pulling you closer. You barely had time to breathe before he kissed you again, hungrier this time, like he was trying to make up for all the times he held himself back.

When you break apart, you were breathless. Your head was spinning.

"Caleb," you whispered.

He studied you, something unreadable in his expression. Then, slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled something out. A silver chain. A delicate charm at the end.

You frowned. "What's that?"

"A promise," he murmured, lifting it, carefully fastening it around your wrist. "That I won't let anyone take you away."

You swallowed. "That sounds more like a collar than a promise."

His lips twitched, but his grip on your wrist was steady. "Same thing, isn't it?"

You should've been alarmed. You should've questioned him.

But as you looked at him—the boy who had always been there, who had always protected you, who had always wanted more but never dared to ask—you realised something.

You didn't want to run.

Not from him.

Not tonight.

Maybe not ever.

The thought should've scared you. Should've made you take a step back, regain some distance. But you didn't move. Instead, you let your fingers brush around your wrist. The metal was cool against your skin, delicate, but firm. A promise, he had said. A collar, you had called it.

Maybe it was both.

You looked up at him, at the way his purple eyes burned in the dim glow of your bedside lamp. You had never thought of him as dangerous before. But now, standing here in the silence, the window still cracked open, letting in the cold night air, you realised—

He was the wolf if your story.

Not the prince.

Not the hero.

But the one who came I through the window instead of the door.

And you weren't stopping him.

His fingers traced the inside of your wrist, right where your pulse fluttered. He hadn't let go since he put the chain on you.

“You’re quiet,” Caleb murmured, watching you too closely.

You wet your lips. “I’m thinking.”

A slow, knowing smile. “About what?”

You hesitated. “About how my dad doesn’t like you.”

Caleb exhaled through his nose, like he expected that answer. “That’s nothing new.”

"He's going to notice if I start wearing this." you held up your wrist, the chain glinting in the low light.

His fingers curled around your wrist. "So don't take it off."

"Caleb—"

"I mean it." He pulled you closer, voice soft but firm, "It suits you."

You swallowed. "That's not the point. You know what he's like. If he founds out—"

"I don't care."

His voice wasn't sharp. Wasn't loud. But it cut through the air between you all the same. You felt your stomach twist, my breath catch. "You're not the one who has to deal with him."

His jaw tensed, "No. But I could take you away from it all."

You froze.

He wasn't teasing.

He wasn't being playful.

He meant it.

And for a single, wild moment—you wanted to say yes.

You wanted to be like those girls in the stories, the ones who ran away with their prince charming, who let themselves be carried off before the clock struck twelve. The ones who didn't have the think about their father's disappointment, or their mother's worried sighs, or the way everyone expected them to be good, obedient, reasonable

But this wasn't a fairy tale. Real life wasn't a fairy tale.

You stepped back. Just a little. Just enough for your back to hit the edge of your desk. "You're talking I'm some princess locked in a tower."

"Arent you?"

You glared. "I have a life here. A family. You can't just take me away."

Caleb studied you for a moment. Then, finally, he exhaled and let go of your wrist, his touch leaving behind the phantom warmth of his touch. "Fine," he said, too easily. "Then let me be the one who stays."

You frowned. "What?"

"You heard me." His expression softened, but there was something dangerous under the surface. "I won't take you anywhere. But I'll make sure no one else does either."

Yet another shiver runs down your spine. "That's not how this works."

He tilted his head. "Then how does it work?"

You hesitated.

Because deep down.. you knew.

If you told him to stop, if you told him to leave, he would.

But you didn't want him to.

You just didn't know if you could handle what it would mean if he stayed.

"I don't want to be someone's Juliet." You muttered, not looking at him.

Caleb let out a low chuckle. "I know. I'm not asking you to be."

My stomach twisted again. "Then what are you asking?"

Silence.

And then—

His fingers brushed under your chin, tilting your face up.

"Stay with me." He murmured, voice low, steady. "That's all."

Stay with me.

Not run away with me.

Not be mine.

Just stay.

Your pulse pounded in your ears.

Because if you said yes. I knew this wouldn't be some fleeting thing. Caleb wasn't someone who let go. He wasn't someone who would let you change your mind later.

If you stayed—truly stayed—then you were his.

And the worst part?

You wanted to be.

Caleb's hands were warm, steady. His presence wrapped around me like a vice, unyielding, inescapable. But even as your breath caught in your throat, as his fingers dug into your waist just enough to make you aware of his weight, your mind drifted, pulled back by the ghosts of childhood, by something so simple, so innocent.

Caramels.

Your mother used to make them from scratch, stirring the golden syrup over the stove, the scent of butter and sugar thick in the air. She would hum while she worked, the same old tune she'd sung to you as a child, and when the caramel had cooled just enough, she'd cut them into little squares, wrapping each one in wax paper.

They were soft, sweet, melting on your tongue in an instant. A taste that lingered, that filled my mouth with warmth and comfort.

Caleb used to steal them when we were kids. He'd wait until Mom wasn't looking, grab one from the counter, and flash you a smug little grin. "Don't tell," he'd whisper, voice thick with mischief.

You never did.

You still remembered the way he'd look at you after taking a bite—chewing slow, savouring the flavour—before offering you the other half.

Sweet things should be shared, right?

But that was the thing about caramel, wasn't it? It was easy to choke on if you weren't careful. Too rich, too thick, too overwhelming.

And now, with Caleb pressing you against the desk, his body so close, his hands so firm, you felt like you were choking again—on something just as intoxicating, just as dangerous.

He wasn't offering something soft this time.

He wasn't giving you the last half.

He was taking.

And you still weren't stopping him.

"Tell me you don't want this." His voice was low, rough against your ear. "Tell me to leave and I will."

You swallowed hard, your fingers curling into his shirt. "Caleb..."

He waited. Patient, like he always was. But you could feel the tension in him, the way his grip tightened, like he already knew you wouldn't say it.

Because he knew you.

