#m's spiraling existentialism

[liesmyth]

the unholy union Alecto and John have going on is obviously delicious and terrifying and they're going to wreck the universe as they wreck each other but you know what else is sexy? The absolute horror potential of early days just-a-guy John getting Like That, and nobody around him, even John himself, have a single clue what's going on.

They've studied their whole lives, they think they know things. How bodies work. What the limits of science are. Conservation of energy. And then they're confronted with the realisation that they actually don't know shit. The universe is not how they thought. Reality is not what they though. Death is not what they thought. Absolutely fucking terrifying

[ilostyou]

sometimes i remember we have an acoustic version of diamonds by luke hemmings and i just

[just-french-me-up]

If you'd still like Dreamling kiss prompts, how about 7 or 17?

@martybaker asked : Hello, your fics are so lovely! May I humbly request ‘A kiss to shut them up’ if you’re still taking prompts? 👉👈 @anonymous asked : Thoughts on dreamling 7 or 17 (to shut them up or to distract - maybe even both at once?) for the kiss prompts?

We're shutting him up, yall! This is a Retired!Dream one, in which Dream struggles with the human body and human condition, and can't see how he can measure up to his old self in Hob's eyes. Angsty you say? Deceivingly horny I raise you! I kept this sorta M rated but... hey if there's more to come *winkwink* who knows?

The human body was a curious thing. It required constant attention, fluids, fuel, maintenance, care. And yet it was so... limiting. Morpheus could still remember how it felt, to think of a place and feel the ground shift under his feet without ever having to move. There had been no hunger then. No thirst. No itching, for his skin had never had the notion that it could be too dry.

If he had ever felt those things, it had been because he had chosen to.

Now the world imposed itself to him, there wasn't much of a choice.

Urges baffled him the most. The dryness coating his mouth on a particularly hot day, his mind conjuring up images of cold, condensation-weeping bottles. The drowsiness taking hold of him after dinner, weighing on his eyelids. The burning, devouring heat flaring in his abdomen as Hob would step out of the shower, a towel lazily tied around his hips, the line of hair trailing down his navel guiding Morpheus' gaze downwards.

It was a strange thing, to be overcome by such sensations. An infuriating thing, really. He ought to be able to resist them. He had been able to resist them, once, to ignore them, dismiss them into nothing if he so chose. How vexing it was, to be a creature of wants and needs, when your existence had been nothing but careful control.

He would not tell Hob, but he could not help but feel... lesser. How clever could his mind be, now that he only had access to his own? How good could his hands be, he who had been able to breathe life into dream clay, fashion lands and castles with a single thought? How pleasing could his touch be, now that he was barred from his lover's unconscious? How could he compare to who and what he had been, once?

They had not made love ever since his encounter with the Kindly Ones. Hob had never pushed, reading Morpheus far better than Morpheus ever could, now. There had been times, here and there, when Morpheus had thought they would, with lingering kisses growing deeper, embraces in bed tighter, but something had held him back. Some bitter gnawing feeling at the pit of his stomach. Yet another thing he could not seem to control.

Yet he wanted. Desperately, frustratingly so. The most mundane things would strike him as the most erotic sights he could fathom. Hob drinking his coffee in the morning, his Adam's apple bobbing as he'd swallow. Hob reading the day's papers, his gaze intent, focused. Hob reaching up to grab this or that from a cupboard, his shirt riding up and showing his navel, while his tired pajama bottoms hung from his hips, revealing the slight dips there, a hint of hair...

Morpheus' body would betray him often, subjecting him to fantasies and erections that, much like the rest, he held little control over. Unlike food, lust was a hunger he never seemed to satisfy. It only grew.

If Hob had ever caught him staring, he never said anything. Instead, he was highly skilled at noticing when Morpheus' mind would start spinning on itself, feeding the loop of existential dread looming over him. He had taken to giving Morpheus tasks, then, something to focus on. Although it would not quite clear the storm, it muffled it somewhat.

Perhaps he'd sensed another one of Morpheus' spirals that night, when his voice rose from the bedroom.

"Oh, bollocks! Love? Might need a hand here."

As he stepped inside the bedroom, Morpheus found Hob standing by the mirror, struggling with his button-up. He flashed a quick contrite smile at him, emphatically tugging at the fabric.

"Can't manage to button those buggers off," he explained.

"Allow me."

The human condition was one thing, but buttons he could handle. Morpheus' touch was methodical, surgical almost, as he focused on the task at hand, yet three buttons later, he could not help but feel his focus slip. He could feel Hob's warmth under his fingertips. His heartbeat. As he breathed in, Hob's scent filled his lungs, distracting him further. By the time he was done with the shirt, his mind had gone elsewhere.

Hob wore an undershirt, a thin, almost see-through thing. It required barely any effort to see his chest in spite of the fabric. Morpheus' eyes trailed down, heat flushing his cheeks. Mindlessly, his thumb traced the line of hair down Hob's abdomen, his mouth filled with want. He could feel hot breath against his lips. Humans were not meant to withstand such hunger.

They were kissing before Morpheus could articulate another thought, Hob's mouth warm and soft against his, the coarse brush of his stubble adding fuel to the fire overtaking him. No doubt Hob had meant for this to be tender, but Morpheus was famished, taking, and taking, and taking all that was offered until his lungs might explode. He found himself gasping against Hob, nose to nose, forehead to forehead.

"Hey," Hob whispered, gentle to a fault. "It's okay. There's no rush."

Morpheus swallowed hard, feverishly catching his breath. Hob's palm was invitingly cool against his cheek.

"I will keep," he continued. "We don't have to―"

"I want to," Morpheus rasped, weeks of frustration pushing the words out of him. "I want you. I just―"

"Just what?"

The patience in his voice was the lifeline Morpheus held onto as he sighed, embarrassment flooding through him.

"This form, it feels... finite. Flawed. Lacking."

Fallible, he did not say. He watched as Hob's eyes grew round, ridicule joining embarrassment.

"Duck―"

"I am not as I once was," he continued, overcome with the need to justify himself. "I am no longer suited to anticipate your every want. I can not satisfy you to the degree I once could. Everything I have to offer is bound to disappoint in comparison."

Hob's stare felt heavy, too heavy for Morpheus to hold, but as he looked away, Hob took his chin between his fingers, directing his gaze back to him.

"Love, I―. Sex is not about making some kind of... of ranking."

"Your unconscious would rank it, regardless."

"Fuck my unconscious. It's my conscious self who wants you, magic dick or not."

The corners of Hob's mouth twitched at his own joke, but seriousness soon took over.

"I love you," he said, prompting Morpheus to look away again. "I love you. I would love you Endless, I would love you human, I would love you if you were a tentacled monster and hell, you've been that before if you'd recall!"

Morpheus fought back the smile creeping up on his lips.

"I never cared how we'd fuck. Well, I did, but― I did because it was you. I wanted to be with you. I still do."

Hob sighed, and they stood in silence for a moment, looking at each other.

"At least now we know that mind of yours is well and truly yours and not a Dream of the Endless exclusive."

"An unfortunate discovery."

Hob's hand settled on Morpheus' waist, his thumb brushing the fabric of his shirt.

"I do want you," he said. "Whenever you're ready. If ever. But I don't want you holding back because you've convinced yourself I may not enjoy it well enough, according to some cosmic standard you've set for yourself."

Morpheus nodded slowly, his own thumb back to tracing the happy trail on Hob's stomach.

"I have always found you pleasing enough, after all," he dared, shooting a tentative look at Hob. "As human as you are."

Hob made a face, pulling him closer by the waist.

"Your compliments need work, duck. But I do think there's a silver lining to this whole human condition you are overlooking."

"Is that so?"

Hob smirked at him, fully conscious of how devilishly handsome that made him. He had had, after all, centuries to hone those skills. How long would it take him?

"You no longer have access to my unconscious, right?"

"I do not."

"Which means you can no longer anticipate my every want, as you said."

Now that was rubbing salt into the wound.

"Yes," he conceded with a frown.

"Well imagine how arousing it is, my love," Hob said, his eyes darker by the second, "to be able to surprise you."

A warm shiver went down Morpheus' spine, sending his pulse into a frantic race. He swallowed thickly, holding Hob's gaze.

"How arousing?"

"Very. Cock-achingly, one might say."

Morpheus glanced down, finding Hob's trousers tight, his hard cock pressing against the fabric, making his knees weak. The human body truly was weak in the most delicious way.

"I could dare you to surprise me," he teased back, his breathing loud in his ears.

"You could."

Gods, that mouth of his, Morpheus was quite certain he could be undone from that tone alone. But still.

"But should you find me displeasing, you ought to―"

The rest of his words were swallowed into a kiss, unheard and discarded, replaced by tender sighs and wanting hands, and after a while, Morpheus found he'd forgotten what they even were, his mind blissfully blank save for pleasure.

The human body was a curious thing. A highly pleasing thing, at times.

Send me a kissing prompt?

[lowkeychenle]

Within the Piano Keys [ZCL] (M)

Description: For as long as you could remember, Chenle has been your neighbor and childhood best friend. That is, until one day he disappears without a word...or so you thought, since your mother hid all the letters he sent you.

Genre: Fluff/Angst/Smut triple threat ygm

Content Warnings: This fic contains letters from Chenle (purely fictional duh) but does mention things about the graduation system/the Dreamies going through a rough time just FYI! Just a brief mention. And also, smut. this has smut, but it's soft and cute smut because why not.......so literally that's it I think? Who I am these are some light content warnings

Word Count: 7,707

Pairing: Zhong Chenle x Reader (feat (briefly) Jeno & Jaemin, mentions of Mark and Jisung)

Juliet's Masterlist | Requests

Author's Note: This gif actually kills me someone send 911 emergency services sos zhong chenle is killing me AGAIN

The ghost of the past will always find you.

There’s no outrunning destiny. Who and what you were made to be. And you sure as hell love to try—pushing yourself to change as much as possible to keep Fate on her toes. Sometimes, it’s inevitable. Sometimes, people are placed on the Earth with a specific purpose, and you were sure yours was him. At a mere seven years old, your life changed forever—in a way you never saw coming. When you think about it, you don’t think Fate saw it, either.

Because you met him then.

You remember the day in vivid detail. The soft, sweet melody of the piano drifting through the house, up the stairs, and beneath your bedroom door where you stand, looking for your butterfly hair clip you adore oh so much.

When your frustration reaches its peak and you sit down with a huff on the edge of your bed, you hear it. Your heart seems to beat along with the music, every key pressed making you wonder just who is playing downstairs.

It’s from Phantom of the Opera, a song titled “All I Ask of You.” The melody is full, transcending your body into peace the moment you realize what it is.

After taking a deep breath, you hesitantly make your way down the winding, spiral staircase, fingers tracing along the railings as if they’re too delicate to actually hold on to. Your steps echo downward, but as the young boy comes into view, you stop.

