#normally houses these sort of things in an organized way

[darkwood-sleddog]

how is your friday going because with me a five minute nip to the store to get lunch turned into an hour and a half + of struggle because i had a completely flat tire that was somehow still drivable until i was all the way away from home. fun.

[mossy-rock-in-a-field]

Several weeks ago, my retirement-age mother requested that I play Baldur’s Gate 3 for her because she has trouble with controllers/keyboards and wanted “to see what all the fuss is about with that cute wizard boy.” For context, my mother and I have done this sort of thing in the past with certain RPGs (dragon age, mass effect, etc.), but it’s been a few years since she’s personally requested a game like this. Basically, I control her Tav but let her make all the choices so she can determine how the story plays out without worrying about mechanics. She treats it like a choose-your-own-adventure book.

Anyway, here is a list of some of the things my mother has said and/or chosen to do throughout the course of BG3 in no particular order:

She is (obviously) romancing Gale. She is quite smitten with him and his passion for books and learning; she also thinks he’s polite and qualifies as “relationship material.” She also REALLY likes the things he’s said about his cat so far (my mom is a cat lady), so I know she’s gonna flip shit when we meet Tara in Act III.

She’s playing a normal druid Tav with a generally good alignment. Her favorite spell is Spike Growth because she thinks it’s hilarious whenever enemies walk into the AOE and die. I usually end up having to cast it at least once per battle per her request. Sometimes twice.

Contrary to her alignment, my mother tasks me with robbing every single chest, crate, barrel, and burlap sack we come across; this also includes people and their pockets. The party is always at max carrying capacity. ALWAYS. She doesn’t like selling things because “what if I need them.” The camp stash is in literal shambles. There is no hope of organizing it. She’s got like fifty seven sets of rags and a billion pieces of random silverware.

She MUST talk to every animal and corpse in the game. I think five hours of her total playtime so far (47ish) has been spent speaking to animals as many times as humanly possible. Like, I was thorough in my own playthroughs, but this is on a whole other level.

She did NOT get Volo’s lobotomy, but she did let Auntie Ethel take her eye in hopes of a cure for the tadpole. I did not understand the logic then. I still do not understand it now.

She is far more interested in fashion than equipment stats. Do you have any idea how much gold I’ve had to spend on dyes just to make things match? SO much. Same vibe as that “please someone help me balance my finances my family is starving” tweet but instead of candles it’s thirty thousand fucking bottles of black and furnace red dye.

We broke the prisoners out of Moonrise, but they got on the boat too early and bugged the fight by leaving Astarion and Karlach behind. Wulbren Bongle somehow got stuck in combat mode even after engaging the cutscene on the docks below Last Light; he he kept trying to run ALL THE WAY BACK TO MOONRISE nine fucking meters at a time while I frantically tried to finish the fight with the Warden, otherwise Wulbren would have run straight into the shadow curse. (I would’ve let him go; fuck Wulbren Bongle, all my homies hate Wulbren Bongle. But my mom didn’t know that, and she wanted to keep him safe. So.)

She had me reload a save like eighteen times to save the giant eagles on top of Rosymorn Monastery. Wouldn’t even let me do non-lethal damage just to get past things. I think getting that warhammer for the dawnmaster puzzle took us like an hour and a half alone. (Yes, I know you can use any warhammer, but SHE didn’t.)

She’s started keeping an irl notebook to keep track of her quests between play sessions. She writes down ideas and strategies when she thinks of them during the week, then brings them to her next game session at my house. I think she wrote about three pages on possible approaches to the goblin fortress alone.

She insists that I pet Scratch and the owlbear cub before every single long rest, no exceptions. Sometimes I have to do it multiple times until she is absolutely sure that the animals know exactly how much she loves and cherishes them. She has also commissioned a crocheted owlbear plush from a friend of hers and is very excited.