He had always known you.

And maybe that's why you had never been afraid of him.

Even now, when you knew—knew—that this wasn't something you could undo, that crossing this invisible boundary meant there was no going back, you still weren't afraid.

Because Caleb had always been there.

At every birthday. At every graduation. Through every stupid heartbreak, through every moment you'd felt alone.

He had been there, waiting.

And now, as your heart pounded in your chest, as his fingers traced slow, deliberate circles against your hip, you realised something terrifying.

You'd been waiting too.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[wisterialwhymsy]

the moments in between

series masterlist

part 4 !!!!! bang chan x gn! reader wc: 3574 warnings: panic attack, in depth (ish) description of a trauma related panic attack, anxiety, physical touch, chris is a sweetheart as usual, lovely and fluffy, reader gets a miagrane, sleep issues, platonic (...?) affection, slight angst, complex emotions, they have abath together (with bathers on), adorable soft fluff :) a/n: sorry this took so long, lifes been hectic and i'm starting uni soon ive been busy lol

“Ooh that feels nice.” Chris mumbles as you gently stroke your fingers through his freshly washed hair.

“You like it?” You chuckle as you look down at where he’s situated on the floor in front of you.

“We need to do this more often.” Chris murmurs as he leans into your hands.

“Hold your horses. We haven’t even started.” You say, giggling as he whines when you move your hands.

“Okay so, once you're out, gently dry your hair with a towel.” You start, opening the tub next to you. “Microfibre, or anything generally soft is preferred.”

“Then, once it’s somewhat dry, you put in a leave-in conditioner.” You continue as you spread some leave-in-conditioner on your hands.

“You then apply it to your hair, you have to like, comb it through.” You murmur as you gently comb the product through his hair.

“Then…” You mumble as you pick up the bottle of gel, squeezing some onto your hands. “You put the gel on. And then you have to scrunch it.”

“Like this.” You say as you gently scrunch his hair, careful not to accidentally pull it. “Until your curls are more defined.”

“Then you scrunch it again with a t-shirt, or soft towel.” You hum, repeating the process with an old t-shirt.

“You can then let it air dry, or if you want more defined curls you can use a diffuser.” You finish, patting his shoulder to signal that you’re done.

He turns around, still on the floor but now facing you.

“As much as I appreciate you showing me, I will absolutely never be doing that.” He says sincerely and you groan.

“Chrissss! You have to take care of your hair!” You whine as he giggles.

“Can’t you just do it for me?” He gently rests his chin on your knee and you inhale sharply. 

“I won’t be here everyday.” You sigh, trying to ignore how your stomach somersaulted at the touch.

“Then move in with me or something!” He playfully whines, his words carrying a sense of unspoken sincerity as he presses his chin into your knee slightly.

“And give Mia more to gossip about?” You laugh as he groans.

“Let them gossip! We know we’re just friends! That's what's important.” He says as he looks up at you with pleading eyes and you try your best to ignore the sting of his words, choosing to unpack that later.

“I-” You start, looking down at his puppy-dog eyes. “I’ll think about it.”

He giggles cheerfully, sitting up on his knees to hug you and gently nuzzle his face into your stomach, making you giggle.

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊✮‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

The next few weeks flew by in a blur of persuasions and packing, and before you even processed that you agreed, you were sitting on the floor of your new room trying to construct a bookcase.

“I’m so glad you agreed to move in!” Chris chirped, his excitement infectious as he carried the final box inside.

“Still not sure how you convinced me.” You tease before scowling at the still-disassembled bookcase before you.

“Do you need help?” He asked, giggling at your growing frustration.

You turn to give him a petty glare, huffing as you turn back to the nonsensical instructions.

“Yes.” You concede, making him burst into laughter at your exasperation.

You roll your eyes at him and throw the instruction sheet in his general direction as he sits behind you.

He quickly looks over the sheet, immediately looking confused.

“Okay yeah, this doesn’t make sense.” He murmurs, looking between the sheet and the shelf.

“I KNOW RIGHT!” You exclaim as he tries to hold back a laugh.

“I vote, we use common sense and guess.” You say, on the verge of giving up.

He looks at you, humour and mirth evident in his eyes. “Okay, sure. You lead the way. But if it breaks, it’s not my fault.” 

You huff again as you stand up. “Let’s do this.”

“I can’t believe that worked.” Chris said an hour later.

“I know right!” You respond, proud of your handiwork.

“Do you want my help putting stuff away?” He asks, admiring the bookcase.

“Uhh… Can you help me put books away?” You ask, looking towards the 4 stacked boxes full of books.

“Yeah! Any particular order?” He asks, already turning to the boxes.

“Just by series or author.” You reply, turning to start to put away your clothes. 

“Let me know if you need help reaching the top.” You giggle as he gasps.

“Hey! I’m helping you here.” He scolds lightheartedly.

“Right, right, sorry.” You pause. 

“I’ll just get you a stepstool.” You say before erupting in a fit of giggles at his exasperated expression.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have let you move in…” He grumbles as he puts the books away.

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊✮‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

It had been a few months since you’d moved in with Chris and all was going well.

You sat on the couch reading a book when you heard the front door unlock. 

“Hey.” You murmur, looking up at Chris from your spot cuddled up on the couch.

“Hi.” He whispers tiredly as he puts his bag down and takes his shoes off.

“Long day?” You ask quietly as you put your book to the side.

“Yeah.” He mutters as he rubs his face.

“Anything I can do to help?” You ask softly as he walks over to you.

“Yeah, but I’m worried it’s weird.” He whispers as he sits on the other end of the couch.

“Hey, I won’t judge you. I promise.” You murmur as you offer him a soft smile.

“Can you just like…” He hesitates. 

“Hold me?” He whispers as he looks away.

“Of course.” You reply, holding your arms out for him to fall into.

You feel your heart flutter at the look of relief on his face as he snuggles against you, his face pressed against your stomach as you gently run your fingers through his hair.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You murmur after holding him for sometime.

