#ive been really REALLY messy the last few weeks

[girlivealwaysbean]

it should be studied the way i immediately start crying after masturbating like girl where is the serotonin i was promised

[wlntrsldler]

poisoned mercury | end up here

a/n: i'm going FERALLLLLLL over this chapter. enjoy poisoned mercury's debut album hehe.

iv. end up here by 5sos

series masterlist | previous | next

“your band name doesn’t even make any sense,” you argued, eyes narrowing at the boy in front of you. 

luke crashed your secret spot, again, and refused to let you smoke in silence until you gave him a detailed explanation of how your day went. he knew you didn’t smoke every day, only on days that were particularly hard. he noticed that your bad days always had something to do with your dad, but it didn’t feel like the right moment to bring that up. 

anyway, you got fed up with his badgering and that stupid smirk on his face because he knew you were about to crack, and decided that if he was going to act like a toddler, you would too. hence, why you were now bringing up his band name. 

luke took offense to that because he thought the band name was cool. he was the one to suggest it. he crossed his arms over his chest, trying not to let his hurt show on his face, “what do you mean? poisoned mercury is a sick name.” 

“mercury is already poisonous. your band name is like redundant or some shit.” 

“then why did so many people in history ingest it?” luke asked, recalling the one thing he remembered from his high school history class before he dropped out. he took a drag from his cigarette, turning his body a bit so the wind didn’t blow the smoke directly in your face. 

“they fucking died, castellan,” you replied, deadpan. 

“oh,” he blinked, staring off, “i didn’t know that.” 

you rolled your eyes, a habit that you’ve picked up whenever you were with him and sat back down on the bench. luke joined you, silent as he thought about what you just said. he really needed to stop zoning out during lessons, but since he was already out of high school, he guessed it didn’t matter anymore. 

as much as you hate to admit it, luke castellan was growing on you. sure, he got on your nerves like nobody else– the boy just doesn’t quit– but, he wasn’t half as bad as you originally thought. not that you’d ever tell him that though. 

when you got back to the cabin last week after helping with concert prep, the cabin was spotless. there were no empty red bull cans in sight, the table tops were free of crumbs, floor vacuumed and mopped, and there was even a candle burning on the counter. you approached your bedroom door to find a post-it on the handle. luke’s messy writing was smudged around the corners, but you could still make out what it said. 

“five star, 

i snitched on the boys and my mom will have a stern talk with them about their cleanliness. can’t promise that people will stop talking about me, but i can promise you won’t have to live in the dojo casa house mojo or whatever it was. 

ps i’m using the spot tomorrow, just thought i should let you know. maybe we can set up a calendar for reservations. 

luke :)” 

the cabin hasn’t been as messy since. whatever may castellan told the boys worked like a charm. there was still the occasional trash, but nothing crazy. it smelled better in the cabin too, still like a boy, but it smelled like expensive cologne more than anything. cedarwood and pine. 

and thankfully, the luke castellan hype train was starting to run out of steam, with many people finally realizing that he was also just a human being and the surprising revelation that luke castellan was not entertaining anyone during his time at camp helped with it as well. you still heard whispers about him here and there, but you were glad the topic of conversation was beginning to switch to something else. 

you and luke walked to the gym and back home every morning together. he and the boys sat with you and clarisse during meals. they tagged along for music lessons and spoke to the kids, which they really appreciated. they helped the older campers with writing music, luke particularly. you’d been around a few musicians in your life and many of them only kissed ass when your dad was around, but poisoned mercury was different. they were passionate about their music. that was clear.

after a conversation with clarisse, where she managed to convince you that not all musicians are like your ex, you began to let loose a little bit. you hung out with the boys more, partly as an excuse so clarisse could hang out with chris without causing too much suspicion, and found that you actually enjoyed their company. and luke castellan? well, he wasn’t half bad. that doesn’t mean he got off easy though. 

you took a hit of your vape, facing him, “are you done interrogating me?” 

“for now, yeah,” he smiled as you shook your head. “are you coming to the concert tonight?” 

“well, i did help organize it.” 

“a simple yes would’ve sufficed, five star,” luke teased, relighting his cigarette. it was burning unevenly and luke was never one to waste his cigarettes. “you gonna watch us play?” 

“don’t have a choice. dad wants me there the whole time.” 

“you can act a little excited,” luke ran a hand through his curls, “we are pretty good, you know.” 

“i know,” you hummed. the sun was beginning to set and there was a slight breeze in the air. goosebumps formed on your skin, the t-shirt and denim shorts you wore didn’t offer much comfort. you shivered, “i have listened to your music.” 

“are you cold?” 

your teeth chattered, but you shook your head, “i’m fine.” 

luke took off his hoodie, tossing it in your direction, “take it.” 

“no,” you tossed it back to him, “told you i’m good.”

always so stubborn, luke thought.  

“if you catch a cold, that’s not on me,” he placed the hoodie on the bench between the two of you. “which songs have you listened to?” 

“kilby girl, of course. it played on the radio so much when you guys first dropped it,” you said, remembering the days where you and your hometown friends would blast it in the car. it reminded you of high school, reckless decisions, life-long memories, and the thrill of knowing you were going to be playing the sport you’d worked so hard to excel in at a d1 level in the fall. you looked at him, sincerity in your eyes, “i really like family line. it might be my favorite.” 

luke’s eyebrows shot up. not many people talked about family line. it was probably their least streamed song. they never performed the song on tour because it was difficult for luke to sing it. it was a personal song to him. it was inspired by his relationship with his father, or lack thereof. 

when poisoned mercury first got signed to olympus records, luke sent a message to his dad on facebook. luke hadn’t tried to contact him since he was ten, not since his father returned his letter to him unopened, no response but a “return to sender” stamp plastered over the envelope. but after the small congratulatory party his mom set up for the band after they signed, luke felt like a little kid again, a kid who wanted to share the great news with his dad, so he found his dad on facebook, made an account, and sent him a message. 

he didn’t get a reply, which was expected, but it felt good for a second to pretend that he had a father to tell his good news to. luke thought he didn’t care about whether or not his dad was proud of him, but when his message went from “sent” to “read” a few days later, he was brought back to those moments in his life when he cried and wondered why he wasn’t enough to make his dad stay. he wrote family line in one sitting, on his bed in his bedroom in connecticut, looking at the little league medals on his wall that seemed to mock him. 

he originally didn’t want it on the album because he felt like it didn’t fit the vibe of the rest of the songs and that it was too real, too vulnerable for a debut album, but then he played it for his mom and she loved it. she cried when she first heard it and luke knew that even if people didn’t like the song, he was going to put it out for his mom. 

“huh,” he cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure, “wasn’t expecting that one. thought you’d be more of a crash my car type of girl.” 

“i like that too,” you shrugged, “but family line. that song. i don’t think i have the words to describe it.” 

“thanks, five star,” luke looked down at his feet, taking a puff from his dying cigarette. “that’s my mom’s favorite, too.” 

“did you write it?” 

luke nodded, looking to face you. there was a new expression on your face, one that you’d never used with him before. it was a mix of disbelief and awe. he tried not to get offended that you didn’t think he could write something like family line, but he couldn’t blame you. he didn’t really portray the type of person who would be able to be that raw and vulnerable on a song. “me and trav write the lyrics for our songs, mostly. chris and connor help too, but the bulk of the lyrics are me.” 

“you need to stop doing that.”

he cocked his head to the side, crushing the cigarette butt on the hardware of the bench, “doing what?” 

“surprising me,” you shook your head, “i don’t like it.” 

“i don’t know what to tell you,” he chuckled, leaning back on the bench. he looked out into the lake, watching the sun disappear behind the mountains, “i have layers. you just gotta give me a chance.” 

“how do you do it?” you sat criss cross on the bench, leaning against the arm rest. “how do you write like that?” 

you’d always been curious about music, even if you weren’t good at it. your dad was never one to answer your questions, especially because you were interested in lyrics more than anything, and that wasn’t his forte. 

luke mimicked your actions, “i dunno. personal experience, i guess?”

you frowned, thinking about the lyrics of family line. luke never talked about his dad, but spoke highly of his mom. was family line based on his own life? if it was, his dad was an asshole. 

you relented to the cold, grabbing the hoodie that he left in between the two of you. you ignored the triumphant smile on his face when you draped the sweater over your bare legs, shielding them from the wind chills. 

he continued, “sometimes things happen to me that get me worked up and i have to write a song about it. sometimes, it’s based on my imagination. it depends.”

you wanted to ask him about his dad, but you didn’t know if he considered you guys friends yet. it’s not like you made it easy for him anyway. you could deal with the banters and annoyance, but you didn’t want to push him to talk about something he wasn’t ready to. you could be a dick, but you weren’t cruel. 

you changed the subject, “okay, let’s play a game.” 

“21 questions?” luke bit his bottom lip, trying not to laugh. he waggled his eyebrows, dodging your arm that reached out to smack him. 

“you’re gross,” you gagged, knowing the implications of the game, “no, i’m gonna ask about the songs on your album and you tell me if it’s real life or from your imagination.” 

“alright, go for it five star,” he beamed, propping his elbows on his crossed knees. he loved talking about music with anyone. he could go on and on for hours. 

“18.” 

“real,” luke snorted, remembering the first time travis pitched the idea for the song to the band, “but not my experience. it was trav. he met this girl at one of our gigs in new york, right after we got signed, and he was obsessed. she was a freshman at nyu and she kept telling him he was too young for her, even though she was just less than a year older. trav was hooked.” 

you could picture it. it was definitely something travis would do. “okay, another one of my favorites. only angel?” 

“not real,” luke shook his head, a slight blush creeping up on his face. “if you tell anyone, five star, i will vehemently deny it, but i had a crush on jade west from victorious and i wrote it about her.” 

there was something about jade west that made luke like a love-sick puppy. ignoring the fact that she was hot, her attitude was something that luke was attracted to. she had a tough exterior and acted like she didn’t care about people, but she had her moments where she was soft and kind to the people she cared about the most. luke liked that. the idea that someone could be sensitive but only to the people they deemed worthy. 

he’d spent so much of his life trying to be worthy, in whatever way the stage of his life defined it, and he craved it– a pat on the back, an approval, a confirmation that he was worthy of it. 

you threw your head back laughing, surprised by his ridiculous confession. the sound of your laughter rang across the woods, making luke smile. your voice echoed throughout the trees and he his senses were surrounded by you. it hit luke like a truck. 

he sucked in a breath, taking out his phone. he jolted from his seat for more than one reason. “shit, five star. we gotta go.” 

you took out your phone too, checking the time. your eyes widened as you got up from your seat. you threw his hoodie over to him, “fuck, we’re late.” 

the two of you raced out of the woods, arriving to the concert venue with flushed faces and rapid breaths. you could feel clarisse’s knowing eyes on you as you got ready for the concert. you tried your best to ignore it. you were going to deal with that later. 

–

“and for the final event, i know you guys are looking forward to this one,” your dad laughed into the mic. the sun was long gone and there were disco lights illuminating the stage. a smoke machine was on either corner, making it difficult to see the bottom half of the stage. you and clarisse stood in the front row, listening to the deafening cheers of the campers. “ladies and gents, welcome poisoned mercury!” 

the screams got louder which you didn’t even know was possible. travis entered the stage first, sticking his tongue out as he expertly twirled his drumsticks around his fingers. connor came in next, smiling and waving at the crowd as he plugged his guitar into the amp. chris walked in with his bass strapped around his neck, eyes immediately finding clarisse and sending her a shy smile. you nudged her teasingly, enjoying the way she blushed under the lights. 

then luke castellan walked in. he ditched his hoodie and t-shirt and walked in with a white tank top on, messing with the curls on his head. he tugged on the silver necklace around his neck as his eyes scanned the crowd. he threw a wink to the group of the older girls in the back, turning to travis to let out a laugh at their reaction. the lights on the boys were blinding and a thin layer of sweat already began to form on their skin despite the bite to the air. 

luke took center stage, picking up his guitar. he leaned over directly in front of you, fingers pretending to mess with the wires connecting his guitar to the speakers, “hey, five star.” 

he straightened his back before you could reply. clarisse’s eyes darted between you and the boy, now nudging you like you did to her earlier. you rolled your eyes, smiling at the rest of the boys as luke began talking on the mic. 