I’m sure there’s a bunch of stuff I’m forgetting, but those are some fun things I thought of. She’s enjoying the game and is telling all of her retired friends to get it and play it for themselves. She asked me “what is Discord” yesterday and I think my life flashed before my eyes.

anyway shout out to my mom for being neat

Part 2 — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5

[3liza]

I feel very defensive about the "goth is bougie" shit because it is historically incorrect, yes, but also and more personally, because it just erases the generations of goth kids who grew up in trailer parks and project housing or just straight up homeless, helping each other out.

it's specifically such a supportive subculture for poor and neglected kids and I really fucking hate that this has been revised and erased. juggalos and goths are very culturally close and many subcultural people are both, and juggalos have the same (and, I would argue, even better defined) culture of collective support. the Skids in Letterkenny are not made up for the show, that's just a real type of rural subcultural person. this has also been forgotten in the interim but in the 90s and 00s we didn't even really refer to OURSELVES as "goths" very much except in a joking way. goths had regional endonyms (like "skids" or "trenchies") even if they could all go to a convention or a club in a city and in that context be all called "goths" together, once they went back home they would go back to being whatever the locals called them or whatever they called themselves. this is a whole linguistics and sociology subtopic that's out of scope for a Tumblr post but is sort of related.

my point is that people who wore actual rags, and sharpie instead of nail polish, and wet n wild eyeliner instead of black lipstick, and dyed their hair with markers or food coloring or kool-aid, were and are the core of the goth scene. the majority of the pictures the mallgoth blogs are posting are from catalogs, fashion shows, costume events, yearly balls and fetes like Wave Gothik Treffen, and other places where people save up literally all year, or many years in a row, to put together ONE outfit. and there's nothing wrong with that, personally I'm proud and pleased that our hard work is being recognized and preserved. but just like formal studio photographs from the Victorian era, it is not representative of the daily or even weekly (for clubs) reality of people in the scene, some of whom were completely out of goth clothing during the day or week just to fit in at work or sometimes just to get along without being bothered at home by family members who thought the Cure was Satanic.

the people who RUN the scenes, the promoters and DJs and gogo dancers and independent designers and people who run the mailing lists and websites, the people who organize the room parties at conventions, and yes even most of the original Burning Man camps like Thunderdome, they mostly live in poverty. especially if they're young. when people organize club nights and shows, they're lucky if they break even. I wasn't aware of any of this until I started working at DNA Lounge in San Francisco, which hosts one of the oldest goth nights in the country, Death Guild. I got to know the owner of DNA well enough to find out about the financial reality of the entire scene, even the people who own the means of production and the actual property in this case, and it's not lucrative. I mean, it sometimes is, if you're running a bar for normal people and have investment captain etc, but the majority of legit subculture economics is just barely breaking even. every single event is 90% volunteer labor.

the issue of labor is maybe the confusing thing for the zoomers who are confused. goth outfits take actual physical work. maybe the Aspirational Spectacle of Labor that makes up most of TikTok has made it appear unreal to the audience rather than something you can just sit down and do?

it takes forty seconds to make the fishnet tights into a shirt. you don't need instructions, you really can just look at it and figure it out. then you think, hm, if I can make fishnets into a shirt I wonder what other things I can turn into something else. your brain will amaze you. my mom would save her tights from her formal work outfits for me when they got holes or whatever and I would just go crazy with scissors and safety pins. lots of young designers are getting attention for this layered, tights-n-pins look at the moment and it really is a fantastic aesthetic but I wonder if people think there's something special about the people who make these clothes? there isn't. you can just do it at home while you watch trashy youtubes.

one time, around 2008 or so, @gothiccharmschool and I were at the photoshoot for tabletop RPG Unhallowed Metropolis. we were there with a bunch of local goths to all make the pictures for this book together. we had all brought tons of our costumes from home to cobble together outfits for the book illustrations, and there was a moment when I just handed Jilli a pile of black skirts and some pins and said hey Jilli, could you please make me up a bustle skirt for this model real quick while I shoot these other models? and of course she did, and they were beautiful, because she knows exactly what she's doing, and because that's all a bustle is: it's a way of bunching up a skirt with another skirt. you can do it at home. you don't need instructions or to hire a seamstress or watch a video. you can just look at something and say hm does it look like a bustle? let's drape it and play with it and pin whatever works. and then you wear it for the photoshoot, or to the club!!! and then next week you pin it a different way and it's a cape instead and you wear it again!!!!!!!