“I don’t think so.” He whispers in reply.

“If you ever want to, I’m here.” You mumble, continuing your gentle ministrations on his fluffy hair.

“Even if I cry?” He murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

“Especially if you cry.” You respond and you swear you feel him breathe a sigh of relief.

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊✮‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

A few weeks later

You felt absolutely shattered, your eyes burned from the lack of sleep and your limbs were heavy with an ever-present ache. Once again, you struggled to sleep last night, the insomnia and nightmares winning out despite your many attempts to avoid them. Choosing to do something productive rather than wallow in your complicated emotions, you decided to make pancakes for you and Chris.

You were onto the final few pancakes when you heard someone softly padding into the kitchen.

“What’cha cooking?” Chris asks, his voice heavy with sleep as he came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, careful to avoid the hot pan.

“Pancakes.” You hum simply in response, focusing on the task at hand.

He nuzzles his nose into your shoulder as he slowly wakes up.

“This okay?” He mumbles against your shoulder.

You hum affirmatively, trying to maintain your focus.

“How’d you sleep?” He asks as he holds you close.

“Yeah, okay.” You murmur, the lie feeling thick in your throat. “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine, I actually fell asleep early for once.” He mutters as you flip the pancake.

“So like… what. 11:30?” You tease, allowing your attention to shift from the pancakes slightly.

“Heyy! You should be happy for me, you’re the one always telling me to sleep earlier.” He whines, trying to hide his giggles.

“Fine, fine. I’m glad you slept well.” You hum, moving one hand to squeeze his hand where it wrapped around your waist.

He nestles his face in the crook of your neck and you freeze, your stomach turning uncomfortably and nausea rising in your throat.

He pulls back immediately upon noticing your discomfort.

“Not okay?” He gently asks, removing his hands from around your waist and despite the chaos in your mind you mourn the loss of his body against yours.

You can hear your heart race as you lean to turn the stove off, each echoing beat spiking your anxiety as your thoughts spiral.

“Uh. No sorry.” You mutter, trying to ignore the familiar sensation of your breath catching in your throat.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, don’t apologise.” Chris whispers as he notices the tears in your eyes. “Can I touch you?”

You nod hesitantly and as soon as he pulls you close, tears begin spilling down your face as you see memories of them flickering in your mind.

“You don’t need to apologise, it's okay.” He murmurs, gently tracing invisible circles along your back.

“You’re allowed to have boundaries, and I’m sorry for crossing them.” He affirms as the invisible circles he’s tracing turn into little stars and hearts.

“Thank you for telling me, I’m really proud of you.” He affirms, gently pulling you back to wipe the tears from your eyes.

“You are so strong. And incredible. You deserve the world.” He pulls you back into his chest, holding you close as you bawl into his shoulder.

“Do you want to go sit on the couch?” He gently asks after some time, when your sobs had eventually turned into hiccups.

You shake your head, sniffling as you pull back and wipe your eyes.

“Thank you.” You murmur before turning towards the stove where the half-finished pancake lays. “But there’s still one more pancake.”

He pulls you back into his chest, resting his face in your hair as he holds you close.

“We have enough pancakes. Do you want to go set the table? I’ll clean this for you.” Chris murmurs softly before gently guiding you away by the waist.

You simply hum in response, too emotionally exhausted to say more, before going to set the table.

Chris appears at the table minutes later, bearing two plates of pancakes, one lovingly decorated with your favourite toppings.

“You okay?” He asks softly as he places the plate down in front of you.

You nod, scared that speaking will release the floodgates of your emotional turmoil.

“I’m really sorry. I should’ve remembered that you don’t like neck stuff.” He mumbles as he sits beside you.

“No, it’s not your fault.” You start, hoping that your voice sounded stable. “I overreacted. I'm sorry.”

“You didn’t overreact. You’re allowed to have emotions.” Chris states as you busy yourself with your pancakes in an effort to distract yourself from your overwhelming emotions.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks softly a few minutes later, and the concern in his voice sends a pang to your stomach.

“Yeah, just tired. I haven’t been sleeping well.” You mutter, trying to ignore the nausea in your stomach.

“Oh, I get that. Do you want to talk about it?” He gently enquires as he starts to eat his pancakes.

“Um. I don’t know.” You reply, unsure.

“No pressure. But I’m here if you want to talk.” He murmurs, gently nudging his knee against yours, making you giggle.

“Uh.” You start after the two of you sit in silence for a while. “I just keep getting nightmares, and it takes me ages to get to sleep.”

“Wanna cuddle?” He asks, somewhat jokingly and you almost choke on your pancakes.

“Oh my god. Please don’t die.” He says, patting your back as you recover.

“We don’t have to. But if you think it might help, it could be worth a shot.” He murmurs as you consider his proposition.

“Okay.” You reply, desperate to try anything.

“Really?” Chris exclaims excitedly and you laugh before collecting your plate and putting it at the sink.

“Now?” He asks, immediately standing behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Sure.” You hum, and you're caught off guard when he picks you up, carrying you to his bedroom.

“Chris!” You scream before the two of you erupt into giggles.

“Cuddle time!” He exclaims before dropping you on the bed, immediately shuffling in behind you.

He immediately pulls you to his chest, wrapping his around your stomach and pressing his face into your hair.

“This okay?” He asks gently as he holds you close.

“Uh, yes but-” You begin as you turn around, shifting so that you’re facing him.

“Hi.” You whisper, caught off guard by how close your faces are.

“Hi.” He whispers in response, and you swear you see his eyes flick to your lips for a second.

“Can I uh- lay on your chest? Heartbeats make me uh, calmer.” You mumble, struggling to avoid making eye contact with how close your faces are.

“Of course.” He murmurs back, smiling as he shuffles to lay on his back, allowing you to shift yourself into a more comfortable position.

“Thank you.” You mumble, immediately feeling sleepy once you rested your head on his chest.