“what’s up, camp half blood?” luke screamed into the mic. the crowd roared. “we’re poisoned mercury and we are so happy to be with you guys here this summer. before we close out this awesome concert, i wanna introduce our lovely band.” 

“on drums, we have the one and only, travis stoll!” luke turned around to applaud travis as he did a little drum solo, head banging as he hit the drums. he turned to connor, “on lead guitar, we have the amazing connor stoll!” 

connor strummed his guitar, leaning over on the left side to soak in the applause of the crowd. the girls beside you swooned as he unleashed one of his award-winning smiles. 

luke faced chris, “and on bass, we have my very best friend in the entire world, my 4lifer, chris rodriguez!” clarisse cheered loudly for chris as he played a tune on his bass, mouthing, “love you, brother,” to luke as he played. the crowd quited for a second as luke addressed them again, “and my name is luke castellan. we’re poisoned mercury!” 

you turned around to look at the crowd. the size of the crowd tripled when the boys got on stage. everyone had a smile on their face, excited to hear them play. 

“the song we’ll be singing for you guys today is from our debut album,” luke adjusted his mic on the stand. he got closer to it, lips touching the metal, “this is only angel.” 

you couldn’t help but let out a laugh at their song choice. this was not the song they were supposed to sing. they’d been rehearsing kilby girl for the past week. luke saw your reaction, laughing along with you. 

the instrumentals began and you nearly missed the beat drop because of the cheers from the crowd. as the song progressed, the boys were one with the music. you watched luke sing, working the crowd like a pro. his skin glistened under the spotlight, beads of sweat tricking down the side of his face. he approached chris when the chorus started, dragging his mic stand with him. he swung his guitar around so it rested on his back as he sang the lyrics. his curls were sticking to his forehead, eyebrows raised in glee as he performed. 

you couldn’t take your eyes off the lead singer, not even when the rest of the band had their own solos in the song. your eyes were glued on luke; how his adam’s apple was on full display as he threw his head back, getting lost in the music, how his arms flexed as he wrapped the mic cord around his fist, how his thin tank top stuck to his body and how it raised when he lifted his arm up to bring the mic closer to his lips. you saw the outline of his abdomen and his v-line. 

but what really got you was his face. he looked at peace on stage, a wide smile on his face, full lips pink and glossy as he licked them in between verses. he looked incredible up there, like that was where he belonged. he was born to be on stage like this. 

“fuck,” you mumbled, applauding at the end of their song. luke’s eyes found yours as he sang the last bit of the song, smiling at you. you hoped clarisse couldn’t hear you talk to yourself. you looked down at your feet, tugging nervously on the collar of your shirt, “i get it now.”

[otomes-and-tears]

If its ok, I wanna request a qiu x reader (step 2) where reader keeps doodling qiu subconciously and they end up dropping one of their doodles somewhere, and qiu finds it :0 sorry if this is formatted wrong, ive never requested something before aaa!!!!

♦ Qiu finds MC's drawing of them ♦

►tags and warnings: GN reader, Step 2

► words: 1696 words

► A/N: I AM ALIVE I SWEAR I promise I can still write more than just Shiloh brainrot!

► Masterlist

It wasn’t really on purpose.

MC was trapped in the clutches of a terrible art block. It had been weeks since they managed to draw something they were satisfied with, and the creative stagnation gnawed at them, leaving them restless. Then there was Qiu, sitting a few seats ahead, their messy hair carelessly tied into a crooked ponytail, soft features relaxed in quiet boredom. MC didn’t even realize they had started sketching Qiu until the drawing was done— their fingertips smudged with graphite as they blended the last of the rough shading into the pencil sketch.

It looked good. Far better than any of their recent, fruitless attempts at drawing. The creases on their baggy sweater and the small intricacies of their expression almost perfectly captured in their style.

Part of MC wanted to brag, to walk up to Qiu and show them the drawing as a triumphant declaration that their terrible, horrible art block was finally over. But as soon as Qiu’s gaze found theirs, those soft eyes blinking slowly, like a cat, and that small, smug smile appearing on their lips, far too pleased with having caught MC staring, MC knew they couldn’t give Qiu any more reason to tease them.

It’s bound to be just a one-time thing, anyway.

…

It wasn’t a one-time thing.

Drawing Qiu became muscle memory, in the same way that drawing hearts or five-point stars, the kind with lines in the middle, became after an eternity of doodling them on the edges of notebooks.

There was just something easy about it. 

MC knew their neighbour so well that they didn’t even need a reference to capture the nuances of Qiu’s smile—the way the right side of their lips lifted just a touch higher than the left, the arch of their brows, or the slight widening of their eyes when surprised. It was effortless.

It becomes a warm-up exercise before the artist’s other drawings and a quick way to break the slump off art blocks, or even something mindless MC does in the middle of a particularly dull classes both share— they do suspect Qiu knew about those but never bothered them with requests to see the drawings, leaving MC to their quiet obsession.

What was embarrassing was how often they’d find themselves obsessing over the perfect way to angle their wrists to capture the sharp swoop of Qiu’s dark bangs to imply just the right amount of movement, or the fact that they filled so many pages of their sketchbook with studies of Qiu during ballet class that they had to replace it with a fresh one.

Their anatomy skills had improved dramatically in the meantime. But was it worth it, trading artistic growth for Qiu’s obvious disappointment when MC stopped letting them flip through their sketchbook? Or having to learn to draw things quickly and discreetly?

“You dropped a page.” MC says, flatly. Qiu is rummaging though their gym bag in search of their  earphones, notepad hanging precariously in their coat pocket. “Again.”

By this point, Qiu had long given up on retrieving whatever papers they lost, but MC still informed them out of habit anyway. Despite their disinterest, Qiu’s eyes scanned the floor—until they paused, bending down to pick the page up. 

The action immediately catches MC’s attention. It would usually take a lot of insistence for Qiu to bother, if they did at all.

"Started caring about the environment again?" 

MC teased. Qiu just snickered, unfolding the page with a widening smile. A smile that grew into something MC could only describe as pure, unbridled glee. That’s when MC noticed the paper wasn’t the usual color, weight, or size. It was larger, thinner, and undeniably from MC’s sketchbook.

“I was wondering when you’d let me see these drawings,” Qiu said, turning the page to reveal one of MC’s most recent sketches—a detailed study of Qiu, brows furrowed in concentration as they scribbled in their notepad, done only a few hours ago, just before lunchtime. There were also smaller drawings on the margins done in a more simplified style, all of Qiu. "When did I become your muse?”

MC’s breath caught in their throat as Qiu held up the sketch, a wave of embarrassment hitting them so hard they felt they could drown in it. Their little habit was a badly-kept secret, but it doesn’t mean that MC was looking forward to being found out.

Regardless, the question hung in the air, and MC knew that there was no universe in which Qiu would let it go without satisfying answers

Each second MC passed without answering only made Qiu’s grin grow further, their warm brown eyes flickering between the sketch and the artist responsible for creating it, a glint of mischief dancing in them.

“You know,” they continued, voice light and playful, “if you wanted me to model for you, all you had to do was ask.”

“No! I wasn’t— It’s not like that!” 

MC could feel the heat crawling up the back of their neck as they stammard, mind racing as they frantically searched for an excuse that would be any less mortifying than the truth.

Qiu’s smile softened, feeling bad for their friend’s embarrassment, even if they were having fun with their flustered reaction. Despite how much their personality had changed throughout the years, that was a small aspect Qiu would never be able to grow out of— despite their incessant teasing, they deeply cared for their neighbour, and didn’t like taking things too far for the sake of their comfort.

“Is that so?” they asked, the teasing edge in their voice giving way to something a little softer. "Because it seems like you’ve been drawing me a lot."

MC felt the weight of their own silence, the silent, embarrassing admission that came with it. 

Drawing Qiu had become a part of their routine. A habit, an easy way to keep up with their goal of drawing every day.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” MC finally said, pushing through their mortification to grant Qiu their answer. They glanced down at their hands, fingers still smudged with graphite, as if the evidence of their fixation was written all over them, taunting them. “I just… you were easy to draw. You’re always around, and I—” They paused. I can’t stop thinking about you. The words linger, right on the tip of their tongue. “I guess it just… happened.”

The playful gleam in Qiu’s eyes is replaced by something tender, a warmth they knew all too well.

“You know,” Qiu said slowly, carefully, as if trying not to spook them “I don’t mind being your muse.”

MC blinked, caught off guard by Qiu’s sincerity. They looked up, meeting Qiu’s gaze fully, and for the first time in a long time, there was no playfulness or carefully feigned disinterest in their eyes. Just warmth.

“You don’t—” MC began, stammering, struggling to find the right words, “you don’t think it’s… weird?”

“Why would it be weird? You’re an artist. Artists need inspiration, right?” Qiu glanced down at the sketch again, running a finger gently over the paper, careful not to smudge it. “And I’m honored. I don’t think I’ve ever been someone’s inspiration before. Much less to my favorite artist”

Somehow, MC doubts that. Judging by Qiu’s popularity in town, having been the crush of at least half of Golden Grove’s kids within their age group, they have absolutely zero doubts that Qiu has been the source of many ‘a angsty poem scribbled in someone’s diary.

Regardless, they felt their chest tighten at Qiu’s words, eyes widening as their mind replays the dancer’s words, over and over. They were Qiu’s favorite artist? Qiu didn’t mind being drawn?

That fills them with much needed relief, the tension from their body slowly dissipating.

“I’m not sure how much of an inspiration you really are,” 

MC muttered, trying to deflect some of the intensity of the moment with humor, but the warmth in their voice betrayed them.

“Oh, come on. I’ve clearly been *very* inspirational.” Qiu gestured at the sketch in their hand, then raised a brow. “How many of these are there, anyway? Ten?”

“…More.”

“More? Seriously?”

MC couldn’t help but smile now, the absurdity of it all catching up with them as they shake their head, disappointed at themselves.

“Uh, like, a lot of my last sketchbook? It’s just… you’re always around, and you’ve got this…” They gestured vaguely at Qiu, trying to find the right words. “This vibe. You’re fun to draw.”

Qiu raised an eyebrow, leaning in, invading their personal space enough that they could smell the subtle scent of cinnamon from their shampoo, voice dropping to a playful murmur. 

“Easy, huh? So you *have* been staring at me a lot.”

MC rolled their eyes, shoving Qiu lightly, but there was no malice in it. It’s true, as much as they hated to admit it, they had observed the dancer so much as to be able to draw them from memory.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” 

But Qiu just smiled, softer again. 

“I’m flattered,” they said, their voice gentle. “Really.”

MC didn’t know what to say to that. There was a lump in their throat, an unspoken understanding passing between them that felt both overwhelming and comforting. They had known each other for years by that point, after all, but In that moment, something shifted. The awkwardness, the teasing, even the embarrassment—it all melted away like snow in spring time, leaving behind only the quiet connection between them. Their unbreakable bond. It was comfortable in the way few things are.

Qiu handed the sketch back to MC, their fingers brushing for just a second felt almost electrifying. Has it always felt like this?