[imsobadatnicknames2]

ok but i need the evrart claire essay

Okay just be warned that this is gonna be less of an "essay" and more of a loose collection of thoughts, and I don't know how fresh or novel any of these ideas are going to be when it pertains to popular Disco Elysium fan discourse because I don't really do fandom, you know?

Anyway, I think the most obvious factet of Evrart's character is how he very intentionally calls to mind a caricature of corrupt union leaders, the image of a sleazy mobster who only cares about his own personal gain but pays lip service to leftist politics and pretends to care about the interests of workers as a way to obtain and maintain his power. And I think a lot of people straightforwardly read him as such, because that's the way he carries himself and the type of character the game is riffing on. There's also the question of how much of Evrart's manipulative, duplicitous attitude is just how he normally acts and how much of it is him specifically acting that way towards Harry and Kim specifically, it's important to have in mind that your main character is a cop and that would definitely play a role in making Evrart go out of his way to be a bit more of a bastard and toy with you a bit before he decides to actually do anything helpful.

However, once you dig a little deeper into his characterization, it becomes clear that he's pulling a very interesting double bluff, because it becomes apparent that the shady mobster who only cares about his personal gain is an act he's putting on. He's very self-aware about the fact that he's playing the villain, he seems to actively revel in it, but ultimately, it seems like he does it because playing the villain is the way he gets shit done.

This is not to say he's not actually corrupt, or that he's not ALSO involved in all sorts of shady stuff and taking advantage of his position of power, but the game does make it apparent that on some level he DOES have the interests of the people of Martinaise at heart.

For example, it is textually stated that the harbor doesn't need a night watchman, and Evrart created the position specifically to provide a source of income for René. He knows the pension Rene gets is not enough for him to live on, but he's also aware that René is the sort of right-wing guy who would rather starve to death than take a handout (especially from those dirty union commies), so Evrart created a job position which pretty much involves doing nothing for a few hours every night so he could help him with his economic troubles in a way he wouldn't refuse out of principle. René hates his guts, ideologically stands against everything his organization represents, and is generally an unlikeable asshole and a fascist prick, but he's also a disadvantaged member of the community and that seems to matter more.

Even when he asks you to get the signatures to build the community center, which is definitely one of the most morally questionable things he does during the events of the game (as it will improve the community, but at the same time displace the people from the fishing village), his intentions seem to be ultimately good. Due to the very nature of his character and the act he puts on, it's purposefully hard to tell when he's being sincere and when he's being manipulative. However, if Harry's drama and empathy skills are high enough when he's confronted about it, you'll be able to tell that he's not lying about his motives for wanting to build a community center or about the fact that he intends to provide better housing for the people displaced by the project, and that he feels genuine rage about their current living conditions. It can still be said that he's ignoring their self-determination and essentially forcing these people out of their current homes, but he does seem to have good intentions and think he's doing a good thing for them in the long run, even if his methods are morally questionable at best.

In that way, the Union is an extension of him in this regard too. They're pretty unapologetic about the fact that they're openly operating as a crime syndicate, but the game doesn't give you any reasons to believe they're lying when they say they're doing it as a way to muslce out all the more dangerous gangs and crime organizations out of Martinaise, or that their involvement in the drug trade is at least partially motivated by a desire to make sure it's not controlled by more dangerous and violent crime organizations. Again, they're playing the villain as a way to fill that power vacuum and make sure more dangerous people don't fill that role (but of course, that doesn't erase the fact that, noble as their intentions may be, they're still involved in all these shady activities and turning a pretty substantial profit from them too)

Of course, on the other hand, just because the game seems to hint at the fact that Evrart and the Union are, deep down, a force for good, doesn't erase the fact that he's done plenty of bad shit to further his interests, and the game doesn't shy away from this. He's still extremely corrupt, his long-term plan to wrestle control of the harbor away from the company and turn it into a worker-owned operation (which *would* massively improve the material conditions of the dockworkers if succesful) involves endangering the lives of a lot of his own workers, he and his brother Edgar pass the position of union foreman back and forth between each other to circumvent the term limit and keep themselves in power indefinitely, and if you explore all dialogue options with the Deserter it's all but explicitly stated that they rose to power by getting him to assassinate the previous Union forewoman.