“Always.” He murmurs, softly brushing the hair off your face before pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “This okay?”

You hum and nod, trying to ignore the swirl of emotions in your stomach as your heart rate quickens- grateful that you were listening to his heart and not the reverse.

The two of you lie there for a while, you listening to the gentle thump of his heartbeat as he softly runs his fingers through your hair.

“I still can’t sleep.” You mumble sometime later. “Like I’m sleepy, but I can’t sleep.”

��Do you want me to sing to you?” He whispers. “Didn’t you say that gentle touches on your arm makes you sleepy? I can do that.”

You hum in consideration, too exhausted to be flustered by his sweetness. “Yeah, like gently tracing on my arm.”

“Like this?” He mumbles before gently running the tips of his fingers down your arm.

You nod, already feeling sleepier.

“Want me to sing too?” He asks gently and you hum in response.

He starts softly singing one of your favourite songs as he continues his gentle tracing on your arm. You feel yourself slowly drift to sleep, encased in a soft blanket of his affection, as well as the comfort and safety he brings you.

Later, a while after your breathing evens out and he hears your soft snores, Chris stops his soft singing and gentle tracing, instead pressing a soft kiss to your hair and looking down at your sleeping face.

“Love you bug.” He murmurs before closing his eyes as your soft snores lull him to sleep.

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊✮‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

You could vaguely hear Chris’s soft footsteps as he tiptoed into the room.

“Hey love. You okay?” He asked softly, sitting down next to where you laid on the bed.

“Yeah.” You mumble out, voice hoarse from your medicine-induced nap. “My head hurts less.”

“I’m glad.” He hums, brushing your hair out of your face and looking down at you sweetly.

“I need to shower.” You murmur, trying to sit up before you're interrupted by a sharp pain in your head.

“Woah, woah. Take it easy.” Chris mumbles as he helps you sit up. “Is that a good idea?”

“Probably not. But I didn’t yesterday, and I need to wash my hair.” You whisper, blinking to try and wake up fully..

“Do you want me to help?” He gently asks and you hum noncommittally. 

“Whilst I appreciate the thought, I don’t think I feel comfortable with you seeing me naked, let alone touching me naked.” You whisper, the mixture of pain and exhaustion making you too honest for your own good.

“We can wear bathers.” He murmurs and you look up to see that beautiful, genuine smile on his face.

“I- yeah. That would work.” You mumble, glad that the room was still dark and that he therefore couldn’t see you blushing.

“Shower or bath?” He asks, gently rubbing a soft circle on your hand with his thumb.

“Bath… Please.” You murmur as he smiles at you, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Do you want me to leave you to get changed whilst I run the bath?” You nod in response, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and standing as he runs off.

10 minutes later, you walk into the bathroom, immediately surprised by the ambiance in the room.

“I put candles up so that the lighting wasn’t too bright.” Chris whispers from behind you, startling you.

You turn around, shocked to find him shirtless in swim trunks.

“Do you want me to wear a top?” He asks, stepping back.

“No, it’s fine. I just forget how buff you are.” You murmur, admiring his physique as he blushes.

“Oh hush, get in the bath.” He shushes as you giggle at his fluster.

You sit down in the bath, sighing at the warmth.

“Is the temperature good?” Chris asks from beside you.

You nod, humming contently as you feel your headache relax again.

“Okay, how are we going to do this?” He asks gently, as you sit there with your eyes closed.

“Can you just help me wash my hair?” You murmur, squinting your eyes open slightly.

“Yeah, of course. Where are your products?” He asks, looking around.

“Just there, would it be easier if you got in with me?” You ask gently, grateful for his decision with the lighting as you open your eyes.

He freezes, inwardly glad he chose warm lighting so his blush was less obvious.

“Are you okay with that?” He asks, distracting himself with gathering the products.

“Yeah.” You hum, trying to remain nonchalant about the intimacy of the situation.

“Okay.” He says as he places the items on the shelf next to the bath.

He then gently slides in behind you, and you situate yourself so you're sitting in between his legs.

“This okay?” He asks once the two of you are comfortable.

You nod, untrusting of your voice's ability to mask your fluster.

“Okay, so what do I have to do?” He asks, picking up the bottles from the floor.

You slowly guide him through each of the steps, explaining each part of the process.

“Then I do stuff after but I can do that myself.” You finish as he hums.

“You sure?” He asks, whispering so as to not aggravate your aching head. “I’m happy to help.”

“Uh, sure. If it’s not too much trouble.” You murmur, trying to ignore the odd fluttering of your heart.

“You’re never too much trouble.” He hums as he starts to lather the shampoo on your hair.

“Thank you.” You mutter, glad he was behind you and unable to see your flushed face.

“That better?” He murmurs after he washed the conditioner out of your hair.

You hum sleepily, the ambiance of the soft light of the candles and the gentle trickling of water combining with Chris’ gentle washing of your hair lulling you into a blissful state. 

“Don’t fall asleep just yet.” He whispers gently as he cradles you against his chest. “Almost done, then you can go to sleep.”

The gentleness in his tone makes your heart ache ever-so-slightly and the shift in positions rouses you from your trance.

“Okay.” You hum before moving to get out of the water.

“Wait, let me get out first.” Chris says, steadying you before he stands.

He wraps his towel around his waist before he carefully helps you exit the bath.

He gently wraps your towel around you before sitting you down on the stool next to the vanity.

“Now, how do I do this?” He asks once you're situated.

“Just a leave-in-conditioner. It’s in the bottom drawer.” You say, trying to ignore the chill biting at your legs as he leans down and grabs the container.

“This is how you always smell so nice!” He murmurs upon opening it, making you giggle.

“Do you remember how to do this?” You ask, looking up at him.

“Yep.” He responds before gently brushing the product through your hair.

“Okay done! Did I do it right?” He asks as he puts it away.

“Yes, you did.” You reply, giggling slightly.