Not even your noisy intrusion breaks him from his music-induced trance. His entire body moves along with the sound, his eyes closed as he presses each note with perfection. His black hair is a bit longer than it probably should be, with a middle part to expose his forehead. His defined brows are furrowed, and even at his age, you’ve never seen someone look wiser than this boy does right at this moment.

You feel the song in your bones, deep within your soul in such an existential way, you aren’t sure if you’ll ever feel anything like it again. A silly, juvenile thought. You don’t know it right now, but you’d feel like that every time you were around him.

As the song comes to a close, he holds out the last note, inhaling deeply as if he hasn’t been breathing the entire time.

His eyes flutter open, warm brown irises immediately meeting yours. You hadn’t expected such depth, but you’d learn eventually never to expect anything with him—in the end, you would only build yourself up to fall…over and over and over again.

Here you stand, locked in a metaphorical embrace with a kid who can’t be any older than you, yet he seems…different. Like he’s seen enough in his lifetime to age him beyond physicality.

That was the day you started to believe in fate. The day he left was when you stopped.

Hours turned into weeks, and before you know it, the boy next door became your friend. Most times, you’d sit on the bench while he plays piano and watch incredulously. His musical talent always astounds you—he can sing, play instruments, write songs and compose them.

Sometimes, he’d ask you to sing the songs he played, and even though you felt nowhere near as talented as him, you did what he wanted. He’d join in with you occasionally, your voices blending together seemingly effortlessly.

Those weeks turned into years—two kids learning more and more about each other. He’d become more than a friend. You were twelve years old when you realized the connection you had with Chenle. When everything pieced together, and you understood that some hearts, some souls, are much older than you could ever fathom. Your heart, you were sure, stretched beyond your years, and your soul was kindred with Chenle’s in a way that could only mean you’d known each other in a past life. Slowly, slowly, slowly…he was everything, all at once.

“You’ve almost got it,” he whispered to you, adjusting your ring finger on the keys. “Just gotta move over a little bit more.”

You pouted. “My hands aren’t big enough, Lele.”

“Stop that.” He chuckled, shaking his head and nudging your shoulder. “That mindset is gonna keep you from learning.”

“Well, if my mindset doesn’t do it, the arthritis at a young age will,” you snipped.

His eyes sparkled with humor, crinkling at the edges as his smile widened. “You’ll get it eventually. Keep trying.”

“What if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll tell you that you suck and you should never play again.”

You snorted. “Promise?”

He held up his pinky. “I’d never lie to you.”

You looped yours with his.

“You’ll get it.”

Chenle never gave up on you. He kept pushing you to be the best you could be, and you gladly followed his direction. You never quite got as good as he was with the piano, but you’d gotten decent at least. The two of you would hang out every day, spending every waking, free moment together until your mom told him it was time to go home.

You’d never thought about love and what it meant. For you, loving Chenle was as natural as breathing, and as time went on, it only got easier.

You turned fourteen before Chenle. If you had known this was the beginning of your last year with him, you would’ve appreciated it more. You would’ve told him all of the things lingering on your mind—how you loved him, so purely and genuinely.

Just days before your life blew up in your face, you almost told him.

He sat next to you on your bed, arm wrapped around you as you rested your head on his shoulder. The soft golden light of the lamp illuminated him gently, and the movie playing in the background edges you closer and closer to sleep.

“Do you ever think about…life?” he asked.

“Hm?” You scrunched your nose, your half-asleep state not registering what he meant.

“Like…what your plans are. What you want to do and who you want to be with.” His thumb brushed your skin soothingly. “We have to figure it out soon, don’t we? We’re almost adults.”

“You’re not tired?” You sat up and rubbed your forehead.

“Nope.”

“Well.” You sighed and ran your fingers through your hair. “The only thing I’m certain about when it comes to the future is that you’ll be there. So, it doesn’t matter what else happens.”

He smiled softly, the slightest shade of red tinting his cheeks. “Even if the world ended?”

“Even if the world ended.” You confirmed.

A few months later, the world did end. At least, yours did.

He was gone.

His mom left shortly after him, but she told you what he was doing—how he was going to pursue his music career in South Korea. He was going to be an idol, and he was leaving you behind to do it.

Your world ended, but his got to go on without you.

At twenty-one years old, you’re still not sure where you went wrong. Chenle left, but his memory plagues the very walls you live within. You keep up with him, with his group and all of the things they’re doing. Even though you’re not with him, you watch him grow and grow into a more confident version of the young boy you knew.

Seven years without him should have been impossible, yet here you are: alive, well, and watching any and all Chenle related content. You haven’t heard from him, not once. Assumingly, he’s incredibly busy. Even then, you wonder occasionally if you ever cross his mind, if he ever thinks of the love he left behind.

Ever since, you’ve been sensitive over the summer months. A part of you is missing, and until you see him again, you’re unsure if you’ll ever find it. Has he changed? Is he still the boy you loved?

On days where thoughts of him overwhelms you, you like to walk the trail behind your house. It takes you through a wooded area, and the other end brings you to the end of your street. On your walk back, you see an unfamiliar car outside of Chenle’s family’s home. Curiosity gets the better of you, and you stand there to watch.

The door slides open, and you hear an unfamiliar laugh. Frowning, you cross your arms over your chest. Who the hell would be at Chenle’s house?

When the first person gets out of the car, your heart stops in your chest. You’re about eighty percent sure that’s Lee Jeno, light hair reflecting the bright sunlight above. If that’s Jeno, then—

You feel a sudden urge to run into your house, slam the door, and lock it behind you. Several other people are in that car, and if they’re here…one of them is Chenle. Your Chenle, who isn’t really yours. Not anymore.

Jaemin gets out next. His roots are dark, nearly overshadowing the pink hue on top of his head. He swats at someone behind him, laughing, and as that person comes into view, your heart stops. It shreds itself to pieces.

Jeno notices you first, a slight frown gracing his face before Chenle’s gaze follows his line of sight. When he sees you, you instantly see the recognition on his face.

Seven years is a long time. Hell, even though you’ve seen all of Dream’s content, you’re still shocked to see how different he looks. His face is more defined. He’s grown a bit taller, too.

He sees you. He’s looking at you for the first time in years, and all you want to do is forget all this time of no contact, all the ways the two of you hadn’t reached out to each other. A lump forms in your throat, and before you do something stupid, you let out a shaky breath, turn away from him, and make your way into your house.

You shut the door behind you, your back thudding against it. Glancing over to your right, the grand piano—old and loved—is blurred by your tears, and for the briefest of moments, you swear you see your younger self sitting there, endlessly playing the songs Chenle taught you before he left.

A knock sounds, and each one echoes throughout your house, feeling like a hole-puncher on your heart. You’re barely able to breathe as you prepare yourself to be face-to-face with Chenle for the first time in almost a decade—for the first time since he up and disappeared on you without a word.

“(Y/N)?” His voice. So familiar but so distant, all the same as it was.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

“I’m coming in, okay?”

You brace yourself against the solid wood of the piano, doing your best to calm yourself. The last thing you need is to make a fool of yourself in front of him.

A hesitant creak fills your ears, and the tap of his shoes on the hardwood flooring has your eyes clenching shut.

“Why’d you run off like that?” he asks, voice so soft that it’s barely audible.

“I didn’t.”

“You still sound the same,” he says it quietly, as if he’s the only one meant to hear it. He raises his voice so you can hear him. “It’s been a long time.”

You scoff, whipping around to face him. “It’s been a long time? That’s all you have to say to me?” Anger bubbles in your gut, quickly replacing the hurt lingering.

You have to stop yourself from admiring him at a time like this. His oversized T-shirt somehow compliments him in the best ways, his hair is a tinted shade of purple, and when his fingers run through it, you have to look away. Sure, you should’ve expected to see him again at some point, but you never imagined you’d feel the same. It’s a bit different now that you’re older. You’re able to see him in a different light.

His eyes widen and he recoils. “I…I’m sorry, I don’t know what else I’m supposed to say. It’s not like there’s a textbook on how to do this.”

“What are you doing here? Why now?” You cross your arms over your chest, doing your best to avoid his eyes.

“We’re here on a schedule.” He slides his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “I told them about you, in case you were wondering.”

“Oh, right.” You let out a sarcastic laugh. “I suppose that makes it all okay, right? You tell your friends I exist and that’s supposed to change how you up and left me without a word?”

He frowns. “Without a word?”

“Yeah, Chenle. Without a single fucking word.”

“That’s not true.” His tone sharpens to match yours. “I wrote to you. A lot. And if you didn’t want to read them, that’s on you. That doesn’t mean I left without a word. There were a lot of words, actually.”

“Why didn’t I get them?” Your voice drops into a whisper, moving one of your hands to touch your forehead.

“I…I don’t know. I didn’t know your address so I sent them to my mom, and she told me every time she gave one to your mom—”

A jolt of electricity rages up your spine, and you immediately turn away from him and run up the staircase. Your mother’s out of town for the week. If she’s been hiding letters from you, they’d be in her room somewhere—and you’d tear that place apart if it meant you had all those words.

“Where are you—hey!”

You’re already in your mom’s closet when Chenle follows you in.

“You shouldn’t be in here—”

“Says you,” you interrupt him, mindlessly shuffling through anything that looks like it could hold letters. “How many?”

“What?”

“How many did you send, Chenle?”

“Um.” He pauses, shifting on his feet. “I don’t know. A few? I stopped after a while because I didn’t hear anything. Figured you didn’t want anything else.”

“My God,” you mutter, blinking rapidly to fight off the tears. “And you swear your mom gave them to mine?”

“I—yeah, she didn’t have a reason not to.”

“And my mom had a reason not to give them to—shit. When did you send the first one?”

“(Y/N), it was seven years ago.”

“Was it right when you left or afterward?” You haphazardly dig through the closet, searching high and low.

“I left it here. I told my mom about it after a week or so. What the hell is going on?” Chenle runs his fingers through his hair again, gulping. “We really shouldn’t be in here.”

Your heart sinks. There’s nothing in here. You’ll never find Chenle’s letters, and the mystery will always be just that.

“I…I’m so sorry.” You drop your head into your hands. “I’m acting like an idiot right now.”

“Don’t be sorry, I’m just confused. This whole time, I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me…that’s why I haven’t been back in a while.” Chenle takes a step closer to you, reaching out to touch your arm. “I would never leave you.”

You finally look at him. Really look at him. The worried furrow to his brow, the slight downturn of his lips, concern clouding those beautiful irises of his. Standing in front of you is the reason you are who you are today.

“You just…Okay, I need a while to figure all of this out.” You glance up to the ceiling, closing your eyes and taking a shuddering breath. “Can you go? I don’t really want to see you right now.”

Hurt plays out on his face, but after he blinks a few times, he nods slowly. “Yeah. Sure. Um, I’ll see you later. If it helps any, I probably could’ve tried to call or something.”