These are things that Evrart himself would probably rationalize as sacrifices that need to be made for the greater good. After all, it is implied that the previous union forewoman was also corrupt, except in favor of the company's interests, and might have even been a company plant. However, this doesn't make those things morally right. Good intentions nonwithstanding, it's clear that the Claire brothers are very "the ends justify the means" kind of people, they probably see getting the previous Union leader killed or endangering the lives of the dockworkers to overthrow the company that exploits them as "pulling the lever" in the trolley problem, which is extremely callous at best.

Here's where we get a little more into "disjointed thoughts" territory, but Evrart can also be seen as a critique of the limits of trade unionism and social democrat politics. Something that I completely missed in my first playthrough but was able to catch on during my second is that the people of the fishing village refuse to unionize, and as a result they don't get the same level of support and protection that the union provides to the people of the more urban section of Martinaise. This is apparently widely known enough for characters other than Evrart to comment on (I forget what character I learned this from, but it was definitely not Evrart). So it's clear that Evrart and the Union put their interests of the members of their own organization over those of other working class people, which is one criticism that can be leveraged against the way a lot of leftists seem to treat unions as the ultimate tool for worker class liberation.

Similarly, when Evrart tells you his long-term plans, it's clear that his ultimate goals don't involve complete worker liberation. As far as the game shows, he's a socdem who's still looking to work within the confines of capitalism. There are more radically left wing characters in Disco Elysium, but Evrart is the only one with any actual power to affect change, which kinda speaks to the lack of presence of more hardline leftist positions in mainstream politics. As someone living in Latin America, I kinda ended up seeing a bit of a lot of our currrent socdem politicians in him in that respect, I guess, but i'd need more time to articulate this thought properly, I guess.

Ultimately, I think Evrart is an amazingly crafted character. He evokes a well-known archetype of a shady, corrupt, power-hungry union leader, but he adds a lot of depth, self-awareness, and nuance to it and subverts that characterization in several ways. I think he atually serves an important role of ideologically challenging players who share the developers' and writers' political leanings. I think it would have been very self-congratulatory and autocomplacent to make the most influential leftist character in the game an unambiguously good paragon of workers' rights and working class liberation. By instead giving us someone who's an absolute callous bastard who definitely has a bit of blood on his hands, who's a socdem at best and a self-serving mob boss at worst, but can ultimately be interpreted as a force for good, and asking the players to decide what they think of him I think it brings interesting questions to the table of our commitment to material gains, what sorts of people we're willing to work with, and the sort of acts we're willing to tolerate, and makes the game a lot more thematically rich.

I also think a good analysis of Evrart is incomplete without an analysis of the ways in which he serves a a charater foil for Joyce, but I don't feel like getting into that rn.

[aquaquadrant]

Philophobia

Word Count: 5,271 Warnings: Shipping, inappropriate/crude humor, paranormal activity, suspense/mild horror, descriptive kissing, mild language Summary: For architecture major and paranormal skeptic Grian, his friends’ after-hours ghost hunting group was just an excuse to spend time with his crush, Scar, without having to actually ask him out. But one fateful night, he finds there just might be things in this world that are scarier than emotional vulnerability… even if only by a very slim margin.

A/N: Did someone ask for a Phasmophobia-inspired Scarian au? Oh yeah, my friend @lunarcrown did! Inspired by the art she made here.

So this is kind of a modern-day college au (not set within the fictional universe of Minecraft), howEVER there are some fantasy aspects in that non-human species (like mob hybrids/monsters) still exist cuz they’re fun and I’m not giving anyone a normal modern name cuz that’s too weird. This is only Phasmophobia-inspired in that GIGS have a ghost-hunting group that functions the same way, but rarely find any conclusive evidence, and don’t have unlimited lives cuz they aren’t playing a game. With that out of the way, hope y’all enjoy, please reblog/comment if u do! - Aqua

~*~

Philophobia

~*~

“I think this is gonna be the one, guys,” Impulse says, turning their van into the driveway.

The suspension creaks as they roll over gravel, rattling the frame in a way that hums through Grian’s hollow bones. His arm is cold where it presses against the window; it’s almost sunset and Impulse has yet to get the van’s heater fixed despite his promises. Stupid demon blood keeping him warm while Grian shivers in the stupid custom pleather jumpsuit that Scar insisted they had made, for their stupid ‘brand’ as a stupid ghost-hunting group. Great, his stupid zipper’s come down again- he stubbornly zips it back up because unlike Scar, he doesn’t like constantly having his bare chest out on display.