“Great! Okay let’s get you back to your room.” He murmurs as helps you stand up.

Later, once the two of you have changed out of your pyjamas and you’re snuggled up in your bed, Chris comes to check on you.

“Need anything?” He asks, standing beside your bed.

“Uhh… I think I’m good, thanks.” You murmur as you slowly feel yourself getting sleepier.

“Okay, feel free to call me if you need anything.” He whispers as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. As his lips gently brushed your forehead you feel your face warm with a deep flush, grateful to the shadows of the room for concealing it.

He began to walk towards the door, careful not to make too much noise.

“Wait.” You whisper as you hesitate, your heart pounding at the thought of asking for more from him.

He turns, looking concerned.

“You okay?” He asks warmly.

“Yeah, just uh…” You mumble, flustered.

“Can you hold me?” You ask in a whisper.

He simply smiles, moving towards the bed and slipping under the covers, gently wrapping his muscular arm around your waist, holding you tight.

“Always.” He whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your hair.

This is a work of fiction, based entirely on my personal perception of him, and does not reflect his actual character or actions.

ʚ✩ɞ taglist ʚ✩ɞ

@jennibahng @jchasseblog @itzkingbo @velvetmoonlght

[the-crustation-sensation]

How i think arcane s2 fumbled Viktor. Coming from a disabled person

Not proofread we die like all my favorite characters

As previously mentioned, I struggle with chronic pain. I have POTs and probably EDS now that I think about it, and I use a cane on bad days since at times walking long distances is very painful

I started watching arcane shortly after discovering my own disability and I was SO happy to see a well represented disabled character, guess who my favorite character is (hard mode)

Anytime there’s someone with a physical disability represented in modern media, they’re never allowed to just… be disabled, casually. Yes disability massively affects and changes one’s live immensely, but it’s not the only all-encompassing trait of their personality. A lot of the time when I see a disabled character, they’re just there to be disabled. They don’t get a character arc outside of their disability… or much of a personality either (9 times out of 10 their usually always paralyzed in a wheelchair too, but that’s a different conversation)

And sometimes having a characters arc revolve around a disability is acceptable, but it’s not ok to have a token disabled character and do nothing else with their plot line. Disability is allowed to be a part of their story, but it doesn’t have to be the whole story. Make your disabled characters people with a disability, not a blank slate token character.

And that’s why I was so pleased with Viktor in season one. He exists With his disability, not despite it. It was very refreshing to a character have a very defined personality and purpose outside being a token disabled character. Yes of course his disability is a huge part of his story, but it’s not the entire story.

Now how did s2 fumble?

In s1 I think viktors descent into illness was well written, I was kind of expecting his disability to be a big part of his overall character arc in the first place (as it so often is) but in s2 I feels like the writers almost forgot that Viktor was dying of cancer … not trying to perfect himself

I was so excited to see what s2 did with his character arc, and I just ended up.. disappointed. On surface level i loved Jesus!viktor just as much as the next fan, but when you dig deeper into his story it felt so icky

Whenever a disabled person is represented, not only does their character arc revolve around disability, it has to revolve around “fixing” said disability. And a big pattern I see is many character arcs having an undertone of radical acceptance. I.e “you where never broken, you just needed to accept yourself” “you just need to love your disability as a part of you”

No… you don’t have to love the part of you that’s actively causing you pain and lowering your quality of life, or actively killing you like Viktors terminal illness.

Self acceptance with disability is all fine and dandy, but it is SO overplayed and overwritten. You’re allowed to be frustrated with your disability, and learn to move past it.

The big point is Viktor was never trying to “perfect” himself in s1, he was trying to live.

In s2 they took the idea of Viktor working to cure his terminal illness and ran with it. They blew his arc so wildly out of proportion until he literally became a god obsessed with “perfecting” all of humanity.

And that just felt.. icky. It didn’t feel like Viktor. The Viktor in s1 had a dream of helping his people, of using his creations to uplift everyone! He never would have wanted to force all of humanity into “evolving” without their consent. And do not even get me STARTED on how he completely lost his autonomy to the hexcore, and in turn took it from so many people. That deserves a post on its own

I was so excited for the arcane writers to do something creative with his character arc, but no. Once again a disabled character fell victim to their entire arc being about fixing their disability, only to end with radical self love and acceptance

And the thing is I could get behind an arc of Viktor healing! He deserves to heal and live his life happy and healthy, but to me and him all of a sudden obsessed with “perfection” felt completely out of left field

I think my biggest problem with season 2 overall is that it lost sight of the entire theme of the show. Season one was a beautiful statement about classism, segregation, and how differently it affects people. It was representing real world problems on a scale we could understand. And the best part about s1 was that everyone on the main cast was relatively morally grey, they were humans who had realistic flaws, and made mistakes.

Nobody was shoved into a traditional “good guy/bad guy” box, and that made the show feel so much more real.

S2 was rushed, and for some reason the writers said “actually never mind, we’re going to bend everyone’s morals out of proportion so we can have a big bad villian we all fight at the end”

It had an overwhelming undertone of “forgive your oppressors so we can come together against a common enemy” which felt like a massive slap in the face to everyone who’s actually experience the classism and poverty that arcane represented in s1

I think so many of the problems with s2 could have been fixed or at least explained in detail if we got a s3. I understand as a writer myself that would have been a long, and expensive process that the arcane producers weren’t willing to go through. But I can’t help but mourn the story we could have had if the writers were just allowed to spend more time on it.

Overall, I could write an essay picking apart every tiny detail of arcane in general, so I’ll stop here. I just needed to get this rant out in writing and out of my head, I’m so insanely disappointed and mildly insulted with how the arcane writers treated Viktor, who had such potential

Feel free to share your opinions or completely disagree with me in the comments, please be kind as this is just my humble analysis and opinion.

[frankys-wife]

THANK YOU KRUEGER FOR TAGGING ME <3

What animal does your f/o remind you of?