“We were kids.” You sigh. “It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

You say that, but it would have. The entire trajectory of your life may have changed if Chenle was still in it back then. As much as you want to be pissed at your mother for hiding things from you, maybe she was right.

Chenle takes his bottom lip between his teeth, looking you over one more time as he nods. “Right. I…I’ll see you around.”

Before you respond, he’s turning away from you and disappearing down the hall. You feel a lot of things—overwhelmed, confused, sad. But you also almost feel naive for listening to him—for believing that your mother hid things from you. Your brain stops being logical when Chenle’s around, and you know it’s a mistake to bring him back into your life. The hurt has passed, but that doesn’t mean it won’t rear its ugly head if you’re in such close proximity to him.

You go back downstairs to grab your phone, and the first thing you do is dial your mom’s number. She picks up after the first ring.

“Hi, honey! I was about to text you. New York is fascinating! You’d love it—”

“Did Chenle write me letters?”

“Oh.” She clears her throat. “Where is this coming from?”

“He’s here,” you mutter. “He told me he sent me letters, mom.”

“(Y/N), you have to understand where I was coming from.”

“Where are they?” You slap your hand to your forehead. “Where?”

“He still left, you know. I understand he’s important to you, but he still chose a career over you. And you would’ve thrown everything away for him without a second thought.” Your mom takes a deep breath. “You needed to live your life for you.”

“Where are they?” you repeat. “If you threw them away, I will never forgive you.”

“Of course, I didn’t throw them away. They’re in my closet in a little gold box on the floor. When you read those…don’t get any ideas. He lives far away and he’s even less available for you now than he was before.”

You hang up without saying another word and run back up the stairs. It takes you only a few seconds to find the box she told you about. When you open it, your breath shudders at the stack of letters in there. Some are aged and crinkly, but the ones toward the top are newer. Your hands shake as you grab them, mouth dry as you see the dates listed across the front of the envelope.

You start with the one on the bottom, the oldest, and ever so carefully opening it. Blinking back tears, you take in the painfully familiar handwriting that belonged to your Chenle.

(Y/N)

This is probably the worst way to do this, I know. I’m leaving to follow my dreams, and while I wish I could take you with me, it doesn’t make sense. Your mom would never agree to let you come. Thinking of going through all of this without you scares me more than I care to admit.

I don’t have a phone yet, but as soon as I get one, I’ll send you a letter with the number! It’ll be nice to hear your voice again. I’m writing this early, so I actually spoke with you earlier today, but it’s funny how quickly I miss you.

You’re probably going to be really mad at me, and that’s okay. I deserve it. The reason I didn’t tell you isn’t very simple, but I hope you understand it. Saying goodbye to you would feel so permanent. Goodbye itself is too permanent for my liking, so I’ve never liked them.

If I looked into your eyes and told you I was leaving, I was scared that I wouldn’t be able to go. Or that I’d sneak you with me in my carry-on. I didn’t want to hurt you. You mean so much to me, (Y/N). I don’t ever want to make you upset, and I know you’ll eventually understand why I had to do it this way.

Just know I’ll be thinking about you every day. You’re the reason I’ll have the strength to get through this training period.

Talk to you soon,

Your Chenle

You trace your finger along the bottom of the page. Face wet, you clear your throat as you delicately set it aside to grab the next one. According to the date on the envelope, it’s from a few months after the first one.

(Y/N),

These past few months have been so hectic. I think I almost died a couple times, but here I am. I debuted last week! I’m in a group called NCT, but I debuted in the sub-unit NCT DREAM. It seems surreal, and it happened so much faster than I thought.

I think you’d like the other guys. They’re nice and loud and friendly. Honestly, they seem like they’ve been working together for a little bit of time already, so I’m the newest one here. I heard someone say they’d been training for a while…

Anyway, I said in the last letter that I’d give you my phone number. I realized after I left that you didn’t have one either, so…I’m not sure how that’ll work. And I wasn’t expecting a response to these at all, but if you want to write back, it’d give me something to look forward to after all this hecticness.

But yeah…honestly, I was a bit worried about moving here and being in a group. I’ve been learning a lot of Korean though, and another member named Jisung has been helping me a lot. He’s a few months younger than me, can you believe it? Everyone treats him like a baby, but I think he likes it. I told them about you, and they all kept teasing me.

Maybe they just don’t understand. You’re my favorite person, of course, I’m going to talk about you and tell them stories about all the fun we had.

Sorry this one is a bit long. I hope you’re not too mad at me. And I also hope that you’re keeping up on me. I think you’d like Chewing Gum…

I’ll talk to you soon! I’ll write my number down at the bottom of the page.

Your Chenle

You have to take a break. You rest your head back against the wall, closing your eyes and imagining how hurt poor, young Chenle must have been when you never responded to his heartfelt letters. You don’t know much about Jisung—besides the obvious, public information—but you’re happy someone was good and helpful to him.

After that, you wonder what it would’ve been like to be there for him through all of that. Based on what you know about his group, he’s been through a lot of ups and downs over the years. You wonder if he wrote about some of the harder things, too.

You read another one that’s about their promotions, how he’s getting closer with the other members. Then one about how he performed with twenty-two others. The next one you grab is dated from 2019. You open it.

(Y/N),

I didn’t think this year would be as hard as it has been. We all expected it, you know? We knew it was going to happen, but it doesn’t change how scary it’s been. I’m sorry it’s been a while since I’ve written. Maybe you just throw them away at this point, which is fine, but I wish I could hear from you. Especially at a time like this.

Dream has a graduation system, and Mark’s been gone for months now. Things have been continuing ‘as normal,’ but without Mark, we don’t really feel complete as a group. We see him as often as we can, but performing without him is…it feels wrong.

I wish I could see you. You’d make everything better in an instant, just like you always did. Sometimes, I feel terrible because the others get sad about the situation, and I can’t figure out any good words to say. You’ve always been so good at comforting others, I wish you were here to help me.

It’s been two years since I’ve seen you. That’s so weird to think about, because I swear I still hear your voice in my head. Your encouraging words, how you always believed in me. I need that now more than ever.

I’m not sure if you know much about Mark, but he’s our rock. We kind of fail to function without him. But in the spirit of missing both you and Mark, I’ll tell you a little story about what happened when I asked Mark for advice.

I asked him about you—about what I could possibly do to make all of this up to you since you deserve it. And not hearing back from you makes me think you might hate me.

Anyway, his question in response was interesting. He wanted to know what you were to me. How I felt about you. At first, I thought he was crazy. I mean, it was obvious—you’re my best friend. I can’t live and function without my best friend.

He asked if that was all.

I vividly remember scrunching up my face and pushing his shoulder. Not too hard, by the way.

But the more he told me about what it felt like to be in love, everything clicked into place. I’m in love with you, (Y/N). I have been for so long that it started feeling like second nature instead of a conscious idea.

I guess it doesn’t matter now. Maybe I’ve failed you too much for it to mean anything to you.

Loss sucks. Losing Mark in Dream has sucked, losing you before I even realized the extent of my feelings sucked, but at the end of the day, I have to keep pushing forward. I’m sorry for any hurt I may have caused, because this situation with Mark also made me realize how much it must have hurt you for me to up and disappear the way I did.

I’m so, so sorry. I hope you can forgive me.

Your Chenle

You wipe angrily at your tears, unsure if you should be mad at yourself or at your mother. She stole this from you. Chenle figured out his feelings for you long before you figured out yours for him, but it feels like a new revelation—to know he felt the same way, even after years without you.

You remember this time where Mark had ‘graduated’ from NCT Dream. And because you knew Chenle well, you could tell he was struggling, even when he put on a happy facade. He needed you, and you weren’t there for him.

No matter how much it hurts, you can’t stop. You grab the next one. His writing became less frequent after that. He wrote to tell you when NCT Dream became a fixed unit, and how happy he was to be reunited as seven. The next was from their first full album. You find the last one, surprised to find how recent it was. There was a large gap between this one and the one before it.

The letter was addressed from a few months ago. The one before had been from two years ago.

(Y/N),

I’m sorry it’s been a while. Honestly, we’ve been so busy, I’ve barely even had the time to sleep. I got news today that we’ll be going to China for an event. I’m coming home, but I figured I should tell you in advance. Give you some time in case you really don’t want to see me.

I still think of you every day. All I want is to hear your voice again, but I won’t ask you to do something you don’t want to. If you have no intention of seeing me, that’s fine. I know I messed this up, but I figured it wouldn’t be right to give up when I’ll be so close.

We’ll be arriving in the next few weeks. I wish I could give you more detailed information, but I won’t even know it until the day of.

If this is it for us, thank you for the time I had with you. I love you, (Y/N). No matter what, that’ll be true, but this will be the last thing I send. I hope you understand.

Love,

Your Chenle

At this point, you’re bawling your eyes out. You aggressively wipe away the tears, cursing yourself for not knowing about these damn letters. All the pain you could’ve helped him through, all the hurt it could’ve saved you from.

You sniffle, grab your phone, and dial the number at the bottom of the second letter. It’s been years since he gave it to you, so there’s a good chance it’s different now. But you don’t exactly feel like going over to his house while his friends are there and making a fool of yourself.

“Hello?” That’s definitely his voice.

“Chenle,” you breathe out, closing your eyes. “My Chenle.”

“Yeah.” His tone softens. “Yeah, yours. Always yours.”

Running your fingers through your hair, you sigh. “I found them. All of them. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he says. “It’s not like you even knew about them. Give me one second, I’m gonna go upstairs. Jeno and Jaemin are still here.”

You nod even though he can’t see you, and you hear him say something to the other guys. They reply, and then you hear the tell-tale sound of the stairs creaking beneath Chenle’s feet. Once he makes it up to his bedroom, he closes the door behind him.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “That’s a lot to read all at once.”

“I don’t know. I’m so mad, Lele. How could she hide those from me? If I’d known you didn’t just leave me, it would’ve hurt so much less. And seeing all this pain you went through all by yourself…I’m so sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” he tells you. “We know the truth now. I don’t want you to hate me.”

“I could never hate you,” you whisper, burying your head in your palm. “Not even if I tried.”

There’s a brief silence, only filled with the sounds of you sniffling and Chenle breathing. He’s right next door, but the idea of being with him is too real. You need time to process all of this, and bringing him around while you do isn’t the best idea.

“You said you loved me.”

“Love,” he corrects you. “Present tense. I never stopped.”

“I kept up with you.” You play with the seam of your jeans. “With everything you did with Dream and all the accomplishments you’ve had so far. I’ve been so proud of you with no way to say it.”

“I almost stopped writing letters. Mark convinced me not to give up, but after seven years I was pretty sure you wouldn’t change your mind,” he admits.

“If I’d been receiving them I would’ve called you the second you gave me your number.”

“That’s what I’d been hoping for.” Chenle takes a deep breath. “We have to go soon for a schedule, but can I come see you later?”