“Keep drawing me,” they said, voice quiet but resolute. “If it helps you, keep doing it. No need to hide it.”

When their eyes meet again, and they can sense Qiu’s sincerity, their heart races once more. They accept the drawing, storing it safely inside their sketchbook before they continue on their way home.

Maybe they didn’t have the words for everything they felt just yet, but right now, this moment was enough.

[angel-kyo]

Pay it no mind

Part IV

In which reader confesses their feelings to Gojo, but it seems these are not returned (maybe?).

Warnings: reader is on the receiving end of rejection (kinda), and the fact that I'm obsessed with unrequited love is a warning itself. There is a brief mention of reader being injured.

Previous: Part I, Part II, Part III

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

“Dr. Ieiri?” you called in a singsong voice.

The door was open, and you were half inside the infirmary, but you still knocked.

Shoko was standing with her back to the door, reading a file. She did not turn to face you, but asked “How’s your shoulder, [name]?”

Two days ago, you had been hurt during a mission. A curse had slashed your upper arm and you had taken quite a strong hit to your shoulder. The mission had been successful, though. The curse was exorcised, and you were technically still in one piece, but the wound had looked pretty nasty. You assured Ijichi that it did not hurt as bad as it looked, but Gojo escorted you to Dr. Shoko when you were back at the school, saying "We can't have your arm falling off, can we?"

Ieiri had healed it almost completely, but today was checkup day.

“It’s alright.” You sat on one of the empty beds and Shoko closed the file she had been reading.

She moved away to wash her hands while you removed your jacket and placed it next to you. Then you asked her about her weekend.

“I didn’t do much really. My neighbors got a new dog, though.” She had stepped closer, gloves now covering her hands and a mask on her face as she expertly removed the bandages off your arm.

“Oh, is it cute?” You looked into her tired eyes.

“I haven’t seen it, but it’s a dog for sure. It did not stop barking since Saturday evening.” Shoko’s attention remained on your arm.

You heard her vent about the dog and how a medical emergency had interrupted her weekend activities, and then she had asked about you.

She was wrapping fresh bandages around your arm when your next words slipped mindlessly “…I went there because Ikeda said the tea was on another level, but maybe I just haven’t tried enough kinds to tell the difference between that and the one I buy at the market.”

“Ikeda?” Shoko was securing the wraps on your arm but directed a brief questioning look at you. Then it hit you: you had not told her you had ran into him and exchanged contacts. Things really had been busy lately.

Your eyes widened. “I forgot to tell you...”

“Tell me what?”

“Remember Ikeda Haruki?” No reaction. “Tall, brown hair, hazel eyes?” You could tell no bells were ringing for Shoko.

You sighed. “Cute-coffee-shop-waiter-guy we met in high school? He served our table like a hundred times.…” You said that last part in a lower tone and Shoko’s eyes shone with realization, but you could not see her complete expression because she was still wearing the mask.

“Cute-coffee-shop-waiter-guy? That Ikeda?” You nodded, but she did not stop there. “The tea-obsessed Ikeda?” Nod. “The anime fan Ikeda?” Nod. Nod. “The Gojo-wants-to-kick-his-butt Ikeda?”

“Huh…” You frowned a little at that. “It’s odd you remember him for that, but yeah... I guess that would be him.” You put your jacket back on. “We ran into each other a few weeks ago. He is back in Tokyo.”

Weeks...

“And you are talking again…” Shoko said thoughtfully.

You nodded slowly. “We are… I mean, it’s not like we were ever on bad terms.”

A question popped up in Ieiri’s mind: does Gojo know? She doubted it. You may have forgotten to tell her, but as transparent as you were, it would not surprise her if you had decided to keep it from him. After all, if your friendship with Gojo was the Titanic, Ikeda Haruki had almost been your iceberg.

The way Ieiri saw it, it had begun innocently enough, but the half-friendship-half-puppy-love that started blooming between you and Ikeda at the end of that summer, many summers ago, had opened for a second the Pandora’s box of Gojo's messy feelings, and doom had almost engulfed you all.

Fortunately, the box had been closed when Ikeda moved away.

Gojo had told her and Suguru once “He should have moved to a different time zone, but I guess out of Tokyo is good enough.” And that was the last time she ever heard him say anything about Haruki.

“So, I’m good to go?” You were gesturing to your shoulder.

Shoko nodded. “You can stop wearing the bandages in two more days. I don’t think it’ll leave a scar.”

You thanked her and walked to the door. “[name]?” Ieiri called, and you expected her to instruct you to take painkillers if your shoulder was still sore or something like that, but that was not what she said.

“Tell Ikeda I say hi.” Had she not been wearing a mask, you would have seen the amused smile on her face.

I will not be the one to rock the boat, Shoko thought, but Gojo Satoru, you have had enough time to man up.

***

“Would you stop?” You slapped away the finger Gojo had been poking your cheek with.

Your computer had broken, and he had told you to come to his place and use his, but you had not been expecting him to just stay there watching you work all afternoon.

Gojo sighed dramatically and returned to the couch across the room. “You are not fun. Why do you work on the weekend anyway?”

It was your turn to sigh. “I have to finish a report I could not hand in to Yaga during the week,” you replied while still typing.

“Boring.” You rolled your eyes at that and continued working.

Your fingers pressing the keyboard was all that could be heard for a few minutes. Your eyes left the screen to look at Gojo. He had put away his phone and was leafing through a magazine he had picked form the center table.

Gojo was quick to feel your gaze on him. “If my beauty is too distracting, I can leave, you know?” he said turning the page of his magazine.

“Sorry to stare. I was just too surprised at the fact that you can read. Or are you just looking at the pictures?” He lifted his head and you both smiled when your eyes met.

“Coming to my home, using my stuff, sitting at my desk, and insulting me on top of that.” Gojo was speaking calmly, almost as if his words were not directed to you. “The audacity of it all...” He left the magazine aside to stand up and walk back next to where you were sitting.

“In my defense,” your focus returned to the screen in front of you, “you are the one who refused to let me take your computer home with me. So, if I am here, it’s your fault.”

“Is it now?” Before you knew it, he was leaning over your shoulder to peek at what you had been working on.

“I just finished…” You turned your head to look at him at the same time he had turned to look at your face, ending up with you two almost nose to nose.

He was wearing his sunglasses, so you saw your own eyes widen slightly when his blue ones showed over his frames.

Growing up with him, you were used to seeing Gojo up close, but lately, a weird feeling had been growing in your heart. Still, neither of you moved.

“Hey, do you know what personal space is?” you said softly.

A smile formed in his lips and you did your best no to look at it.

“Of course I do.” And he bumped your nose with his before straightening up and walking away, leaving you a bit too shocked at first.

“If you are done, we can eat out, right? Or should we order something?” He was looking at you.

“Yeah… Let’s eat out.” It took you a second, but you had recovered your composure. “Just let me save this.” You saved your report and turned off the computer.

It's all dark.

You opened your eyes and looked at the clock on your nightstand. 4:32 am.

It had been a dream… Well, not exactly. It had been a memory. That had happened some time before you confessed your feelings to Gojo, when you were already presenting the symptoms of having a crush on your best friend. Dreams and memories involving him would mix during your sleep in the months leading to your confession.

As if seeing him almost every day was not enough.

Sometimes, your mind would replay the memories the same way they had happened, like the one you had just had. Some other times, it would be a dream about you and him, ranging from the most romantic to the most bizarre scenarios, including some actual nightmares, like that one in which you had died and cursed him?

That idea is not too bizarre if you are a sorcerer, though.

It had been one of the reasons why you had decided to come clean about your feelings. Perhaps the dreams about Gojo were powered by your guilty subconscious feasting on the emotions you were trying to hide. If you stopped hiding, the dreams would also stop, right?

But you had been only kind of right. While the weirder dreams had ceased almost entirely, every once in a while, you still woke up with a memory of Satoru, sometimes, one you did not even know had been stored in your mind.

Is replaying memories a way of grieving what cannot be?

You sighed and looked at the clock again. 4:34 am.

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

Note: No notes from me today, just love. Thank you for reading!

Next: Part V

@mavs-stuff

[fairyhaos]

how seventeen take care of their sick s/o

requested by @cinnamoroxie : "agh i think ive been getting sick 😭 could u write svt w a sick reader / or just a reader w a sore throat and cant speak w out it hurting pls? love u hope youre doing well "

notes: i :(((( want :((( a joshua :((((

masterlist

seungcheol:

cancels all your plans for the rest of the day when you wake up in the morning barely able to speak. won't let you protest, saying that you need to prioritise your health okay bc these people you're meeting aren't as important to him as you are. if you've just got a sniffly nose n sore throat, he'll let you sleep on him but if you're coughing n sneezing everywhere then sorry, he loves you but maybe stay away from him for a few days? 

jeonghan:

will do everything for you. even tho he doesn't have the loudest voice, he'll try his hardest to yell over the other members to get them to quieten down so he can listen to your hoarse whispers n get you whatever you need <3 gives you so many cough drops that you constantly have one in your mouth the entire time. you can taste them still on your tongue for like a day after you feel better

joshua:

gives you head massages if you have a headache, makes you honey tea if your throat hurts, always has tissues on hand if your nose is running. The Best™ at looking after you. won't leave your side, even if you're spraying germs everywhere, and he has a cold that lasts for three weeks by the end of it, but you're happy and healthy n that's all that matters to him

junhui:

kind of a fluttery mess when you get sick, doesn't rlly know what to do. pats your head constantly, asking if you're okay, and swaddles you in blankets. also gives you so many painkillers and antibiotics bc he doesn't Know what else to do okay and please you sound so terrible n croaky pls take this medicine bc it's meant to make you better and he hates when you're ill :((

hoshi:

coos and baby talks to you when you're sick and a blocked nose mess. speaks in a whisper back to you if you have a sore throat and can barely speak, makes those canned soups for you and spoon feeds it to you. he's a messy feeder tho, n most of it gets around your mouth but he wipes it away vv gently afterwards. hoshi is probably so, so soft when taking care of someone when they're sick tbh &lt;3

wonwoo:

accompanies you everywhere you go. insists you lie down and sleep but if you don't, then he's hovering around you like a concerned mother to make sure you don't overdo it. tells everyone you meet that you have a sore throat and so you can't speak, and Will drag you away if you start coughing too hard, scolding you lightly and pulling a scarf out of nowhere to wrap around your neck

woozi:

wants to take time off working so bad to help take care of you but he rlly can't </3 sets medicine and a glass of water on the table for you to take in the morning, regularly calls you (or texts, if you can't speak) to see how you're doing. checks up on you at night, smiles and kisses you on the forehead if you wake up and blearily murmur his name. he's busy, but he'll still make time to be soft for you

minghao:

always has tissues. and hand sanitizer. and cough drops. and paracetamol. has literally everything, really. says well done and pats your head when you drain a whole glass of water while swallowing the medicine, bc drinking water and flushing out toxins is the best way to get rid of an illness. another person who baby talks you if you're all sick n pouty

mingyu:

makes soup. makes tea. forces both liquids down your throat even if you complain bc it's good for you and he spent so much of his precious time making it for you how dare you try and refuse???? it definitely helps with your sore throat the next day, though, and he looks so smug as he ladles you another bowl of soup to have in the morning. 

dokyeom:

almost starts crying when you tell him u have a sore throat through barely-there whispers bc the pain :((( of not being able to speak :((( that breaks his heart to think about. knows the struggles of runny noses So Well, whips out a tissue and presents it in front of your face if you so much as sniffle quietly. hugs you the entire time, wakes up the next morning with a sore throat and then Actually starts crying

seungkwan:

your personal megaphone whenever you're sick and can't speak. yells at the other members to shut up and listen when you have something to say, and then repeats what you whisper in his rlly loud voice. won't let you have meds (they are!! the demon's pills!!!!) but learns from mingyu how to make rlly good chicken broth for you

vernon:

gets so sad for u when you croak out to him that you can't speak bc your throat hurts so bad. makes you gargle with salt water after brushing your teeth bc it helps disinfect your throat (this is true actually n it really helps). randomly holds his hand to your forehead to check your temperature, but he can never tell if you're running hot or if it's just him

chan:

is all "oh no you're sick :(((( that's terrible also pls don't come too close to me" but pulls you in for a hug immediately if you even vaguely hint at wanting one. googles if throat massages are a thing when you tell him you can't speak bc it hurts, gives you lemon honey tea bc he finds out that helps. kinda ends up massaging your throat? his hands are always warm and they feel nice when placed on your neck

request guidelines

[savnofilter]

Makeup Sex HCs

-> dabi/t. todoroki, s. todoroki, e. kirishima & k. bakugo

Dabi | Shouto Todoroki | Eijiro Kirishima | Katsuki Bakugo x [GEN]Reader

CONTENT WARNING(S): sexual content, makeup sex. 🧍🏽‍♀️

COUNT: 1.1K words [1-3 mins each].