He'd canonically be a rhinoceros if he was an animal, but my horse hyperfixation brain says he reminds me of a male unicorn! I justify it like this:

Factually, horses and rhinoceros are distantly related because they're from the same group, Perissodactyls. They share a common ancestor millions of years ago, called the Cambaytherium. Basically, this means that Rhinos are horses with horns. And what is a horned horse? A unicorn. Also factually speaking, the horn on a unicorn's head used to be a metaphor for masculinity in medieval times, often because unicorns were depicted fighting and killing lions. It's why some national Coat of Arms symbols have the Lions and Unicorns on them. (Also because the horn on a Unicorn's head used to me a metaphor for a certain body part...) Another reason for this is because unicorns are rare. Franky is one-of-a-kind, both in his canon and our reality. There's no person or character comparable (in my opinion) to him or his abilities. He likes to stick out in a crowd and takes pride in being unique!

So I can happily say I think Franky is a very strong unicorn hehe <3

2. If you got your f/o a gift, what would you get them?

I would try to pick him up any kind of work materials he needs. I'd also make him all kinds of shirts: fun patterns, stupid slogans to make him laugh, anything that suits him! And, of course, his favourite cola!

3. What is your favourite hobby to think about doing with your f/o?

Anytime I get a random spurt of energy and put on some music, I think dancing with him would be the most fun thing ever! I also think he'd be chill with me putting on a fun action movie or playing some cards.

Also the occasional Mario Kart or Just Dance challenge. Franky would be so down to challenge me to Just Dance, we could do all of the cheesy couple's songs. I can see him getting frustrated when the Wii remote doesn't register his move XD

4. What chores would your f/o do around the house? Are there any they REALLY dislike?

He's chill with any kind of yard work, which isn't my thing. He doesn't mind vacuuming either, since the vacuum acting up would mean he gets to work on it a little. The nice thing about being married to an engineer/carpenter is that I've got an on-site handyman :) <3

He hates cleaning the bathrooms (honestly, who doesn't). I don't mind it as much as he does, so I usually take care of it. If things get clogged, though, it's a Franky job. He also doesn't care too much for laundry but is particular about how his speedos get washed so I take care of that without any issues.

5. Would you trust your f/o to drive a car?

Honestly, yeah. He's pretty calm and level-headed when driving for the most part. He steers the Thousand Sunny with no problems, so a car isn't that much different (though, he does tend to be a bit of a speed devil sometimes...). He might make impulsive decisions but he has the best intentions.

6. What kind of ringtone or notification sound would you have for your f/o?

Probably one of his favourite songs! Or I'll record him saying something silly I think hehe

7. Would your f/o fight someone online?

He might for a bit but then he might just hit them with the "L opinion + Ratio". He likes to fight in person anyways.

8. Does your f/o believe in soulmates?

He's not really a spiritual person per se- he believes what he sees and experiences, things he can justify. But he does think we're so natural together that, in his own words, it was meant to be if that makes sense!

F/O Ask Game!!

A list of questions to answer about your f/o!! You guys can just go down the list and answer them all (I'd love to see it!!!) in a reblog, orrr you can reblog and have others ask you these questions in your inbox! Have fun!! PR.OSHI.P, NOT FOR YOU!

What animal does your f/o remind you of?

If you got your f/o a gift, what would you get them? 

What is your favorite hobby to think about doing with your f/o?

What chores would your f/o do around the house? Are there any they REALLY dislike?

Would you trust your f/o to drive a car?

What kind of ringtone or notification sound would you have for your f/o?

Would your f/o fight someone online? 

Does your f/o believe in soulmates?

How would you introduce your f/o to your friends? How do you think that would go? 

What's the first scenario that comes to your head when you think of being with your f/o?

What dynamic would you use to describe you and your f/o? 

What color do you associate with your f/o? 

How would your f/o introduce you to those they care about? How do you think that would go?

What animal do you remind your f/o of?

What would your f/o get you for Valentine's day, if anything? 

What does your f/o call you in their head? What do they call you aloud/to others?

What does your f/o like doing with you the most? 

How does your f/o show their love best? 

What's your f/o's favorite feature of yours?

What're your f/o's favorite personality traits of yours?

If your f/o drew you, how would you describe the art piece?

Does your f/o share food with you?

What color would your f/o associate you with?

What?? Who's tagging their friends again?- not me... I just really wanna see yalls answers. Formal invitation lest you become worried I don't wanna see it. @jpeg-indulgence @starshakez @moxanji-real @frankys-wife @katsenbergs-soulmate @katanahusband @fl0ralsxgar @one-winged-dreams AND LITERALLY ANYONE WHO SEES THIS.

[bloomzone]

THE "LUCKY VICKY" MINDSET !

The Lucky Vicky Mindset or jang wonyoung mindset was created by Jang Wonyoung herself combining "lucky" with her English name "Vicky" (stand for Victory )to share her positive mindset that it's abt choosing a perspective that helps you move forward with confidence so this mindset is about understanding that your attitude shapes your experiences and that seeing yourself as "lucky" isn’t about chance but about the way you navigate challenges, setbacks n success.cuz It’s easy to feel overwhelmed when things don’t go as planned. Whether it’s struggling in school, facing criticism, or dealing with self-doubt, the natural reaction is often frustration or discouragement. But if u shift by thinking like : What if, instead of seeing obstacles as signs of failure, you saw them as redirections toward something better?