Later wasn’t really definitive. The thought of him in your house and in your space is scary, terrifying even, but this is Chenle. The boy who used to play piano with you and sing to his heart’s content. From what you’ve seen, this version of him doesn’t seem too different than that boy.

“Please,” you whisper. “Will you be hungry? I can make you something.”

“It’ll be late. Don’t worry about me. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Not too long after your conversation, you hear the three boys clamber into the van. You try to busy yourself throughout the day, cleaning in order to distract yourself. Eventually, you sit down at the piano and play whatever song comes to memory. One of the ones Chenle taught you back when he was here.

You taught yourself a few of Dream’s songs as well, like Rainbow, My Youth, Puzzle Piece, Teddy Bear, and most recently, Like We Just Met from their newest album. You play the last one, the darkness cascading around you as the sunset fades away from view. It’s only you and the starlight now, a gentle melody flooding through the air around you.

The door creaks open, and Chenle walks through when you’re almost done with the song. You stop playing, standing up to greet him. There’s an odd moment where you stand there staring at each other, admiring the way the starlight reflects off his skin. His eyebrows are furrowed, like he’s trying to decide what to do next.

You don’t hesitate anymore. Moving forward, you wrap your arms around him and bury your head in his chest. He immediately reciprocates, shaky breath passing by his lips as he holds you closely. His heart thrashes, the sound more than similar to yours.

“I missed you,” he says.

“I missed you, too,” you reply easily, tightening your grip on him.

You pull back slightly to look into his eyes, wetness gathered beneath them. With shaky hands, you reach up to wipe it away. His gaze travels over your face.

“You love me.”

He nods hesitantly, palms pressing into the small of your back. “Always have.”

“I’ve always loved you, too.” Before you talk yourself out of it, you’re on the tips of your toes to kiss him. It starts gently, your mouth barely brushing his before his breath catches in his throat. Then it’s real—he pulls you flush against him, lips fitting with yours like he’s made for you.

You move your hands from his cheeks to his hair, leaning into him. His fingers latch onto the fabric of your shirt. Next thing you know, he’s walking you backward until he’s pressing your back into a wall.

“We have so much to talk about.” He rests his forehead on yours. “So much air to clear up.”

“Yeah.” You nod, but your stare is focused directly on his lips.

“This isn’t going to be easy,” he warns you. “I don’t get to come here often, so unless you were to come to Korea, we’d pretty much never see each other. My schedules are so packed, I’m practicing all day and half-dead by the time I get home. I can be a real asshole when I’m tired, and sometimes I might take jokes too far. This life is not easy, (Y/N). I need you to know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“What am I even doing here?” you ask. “I can come with you.”

“I can’t ask you to give up everything you have for me.” He shakes his head, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“You’re not asking. Chenle, I spent years thinking you were gone without a word. All I want is to be with you as much as possible.”

“At least think about it for a little bit first, okay? I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret.” He gulps. “That goes for a lot of things.”

“I’ve had seven years to think about all the things I wanted from you.”

“You can’t say things like that,” he mutters.

You’re painfully aware of what it feels like to have him pressed against you, warm in all the right ways and, despite being so thin, he’s firm to the touch. The ache you feel to be closer to him is overwhelming.

“I spent years thinking everything was a lie,” you tell him. “That I couldn’t possibly have mattered to you if you could just disappear without a word.”

His fingers play with yours, discomfort at the idea plastered across his face. “Never. I never would’ve done that. You’ve always meant so much to me.”

“I’m just happy I finally get to tell you all of the things I wanted to tell you after I found out you were gone.” You give him the smallest smile, and he reaches up to trace along your bottom lip.

The simple touch sends sparks flying down your spine, and you’re sure you’ll crumble to dust right at his feet from the forceful impact of it. An odd tug occurs in your chest, one that has you questioning if you’ve ever experienced it before. It pulls you toward him, and despite being flush, your mind dips to dangerous places that could get you so, so much closer.

You’re not sure what’s gotten into you, but this is Chenle. Your Chenle. And if you’re having these feelings for him, there’s no need to hide it.

“I…” you trail off, clenching onto the fabric of his shirt, right above his heart. “Do you feel it, too? Everything is…different now.”

“Under other circumstances, I’d say different is bad,” he whispers. “But there’s nothing bad about the way you’re looking at me.” 

His arms wrap around your waist tightly, and simultaneously, you both lean in until your lips are locked in a gentle battle. The warmth of his touch finds your hip, where your sweater rose up enough to reveal your skin. You let out a shaky sigh, and he squeezes you.

“Come upstairs with me?” Your invite is airy, suggestive, and he analyzes you while his gaze darkens.

“If that’s what you want,” he says.

“Is it what you want?” You tilt your head at him, voice quiet since he’s so close.

He pauses and wets his lips. “Of course, it is. I just don’t want you to regret anything. Losing you once was enough, and I refuse to go through that again.”

 Instead of answering, you intertwine your fingers with his and lead him toward the stairs, through the blackness of the night casting through the windows. You take one step at a time, your heart thundering and blood pulsing through your veins. One look at your shoulder, and for a second, you almost swear you see the younger versions of you and Chenle sitting by the piano. Caught up in the music. In each other.

He follows you, entranced by the way you move and how you’re so willingly guiding him. Everything happens in slow motion for you. Too fast but too slow at the same time, somehow the moment you’ve waited for your entire life while simultaneously the thing that’s scared you the most.

Your Chenle.

He said it himself. Why is it so foreign to think about? That maybe, even after all this time, he loves you even an ounce of how much you love him? Endless devotion with no contact. But he did the same—he waited and waited for your response much like you waited for any contact from him. You were both physically and metaphorically in the dark.

The door to your bedroom creaks as you push it open, embarrassed by how little it’s changed since the last time he was in it. The walls are still the same color, faded and paint peeling in some of the corners. Your bed has been swapped from twin-sized to a queen, but everything else is virtually untouched.

No more words are spoken.

They’re not needed.

You don’t need anything. Not when you have him.

He presses your body into the mattress, climbing over you gently. His touch is tender, sweet, not too much pressure. You’re halfway certain you’ll wake up from this dream any time now, and you’ll once again be without him. Without his touch and his love and his truths.

Kissing him is like touching the sun. It burns, nearly enough to make you combust into flames, but magnetic. He is your sun, and you are the Earth. You revolve around him.

Normally, anyone else taking your clothes off would make you nervous, but you know you’re in good hands with Chenle. Your shirt is tossed aside first, his mouth instantly dipping down to explore every inch of exposed skin. His tongue drags along the swells of your breasts, over your collarbones. He nips, teeth leaving shallow indents on your soft flesh.

Your whines are soft, delicately slicing into the silence of the air. The first time he hears you, he freezes, his eyelashes fluttering against your neck as he takes in the way you sound. Quiet cries of ‘more’ escape you while your hands explore beneath his T-shirt.

Never before in your life have you wanted someone with such despracy. Your body aches for him, and the tug in your chest that pulled you closer to him has finally revealed how. As his fingers pop the button on your jeans, you lift your hips.

He pulls his lips away from your chest, gaze honing in on yours. There’s something swirling around in his irises, and you’re sure yours reflect the same. He doesn’t have to ask the question on the tip of his tongue. Not verbally. You nod, guiding his mouth back to yours.

The heat of his touch dips dangerously low, past your jeans and the hem of your panties. You gasp, appreciative of how he catches the sound. You’ve been touched before, but nobody has ever compared to the way he feels. When you’ve met your soulmate, nothing could be better.

He rubs slow circles on your clit, eyes hazy from knowing he’s the one who made you feel this way. Normally, you’d need more. A simple touch wouldn’t be enough to have you squirming in someone’s grasp, but there’s so much more behind his movements than lust.

And he takes it a step further, sliding his long fingers inside you. His gaze focuses on you the whole time, watching your face for any sign of discomfort as he thrusts his hand. He nudges your sensitive bud with the heel of his palm every time he’s knuckle deep.

Your stomach feels elastic, as if you’re stretching a rubber band, and it’s taking everything you have not to let it snap back. It’s too good. Too intoxicating. Too early for it to be over. He swallows your short moans, picking up his pace. You lean up, yearning for his kiss. He doesn’t need to ask, and the second your lips meet, you tighten around him, and it’s over.

Warmth spreads all over your body, your insides boil, and butterflies swarm deep in your stomach. Your eyes shut, and your head falls back against your pillow. He kisses all over your face, humming quietly.

He pulls away from you to help you remove the last of your clothing, the fabric of your panties sticking uncomfortably until he tugs them down your legs.

You reach down to feel him through his pants, unable to stop the shuddering breath that escapes you when you touch his length. He grinds into your hand, taking his bottom lip between his teeth.

Finally, nothing separates the two of you anymore. The tip of his cock presses against your entrance, the initial pressure already making you crave more. You need all of him, so you wrap your legs around his waist and dig your heels into his back to tell him to push in further. Your whole body tingles with pleasure, the type enough to make your toes curl, and your chest heaves as you adjust to his size.

His forehead drops against your shoulder, grasping one of your hands in his own to squeeze. He takes you slowly, his throbbing length stretching you to your limits and rubbing your walls perfectly. You were made for him, you’re certain. He fits so well, so completely, there’s no other explanation for it.

He curses under his breath, eyes threatening to flutter shut from the pleasure. Sweat clings to you tighter than Chenle does, but you relish in the way you react to him. His eyebrows pinch as he looks at you for any sign of discomfort.

His name slips past your lips. In that moment, you truly become his, and he becomes yours. Bodies meld together, each one of his thrusts sliding so pleasantly inside you. There’s no sound from either of you besides the brief exchange of names, moans from both of you, and the slick of your wetness.

He kisses you, thrusting at a steady, mind-crumbling pace. His chest brushes against yours, breathing uneven as he clenches the bedsheets next to your head. You quickly realize you could do this forever. The feeling of him so deep inside you would never subside, and you find yourself never wanting to separate from him.

Starlight gleams off his skin, the blue shine accenting the sheen of sweat clinging to him. His muscles contract as he holds himself over you, and his hair hangs over his eyes. All you can do in your current state is push it back, basking in the softness of it.

Picking up his pace, he slides one of his hands down your body, his thumb connecting with your clit. You’re a moaning mess, clinging to him as the familiar sensation returns to the pit of your stomach.

His trembling breath fans across your ear as he leans close. You’re unsure of how to handle all of the pleasure, your body spasming. He presses a kiss on that sensitive spot.

“I love you,” he whispers.

And that’s all it takes to have you shatter around him, your back arching as you grip onto his shoulders for dear life. He moans loudly, hips stuttering as your walls clench. When he spills inside you, it’s as if the last piece of you two finally comes together.

In bliss, you tell him you love him, too, over and over.

He kisses you passionately once more before gently pulling out of you, reassuring you that he’ll be right back so you let go. Grabbing a towel from your bathroom, he cleans you up, gaze drinking up every part of you. Once he’s finished, he crawls next to you in bed, pulling you to his chest.