READ MORE: masterpost + [students | bakugo | adults masterlists]

A/N: ive been wanting to write this for a hot min and now i finally did sjdjsjdn anyways this will be my last nsfw work for students. pretty anti-climatic but 🤷🏽‍♀️ i will be releasing the rest of my sfw stuff for them somewhere else so stayed tuned for that. 👀 ANYWAYS I AM SAUR READY FOR THE DABI CONTENT IM GONNA BUST 🥰 THANK YOU ANON AND HAPPY YEAR YALL. 🤢🤟🏽🤟🏽🤟🏽

if its serious & Dabi knows hes fucked up, hes gonna force himself to talk about it.

don't think that he’ll be mature 100% but he will communicate with you.

is a little manipulative (don't come at me we know he ain't at therapy) and might divulge to get into your good graces once again.

makeup sex with Dabi entirely depends on how serious he finds the situation.

if it's something super serious (to him) then he will not go for sex and will not want to be touched physically like at all. comfort wise too.

but when it's something where all you two need to do is properly communicate, he's actually more empathetic. you could almost say the makeup sex between you when this happens is more… intimate.

if submissive!Dabi is something you like, here he is!

don't expect him to go full on tho, he’ll just relinquish a bit more of letting you take control as a form of apologizing.

[+] only you have been able to see him in such a position… you better be thrilled.

gets more needy tho? the audacity… if you love brats there here he is.

tries to say stuff to throw you off, shit like if you're teasing him he'll say something along the lines of, “stop playing and come sit on my cock, doll.” or “look at you slobbering all over my dick, you greedy XYZ.”

a little whiney about it too, has no shame whatsoever, though.

if he's the one giving you head, it's very messy and sloppy like he's making out with your nether regions. his goal is to have you c(um)e undone and having you surrender your thoughts to him.

when you two actually get to fucking though, it's really rough and grabby at first. it's as if you two are trying to fight each other whilst also attempting to one up another in pleasure.

very much a lot of rough thrusting, pinning, bite marks, hickies and hand prints galore.

then it soothes out—once all the pent up energy is exerted you two transition into a more, and this is where I talked about earlier, intimate love making.

mumbling apologies, a teary eye if you manage to make eye contact with each other and soft mutterings of how good it feels.

it's like a rollercoaster ride of high and low emotions, the end result being the balance of both.

probably the same kind of style as Dabi.

honestly it wouldn't be surprising if the root of the makeup sex being unresolved things, as in the inner conflicts that you two don't even address.

quiet aggression waiting for its release between you two.

makeup sex would be more like a week or a few days after, where you two are probably having a normal session but then the pent up and forgetting energy comes up and gets released during the deed.

Todoroki grips you way more often and holds you close as if you might disappear in one second.

uses a lot of his hands and probably toys too to let out his pent out anger.

will have you bonded up so he can freely do what he needs to do with having to keep his attention divided by keeping you down and pleasuring you.

a ton of words of affirmation here, both you and him.

that's how it normally is, but he throws in some endearing terms a lot more this time around.

“that feel good, baby?” “who makes you feel good like this?”

his attention is solely focused on you and not so much his.

will probably edge you until the point where you both need to climax as he enjoys seeing you tear up and beg for him.

the makeup sex was probably about jealousy if we're being honest here.

Todoroki is just so emotionally constipated but he doesn't know how else express it.

is definitely working on it though.

probably the most emotional out of them lol.

Kirishima is the type to cry and be a mess, super emotional and empathetic.

isn't doing crazy positions or trying to rough you up, unintentional or not.

very much, “I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry” sort of attitude 😭

feel like when thinking of Kirishima, since he has this hidden, passive aggressive side that it'd transmute into rough handling but no I think he'd let all his barriers down for something like this.

would probably get rougher near the ending tho, like harder thrusts and more bite marks.

he wants to be in your good books again and is doing his best to be that again.

everything is sloppier too, just pure rawness tbh.

the makeup session may take place a few hours later or a day later, if it doesn't then that's how you know it's something serious that can't just be mended with a bit of physical bonding.

so in a way when you two make up like this, Kirishima feels grateful because of the unspoken common rules in your relationship.

he puts his all in to make sure that even with your disagreements he still loves you a lot. :’)

surprisingly so, i honestly believe makeup sex with this man would be soft.

it's passive aggressive at most, the only thing being harsh is the rough grip here and there or a little taunting whisper every so often.

lots of eye contact and just admiring you under him.

likes to be on top so he can shield you from everything else in the room and wants your attention all on him.

make up sex with him is smothering in the way that it's like he's trying to mold himself into you and only you.

doesn't care about what you guys fought about or disagreed earlier, he's more or so focused on the connection this will bring.

Bakugo is more quiet during this time, not really saying much but lets a few noises slip by every so often.

if he does talk, it's not very loud or aggressive, more of check ins like, “you okay?” “you like it when I XYZ?”

it's like Bakugo is treating you in a fragile manner, not wanting to shatter you or startle you. :’)

this is one of the times where his energy level isn't on 1000.

ALSO HAND HOLDING FOR SURE.

prefers to mostly do positions where he can see your face too, wants to make sure you're okay.

he's very mellow and the sort of energy is needed for the mending between you two.

    all rights reserved © do NOT steal, alter or copy this work.

[spiderfunkz]

hii! i was wondering if you could write something about robin buckley choosing reader to go to europe with her for the summer! (maybe a rebel robin au??) ive never seen anyone write anything about it and id think id be cute!

✧.* operation crossaint!

— summary : summer in hawkins is boring. so, how about a trip to europe?

— pairings : robin buckley x fem!reader

— word count : 0,9k

— warnings : fluff, friends to lovers, oblivious reader kinda, messy plot whoops, foul language, kissing mwah mwah, weird time jumps, not proofread, this is set in the summer btw!! robin & reader is 18 here.

a/n : hi there! thank u for the request anon ^_^ i tried fitting some aspects and references from rebel robin because i couldn't really fit in the whole au and storyline of rebel robin because i don't think it'll fit that well, so sorry about that!!

"operation crossaint?" you question as robin nodded. "just hear me out. i want to live outside of hawkins y/n. i want to know whats outside of this shitty town," she explains.

"it's sounds weird i know but, i want to learn and experience things." she continues.

"so like europe?" you ask, "yes! exactly like europe. i want to travel, meet people who live exactly how they want to, i want to see beautiful museums, and walk down old streets!" she rambles.

you nodded listening to everything she says. "and live off of crossaints and cheese?" you laugh — "mhm!" she nodded.

"i told mr hauser about it and, he told me to take someone with me, and he suggested milton or dash but i was thinking-" she paused, "that maybe you could go with me?" she asks, scrunching her nose.

"or don't, i understand that maybe you have something going on or maybe you focusing on othe-"

"i'll go with you." you stated. "but we literally have 0 dollars and, have you asked your parents?" you ask.

"we can work on that! mr hauser said that he could help talk to my parents which automatically means that he could talk to yours so-" she rambles, "all he said is that if i find someone to take with he could help me. and you said yes."

"yeah well of course, i mean spending any time at all with you and in europe? that sounds like an absolute dream." you smiled.

robin's cheeks grew pink as you stated that. europe? with you? together? is she dreaming right now?

"i'll go work things out, i'll see you tomorrow y/n." she waved.

you were so caught up with the conversation you don't realize you were outside your house now as robin skipped away.

—

robin could barely sleep that night, was she really going to spend her time in europe with you?

god, she was so excited to tell mr hauser all about it. she had already started learning languages she thought might be important for the trip, like french or their culture and stuff.

she is so excited to spend time with you, especially outside of hawkins. the walks you could go with her, the food you get to taste together, the memories she could make.

"jesus, get yourself together buckley." robin sighed, her thoughts haunting her as she slowly falls asleep.

—

you sat down the bus, going home from another miserable day at hawkins high. flipping through the pages of your book, you see robin hoping on, almost missing the bus.

she ignores the taunts of some of the older kids before spotting you and sitting next to you.

"dunno whats their problem," you look back at the older teens mocking robin — "their probably failing another year anyways." you stated, voice a bit louder. "i hope they fall off of the bus." she sighed.

it's been a few weeks since robin told you about 'operation crossaint' and you two just got back from thanksgiving break.

"so, how was your break?" you ask. "amazing actually, i got a job, and i think i can finally afford tickets for two people to go to europe!" she smiles.

"really? that's great! i saved up a bit and i think we can manage. plus, you know extra money for gifts and stuff." you added.

robin was so beyond excited that you stuck by her, the last few weeks everything had been going the total opposite for her, yet you were still there for her in every moment.

"i also bought a camera recently, and we could bring that to our trip. you know? for memories and stuff, so they last forever." you say as robin nodded, smiling wider than ever.

—

and here you are now!

the past weeks is the probably the best few weeks ever. europe, with robin, together.

you two finally get to experience the europe dream, going to museums, eating in fancy cafes, going on trips on a boat, and just living a life outside of hawkins.

you've been carrying your camera around everywhere, documenting your summer with your person.

and for robin, the past few weeks was somewhat of an awakening for her. she finally could understand herself with the help from you and everything around her.

she now understands why she's been feeling a certain way around certain people, especially you. like butterflies fluttering in her stomach, and how her heart feels like its going to explode.

and that brings you here, on a random hill surrounded by pretty flowers and bright stars above.

"heres one where we were at the fair, the ferris wheel looked so pretty here." you showed robin the pictures you've been taking along the trip.

"oh! and these are some cats near by the water, remember? the ones i told you. gosh, they're just so cute." you smile.

you didn't notice how quiet robin was, you could feel her smile but she hasn't said anything.

you look up and notice that she wasn't looking at your camera like you had been doing. she was looking at you.

"what? do i have something on my face?" you questioned.

in robin's defense, you're really pretty. cherry stained lips, gorgeous hair that just falls in place so perfectly, and the prettiest eyes.

"it's not nice to stare buckley." you chuckle, "you're too pretty not too." she replied.

the tension grew as the moon shined, perfectly reflecting robin's freckles.

she moved closer to you, the smell of your perfume overwhelming her.

she kissed you.

you kissed her.

robin pulled away, realizing what she just did, what you just did. your cherry stained lips now staining her.

"i'm sorry i should've-" robin got cut off, your lips connected to hers again. "don't apologize robs." you say, tucking her hair.

"i like you, like, like like you." robin stated — "i like like you too." you replied.