This mindset isn’t about ignoring problems it’s about handling them with clarity and resilience. "So how do you develop it?" u need to :

ஐ - 𝟷. ʀᴇғʀᴀᴍɪɴɢ sᴇᴛʙᴀᴄᴋs

There will always be moments when things don’t go your way. Maybe you didn’t get the opportunity you wanted, maybe people misunderstand you, or maybe you feel like progress is slow. The lucky vicky Mindset teaches us that nothing is truly working against us—it’s just working differently than we expected.A well-known example what wonnie said "This happened during a tour when I visited Spain. At that time, I waited a long time at a famous bakery, but all the bread in front of me was sold out. They told me that if I waited a little longer, fresh bread would come out. I thought, ‘That’s Lucky Vicky,’ because I could eat freshly made bread. I shared that story with my fans, and from then on, ‘Lucky Vicky’ spread instantly and became a popular meme.” It’s a small moment, but it reflects a powerful way of thinking it mean that Instead of focusing on what didn’t happen, focus on what’s still possible.This applies to bigger situations too. Didn’t get the result you wanted? It’s a chance to adjust your approach. Lost an opportunity? Maybe it wasn’t the right one, and something better is coming. Feeling stuck? That means growth is happening, even if you can’t see it yet.The way you choose to interpret setbacks determines whether they drain you or empower you.

ஐ - 𝟸. ɴᴏᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴅᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇs ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ

Wonyoung is often criticized online, but her response to negativity is simple: “No problem, I don’t care. You are you, and I am me.” This isn’t about arrogance or something but it’s about understanding that not everything requires your energy.If you spend too much time thinking about what others say, replaying negative moments, or trying to justify yourself, you lose focus on what actually matters. Some opinions do not need to be addressed. Some people are not worth your time.That doesn’t mean ignoring constructive feedback, but it does mean choosing where you place your attention. The Lucky Vicky Mindset is about knowing when to engage and when to walk away because your energy is too valuable to be wasted on things that don’t help you grow.Jang Wonyoung also said in a show interview : "I believe there is energy in thoughts and words. When I got anxious and negative thoughts, I tried to correct them positively. In the end, there was no wrong path even if I looked at where I am now,"

ஐ - 𝟹. ғᴏᴄᴜs ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴘʀᴏɢʀᴇss

Comparison is one of the biggest traps in personal growth. Social media makes it easy to see others succeeding and wonder why you’re not at their level. But the truth is, no one’s journey looks the same and no one has it all figured out.Wonyoung has been in the spotlight since she was a teenager, constantly compared to others, yet she stays focused on her own path.

🗝️:You don’t need to be ahead of anyone else you just need to be ahead of where you were yesterday.

Instead of thinking:

"Why am I not as successful as them?"

Try:

"What small step can I take today to improve?"

Your timeline is your own. Trust that your progress is happening at the right pace for you.

ஐ - 𝟺. ᴄᴏɴғɪᴅᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴇs ғʀᴏᴍ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ

A lot of people wait to feel "ready" before taking action. They think confidence comes when they finally have everything figured out. But in reality, confidence grows through experience, not through waiting.Wonyoung didn’t become poised and self-assured overnight. She gained confidence by stepping into situations that challenged her. The only way to become good at something is to do it, even when it’s uncomfortable.So, whether it’s speaking up more, taking on new challenges, or stepping outside your comfort zone, start before you feel fully prepared. Confidence isn’t about never making mistakes but it’s about knowing that mistakes won’t break u

ஐ - 𝟻. ᴛʜᴇ ɢʟᴀss ɪs ʜᴀʟғ ғᴜʟʟ

I want to add something about positive and negative thinking for the setback part

People often say, "The glass is half full" to mean optimism and "The glass is half empty" to mean pessimism. The Lucky Vicky Mindset takes it a step further.

wony once said, “I was about to drink water after practice, and just about half a cup was left. I had hoped for just about half because it would be too much to drink all of it and not enough if it was too little. I am totally a ‘Lucky Vicky!’”

That it’s about seeing things as aligned for you. It’s not about forcing happiness or pretending everything is perfect. It’s about trusting that what’s in front of you is just right cuz The way you interpret situations shapes your reality so this way of thinking removes the pressure to categorize things as "good" or "bad." It allows you to move with life instead of resisting it. When you start seeing every outcome as something that fits into your journey, you naturally feel more at peace, less anxious, and more confident that things are unfolding the way they should.

So instead of asking, “Is my glass half full or half empty?” try thinking, “Maybe this is exactly the amount I was meant to have.”

@bloomzone

This mindset allows you to be present, grateful, and naturally attract opportunities. When you believe that life is working with u, rather than against you, everything starts to feel like a lucky break even the things you didn’t expect.i hope y'all like this blog and thank you for the love and support ! have a lucky Vicky day 🍀

[inhuman-obey-me]

Congrats on 100k likes!! Is there any more room or space left? If so, Belphegor and 7 pls!

Thank you!! And you're the lucky last one we're doing. <3

Belphegor + 7 | "Better Days" - Currents

cw: depression talk

It's said that when humans have a sleep paralysis demon haunting them, they often feel an unyielding weight upon their bodies, rendering them unable to move. It's a tried and true trick that Belphegor knows quite well.

"Is this what it feels like?" he muses, sprawled out on his bed as he stares at the ceiling, eyes tracing a pattern of painted stars. He's been doing this for the past ten hours, unable to get himself up to do much of anything else. The weight pressing down on him was suffocating, so why did he also find it so oddly comforting? Had he just gotten used to the heaviness? Used to the hole that had dug itself deep into his chest?

"Belphie, you haven't eaten anything all day." Beelzebub's voice draws him out of his thoughts. Lazily turning his head to meet his twin's gaze, he lets out a long sigh.

"Not hungry."

Beelzebub frowns, crumbs littering his face as he chews on whatever he just stuffed into his mouth. It's clear he wants to say something, but he instead plops down on the floor beside Belphegor's bed, leaning back and pulling out another snack to munch on. The seventh-born almost wants to tell him to leave, but he knows it'll get him nowhere — Beelzebub always knew when something was wrong.

"…Do you ever miss it?"

"Mish wha?" His brother responds, his mouth full.

"The Celestial Realm." Belphegor's fingers curl into fists, his brows furrowed as he turns to look at the wall. "Being an angel."

He can hear Beel pause his chewing before resuming at a quicker pace. After a few moments, Belphegor feels the bed tilt and move, Beelzebub now having lifted himself to sit on its edge.