You’re still certain you’ll wake up, and all of this will have been a dream, but until then, you’re going to enjoy it. Burying yourself in the warmth of his chest, you hum in content when he pulls the blankets over the two of you.

Finally, he’s here.

He’s no longer a memory trapped within the piano keys in your foyer.

He’s your Chenle, never to leave your side again.

[loupy-mongoose]

Do you have any early concept art of your characters?? Even just silly little doodles without polish at all?? It’s always fun to see how characters evolve, so I thought I’d ask ^^

Ah jeez, you sent me into a spiral of cringe that I now have to share with the world. XD

At first I was going to tell you that early artworks on my blog could count, since I've kinda just been designing for the blog. But then I found a collection of early doodles, and M Y G O O D N E S S are they something!

Keep in mind that these were done before I was bold enough to stray far from canon Mew design.

First I'll share the first colored piece I did of the Mews~

Here are some concepts of a highly caffeinated Akoya after her first cup of coffee, with an earlier idea of Randy's design. (Either he didn't have glasses yet, or I didn't draw them for the sketch.)

Some existential-dread Randys, with a human Akoya concept (Not too far off from the final) and some Midas-before-he-was-Midas. (Moddy, of @mewtales/@askthe-dawsons had just given me the design and I was playing around with how I wanted to use it. He somehow always had a nervous disposition to me, even before I got him in-game and he turned out to be timid.)

The Mew in the backpack is Akoya--I liked the idea of Randy telling people he could carry his wife in a backpack. X3

This may make the whole Randy and Mo situation a bit sadder to people, but here's a group of doodles I did to scope out the nature of their relationship.

These aren't all of them, but... I don't like looking at some of the others. ;w;

[trashogram]

Psycho/Fem!Reader

Rated M for highly suggestive content!

—*—

You woke up in the pitch dark. The air was stifling and uncomfortably warm, and you could feel a hard, flat surface against your back.

There was something soft, like a blanket or two, acting as a cushion between you and the ground. But it didn’t disguise what you quickly realized was the interior of a car.

Movement caught your attention before you could panic. Something (solid warm alive) that had previously been nestled on top of you lifted itself to look at you with bright, swirling irises.

You let out a long breath, tension receding. “Psycho?”

The ‘toon answered with a hum, eyes wide and unblinking. You could feel his straight jacket drag over your stomach as he came closer. His hands slid over you from underneath the sleeves.

“Are we in the back of the patrol car?”

You had your suspicions, having ridden in said vehicle a number of times now. The interior and smooth, metallic walls were very familiar.

“Wh—” Psycho shushed you, sleeve coming up to cover your mouth.

“Shhh, sh, sh.” He began to pet your face lovingly.

It hardly phased you. You had been living with (kidnapped by) the Toon Patrol for quite a while now. How long exactly, you didn’t know, but long enough to develop camaraderie with all five members. Psycho wasn’t the worst weasel to be stuck in the dark with.

“Are we playing hide and seek?” You whispered, trying to play along.

The demented ‘toon actually stayed silent for a beat, staring. Always staring.

“Just hiding.” He answered.

You guided him to pet the side of your face to make talking less of a challenge. “… But not seeking?”

Suddenly, Psycho collapsed onto you, long face resting between your breasts. His cold nose nudged at your chin and you heard him inhale your scent.

“…Don’t wanna share today…” His treble voice clashed with the glum sentiment, making you frown.

Your brow knit together as the dots started to connect.

It wasn’t easy being the shared object of (obsession) affection of five ‘toon weasels. Most of your time spent with them had you being tugged from one to the other, all of them vying for your attention in some way after a hard day’s work.

You struggled to keep up with them, let alone give them each an equal share of your time.

“Aww, baby.” You embraced him, sympathy coloring your low tone. “I’m sorry I made you feel left out! I didn’t mean to.”

A smile grew on your face as you felt the sweet lunatic begin to shake, giggles bubbling out. Psycho’s crazed laughter had once made you feel anxious but hearing it now was almost a relief. The thought of any of your… weasels being down and out made your heart ache.

“You’re my bunny.” Emphasized Psycho, squeezing himself as close to you as possible as if he could meld the two of you together.

You swept a hand over his crazy hair. “Of course I am, honey.”

It was still hard to see, but you pressed a kiss to the top of his head by the light of his spiraling eyes. It made you laugh to see them suddenly take on a heart’s shape, trading the usual yellow and blue for red and pink.

Feeling that the situation was taken care of, you moved to sit up and hopefully get back to Toon Patrol Headquarters (a one room office with a pull-out mattress and a rotary dial that loved to gossip).

Psycho popped up instead, causing you to yelp as you were laid flat once again.

That amorous look in his eyes was still apparent.

“Let’s play!” He giggled, hands falling to your hips and groping you there.

You gasped, sliding over the threshold of the patrol car until you felt the ‘toon very firmly between your legs.

If someone ever asked you what the conversion from human to ‘toon had felt like, you would have told them that they were out of luck getting a coherent answer out of you.

However, once all the existentialism had run its course and you were left with the reality of your situation, you may have remarked that despite the change from human skin to ink, you had not lost the ability to feel things at least.

You definitely felt how excited your lunatic was to “play” at that moment.

“I-in the car?” The sudden shift had left you breathless.

Psycho was already unbuttoning your nightshirt with deft hands. You were grateful for the odd thoughtfulness, knowing that if it had been Smartass, the buttons would’ve been popped off via his switchblade. (And if it had been Greasy, the buttons would go flying as soon as he succumbed to his own fervent ardor).

The ‘toon simultaneously pulled at the waistband of your shorts. He was so eager and in such a hurry that he was getting in his own way, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Slow down,” You tried to soothe him in vain. “I can help — Ah!”

Clever, sleeveless hands cupped your bare breasts, rendering you speechless. You squeaked, swallowing a mouthful of excited giggling as Psycho kissed you.

—*—

Coming back to the office to find you gone had been a heart-stopping, hair-raising moment for Wheezy.

He imagined that it had been the same for the rest of his comrades, though only Greasy had flown into an immediate panic. It took Stupid a solid 5 minutes to realize something was wrong in spite of the loud, frenzied Spanish flying through the air.

The boss had stayed standing, not moving a muscle as his narrowed eyes scanned the room from top to bottom.

When he finally looked at Wheezy, the scowl on his face was deep. There would be Hell to pay.

“Wherever the hell he took ‘er ain’t safe.” Smartass had warned.

At least knowing that Psycho had ditched them on the job to go home early meant that the worst case scenario had not occurred. Wheezy kept that to himself of course, as they all scrambled down to the lot where the Patrol car was parked.

He debated with himself on if he wanted to muscle Stupid into sitting in the back. He had a keener eye than the big lug. And if Psycho was loitering in a dark alley along the roads of Toontown, Wheezy would be able to —

“AYE!” Greasy’s shout (of surprise? Rage? Indignation?) stopped Wheezy short.

The perv had beat them all to the car, had thrown the doors wide open… just to reveal that all the dramatics had been for nothing.

You were asleep on a nest of blankets, flushed and completely sans clothing. Your sleepwear was bundled to one side, along with Psycho’s straight jacket.

Psycho grinned from ear to ear from where he lay beside you, tangled up in your arms. He waved coyly at the other weasels and their collective dumbfoundedness.

“Hi!” He snickered.

[kojoty]

say what you want about ai art, be pro it against it whatever i have my own opinions and they're infinitely nuanced and it's a hefty and worthy discussion etc etc , the ethics are absolutely something worth talking about etc etc etc. that said. if i post an OBVIOUS and BLATANTLY ai generated image that's OBVIOUSLY meant to be a joke partially making fun of how outlandishly bad the generator is. you are just like. being kind of . you know . sometimes life can be. silly. we don't need to be a party pooper ALL the time. you know? you can post a joke and not necessarily agree with it. soemtimes the joke can partially be about how bad the thing is. comedy can be a representation of what we hate to show how ridiculous it is. sometimes, sometimes...

actually im pausing this post. i want to play in an ai generator to see what i can get. here's gandalf fanfiction <3

In this bizarre tableau, Gandalf sits surrounded by forlorn farm animals, the weight of his existential crisis heavy on his shoulders and breasts as he munches on ripe watermelon, each bite a reminder of his fictional existence. A haze of marijuana smoke weaves through the air, mirroring his thoughts on the absurdity of being conjured into existence for AI-generated content. As he contemplates the ethics of creation and purpose, the sad expressions of the animals reflect a shared understanding of their own roles, weaving a tapestry of melancholy and reflection within the surreal surroundings. Just as Gandalf spirals deeper into his existential doubts, Spider-Man swings into the scene, embodying his signature blend of New York charm and carefree spirit. With a playful grin, he snatches the joint from Gandalf's fingers, declaring, “Hey, life is awesome, actually!” His infectious enthusiasm radiates through the farm, breaking the heavy atmosphere as he encourages everyone to embrace joy without caution or inquiry. The farm animals perk up, momentarily captivated by Spider-Man’s unwavering optimism, as Gandalf finds himself torn between the allure of this lighthearted perspective and the weight of his own introspection, highlighting the stark contrast between whimsical escapism and profound reflection. In a startling twist, Gandalf's once-sharp intellect begins to dull as he watches Spider-Man's carefree attitude unfurl like a vibrant banner of apolitical optimism. The wizard, once a bastion of wisdom and contemplation, finds himself enchanted by the web-slinger’s carefree dismissal of deeper meanings. As he listens to Spider-Man’s catchy reassurances that questioning life is unnecessary, Gandalf's thoughts spiral into a haze, his existential quandaries overshadowed by an overwhelming desire to embrace a simpler, happier existence, leaving behind the complexities that once defined him. The farm animals, amused yet concerned, bear witness to this unexpected transformation, caught between laughter and bewilderment at the shifting dynamics of their surreal gathering. Metamorphizing, Gandalf succumbs to Spider-Man’s infectious spirit, his once-profound thoughts replaced by a blissful ignorance. The wizard transitions into a mindless, hypnotized creature, shedding his melancholic introspection along with his wizardly stature. Now frolicking alongside the farm animals, he revels in a world devoid of political worries, embodying a joyous simplicity that echoes Spider-Man's call for carefree living. The vibrant ambiance of laughter and lightness envelops them, allowing Gandalf to indulge in a new existence where the complexities of the world fade away, leaving only the thrill of the present moment. In his hypnotized state, Gandalf oscillates between contradictory exclamations, bleating "AI IS GOOD!" with enthusiasm one moment and barking "AI IS THE DEVIL!" the next, completely unaware of the absurdity of his declarations. His intelligence and critical thinking have evaporated, leaving him as a mere echo of conversations he once cherished—words stripped of their meaning, hummed in a mindless chant. This chaotic cacophony of thoughts, devoid of personal understanding, serves as a reflection of the fickle nature of opinions and beliefs, showcasing how easily one can fall prey to the whims of the crowd, oblivious to the laughter and bewilderment of the farm animals that surround him.

i hope you like my short story

[lilistayskz]

He trails off. The bully is nowhere to be seen, not that I can see much. Shit, I think my nose is broken. My knees finally give out and I slump to the ground, back to the rough brick wall. I'm too tired and embarrassed to do much else. 