[simplygyuu]

Nouvelle Crown : 23 - Under the Streetlights

synopsis : choi beomgyu, the second prince of the royal choi family doesnt have much of a life outside of his duties. even then hes not allowed to do much, his brother is the crown prince after all. but when he meets you, a regular commoner girl, through his brothers friend soobin he cant help but be intrigued. commoner life is so different from what he knows and you are the only person to treat him like the normal teenager he always longed to be. with you he gets to experience the normal, teenager life behind the backs of his overbearing family.

the two of you sat quietly at the bus stop where you had truly hung out for the first time, happily chatting. beomgyu wasnt supposed to be out, but he didnt care. he needed to see you. plus, he knew yeonjun had his back now.

the crickets chirped and the only light was from the yellow streetlights. there were no people walking around, not this late at night at least. you were completely alone.

"y/n?" you hear beomgyu say and turn to face him when hes already looking at you. theres a small smile on his face, one you can't really decipher. its not his usually shy smile nor is it his mischievous wide one. its too dark to see any of the red color on his face but youre assuming its there. hes been blushing the whole night after all. you softly hum in response, head tilting a bit.

"thank you so much for.. everything." he suddenly begins, turning to almost fully face you. "i..i never knew what it was like to live before i met you. everyday i looked forward to texting you or finding a way to hang out, you fill my mind 24/7," he then nervously chuckles and there, you see his shy smile as he glances away. "i just love you so much... i hope you dont think this is too soon its just, ive never felt like this before. ever. and i want to tell you as often as i can that i love you and you changed my life for the better."

beomgyu almost glows in the dim light, his hair lightly blowing in the wind. you can imagine the blush on his cheeks and you can see the way he slightly gnaws on his bottom lip. his eyes flicker around, landing on you then the grass then his hands and then the cycle repeats. god, you really like him dont you?

without responding to him you tap his cheek to get his eyes on you again. his cheek is warm to the touch as he turns to you and thats when you lean in a bit. its a slow thing as you give him the chance to move, the chance to back away, yet he does the complete opposite. despite his lack of experience he closes the gap between your lips.

the kiss is slow and gentle, just full of love. so, so much love. its not rushed or messy, its not needy or careless. no its romantic, loving, and just so beautiful. beomgyus hand hovers over your waist for a second before he finally places his hand down on your waist and pulls you the slightest bit closer, melting like putty into the kiss. it lasts for a few long seconds but easily feels like an eternity. you could kiss beomgyu for hours if you had the chance to.

you end up breaking the kiss and beomgyu leans his forehead against yours and smiles, eyes crinkling happily. you cant help but giggle softly and he quickly follows suit with a round of chuckles. you lean forward to give him one little peck on the cheek, your mouth hurting from how much you've smiled tonight.

"i love you too, beomgyu. i love you so much"

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

previous masterlist next

notes : IM SEEING TXT TODAY!!! im so excited and rlly wanted to get this out... AAA IM SO HAPPY IVE BEEN WAITING FOR YEARS TO SEE THEM IN CONCERT!!! anyways IM HOLDING MY PROMISE OF TRYING HARDER TO UPDATE! school ends at the end of next week, so ill only have work and this to do :)

reblogs and replies are really really appreciated and keep me motivated!!

taglist (open) : @mazeinthemoon @pokyloky @run2seob @bluebearybeom @wonioml @rikismiel @yumilovesloona @captivq @soobin-chois @thisisnotjacinta @silvsie @sullystraw @luvsoobs @ddeonudepressions @woncheecks @ioszzn @dudufodd @jaeminanklelicker @strawbrinkofdeath @softcabur @luvsooby @ilovewonyo @kaewonie @sugar5 @itzxvaxella @il0vebeomgyu @angelbythewindow @gyuville @myknifeyourlife @sandhyaaa-aa @beomiebears @vocaloshin @streeete

send me an ask or message to be added to the taglist! i dont add from replies :)

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 9/19/2023

unknown flu-like-symptoms-but-not-the-flu-or-COVID problems

listening

no one particular thing has been stuck in my head so here are two short little things

new release Strike by La Femme is a delightful synthy one-minute sketch of a car chase in the pouring rain. spotify

Trumpet Sketches - Remastered by Janko Nilovic is a 1:40 doodle. when the organ hits... spotify

i have been following La Femme ever since i loved their credits song for As Above So Below, and the trumpet sketches are off the spotify recommended

-

reading

actually finished this book last tuesday, still reading berserk, but i don't have coherent berserk thoughts bc im still stuffing my entire elbow into my mouth and screaming about it.

The Stolen Coast, by Dwyer Murphy, has a lot of problems. the first problem is that the publisher bills it as a "noir jewel heist" novel when it is in fact a vibes novel about being sad and trapped in massachusetts. which, mood! but very much not what i or any other goodreads reviewer signed up for.

ABOUT THE STOLEN COAST Adrift in a sleepy coastal Massachusetts town, a man who ferries fugitives by day gets twisted up in a plot to pilfer diamonds in this Casablanca-infused heist novel.

Casablanca is a real fuckin goddamn reach. this is like saying Home Alone 2 and The Taking of Pelham 123 are similar bc they both have pivotal scenes in subways. when you are expecting a cool noir jewel heist and you get a vibes book, it feels very meandering and indecisive with exceptionally poor pacing and very light on the plot. dwyer knows how to put a sentence together, and there is a high degree of aesthetic polish, but i lived in mass and found myself filling in a lot of the vibes from lived experience. this is a book that expects you to already know *extremely* minute regional accent differences.

i often found myself more interested in the antagonist lawyer and his wife (who has a standing weekly appointment to fuck her bodyguard at the region's finest wedding destination hotel, and orders champage afterwards every week) than the protagonists of our story. the femme fatale loops all the way back around to manic pixie, which i didn't know was possible for a woman to do. as an example of the aesthetic polish but editorial disarray of the book, wherein we know so much about our protagonists but so little of it is relevant, i was convinced that "our main man Jack is a Harvard lawyer" was a long running gag for most of the book (a la "our good for nothing son is actually Very Important and just slumming it here") and was actually quite anxious to see if the actual lawyer would ferret him out, but no. jack is actually a real lawyer but it simply does not fucking matter.

there are a. number of happenings that mr murphy tries to pass off as luck and just like Ha Ha Things Just Break Like That Sometimes but it really just feels like acts of god. their planned heist breaks bad for them with no consequences and then breaks very well for them with very few consequences. this is not a long book. the actual heist felt like filling time.

it's a book that's very very good at capturing the New England depression and sense of stagnancy, for want of a nail etc, the bizarre little self-important snow globe everyone lives in, but everyone has such small ambitions. this is sort of the point of noir, that the rot never actually changes no matter what you do, but the protag is the perpetrator of the rot? this is largely a personal crisis that he’s choosing not to address. perhaps most unforgivably, for such a short book it dragged a whole fuck of a lot.

i have been betrayed by whoever did this npr book review

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watching

Forty Guns (1957, dir Fuller). this is the most movie reviewer ass section ive written in a minute. this one is for sickos only. it is not an interesting movie by itself (choppy and kind of messy) but it is an interesting movie if you know the limitations of the genre and the hays code it's slamming up against.

there is simply So Much that happens in this movie (from the very good Criterion Collection essay):

While the story sounds rather tidy in summary, the plot of Forty Guns is rife with intrigue and action—juggling political corruption, theft, betrayal, an unwanted pregnancy, a serious maiming, three romances, four murders, and a suicide. 

there's some oddly dorky but endearing straight people visual and verbal double entendre. visually unique but does not stick its landing, and i don't know that i love the original ending as opposed to the studio ending either.

it gets a solid B on the "westerns i would let other people watch" list. not one of the top three movies to convince someone that some westerns are good actually, but a fun little weird offshoot of the genre.

why did i watch this: surely by seeing a post from another cowboyblogger? it was fairly recently added to my letterboxd watchlist, but the why of it i could not tell you

-

playing

im convinced theres a bug in the Court of Fontaine region in g/enshin bc i have been stuck at 97% for several weeks now. tick over to 100% godddamnit.

-

making

acquired all the stuff to dye a couch cover, have not actually dyed the couch cover, due to being down with some sort of sickness

[rainintheevening]

Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV

Sometimes he watches Peter, when Peter isn't looking.

They go home for the Easter Holidays, and Mother takes them to church, and they stand and sing, everyone singing, lots of mothers shedding tears, but Edmund looks up at Peter, so tall and straight and singing hard, and Ed wishes he could be that brave and confident, even as he hates that it's Peter taking Mother's arm as they leave, and not Dad.

He misses Dad so much. Misses talking in the evenings by the wireless and looking over the newspaper and Dad not hiding things from him like Peter does. Misses Dad’s jokes and quick wit, and Mother laughing at breakfast when her hair is messy.

Edmund doesn't really say his prayers anymore, but he does beg God to bring Dad home safely.

Peter makes him think about Dad too much though. It's easier with his friends at school, with them there's always something new to plan, always some delightful new way to twist words or people or events. When he works his brain like that he forgets how small he is, and he forgets how hungry he is.

He tells himself he's glad to go back to school.

It's two more terms before the bombing starts. Right at the end of summer holidays, there's a week to go, and the school gets hit. Everyone says how lucky and what a blessing it was that school was out. Otherwise, think of all the children who might have been killed!

There's a grainy picture in the paper, And Edmund stares at it for a long time. He imagines the stones falling in on him, crushing him, and there's something terrible and thrilling about the idea.

He imagines those stones hitting Peter's face, and grins wickedly. But only for a moment. He can't hold that smile, not truthfully.

So they don't go back to school. Neither does Susan. They all stay home, and the grown-ups start talking about sending them away to the countryside, away from the highly populated areas where the Germans would concentrate their assault.

Mother always looks so desperately sad whenever it's mentioned at church, and anytime Edmund tries to ask questions, Peter looks at Lucy and shuts him up.

Peter's always telling him what to do. Sometimes it makes Edmund feel like swearing.

They learn the drills, they develop a routine. There's a week where they spend at least a few hours in the Anderson every single night.

There comes one bad night.

They wake up, and the sirens are wailing, and bells are ringing, and Ed stands at the window, watching the orange and red blossom to the sky. It all swirls around him, chaos, but it's strangely beautiful, there's a terrible power in it.

There are bombs falling on them. They could all die, right now, tonight.

And then Mother is there pulling him away, and Lucy is screaming, and Peter's herding them all down through the back garden, and Edmund remembers.

They're not all here, they've forgotten someone.

Dad.

Dad’s picture, the good one, of him in his uniform, the last one he took before he went away. Ed always brings it with them, and if he doesn't remember, Mother or Lucy usually do. But they've forgotten this time.

They've forgotten Dad.

He hears Peter yelling, he's back in the house grabbing at the framed picture, and then there are arms tight around him, throwing him to the floor, and the whole world explodes, shatters, glass raining down, but Peter's holding him tight, safe just out of reach of all that glittering, jagged shower.

Time blurs.

They tumble into the shelter, Edmund staggers, falls on one of the beds, hand slipping on the broken glass of Dad’s picture. He stares up at Peter, who looks more horrified than Ed has ever seen him before.

They're staring at each other, and Peter's shouting, he sounds like he might cry. Mother hugs Edmund, and he feels a sting on his palm, knows he must have cut himself, but he looks back up at Peter, square on, like he hasn't in ages, sees a wild sort of anger, like a cornered animal.

“Why can't you do as you're told?!”

It rings in Ed’s ears, almost worse than the explosion.

The next morning Peter stands in front of the shattered front window, staring blankly out. Ed comes up beside him, opens his mouth to make a smart remark.

“You could have been killed,” Peter says. “Or worse. That glass would have cut you to ribbons.”

Peter's voice does something funny, and he turns and walks away too fast, and Ed turns, a beat slow, to watch him, watch his back, and it isn't ramrod straight, not today. Peter's head is bowed as he leaves the room.