Of course, he hasn’t got as much to show off as Scar, who must be getting up at 3 am every morning to work out in order to maintain all that muscle. No wonder Scar prefers to keep his zipper down to his belly button, and doesn’t seem to have ever met a shirt that fits him properly.

… Not that Grian’s ever paid much attention to that sort of thing. 

Grian gives an exasperated sigh. “You’ve been saying that about every case we’ve had for three years!”

“No, no, I really mean it!” Impulse insists. “I feel it in my bones.”

“Yeah,” Scar agrees, leaning forward so his shoulder brushes against Grian’s, “you know Impulse bones good!”

The earnest nature of his statement- and the unexpected physical contact- makes Grian flush. “Scar!” he shrieks, swatting Scar’s shoulder.

“What?” Scar defends. “What, he- he’s got big and strong bones, wonderful bones…”

He acts as if he’s got no idea he said something that could be taken the wrong way. And if it weren’t for the upturned corners of his mouth and the barely-restrained laugh in his voice, Grian might actually believe him.

“Dude,” Skizz chuckles from the front seat, “shut up, that’s awesome.”

Impulse sighs. “Anyway,” he says pointedly, “the place recently had a change in ownership. Previous owner passed away-”

“From murder?” Scar gasps.

Another sigh. “No, from liver failure.”

Grian snorts. “From all the drinking he did to forget about the ghostly hauntings?” he presses, exchanging a cheeky grin with Scar.

“No,” Impulse says, with the patience of a saint, “just normal old-age organ failure. The guy was ancient, and some kinda recluse. House had been in his family since it was built, but uh, he had no living relatives, no will when he died. So the bank took ownership and it’s been sitting off-market for like, fifteen years, til some hot-shot investor thought he could flip it-”

“Ughh,” Grian groans, tipping his head back against the seat. “Investors are the worst-”

“I know, I know,” Impulse soothes, “but um, he’d barely begun when things started happening. Contractors reported it day one, then the owner experienced an event himself and called us. So it’s basically still untouched.”

They haven’t even reached the end of the driveway yet, passing by seemingly endless rows of tall, gnarled pines. Admittedly, Grian’s curiosity is piqued. When he agreed to join this stupid ghost hunting group three years ago, he didn’t do so in the hopes of actually discovering any real paranormal activity. The whole idea is laughable. Ghost hunting is a pseudoscience, at best. Just a bunch of idiots scaring themselves silly in an empty house- and now they’re the idiots! Even their name is stupid: Ghost Investigation Group Services, or GIGS, embroidered on their ill-fitting pleather jumpsuits.

But despite his outright skepticism and dislike for pulling late nights in his already extremely limited free time, Grian’s got one very good reason for agreeing to join.

And his name is Scar.

Grian spent half a semester pining away at the fellow architecture major from across the lecture halls of their many shared classes. Charismatic and easy on the eyes, it was inevitable that Grian would develop a bit of a crush. But as they spent more time together during class projects and conversations in the hallway, he found out just how kind-hearted and passionate Scar was, and how easy he was to talk to, and how strong his arms looked in long-sleeved shirts…

… Yeah, ‘crush’ perhaps isn’t the right word.

So when Impulse- the engineering major who Grian was partnered with for physics lab- got the brilliant idea to start a ghost-hunting group with his best friend and roommate Skizz, and Scar expressed interest in joining, Grian made a split-second decision in a moment of weakness. He maintained his skepticism, claiming that he wanted to tag along just to prove how silly the whole idea was. Impulse was fine with it, while Scar said Grian had to wear the same uniform as them, and the rest was history.

(To be fair, that was before Grian knew it’d be a pleather jumpsuit.)

So here they are now nearly three years later, rumbling down a long gravel road in the dark and cold, up late on a Saturday night even though he still isn’t finished with his condominium model that’s due at 8 am on Monday and he’s fresh out of popsicle sticks. Moments like these almost make Grian wish he could just ask a guy out like a normal person, so they could spend time together without chasing pretend ghosts around dusty houses all night.