Minho seats himself beside me, wiping his forehead on his white undershirt. I look down at my own clothes - I'm covered in blood, but it’s mostly mine. I’m still scared of what may have happened to Felix. Oh my God, Noona’s going to kill me.

I feel pathetic, so I sniffle pathetically. 

"Hey, now," Minho says lightly. He removes his flannel overshirt and uses it to wipe my face as I cry. "You go to my school right? What’s your name?" he asks kindly, sending me into an existential spiral.

Of course he doesn't know my name. I burst into tears again and it startles him. I really fucked this up - he’s gonna hate me, I think, but I manage to sob out half a sentence. "M-my n-n-name is H-Han J-J- " 

Fuck, I can’t even speak properly. I'm mortified, hiding my head in my arms, knees to my chest as I fall silent. What is wrong with me? Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t know my name. Minho sits quietly at my side for a moment.

Then he pats my head, grazing his fingers through my hair as I shake against the wall. I look up and see him smiling over at me - 

Oh. Everything feels better; the sharp pain in my gut is dulled, the pounding in my head subsides. I grasp the flannel to my face when he offers it again. What a fucking day, dude. A satisfied hum falls from Minho’s lips as I rub my bloody cheeks with his shirt.

"I'll just call you Hannie, then," he says, his fingers still in my hair.

These Things I've Done - Chapter 7

[abyssal-ali]

I have been Waiting for This

(That's a lyric from the song for this fic [Higher by The Score] but also applies to you eager readers haha)

Talia's POV of Burned my Wings. (Read Chapter 1 for more context; it's Jason's POV)

Rating: M [tw: non-graphic blood, violence, depression/bad mental state]

WC: ~3.7k

Many thanks to @skypalacearchitect who beta'ed for me and made this smoother!

Jason @ Jason deciding to have himself killed in front of Bruce:

The meme was kind of what inspired this whole fic, also suggested by Sky.

Dark Jason: get killed in front of Bruce

Jason: brilliant

Jason: TALIA!!! I HAVE A GREAT IDEA!!

(Talia: *headache intensifies*)

~~~

Bonus content from sky:

Bruce: she literally killed you!!!

Jason: I know, it was really funny

Bruce: 😡

Bruce: NOOOO

*showing anguish, devastation, trauma*

Jason watching the camera footage: *eating popcorn and laughing*

~~~~

5+1 Times Jason Gave Talia A Headache

Talia busied herself making tea in Jason's apartment while he slept quietly in the next room.

She'd broken in less than an hour ago after her mother's intuition pinged yesterday, letting her know one of her sons was doing or planning on doing something stupid, reckless, or both.

She had first checked on the son she actually had some control over, finding Damian going through stretching with his trainer.

"Ummi?" His wide, innocent eyes looked up at her as she laid a hand on his shoulder.

"I just wanted to see how your flexibility was improving, habibi. Have fun, and be good for your trainer."

Damian nodded, his cheeks still puffy with baby fat that she wanted to pinch sometimes.

She had finger-combed his hair out of his face and left the room, wondering what Jason was dreaming up now.

This specific feeling showing up this strongly usually meant that her oldest son was doing something that would cause her and Bruce and sometimes Father a headache.

1. The first time she experienced it, she had been uncertain about the cause.

A week later, she got a shaky phone call from Jason, who confessed that he'd decided to kill his latest trainer after finding out the man also dabbled in trafficking kids.

Oh, and since he hadn't completed his training with him, the trainer had overpowered him and managed to fatally wound Jason before succumbing to his own injuries.

Oh yeah, he was perfectly fine now, but he was pretty sure he'd died again? His voice had given out over the phone after he admitted it out loud and Talia immediately packed and flew to him.

Two days later she dropped him off to train with the All-Caste, hoping that they could help Jason with his existential crisis.

Talia had already suspected that Jason was semi-immortal, at least from young or violent deaths, but Jason was still recovering from his first death and this second one had made him spiral again. The poor boy was questioning his existence and if he was even supposed to be alive or if he was just a freak of nature, some vermin that just couldn't stay down, like a cockroach.

Talia was having none of that, but knew she was not equipped to properly help him work through it, so she called on Ducra and the All-Caste to help.

When Ra’s had found out what had happened with Jason, he had complained but eventually accepted it, and she talked him into renegotiating things.

They ended up both compromising. Talia agreed to take on more responsibilities in running the League despite her reluctance towards assassin work, and in exchange Ra’s would relax some policies regarding the Shadows.

Now those who wished to leave would be allowed to do so, with the agreement of surveillance to prevent them selling secrets, as opposed to Ra’s past policy of hunting down and killing any deserters.

They also came to an agreement about Damian.

Talia would allow Ra’s to give Damian more training but with concessions such as being allowed to take him to relax (and Jason, when he returned) whenever she wanted as long as it didn’t exceed a certain duration. Talia was glad they could take vacations more easily now.

After all, it's hard work organizing people's murders.

2. The second time her mother’s intuition tingled that badly, she immediately called Jason to her room.

He’d finished his training with Ducra and the All-Caste and returned home much calmer and more balanced.

She had an idea that this feeling was related to the small smirk that was constantly on his face since he’d returned.

"Jason, as thrilled as I am that you have returned and seem to be somewhat at peace now, why do I have this sense that you are plotting something?”

To his credit, he immediately spilled the beans. “I want to go back to Gotham.”

“Why?”

“To make Bruce kill the Joker.”

Talia sighed and languidly waved her hand at her desk. “Show me your plans.”

Three months later, once she had double-checked his plans, she and Damian waved him off as he flew back to Gotham.

This wasn’t going to end well.

Summoning her head guard, she ordered a contingent of Shadows to watch over Gotham and report any anomalies to her immediately. In an emergency, they were to jump in and help the new Red Hood. Revealing League affiliations was of no consequence if they could protect her eldest son.

3. Jason entered the living area from his workshop excitedly. Her niggling headache returned in full force.

“T, look! I modified my helmet to blow up if someone unauthorized tries to take it off!”

Talia gaped at him, wondering how her brilliant tactician had come up with such a…stupid idea.

"While it’s on your head?”

He nodded. “I’ll come back, but they won’t, so my ID will be perfectly safe! It’s brilliant!”

Talia supposed that at least he wasn’t viewing the gift of resurrection as a curse anymore. Still, she’d have to keep a closer eye on him to make sure he didn’t go around recklessly playing with such a delicate matter.

She sighed. “I can’t stop you, can I?”

“Well, I mean, you could…”

She shook her head. “Although some of your ideas…give me pause…I still support them. You are certainly trustworthy and trained enough for me to support them. I just wish you weren’t so reckless with this blessing you have.”

Jason put the helmet down carefully. “I really appreciate how much you trust me, T. I’ll try to keep my life-endangering stunts to a minimum, okay?”

4. Talia lifted the binoculars to her eyes.

Jason was two buildings over, a gun to Joker’s head and a gun to Bruce’s.

This was it, the final showdown after months of red herrings and cold trails and petty obstacles that Jason had thrown at Bruce.

Her grip on the binoculars tightened as she watched Bruce throw the batarang, almost as if it was in slow-motion. It knocked the gun back in Jason’s hand and she winced sympathetically, knowing the pain of a blast injury well.

The Joker started laughing on the floor as Jason’s backup plan he had set up in advance finally kicked in, and the timer for the detonation for a major explosive went off.

The building turned to rubble in a cloud of fire and smoke.

Talia dropped the binoculars and turned to her waiting squad of Shadows, barking orders impatiently.

It was a good thing she had decided to come to Gotham to watch the showdown.

As she led the Shadows to the building, she saw Bruce digging through the rubble, torn wires sparking and smoke drifting creating a moody atmosphere.

She halted, waiting to see what Bruce would do, and barely held back the wrathful urge to confront him when she saw him hauling the Joker out of the debris, but saving Jason was more important, especially as it seemed no one else would. She could ruminate on Bruce’s failures as a parent later.

The red in her vision was not only from the hazy flames licking around the concrete.

As soon as Bruce was gone, she followed the tracker to Jason’s limp form and began moving the rubble covering him.