Next

[nagitosasshole]

𝑩𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑩𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅

Vampire Copia / Papa Emeritus IV

(Dracopia)               x reader 

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤:

◇ Mentions of the Sibling from the first chapter (Meaning mentions of gore. If you haven't read the first chapter, I will try to link it) ◇

◇ Descriptions of sadness, fear, isolation, etc (If you're not in the right headspace for that, please look out for yourself!) ◇

◇ Copia isn't depicted as a 'soft' vampire ◇ 

◇ This is not a 'dark' Copia fic, he's still babey, i just like inflicting trauma upon the characters i write :^) ◇ 

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this chapter includes the ghost fandoms fave tool- google translate!!

yea so sorry bout the obligatory poorly translated italian but im not italian so-

translations will be added at the end

(and further apologizes if copia is out of character. this is just how i think they'd talk / react to things)

thanks!! 

-

ali

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◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇☆☆☆☆☆☆☆Chapter☆2☆☆☆☆☆☆☆◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

I stare blankly into my mirror; finally uncovered after nearly a month. The blanket I used to cover it lays damp and discarded on the ground beside my feet, the steam from my shower still clinging to the fuzzy material. With a sigh, I kick the bundle of fabric away, not wanting to even see it. 

Maybe I just need something to vent my emotions, but even my tiny fit leaves me with nothing. Looking back into the mirror I only get the same sunken-eyed, tired face as before.

The droopy, blank expression I've been sporting for the last few weeks is in stark contrast to what it's like internally. 

It's almost funny, really. Inside, my thoughts run rampant, never ceasing from day to day. Endlessly plagued by what I saw and the loss of the only friends I had. Just too much. Always too much.

But outside, you'd be lucky to pinpoint any emotion other than pure exhaustion. I wonder if that will be the case when I see Copia…

Maybe I'll finally show just how much I've missed him, or maybe show my mortification, maybe- maybe I'll even give him one of those terrible wide grins I do when I'm anxious enough. 

Or maybe the sight of him will leave me speechless, making the month's worth of pain and fear come pouring out as I helplessly cling to him-

In turn, clinging to what scraps are left of my normalcy.

I choke a dry sigh from my unused throat as I half heartedly untangle my hair with my fingers, hissing every now and then when my fingers get caught in my messy hair. Afterwards, I brush my teeth and wash my face once more. Having washed it in the shower doesn't feel like enough. I have time to spare before 9:00…another wash couldn't hurt. Maybe then I'll look less pale and more lively. As if I haven't been locked up in my room for a month. 

Once I'm finished, I send my reflection one last empty look before leaving the bathroom, making my way to my closet in search of clothing. Messily routing through my closet,  I find a plain black dress. I send my habit a fleeting glance before quickly looking back to the soft black fabric in my hands. I'm definitely not wearing my habit. 

I don't think I can bear to.

Luckily, the other Siblings will be retired to their rooms by then… 

Hopefully, I'll be unspotted on my way to Copia's room, especially out of uniform. 

With a sigh, I sling the dress over my shoulder and grab my socks and shoes, lazily taking them to the bathroom with me. I set my socks and shoes on the counters neatly, dress folded beside them. Once there's no more needless straightening I can do, i send my clothing one last look before slipping into the empty bathtub. 

my skin slides against the slick surface of the tub still dotted with water from my shower. I plug the tub and fill it with water, trying to pad out my time and keep myself as occupied as possible until 9- deciding that if I were to wear a dress, I'd need to shave my legs even though neither of us will even notice. I just want to feel in control, like I actually look like a person when I see him. 

I crane my neck against the back of my tiny bathtub, head rolling to the side to glance at my dress as my wrist lazily drags the razor against my calves. 

'he likes that one on me…' I drawl out dryly in my head, unable to help the memory of Copia not so subtly stumbling over himself to awkwardly compliment my attire. Muttering under his breath, "Assomigli a Lilith stessa…"

Quick to catch himself, he stumbled out a response that if talking to anyone else but me would make them cringe, 

"E-eh, do not worry about that. I meant to say…you look nice, lovely- Lovely in your dress."

Finishing off his rushed-out compliment with his signature awkward 'eheheh'. 

The memory makes my cheeks flush like it did back then, feeling as if I were a schoolgirl as I force my gaze away from the folded dress. In recent time, when I think of him the blush still follows as it always has- only now followed with an undercurrent of shame. I should be thinking of my fellow Sibling who lost their life. I should be praying for them more, praying that their soul may find peace through their cruel and painful death. 

I'm truly terrible, I know it.

I shouldn't be thinking of better times, face flushing as I helplessly picture the Copia I knew. My face flushes hot with shame as tears prick my eyes, arms firmly locked around my aching knees as I attempt to will my thoughts away.

I can feel the regret and sorrow for my departed Sibling bubbling in my chest, making my heart pound hard and fast against my knees until I have to rest my dizzied head against my knees. 

Funny.

I didn't think I had anymore tears in me. 

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Getting ready surprisingly was a breeze. No distractions as I got my clothing in order, deciding that I shouldn't put too much into my appearance. The sole reason being that I just can't. There's a heavy weight in my soul that no cleaning up with decent clothing can hide. Besides, Copia would see right through it. He always has. 

So,

Pointless.

With a weak huff, I stuff my phone under my arm, not really seeing the point in bringing a bag with me to carry the one thing. I pick at and click my nails together as I struggle to steel my nerves, eyes stuck on the door in front of me. 

My nails need to be clipped…

Haven't done anything to them in a month or so. Too long and uneven for my tastes. 

Some are long, longer than even I would like while others are chewed to points, some chewed down to nothing.

Bad. Very bad.

Maybe I should go fix them. I mean, it would only take a min-

No.

No.

Stop it.

Just get it over with.

He's Copia. Your friend.

You can trust him.

I set my jaw in place and grab my doorknob, opening it in a way that would look a whole lot more confident if not for the trembling in my hand.

'I hate this', I humorlessly laugh in my head, body rigid as I glance around the halls.  No sign of any of the ghouls…

Good. Very good. 

I never thought that after everything I've gone through that the ghouls- my friends would make me feel so naked, so exposed. I feel helpless. 

The walk to Copia's quarters is a long one if you're a sibling, but I know the route like the back of my hand. Only serving to make that tight, ever expanding balloon of dread in my stomach feel like it will pop any moment. I know I'm getting closer, I know it. 

'My Lorde, I'm sorry for bothering you, but please look after me tonight. I am lost…please allow me to understand all of this…' my pathetic prayer trails off and dies upon it's arrival, mind overtaken by the sight of Copia's door. (yes, he has a door in this. sorry I don't want this super serious conversation to be heard by Jesus down the hall/j) 

Fuck.

I'm really fucked, aren't I?

Biting down on the inside of my lip hard, I taste pennies as I turn the knob, letting my hand rest in a twisted position for a moment before I finally push on the knob, opening the door with a slow and deafening creak. 

I'm sure I look as meek as I feel as the soft glow of candlelight lightly illuminates my figure, the faint draw of my brows together the only traces of emotion on my face despite my eyes telling everything my face cannot. My eyes scan over his dim room before skidding to a halt. 

There he is.

After all this time.

He stands with a stiff pose, his underhand clenched around the rounded tip of his cane, his upper hand draped over the other lightly in a loose hold. Glancing over the cane, I recognize it from a portrait Sister had done when he was Cardinal and freshly introduced as a leader. I haven't seen that in so long…it feels so familiar yet alien at the same time. 

His pose exudes faux power, but the subtle shifting of his legs and the way his Adam's apple bobs up and down as he tries to will down his anxiety makes it apparent that he's still the same Copia he was back when he was the Cardinal. 

He's only gotten better at making a show- being a Papa. But he's still the same. It's apparently in all the tiny clues on his body. Even the way his eyes shake ever so subtly as he forces himself to hold eye contact. 

But it still infuriates a small part of me. 

It makes me want to walk over and shake him, make him act like a normal fucking person again. His poorly strewn-together Papa personality makes my heart sink and blood boil.

It makes me question why the fuck he even wrote that letter if he's not even going to pretend like he's himself. Acting like I'm just a Sibling, as if I was an underling and I didn't know Copia, I knew Papa. It makes me sick.

More so than anything, the way silence blankets us, gripping us both in silent mortification as we stare into each other's eyes. The same thought running through both of our minds. 

They were so young. Came to this ministry to escape a volatile life, to leave their horrible family in search of a truly understanding one. They found their true family here. Friends, even. They were happy, and always kind to everyone. They vowed their loyalty to the very man who promised a life ripe with pleasures, wealth, and love if only they gave themselves over to their dark Lorde and their Papa- 

The man who consumed their mared flesh out of wild hunger. 

The memory of my fallen Sibling makes my eyes sting, giving me an excuse to look away from his own.

He's asked me to come here, and he wants to seem more put together than he really is. Almost like he thinks I won't want Copia after all these years of us growing closer, only Papa Emeritus IV, the newest, freshest Papa. 

Maybe it's that he's doing this for himself, perhaps to be "strong". It's sad how far he still sinks into his insecurities, even after all these years of me building him up. It's like a moment alone can still make him crumble under the weight of expectations and pretend to be anyone other than himself, at least mostly. 

Sometimes I wonder if he knows Copia.

This is the first time he's asked for my presence since I found out about his little predicament- what he did, accidentally or not. It feels strange how we spent nearly every moment either of us wasn't swamped with work in each other's presence for the better part of 6 years, only to be completely void of interaction for a month. It feels empty without him, I regrettably decided almost immediately.

I admittedly regret that after only a week of fleeting looks and poorly placed letters, I gave up. My chest hurt nearly everyday, pushed forward only by sparse, short letters he'd write back- hardly half of them did he respond. 

When I'd see him return a letter, it filled me with as much excitement as it did pure dread. 

He didn't even sound like himself in his notes. Hardly a hint of fondness or affection my usually starved brain can pick at. 

'Perhaps he's as much of a coward as I am,' I'd think to myself, thoughts halting for a moment before I'd let myself give into my (then) weeks-long soured mood, dryly continuing with, 'Too scared to be rejected in person, or maybe he just doesn't want to see me. I don't blame him.'

My sourness doesn't last long.

It never does. 

It only helps me disguise how truly lost and saddened I feel by my closest companion's departure - by such a catastrophic reveal, no less. 

It's laughable how I should fear him, only for the lingering dread and terror twisting in my empty tummy to be from the thought of our connection being severed.

The thought of being without him. 

  

I'm a terrible person.

"Sister."

I shouldn't be sad for myself.

"Sister."

I can feel him staring at me, I should say something.

"Sister."

At least look at him. Do something-

"Sister!"

I choke out a muted gasp as my eyes dart up to his, body ridged from surprise as my eyes become blurry. His eyes soften immediately at the sight, shoulders slumping from their forced position as he calls out again, softer.

"Sister, please look at me."

I force myself to keep my gaze up as I will down the tears that threaten to spill. It's just too much. The pain, the anxiety, the past weeks, the memories, his eyes, his voice, his mere presence- 

I block out my thoughts completely, doing my best to lock away my emotions and thoughts as I stare up at him. With a voice that sounds foreign to even myself, I speak, "Sorry, Papa." 

That was it. I couldn't think of anything else to say, and really, what could I say? An emotionless apology that says everything and nothing. What I was truly apologizing for, I don't know, but I silently praise the dark Lorde for the fact my apology counts as a response. 

Copia's brows raise and furrow into a look of sympathy, the action making the already deep wrinkles in his forehead all the more apparent. I curse the part of me that wants to press my thumb between his brows to softly smooth against his worried flesh, but I scream at the smaller part of me that wants to smack that sympathetic look off his face. 