"I mean, yeah. Sometimes." Beelzebub shifts. "It was a big part of our lives, so it's only natural, right? But I'm happy to be a demon now too, and to be here with our family, which is what's really important."

"Except for Lilith."

"…Yeah. Except for Lilith." His twin deflates. "…What's on your mind, Belphie?"

"Sometimes it feels like I'm the only one who just gets stuck." The words are bitter on his tongue, frustration rising in his voice. "I'm glad we finally found out the truth about what happened to her, but it doesn't erase the fact that she's gone. Everyone else just…moved on! And I'm just here."

That suffocating yet comforting weight, keeping him in place.

"…Are you here? It sounds more like you're there." With a forceful tap on Belphegor's shoulder, Beelzebub makes him turn towards him. "I…get it. You know I do. I still feel guilty — and yes, I know," he stops Belphie from interrupting, "…it's not my fault, it couldn't be helped. But I still feel that way. So sometimes I feel like I'm more there, you know." He scratches the back of his neck, trying to find the right words. "Mammon and Asmo talk a lot about 'living in the moment', and I think I get it. We can't change the past, but we can hold onto what we have right now, like each other."

"…Really? You got your great advice from those two?" Belphegor groans, but it's hard to hide the hint of a smile on his lips. "I think they're probably talking more about partying and doing something stupid."

"Probably, but it doesn't change what I said." Beelzebub stands up, holding out a hand to his brother with a determined look. "So, how about we try living in the moment right now? Maybe we can even go do something stupid."

A low chuckle, and it's like the weight lessens. A knowing sigh, and it lessens again. Belphegor reaches out to take the other's hand, letting himself get dragged off the bed.

"Okay. But don't blame me if Lucifer gets mad."

[anomaliex]

I think Riz Gukgak is someone who worries a lot.

I think he locks the door, unlocks it, then locks it again just to be sure that it works and he isn't accidentally locking himself in. I think he goes inside and kicks off his shoes and loosens his tie and then comes back to the door just to make sure he really did lock it. He unlocks it then he locks it again. The lock is still working.

I think when he gets dressed he readjusts his watch one, two, three times to make sure it's secure. I think he does and undoes his tie twice not even because he thinks it isn't right the first time, but because that's what he always does. I think he starts avoiding eye contact with his mirror image but still makes sure to walk past any mirror four separate times just to make sure Baron isn't watching.

I think he double, triple, quadruple checks every text message before he sends it, two more times if it's an email. He doesn't want to include a typo, or accidentally send the wrong message, or reply to the wrong thing, or have clicked the wrong emoji. What if he looks stupid, or rude, or accidentally sent gore, or accidentally said something sexual without realising, or accidentally said something threatening without realising, or accidentally revealed private information, or did something else that is equally likely and not ridiculous and also would be unfixable and horrible if it did happen.

I think Riz knows where every piece of furniture and decoration in the apartment or his office is, I think he notices if anything's been moved even an inch and then he gets worried because someone was there and he did not see and his skin itches and the nausea crawls up his throat and he knows so deeply that something is wrong. Maybe all his paranoia is just an excuse and he just doesn't like that something is different now, he doesn't know, it feels wrong. I think his mum can tell him that she just moved the coffee maker because she had to un- and replug it and now it's a few inches to the left of what it was before, she didn't notice but she knows that it bothers him, she's sorry. I think it doesn't help.

I think that despite the fact any of his workspaces look cramped and unorganised he shuffles and re-shuffles and re-reshuffles everything until it's exactly where he wants it and if someone moves even a thing he has to do it all over again. I think it frustrates him but he does it anyway.

I think that Riz can see a clue in everything. I think the Night Yorb is an extreme example of something that happens to him very often. I think that he's so obsessed with finding the truth that he forgets himself, sometimes. I think that sometimes he makes up things to be worried about and then spirals because of them and creates bad situations for himself that wouldn't have existed were it not for him convincing himself that he realised some kind of truth. I think it's scary to be Riz, sometimes.

I think Riz counts the days, hours, minutes, seconds until something bad happens. I think he believes no moment in time to be safe unless he makes it safe. I think that doesn't even particularly distress him, I think that's just a base thought he operates on and never really questions. I think the second his ability to "make sure" is disrupted the panic sets in and his skin crawls and he feels like he'll vomit. He might vomit. Then he's distressed.

I think Riz counts the seconds when someone he's spending time with excuses themselves to the bathroom, I think he takes note of it when they take longer than they usually do. I think he worries that something horrible will happen to them the second they leave his sight. I think he doesn't know what that horrible thing is. I think he knows how often someone chews a sandwich because he watches, and that he worries they might be sick if they divert from their average too much. I think he knows the passwords to their phones not because they told him but because he memorised the patterns their fingers moved, I think he doesn't want to be invasive but he needs to know in case of an emergency. I think he doesn't know what the hypothetical emergency could be, but it might happen and he'll know when it's there.

I think that Riz worries, and watches, and counts, and checks, and worries, and I don't think he can stop. He doesn't want to, but if he did then he couldn't.

I think that sometimes he talks to his mother and he sees teeth ripping her throat open, and he doesn't say a thing about it but he figures there has to be something deeply wrong with him, and he fears the reality that keeps forcing itself into his mind at random.

I think that he talks to his friends, sometimes, and then he sees them having sex with a partner and his whole body shudders and he feels himself vomit in his mouth a little. I think he sees a lot of things for just a few moments at a time that are so abhorrent to him and they're the last thing he wants but they keep popping up in his brain as if the Gods decided he needs to be kept in line with a healthy dose of silent shame and a constant reminder of everything that could be if he doesn't make sure that everything is safe and good and fine.

I think that Riz thinks, and worries, and thinks, and worries, and checks, and counts, and watches, and worries, and sometimes he forgets to breathe.

Anyway completely unrelated here's a link about obsessive compulsive disorder!

Yeah idk I think I made my point. Riz ocd real.