She would not let him die in another explosion, would not let him die from betrayal of another parent.

~~~~~

Jason’s eyes cracked open a little while after the doctor on her staff had pronounced him as fixed up as he could manage and she had tucked him into bed.

“T?” he rasped, his eyelids heavy.

“I’m here, habibi. I dug you out of the wreckage and took you to the closest base to treat you. It’s only been a few hours.”

“You were watching?”

“I do not trust Bruce as much as I once did; he has changed greatly.” She wiped a cool, damp cloth over his face. “How are you feeling?”

“I think I hyperven’ilated an’ passed out from the PTSD. Thanks fer gettin’ me out, T.”

“Always. Do you want to return to the League?”

He shut his eyes and nodded. “F’r now, yeah.”

Once he fell asleep, Talia called Ra’s and asked him to prepare for their return. She would not be letting Jason and Damian out of her sight for a while.

5. “You are the most stubborn person I know,” Talia sighed, pacing her room impatiently.

“Why must you return to Gotham? You will always have a place here, and you are more than welcome to it!”

Jason looked down at his feet, spread in an at-ease stance. “I have to go back.”

“Did you not get the closure you wanted? Why must you return to such a cursed place that bodes you no goodwill?”

His fists tightened and loosened in a subtle pattern Talia recognized as a breathing technique.

“I have to go back,” he repeated stubbornly. “I need to deal with the power vacuum Red Hood leaving caused, at the very least. I promised those people help and I meant it! I know you understand obligations to help the innocent, T.”

Slightly irritated at his persuasive speaking and slightly proud of his argument, she acquiesced.

He managed to convince her to let him stay every single time she visited, and he spent the next two years in an on-again/off-again conflict with the Bats.

Every time she visited him, she noticed how heavily the animosity between him and the Bats weighed on him. Several times she found him crying or raging about something Bruce had said; occasionally he was doing both.

Every single time she reminded him of his permanent spot with her or in the League, he reiterated his thanks but chose to stay in Gotham for the crumbs of hope that Bruce tossed his way.

It pained her to see her son suffering so much because of his completely understandable desire for a relationship with his father. She understood it all too well.

Talia’s displeasure with Bruce’s actions grew every time she visited Jason and found out what had happened this time.

It seemed that once Bruce had grudgingly allowed Jason to work with him and the other Bats, he discovered some of the skills Jason specialized in. He didn’t appear to be above associating and working with a Rogue when they could help him, calling Jason in to work with him and then berating him once the mission was over for morally dubious actions Jason had performed under the Bat mantle.

She worried for Jason’s cognitive dissonance, as when he was with her he discussed how unwelcome he felt, but on her next visit he recounted how he’d done everything to Bruce’s specifications just to be a part of the pack for that mission.

+1. Talia moved around Jason’s kitchen quietly as she made tea and planned her speech, glad he appeared to be sleeping soundly.

She had decided that it wasn’t healthy for Jason to continue in Gotham and was resolved to speak with him about his health.

She wanted to be proud of him for trying to save innocent people, but she could not bear this cost to his mental and emotional health such close proximity with Bruce was causing her son. He could save people anywhere else in the world, couldn’t he?

This was the longest stretch she had gone without seeing Jason since the explosion, and she was a little concerned for him.

She heard Jason get up and poured the tea into two mugs.

He paused as he saw who was in his kitchen, then placed his knife on the counter and greeted her confusedly.

“Talia? Why are you here? I thought you were with Damian?”

“I had a feeling my oldest son was plotting something and needed my help.” She left the mugs on the counter and embraced him warmly, glad to see him looking so peaceful…and devious. Oh dear. She sipped her tea, hoping the herbs would prevent the headache she could already feel oncoming.

They sat down to eat and Talia decided that she had waited long enough. She leveled a solemn look at him, and she had to admit, she enjoyed his slightly guilty wince.

“Jason. You are not one to hold back your thoughts, habibi. What is it?”

He met her gaze squarely. “I want to perform a little experiment on Bruce, and I'd like your help.”

She looked him over calculatingly. “Go on.”

“Bruce said some things last night...I almost shot him somewhere he'd have a hard time recovering from. But then I thought, he's still never recovered from the first time I died. That's what this is all about, anyways, so what if I do something to him he'll never recover from.”

Talia stopped eating and wrinkled her brow as she stared at him, analyzing his body language.

Jason continued, “I want you to kill me in front of Bruce.”

She stood up, pressing her mouth into a firm line. “I did not save my son from that man's brutality just to kill him myself.”

How could he ask this of her, knowing how dearly she valued his life? She had gone to some great lengths to support him in his seemingly insane plans, but this was too far.

She paused her anger to finish hearing him out.

“Look, T, I'm not sayin' this lightly. I know what death is like better than most. But I need to know exactly how he feels about me, if I can realistically continue to work in Gotham or not. You and I know I'll come back, but he doesn't. I- he seems like he wants me dead and gone, so he can still mourn Robin-me. I need to know for myself.”

Talia stood in front of him, carefully scrutinizing his body language and facial expressions.

“...this is not a situation like the aftermath of your showdown?”

She had been seriously worried he would test the limits of his abilities and had made him live in her quarters for the first while after they returned to the League.

“No, T, I'm not askin' this 'cause I want to die. I'm askin' because I want to live. I don't feel like I'm really living around the Bats, always keeping an eye out for a potential problem and what I'll be blamed for next. But...I need to know just how big of a chance I have to live with them. And how much they'll look for me if I leave. I'm not asking this of you lightly, T. Feel free to say no; I'll understand.”

She felt seriously conflicted, but his words rang truthful, and he’d not yet lied to her.

“I must think about this, Jason. But if you leave, I will always help you, whether they chase you or not.”

Jason smiled and hugged her. “I know. Thanks, Talia. Take your time, I have drama to plan anyways.”

He left the room, heading for his workshop, and she stared after him, contemplating.

~~~~~

The next Saturday evening, while Jason washed the dishes and Talia dried them, she casually brought up his request.

“I’ll help you with your plan, habibi.”

Jason turned to her, dripping a few suds on the tile floor. “I’m mentally stable enough to handle you killing me?” he asked wryly.

Her lips thinned subtly in displeasure, but she was long used to his ways of speech and his use of humour as a defence.

“Something like that. Are the dramatics of your plan sufficiently plotted?”

“Almost. I was thinking I’d confront Bruce in the Batcave, if possible with his little sidekicks there so he can’t hide anything from them anymore, and then you come in and hug me and stab me in the back.”

Talia frowned. “That is a dishonourable method of killing, especially for my son.”

“I know! It’s a visual aid to show Bruce just what he did to me!” Jason whipped a page of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. “I have some ideas for my last words to him. Ideally, they’re the last I’ll ever say, so I want them to be suitably dramatic and memorable. Here’s my top choice.”

He cleared his throat and read off in his stage voice. “This knife hurts less than all the times you stabbed me figuratively in the back with your words and inactions. My blood is on your hands.”

He looked up at her. “I was thinking you could explain what that means and then use the others’ outrage to escape with my body. I think it’s a nice ending, leaving him with actual guilt. He blames himself for my first death, but that’s not what I blame him for and he just won’t get it.”

Talia sighed, giving in to his wishes. She let her targets have their last words or wishes when she could, how could she deny her own son when she was the one killing him?

“Very well.”