Neither reaction is appropriate or right. 

I fucking hate my brain. 

"Sister, i-" Copia halts, brows digging downward, seemingly in distaste before smoothing back into a hesitant expression as he continues, "I want to apologize, (reader). I have kept much from you…" He dryly licks at his painted lips. A nervous habit of his. "I never- I want to tell you that I never wanted you to find out like this. Eh, at all, actually. I- I did not mean it like that-" He cuts himself off with a choked 'eheheh' as he stiffens, coming off far more nervous than he intended. 

He stops himself from rambling again,  frozen in place as he looks to the side, trying his hardest to find the best sentence he can before ultimately scrapping every rough draft his brain conjures. With an internal sigh, he abandons his cane against the side of a nearby shelf and takes a tentative step to me.

His eyes hold mine, but it's not like before- No, his eyes are soft and honest. 

That is not the look of a Papa.

That's the look of Copia. 

I audibly choke back the noises the efforts to hold back my tears cause, the soft straining in my throat noticeable to both of us despite my blank expression. I let him speak.

I want to understand.

He hesitantly reaches forward and gently clasps his larger hand under my own, lifting it up between the two of us as he lightly wraps his other hand utop mine, effectively blanketing my trembling hand with the warmth his leather gloves provide. The way he touches me as if my body is as fragile as my emotional state makes me want to break down right then, to cry until he wraps his arms around me and lets me let it all out- But I don't say anything, not yet.

The only evidence that I'm listening is the few stray tears that fall without my consent. 

"Ti prego, perdonami…Mi dispiace tanto, amico mio…" His eyes shine as he stares into my eyes, the candlelight making them look impossibly glossy as he leans down. He makes a point to bow to my level instead of lifting my hand to his lips, an apology. I feel the traces of his newly grown mustache against my skin, making my paled skin feel hypersensitive to his touch.

I remember when he shaved it.

When he became Papa.

I remember being so distraught over his new face, the loss of his pouty lips, rounded face, but most of all… that wonderful, strong, pointy nose of his and that pencil mustache.

I remember playfully lamenting the loss of his mustache to him and any ghoul that would listen, flooring him since I never did have the courage to compliment it like I wanted to until it was sadly gone. 

He started growing it back a few weeks later. Shaving it periodically when he had to go on tour so he wouldn't have to fight to hide it beneath his opaque papal paints, only to grow it back when he came back home. 

Proudly showing it off when he had his informal paints on around me.

It was endearing, to say the least.

My breath hitches harshly in my throat but neither of us dare make mention of it. I can only stare as his lips linger against my chilled skin, only now gaining some warmth and life. 

I can't help the tears that slip past me as I silently watch him, his words replaying in my mind as my tears softly pelt against his soft brunette hair. 

It would be too much if not for the fact he's here, he's touching me, the real him. I can't bear to pull away from him in fear of him disappearing from my life again, leaving me lost and confused. 

"Non ti merito-" His lips lifts from my skin only long enough to speak, quickly moving forward to press another light kiss to my flesh.

"Mi dispiace-" another small peck, lingering only a bit longer than the previous.

"Sono come sono-" Another, now moving to the bend of my hand, teasing at my wrist as he gently turns my hand.

"Perdonami per favore…per favore…" He whispers out with a wavering tone as he presses a kiss to my now exposed wrist, lingering there with the softest of pressure as he takes in the feeling of my heartbeat. 

Silence blankets us once more as I stare down at him, lashes damp and heavy as my hand shakes in his loose hold. The sight of him as he finally looks up at me makes fresh tears spring in my eyes. His eyes are wet and glossy with unshed tears as his hand lightly twitches against mine, subconsciously seeking the comfort I usually offer him.  

I give his hand a pitiful squeeze. Hardly enough to even be called a squeeze, but it's all I can manage. 

My body feels like lead. As If I could fall, yet stay frozen forever. I feel like fucking shit. 

But even at the tiniest of comforts, his eyes widen almost comically. 

His cheeks move subtly at his attempt to voice something, but it dies before he can even try to entertain whatever is going through his head. Instead, he squeezes back, eyes telling me everything I need to know. 

There's a drawn out silence before I suddenly speak up. Voice meek and pitchy.

"I know…I know you d-" my voice stops, cracking pathetically in my tight throat. "You didn't…mean to. You-" My eyes dart up to look at him, only to have to look back at his chest instantly. His expression is too much. 

"You're not…a monster…"

Silence. Pure silence. 

"You didn't…" I shake my head in a useless attempt to rid myself of the memory of that Sibling. Eyes stinging as my throat squeezes around my words. "I-"

With that, a choked sob rips it's way up my throat, forcing itself to be acknowledged as I lean my head against Copia's chest. My other hand reaches up to blindly grip onto his papal robe as my other holds onto his as if he'd disappear. I incoherently sob out apologies to my departed Sibling and pathetic 'I miss you's' to Copia as he wraps his arms around me. 

He only quietly shushes me when my shaking or cries become too much, only to calm me and keep me away from a worse breakdown. His free hand softly smooths over my hair, the familiar feeling of leather calming me and making me think of better times. 

He leans down and rests his nose against the top of my head, pressing a tiny kiss there as he inhales my hair's freshly washed scent- surely seeking comfort of his own. 

After a while of him holding me, he reluctantly parts, speaking in a soft voice, "You are alright, Tesoro?"

I only give an unconvincing nod in response. He gives a hesitant nod in return, licking at his lips again as he gives my hand a squeeze with both his hands. "Do…you wish to know everything?"

I nod.

He takes a long, silent breath in before speaking again. His voice is plain and stable as he says, "Then I will tell you everything, Mia cara."

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Translation notes:

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____________________

Assomigli a Lilith stessa 

-

You look like Lilith herself

_____________________

Ti prego, perdonami…Mi dispiace tanto, amico mio

-

Please forgive me...I am so sorry, my friend

______________________________

Non ti merito

-

I do not deserve you

_________________

Mi dispiace

-

I'm sorry

_____________

Sono come sono

-

I am as I am (yes, i meant to write it that way. meant in the way someone would say "i am sorry i am the way that i am")

_______________________________

Perdonami per favore…per favore…

-

Forgive me, please...please...

_______________________________

Tesoro

-

Treasure (treasure being the most solid meaning, while some say it loosely means or translates to sweetheart, darling, honey / hunny. General terms of endearment, but I meant it as sweetheart. Treasure also works. I am not Italian)

_______________________________

Mia cara

-

My dear (feminine)

________________

(italian readers PLEASE help)

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additional notes:

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ah the drama!! it is s p i c y!!

and by spicy i mean s a d, but fun either way :^D 

hope y'all enjoy my amateur attempt at writing enough to stick around for the next part. i'd amaze me,, but i'd be eternally grateful.

okie dokie then,, thanks so reading all the way through!! 

thanks ghesties!! 

-

ali.

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[hyunjinspark]

i read the new chapter n jade..... my heart burned so badly, everything seems to be crumbling down all over n to think this has been yns long wished for dream that turned out a nightmare.. i have a few annotates to make!! ill out them below, its my first time so i rlly hope its not messy >.<

“Of course not” Hyunjin rolled his eyes, continuing to add details to his little map, right now he was adding the 7/11 between your house and Aera’s.

hyun thinking of yn neighborhood so fondly n cherishing the scenery sm let alone remember it to add to his painting was so heart wrenching in a good way.. it made me smile

“Unfortunately, I don’t think that’s going to be possible Jinnie. And…you’re probably gonna have to get the flowers tomorrow” Chan suddenly said, filling up the blender with ingredients.

i knew exactly where this was going n for some reason it made me rlly sulky.... hyuns hectic life ;—;

“No, but my girlfr-“ Hyunjin stopped in his sentence, clearing his throat, and he could feel Chan’s gaze burn curiously into him, “Um…one of my friends is. He’s her favourite artist in the world”

i was blushing so hard here, i got so flustered, i hope yn finds out abt this, the subconsciously calling her his girlfriend, its so!!!!!!! god!!!!!!

He saw your eyes widen, and a deep emotion overwhelmed you. He didn’t see you react more, and he wondered what this meant to you, what he meant to you right now, even so far away. You didn't say anything back. You must be holding it all in, just like him. Maybe you didn’t know how to put your thoughts into words. He couldn't blame you. Even after reading all the poems in the world, Hyunjin didn’t have the words either. Not enough anyway.

i loved seeing more of hyuns heart during such conversations!!!!! we havent gotten much of it so i cherish it all dearly n feeling hyuns sincerity towards yn from such insights, he better tell her sooner or later, poor yns heart deserves to know ;—; especially after the mess going on for a while now

I want you here with me at this party. Fuck, it’s so dull without you. If you were here, we could just sneak off and…I would kiss you. Positively. My manager is here, the scary one, but he doesn’t have to know. Earlier, I was reading a book and there was an English word in it that reminded me of you. Saudade. I looked it up because I was so curious and it said it’s a state of melancholy for a beloved someone or something. I think that explains this ridiculous feeling I have when I think of you. I have it even when I’m not thinking of you. Like last week, when we were recording this one song. It’s like you’re here with me in everything. I guess what I’m saying is, I just want to kiss you really really badly and fuck I’m really drunk so I’m sorry for how this may sound but I just really need to feel you—

this was one of the hottest things ive read through slwy..... the words rnt coming out, but, the desperation n need in his words here melt me.. i am yet again nothing but a woman it seems, this was genuinely so hot. i cant say it enough. i kind of wish he wasnt cut off at the end.....

Suddenly the expensive bracelets he was wearing felt like shackles around Hyunjin’s wrists. 

When he got home that night, he realised the hydrangeas in his room had withered away completely.

the poetry/metaphors in these lines were beautiful jade :(

At your question, Hyunjin’s grip on the wheel tightened. His shoulders tensed up.

You'd struck a nerve.

Good.

yn getting some revenge this way was so satisfying to read. yes u struck a nerve n yes its good that u did!!!

hey. i was just talking with minho and man, i miss you

I know you’ve likely forgotten all about me but call me later please…I think ill die here without you

yongbok is so sweet, i do miss him n i didnt realize how much i did until reading his texts here

“She’s a really good artist” Hyunjin suddenly interrupted you.

proud boyfriend behavior. i dont know if u understand but this was so proud boyfriend!

He’d gotten so much better in your absence. You’d only gotten worse in his.

this just hurt. bc yes. :( hyun come back :(

“No, I’m not done talking. After losing you, moving to the city was the hardest thing I ever did. Leaving Daejon behind, all my friends…the only life I knew, and this place where I don’t really fit perfectly, but I’m trying so hard to. It is so hard. The only thing I love…I can’t even love that anymore because I can’t fucking stop thinking about you when I’m painting! It’s not fair. You had a choice, Hyunjin. I didn’t” Your voice broke.

hearing it all pour out of her is so heartbreaking bc it feels like theres so much more she wants to say but cant bc of how overwhelming it is, my chest felt heavy hearing her like this :(

“I…couldn’t leave you at the party. It’s not safe…of course I had to drive you home. I would go insane if something happened to you”

something happened to her when u disappeared, dummy..... u should go insane over that instead bc yn did. so did i. hyun come back!!!!! ;—;

Raindrops slowly trickled down, tracing the ruined paper in your palm. The only memory left of you and Hyunjin was now gone.

heart ripped off my chest. im v sentimental even w materials so this.... it rlly hurt.