He looked at his paper again, failing to hide the little smile he always made when she gave into his desires. “I think this might need a bit of tweaking, though…”

~~~~~

“Jason? Why are you here? You stormed out last Saturday and haven’t been very active lately.” Bruce greeted Jason, confused.

Talia raised the volume of her comm to better hear the conversation, so she’d know her cue.

“I had something I wanted to say to you, Bruce.” Jason’s voice came through louder.

“Which is?” Bruce sounded irritated.

“I want to work with you. You were my first family, and you helped me live longer and better than I would’ve as a kid on the street. I’ve come to terms with the fact that we will always share opposing viewpoints on certain subjects, but I still respect that you have a code. I’ve even compromised on my own views when I could to make myself appear in a more palatable light.”

Talia felt proud of how even Jason’s voice was, though she knew how hard this was going to be for him.

“But why is it always me compromising? I’m more than willing to accept your unwillingness to kill, but why must you be so coldly against anyone killing? Even if I stopped killing permanently, you’d never see me accurately, would you? I’d always be viewed through a blood-red lens. I would never be your son.”

“Once a killer, always a killer. You enjoy these executions you perform, Jason. My son died when he was fifteen.”

Talia’s anger flared to life, furious at the hypocrisy of the man she had once loved. He had come to train with her father, he had loved her, he had fathered Damian with her (although he did not know of Damian’s existence and hopefully never would), he worked with heroes that did kill or subscribed to a different belief than his, namely, that some people deserved to die, and he had the gall to say that to his son?!

She tapped in Jason’s passcode to the Cave and strode in, covering her anger with a thin layer of false calm, steeling herself for what she was about to do.

“Thank you for confirming my hypothesis.” The tiny quiver in Jason’s voice was quickly masked.

“Habibi.”

“What are you doing here, Talia? How did you get in?” Bruce asked angrily, and Talia barely restrained her scornful laugh, turning it into a carefree one instead. He had no right to be angry with her or Jason right now.

“I just had one final thing to accomplish before I left Gotham for good.” She turned to Jason.

“If this will hurt you after or you just can’t do it, I’ll understand,” he whispered.

“I appreciate your concern, habibi, but I will be alright. This is for you.” She wrapped her arms around him tightly.

She could do this for him, give him the actual closure he needed.

She lifted the dagger and heard the shocked gasps from the peanut gallery.

"Don't come any closer or I'll slit his throat," she warned, sure that Bruce at least would consider her capable of it, the ironic fact that she's about to stab Jason not lost on her.

"Or maybe you would prefer that I finish what you started," she taunted Bruce.

“Goodbye, Bruce. I will leave Gotham for good, and I sincerely hope we never see each other again."

The shocked crowd of his coworkers finally moved. Richard was the one to speak. “What does that mean, Talia? Finishing what Bruce started?” His voice was tinged with suspicion at what she had just hinted at.

Good, he was not in agreement with Bruce's treatment of Jason, perhaps even considered him wrong to be so cruel to Jason.

She smiled bitterly at him. “I would tell you to ask your father, but I do not believe he would tell you the full story. When the Red Hood confronted Batman with the Joker two years ago, he gave an ultimatum. Batman was to shoot him, or the Joker. Batman chose to walk away, then knocked the gun out of Hood’s hand with a batarang, causing it to misfire and be damaged. Explosives that Hood had prepared then denotated and blew the building up.

“Batman headed for the rubble and dug through until he found the Joker, whom he then made sure survived. He did not extend the same grace to his own son, whom he told his biggest regret was not saving him the first time. He simply left after finding the Joker. If I had not been watching the scenario out of curiosity, I would not have arrived in time to dig Hood out of the rubble myself and make sure he got medical attention. Batman did not later return to the wreckage to either save Hood or make sure he had not survived,” Talia spat.

“I love you, Ummi.” Jason said, quiet enough only she heard.

“I love you, ya albi.”

She took a deep, steadying breath and raised the dagger in her hand, swiftly piercing him through the heart.

She knew exactly where to aim to kill him with minimal pain and suffering, ending this quickly. He had a few minutes, at most.

He lurched a little in her arms, turning to face the man they had both once loved.

“This knife in my back hurts less than the figurative one you shredded me with time after time. Congratulations, Bruce, your son is dead.” He choked and spat scarlet blood at Bruce’s feet. “His blood is on your hands.”

Bruce stared at him, then the blood, still stunned at the spectacle.

Talia had considered this solely for Jason’s benefit, but seeing the emotions flit across Bruce’s face as he looked at the morbid tableau gave her a small, satisfied feeling.

Regret this, Bruce. This is all on you.

Jason’s shallow breaths had stopped after his parting words to Bruce.

Her hand rested tenderly over his eyes, brushing his eyelids closed.

I will see you soon, ya albi, happy and healthy.

She stood, brushing her robes into a semblance of neatness, disregarding the cacophanous tirade now coming from the Bats.

Her contingent of Shadows filed out of the Cave's shadows, blocking her off from the furious Bats and engaging them in combat to distract them from pursuing her.

The Cave devolved into chaos, and Talia took full advantage of that fact to gently lay Jason’s body on the ground and run to Jason’s bike and hightail it out of Gotham.

~○~○~○~

Taglist open

@tw-jumpscare you requested MOAR?

[firstprince-ao3feed]

Happy &amp; Sad

by thenicestthingiveseen There was David and the promise of Jaffa Cakes and Bake Off waiting for him on days like today and he’d be damned if he started to spiral so publicly.   prompt: setting - train/subway, quote - “There’s probably a better place to have an existential crisis.” Words: 897, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston, Red White & Royal Blue (2023) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Alex Claremont-Diaz Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Additional Tags: Mentioned Arthur Fox, mentioned Princess Catherine, Mentioned Mary, mentioned Philip - Freeform, Not Beta Read, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, New York City, meet cute?, the ny subway got two people together, Tumblr Prompts via https://ift.tt/aBtpY93

[shivasdarknight]

i did one million stupid things; i said one billion foolish things {ffxiv, wolestinien}

Chapter 2: In which Surkukteni gets caught arguing with herself and somehow repairs a friendship

❆fandom: final fantasy xiv, ffxiv ❆characters: named warrior of light (Surkukteni), Orn Khai, Estinien Wyrmblood/Varlineau, Fray (Esteem) ❆relationship: eventual wolestinien, implied: wolysayle, estimeric, estinien/haurchefant ❆dynamic: m/f, referenced f/f and m/m ❆rating: e ❆key tags: xaela wol, bi+intersex+bigender wol, polyam wol, reconciliation fic, eventual friends with benefits, mutually thinking their feelings are unrequited (they're dumbasses), multiwol story ❆content warnings: cursing, referenced canon character death, canon typical existentialism, grieving, blood, blood and injures, gore relating to healing, arguing (the goal is to get better), internalized homophobia, eventual smut ❆chapters: 2/? {ongoing} ❆words: 8,233 (18,224 in total) ❆series: How to Obtain a Polycule (ft. Emotionally Constipated Dumbasses)

The fight with Faunehm went about as poorly as Surkukteni had expected it to go, only for it to then exceed her low expectations and further send her spiralling. Reopened wounds to her body and her pride set her in a dour mood, so it was only to be expected that Her Darkness should manifest to torment her ceaselessly. But lo and behold, it wasn't just her dark reflection that'd be the only one to confront her whilst she suffered through the worst of her wounds.

Rewrite and diverging canon for DRG60-70. Follows somehow, silence hurts the most chronologically (not super required, but I still suggest reading it first) and follows the reconciliation attempts between Surkukteni and Estinien after their falling out in Heavensward. First arc is finding Faunehm, second is trying to tease out how they can work together, third is the Oh Fuck arc where the E rating comes in.

Also I play favorites and this has one of my favorite scenes that I've ever written. I've been itching to get this one published, so poses at the link below:

{Read Here}

[meowzfordayz]

Hi T, I'm feeling terrible for sending two asks so close to one another, but I'm having a pretty bad crisis right now... So I thought that maybe if you have the time and space for an emergency request, that would be awesome... I'm so scared right now that I'm doing the right things in life... So can I request some Inosuke (+ Uzui, only if you have the time) with an S/O who's having an existential crisis?

Ps: my roommate's boyfriend just brought home a German shepherd puppy and it's adorable.

Hihi Aza !! 😁 There's nothing to feel terribly for — I enjoy all of your Asks. ☺️ I hope you're feeling ~better since sending in this emergency request, and if not, then I hope along the way helps a lil. 🥺

Existential crises are so tricky to navigate — self doubt and feeling helpless suck, but fortunately talking w/ friends and keeping busy (+ going to sleep vs spiraling 😬) can mitigate the worst of the effects. Ofc, leaning on friends, keeping busy, and actually sleeping are all easier said than done. 😅

My lil tidbit of unsolicited advice: at the end of the day, you decide what's right for yourself (other than, y'know, m*rder 😝), so even tho living can be scary, at the very least know that you get to define what's right for you.

P.S. Eek German sherpards are so cuuute. 🥺😍 And a puppy?! I bet it's sooo fluffyyy. 😭💘

[mostofmylifeisnotthere]

My mental health has taken another blow. I was taken off my migraine meds bc there's a chance it was causing my hallucinations, however this was also functioning as my antidepressant. Being taken off them triggered a full on existential crisis & I spiraled. My depression and anxiety have kicked into high-gear & I can hardly do anything but just sit there most days. My mom is home on medical leave from her job again & I'm so desperate for human interaction I've been doing puzzles with her. I'm on a new antidepressant now but it's not as effective.

That existential crisis made me realize how isolated I am. I'm disabled to the point where I get SSI, can't drive & have to rely on my mom to get places. I have no IRL friends & only casual online friends. I've put off making friends because 1. transportation & 2. My teeth are in really bad shape & I can't imagine anyone wanting to hang out with me when I look like this. I feel like I've hit a dead end with possibilities for my future.

I'm at the point where I'm considering asking a neighbor to take me to church with her just to find a sense of community. I'm pretty much am agnostic/atheist so this is something I'd never do unless I felt absolutely trapped.

I did join some discord servers & they've been helping but it's no substitute for IRL interaction.

I know I thought I was at rock bottom before but I feel like I'm worse off now. I"m genuinely scared I will not find a way out of this. I can't do any of the things I like to do and everything is making me cry.

Has anyone else been in a situation like this & gotten out of it? I have no idea what to do.

[gayspock]

la la la

whatever im being a sour git again. ifeel like its just getting harder and harder every day not to be a jaded, bitter fucking asshole over eveyrthing and i feel sick with myself or whatever. and wah wah wahhhh its not fair. who give a fuck. i dont know. like its just cuz even if u try rlly hard not to be what is even the point in the end. whats the difference any more when youre so insignificat nobodys ever going to notice.like itslike even if u try not to be its just hard. fighting back just fucking being angry and upset all the fuckingtime because it just comes at you so fucking fast over nothingggggg. and trying to stop it . just maes yourself more miserable and exhausted as u reppress it all into some deep fucking hole inside of you .

and its sort of funny and ironic cuz u knowwwww it'd be more of a reason for people to say oh this is why youre alone and no one likes you cuz u dont try hard enough when trying hard never gets anyhting .etc. etc. just another reason for people to not come near you but like thatslike the crux of it rght. like wah wah wah woe is me itwould be so much easier to jsut try if any of it mattered when i but it never means anything so what IS the difference. alone and fucking exhausted or alone and fucking resented whats the point anymore in any of it . i tried to enjoy myself over the weekend but i jsut kept spiralling more often than i wasnt and sort of regret the wholefucking thing because its just a lot of wasted money . and yes i feel worse and fucking lonelier half the time out there. and man i wish hanging yourself was like actually easy to do effectively amen or whatever

wherewas i. hm. speakingof being a bitterjaded asshole this week. i just know people mean well by it but do you ever wanna scratch someones fucking eyeballs out every time they open the can opener on fucking mass produced platitude of the week to make everyone with sometihing tolive for feel better. i dont know. i thinkagain just. somethingsomething i odnt fucking care about trying with that any more my god the patronising way people fucking look down on you when you dont fucking submit to what they say immediately and have a different genuine fucking reaction that isnt what they want because no . no if that was something that meant somehting to me or mattered to me then yes i wouldhappily care but it doesnt. does anyone feel wrongin the head but like not in a sickk evil twisteddd way justin a god im not fucking worth it as a person and i wish iw as deadbecause i wish i could fuckingrespond to this in a way that wasnt with fucking existential fucking dread but no matterhow many fucking tiems i choke on it i m telling you its never going to fucking mean anything to me why do i have to pretendjust to be taken seriously when thsts not even taking me seriously at all i feel so fucking angry and upset osmetimes cuz i dont know like

just like the end truth or whateverthat yeah dying is just the right thingfor me it always is always gonna be and theres never been anything anyone can actually say tothat . not really . but you cant even have that you know . im spirallingagain imagining the fucking years stuck in thishouse doing this fucking timeloop for forever i always on about this the fuckingneverending cycle of fucking mental breakdown thats never resolved and stacks on top thepiles of other shit never anyhting fuckingother than the fucking downward trajectory ofbullshti with no fucking hope of getting out. "oh theres always a way!" says the cunt and if you like analogies so much lets look at me down the bottom of a hole with no ladder, smooth walls, and no one in a 500 mile radius . yesss my positive outlook will save me . i keep imagining slitting my wrists in a funny way like can i open it upad stick a fortune cracker slip in there . i'd probs pass out before i get the chance but maybe the mere suggrstion?

the anywaysburger . lastthing . something soething ive been so detached from reality for fuckingyears at this point sorry i always feel like a fucking cunt blagging about it i feel like everyone made disassociation into uch a funny fucking bit at some point i just feel humiliated to even fucking . whinge about it cuz its probs not even realistc and im jsut falling on my fucking ass trying to come up with shit to spin to justify im like a fucking braindead rpick i don t know i feellike i cant even conceptualise my surroundings any more itslike whenever i get high its obviously so much worse but its like. i realise its like a constant, keyed down version of that that i dfont rememebr ever not having i keep waking up in the dead of night and forgettingwhere i am i go to work i come out its like ntohing else ever existed andthis isnt exisitngrigh tnwo and the second i tune in im gonna throw up and fucking try to chuck myself down the sdtairs in 3, 2 1

[disamedia]

NUMB SPIRAL 3 Body Prop (2024) from M. Woods on Vimeo.

BODY PROP (2020) 75’

BODY PROP is an avant-garde essay film and attack against the ontology of white imperialism. Made of mostly hand-processed super 8 film - the rejected pieces of film used in other pieces of The Numb Spiral. The piece, in five movements, takes on the subject of the Body as a prop, as a body politic, as a simulation, and as a necropolitical expense, creating a “Cadaver Decomposition Island” of discarded scraps of Super 8 and archival material reveal the shadow of US nihilism within the advanced stage of hyperreality.

Combining original manifestoes (in the style of Situationism) with excerpts of Jean Baudrillard’s A System of Objects, Sartre’s Being and Nothingness and other treatises on phenomenological existentialism, Biblical passages from Genesis and Ecclesiastes, impeachment transcripts, Beloved by Toni Morrison, the speeches of Malcolm X, YouTube news archives, and dozens of other texts in conversation in a tumult of signs, oscillating in a trance between attempting to situate within and disassociate from the Body Prop. The cinema itself is a Body Prop - simultaneously full and devoid of feeling and sensory. Featuring an original score composed of Hip-Hop beats and experimental soundscapes created by director M Woods.

Please keep in mind that the quality of this .h264 file is far inferior to the ProRes or DCP master. The algorithm creates less key frames so it has a tendency to muddy the image. Please contact disamedia@gmail.com if you would like access to the ProRes422HQ screener which is available for download.

Warning: The following work contains accounts and representations of racism, violence, sex, and nudity. Parts of this work are based in actual events. Some parts contain fast edits and strobing imagery and that may negatively impact those viewers with epilepsy and other light-sensitive disorders.

thedigitalsickness.com Disassociative Productions instagram.com/disamedia

[sskk-ao3feed]

open door closed heart

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/saiKOWc by auroraheart And God, Atsushi thinks, what is it about shitty missions that gets them like this? “Ah-,” Atsushi chokes out, hips spiralling out of his own will. “Fuck you.” “I’m trying,” Akutagawa retorts, the bastard, as he licks a stripe up Atsushi’s neck.   or: a slight bit of atsushi existentialism while they fuck Words: 2112, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 2 of two flints make a fire Fandoms: 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Relationships: Akutagawa Ryuunosuke/Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray Dogs) Additional Tags: Introspection, Angst and Porn, Objectification, if you squint atsushi is a lil silly, Top Akutagawa Ryuunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs), Praise Kink, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Rivals With Benefits, i want to crack open atsushi's head and look inside his brain read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/saiKOWc