“Fine” You heard it being passed around and then his voice came in, “Love. I’m here”

i had these copy pasted in my notes but i just got to send u this ask so im unsure if this was bbok or lino... im thinking bbok, hes so comforting amongst the chaos he seems to be the constant yn needs

Draped in a beige trench coat, cheeks red from the cold, Hyunjin stood at the bottom of your staircase.

nothing n i repeat NOTHING couldve prepared me for this. i did not expect it at all, everything was so fast i was ready to take in a deep calming breath n read along w yns quick decision to go back but now theres....... hyun. hyun is here n i cant wait to know the reason, what hell say or do, how yn feels n how it plays out.. im so nervous n once again looking forward to the next chapter >.<

u once again worded everything so beautifully n im sorry its getting repetitive by now but i love ur writing n the depth to it. i hold it dear to me, this story. thanku so much for writing it w so much love, jade<3

-🤍

idk how i missed answering this !! this is so sweet, i cherished reading every line and i absolutely LOVE when you annotate, it makes me feel appreciated and fuzzy and warm inside. thank you for pointing out your favorite parts 🥺

im glad you thought hyun’s text was hot, the desperation is really there haha. and thank you for appreciating all the little flower metaphors i sprinkled in there ! i loved reading this. thank you for loving this story so much, you make me happy.

[quaranmine]

OH THE TOP LAYERS OF MY HAIR USED TO LOOK LIKE THAT. BOTTOM LAYER WAS SUPER CURLY. OK SO tricks.

first off: wadah when ya brush. tons of it. so much water. get urself a spray bottle and go juju on that beat

second off: that one guy in the comments was right, leave-in conditioner Does Help but i was a messy little kid and never did anything fun with my hair ever so i forget what it did except for make my hair feel weird and slippery

ive also never used heat on my hair ever so idk what to do there

uhhhhhhhhh what else. oh yeah i wore ponytails So Much but as for keeping my hair down? idk? shit just sorta happened?

i got my hair cut short like two years ago and then like two weeks ago i got the sides shaved so safe to say it's been a while but yeah. usually my full Curl only happened after a LOT of primping and preening and mostly just on the shorter bottom layer. it got way curlier when i got it cut cos there wasnt all that extra hair hanging down

also jt looks great on you whoa :0 hope this helped a little akdksdbwb!!

OH! THANK YOU! i should try a spray bottle, it's definitely always more wavy after being wet. I debated tossing a photo into that post that was just a photo of me an hour or two after being drenched in a rainstorm LOL

and yeah i might take moss's advice about leave in conditioner, i've never used it. i worry it would make my hair look greasy, mostly. I know Ulta will let you return used products so I might try a few things from there to see if it works. also yeah i only mentioned heat as something i don't want to do, i used to do it a lot in high school. it didn't ruin my hair or anything but i'd rather not run the risk

i'm getting my hair done again today for the first time since july so it will be returned to its true and rightful form: medium-short, above my shoulders. i do not like my hair long and it's been too long for my liking for a few months now lsdjfkslfjs. last time was my first time using this hair stylist and she cut my hair as if it were curly and tbh the results were great--I think the extra layering and stuff worked for me very well (the top two photos were taken like a week after the cut, the bottom two are what it looks like now). i think my old stylist acknowledged my hair was wavy, but didn't really cut it any different.

So I'll see if she can do the same type of cut again and what her recommendations are today! also thank you for the compliment :D

[heliianth]

here’s another ask for you: talk abt whatever you want!!!

WAUGH thank u for a new one!!!!! ilysm!!!!!

rambling abt sonic and character foils and the IDW comics below the cut this is aimless enough for me to want it be an opt-in experience LOL

i was gonna talk abt this last night but it was 11 AnyWay. i saw a criticism of the IDW comics on reddit a long time ago and its got me thinking recently. someone said they didn't quite enjoy the way the comic was tackling sonic as a character not because of the inconsistencies in his pre-established beliefs (which are present) per se but because IDW keeps challenging them in ways that don't feel, from what i remember the comment saying, "good-spirited"? i hadnt heard that critique before so it was unique enough to catch my interest but not actually think much until now. but theres a reason for that hold on ok

so. to preface this whole thing. some of the most beloved stories in the series are ones that Do challenge sonic's beliefs. thats the reason why, when the series wants to tackle more mature content, they make foil characters. sa2 which reddit largely considers as having the best story has foil characters everywhere but specifically it spends a lot of energy on it's themes of identity and growth by making sonic and shadow clash not just physically but ideologically. that talk they have after final rush/chase basically spells it out and its framed as shadow hearing sonic out and then dismissing him ("what are you/i'm me/i see, well, i'm gonna beat your ass" <- basically). and then later on sonic's viewpoint is reinforced when shadow (airquotes) dies, but not before sonic himself is visibly impacted in the credits sequence. that whole story right there was, at least thematically, one about sonic having his beliefs challenged. SatBK does this as well, a game which is applauded within the general community as having the most accurate sonic characterization. stories that do adjacent things, like the OVA, s3&k, sa1, where character foils are a prominent part of the theming (though maybe not presented in a way where sonic himself necessarily feels ideologically Challenged), are often very popular as well

the time i saw the criticism was about when the surge saga was coming to an end, but i was new at that point so i really dismissed the whole discussion. sonics allowed to be challenged, thats what happens when you have a static character as a protagonist. but now that ive reread IDW a few times and have identified some of my own issues with the run so far i've been thinking about that reddit comment more often. why is the way IDW challenges sonic so different from the way stories like SatBK or sa2 challenge him? why is one intriguing and the other not "good-spirited?" nowadays i think the issue is less with tone or intent like the wording of the original comment implies, but the conclusion of those stories. all of those previous examples i gave culimate in sonic succeeding, yes bc hes the title character, but moreso bc hes the vehicle through which the themes of the series are delivered. SatBK wasn't going to have merlina win because the story was trying to tell the audience that life is only worth living when its finite. sa2 killed off shadow because it was about how being unable to move on eats someone from the inside out. these are broad overarching themes that are present in the whole series and its generally agreed that sonic at his best is representative of those themes, which is why hes static

but IDW kind of has a messy history with conclusions. or, at least, conclusions that feel like they are trying to Say something in the way i've been talking about. after everything is done and the threat of the week is defeated, it all kind of returns back to a status quo, which im very sure is not the fault of the writers. long-running series are supposed to have a status quo that keeps stuff the same so that new audiences wont be alienated by huge character histories and lore timelines and things to catch up on (The Most Intimidating thing abt like archie for example). its partially why u see almost no fleshed out arcs that span multiple games after 06 (man the word partially is doing some legwork there but if i talked abt why sonic games changed so drastically after the mid 2000's i would be here all fucking day). and there are conversations to be held about that status quo and its place in the games and whether its beneficial or not but imo when talking about IDW, a comic which is supposed to have continuity, it kind of obliterates the potential of having meaningful conclusions and the themes that come along with them. because IDW always approaches "sonic feels ideoloically challenged" and it never goes beyond it. it nudges and hints at criticism of IDW sonic's beliefs, actions, and philosophy, but it doesn't do anything with it. the status quo says sonic can't change that much, which is good when the conclusion of stories have themes that prove he's already got it figured out, and bad when there's a big gaping question mark where a lesson should be. the surge saga i think is the glaring example of this precisely because its so conclusionless (theres also how sonic himself engages with her but thats a convo for another day).

so when that redditor said they thought the surge saga lacked a "good-spiritedness" that stories with a similar concept like SatBK or sa2 had i think they were picking up the vibes of the story being kind of... pointless at least in terms of themes and actual impact on the characters, rather than a lack of earnestness, a tone blunder, or strange intent on the part of the writers

im really curious how the urban warfare saga is resolved now precisely bc this lack of meaningful conclusion problem is so prevalent . depending on how passionate i am i may make a more formal analysis post abt it or something, but probably not considering i read IDW very very casually . which feels like a contradiction after writing all this but . yanno

[pretendstoread]

i smoked a cigarette and i wasnt even that drunk

there were a few things i wanted to write about today but theyre lost to me now and i wish i at least wrote down the general Idea. but i've at least noticed that ive been actively Indulging in more...taboo? things i wouldn't normally or were too scared to try. i've smoked two cigarettes this summer (woah!), had two shroom trips (WOAH!), had sex with a man for the first time (JEEZ!!), i'm smoking weed more often (hmmm....), and i'm thinking of testing the waters with (recreational?) adderall. this is not to say that i'm going downhill, or self sabotaging, or actively trying to harm myself and others. in fact, i quite like this sort of indulgence i'm in. let me do some unhealthy things right now. i don't think i Deserve it but i just....idk...i kinda need it?

i've always been in this need for control--to have it, to be in it. it's very hard to do new things that way because i don't know what i'm getting into. i'm at the whimsy of the uncomfortable zone. i focus too much on the potential negative of a situation: i'm going to have a bad trip, i'm going to make a bad drawing, i'm going to humiliate myself because i am New To This. and that's where i lack grace and freedom and embracing the Fun of being new.

it sucks that being new at something, trying new things, meeting new people, putting yourself out there in some capacity makes me feel like a burden. if i'm not the responsibility of someone else (i.e. a supervising coworker, a babysitting friend, an experienced lover) then i'm a burden to my own ego. even if i'm alone in my room trying to shake my ass i still feel incredibly embarrassed by my own reflection. seeing such failure (seeing my own body) is maybe worse than sharing it with someone else. there's a humor in that vulnerability that brings me closer to whoever i'm sharing that with: coughing while smoking a cig, readjusting on a dick, spilling a nutcracker in your hair while tripping on the beach are all moments that, while silly and messy and unprepared, bring me closer with the person on the other side of that. it shows a little bit of humanity and humility.

that is not extended to moments with myself though. i dont really know how to fully explain it. maybe it's some degree of not being comfortable with myself or perfectionist problems i have and self-perception etc etc etc. but have you ever failed yourself so hard you don't even want to try again? there is no one else to laugh along with you or reassure you or empathize. when i fail myself, I Fail Myself. yknow? ehhh not really something i want to think about further.

random things i have Happy Feelings for:

came home last night after being in a weed comatose at nat's and hammered nails into my walls so i can hang my belts. it was a random spurt of energy that got something i wanted done but for some reason never tried to do in my free time (i realize i am wayyyyy too adaptable to my own traps of inconvenience. i put the bag of toiletries in my room to Force Me to unpack them and ultimately left it in the way for a couple weeks before just stuffing the whole bag in the closet.)

really liked todays episode of the sopranos: s1e12. junior and tony both deal with mortality in different ways. not much more to say on it right now

also between this episode ^ (isabella the madonna hallucination), honestly themes of the show in general, and watching contrapoints content i've gotten a little interested in reading more about freud LOL. he kinda makes a lot of points??? like we all know this we're just freaked out about the mommy sex stuff. there's a tangent contra video on gamergate and an article she sourced talked about Gamers feeling threatened about their Space, their Games, being taken away by The Woke Mob--AKA women, aka MOMMY. the looming fear of mom coming in your room and saying it's time to stop playing. getting grounded and no video games for a week. mom said it's my turn to use the xbox. that fear recurring in these sad adult men being forced to look at their own flaws. their lack of perspective. stupid sluts coming in and ruining the fun, taking away our games. i found that psychoanalytic perspective reallllllyyyyy interesting

finding a new perspective on chores and self care: there's no rush with it. this is not a thing that needs to be Taken Care Of right this second. my whole evening should be dedicated to doing things on My Terms. i spend 40 hours of my week, every week, doing things on another entity's terms. i do shit when i wanna!!!! and it's for ME!!!!

[circespeaker]

my boyfriend is so fucking nice to me... patient and caring and understanding beyond anything... i'm going through some healing from family meeting and secondary grief is hitting me and compassion fatigue is making me be such a bad version of myself.. yet he sticks with me bc he knows it will pass and i'm not like this usually... honey when i say i've never felt so free and safe with anybody i mean it from the bottom of my very soul