But that’d require him to talk about his feelings. Ugh, he’d rather let the ghosts get him.

“Alright.” Impulse slows the van to a halt. The doors unlock with a heavy clunk. “What do you guys think?”

Grian isn’t expecting much when he glances out the window. But the sight that greets him immediately prompts a hasty exit from the vehicle, scarcely noticing the sudden chill, his jaw dropping open in awe.

It’s a Victorian. Not a house that someone has mistakenly called ‘Victorian’ just because it looks old. A genuine, honest-to-goodness, Queen Anne’s style two-story Victorian manor with an asymmetrical facade and a rounded corner tower and a generous wrap-around porch, silhouetted against the fading light of the evening sky.

Grian reaches for his flashlight. Sweeping over the exterior, his breath catches. Knots of ivy creep up the walls, and there are a few places where the intricate wood trim has been lost to previous repairs and weather damage. A couple of the windows are bricked up. Most of the paint is faded and peeling. But overall? It’s beautiful.

“Oh man,” Grian murmurs, pushing his glasses back up, “look at the shape of it... look at the dormers!”

A second beam of light joins in; Scar’s emerged from the van. “Lots of character,” he says, sounding similarly entranced. “And still in great condition! Oh, it’s beautiful. It’s enough to make a man cry.”

Impulse hops out of the driver’s seat, chuckling. “I knew you two would like it. It’s an ‘85.”

Grian gives an appreciative whistle. “Look, I still don’t think we’re gonna find anythin’,” he says with a sideways look at Scar, “but I gotta tell ya… if- if I were a ghost… I think I’d haunt a proper house like this. Not those builder-grade boxes in the suburbs.”

“Right?” Impulse says, his forked tail flicking through the air. “That’s what I’m sayin’... I uh, I think this place has real potential.”

Skizz, who’s come around the van to stand with them, nods thoughtfully. “Definitely somethin’ special ‘bout it, that’s for true,” he says, exchanging a look with Impulse. Then he claps his hands together. “Alright gentlemen, let’s get movin’!”

Impulse and Skizz turn towards the van, heading to open the back.

Grian stares after them, squinting suspiciously. That wasn’t just any look. That was a Look. A Look that he knows all too well. They had that same Look on their faces at last year’s frat mixer, when they rigged the speakers at the Heta Kappa house to play ‘Margaritaville’ every time someone flushed a toilet.

It means that they’re Up To Something.

… Grian’s sure he’ll find out sooner or later.

“Well, Grian,” Scar says, hands on his hips as he surveys the property, “if it’s any connotation, at least we’ll get to study some real architecture tonight.”

Grian gives him a bemused look. “Consolation?”

Scar blinks. “Cono- what, what’d I say? Con- coronation?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, ey,” Grian chuckles, patting him on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”

~*~

“Check it out, dude,” Skizz calls excitedly, “temp’s dropping in here! Five degrees colder than the rest of the house!”

Grian makes a noncommittal noise. “It’s an east-facing room and the sun’s only just set, of course it’s colder than the rest of the house,” he says, idly passing his UV glow stick over an armchair. No prints, of course. “I doubt they’ve updated the insulation anytime within the last two decades.”

“And hey, look,” Impulse chimes in from the corner, “I’ve got EMF 1.3!”

Grian doesn’t even look up. “There’s an exposed outlet in here and I’ll bet the wiring’s older than I am. And in any case, it’s still below the recommended threshold.” Ew, okay, now that’s a suspicious UV stain on the floor, but not of the supernatural kind…

“Oh, it’s definitely not up to code,” Impulse agrees. He waves his EMF reader around a bit, making the pitch warble. “But I dunno, I think this must be the ghost’s favorite room. Might not be here right now, but I’m getting some real vibes…”

Grian rolls his eyes. “Sure…” 

Twenty minutes in, and despite the house’s hauntingly elegant construction, it’s been the same old story. The house is empty and quiet, as abandoned houses tend to be. Quite sparse, as most of the furnishings probably went to auction. The furniture that’s left is covered with tarps and every surface is coated with a fine layer of dust. He can smell mold somewhere in the floorboards and there’s apparent water damage in the ceiling.

The only renovation attempted thus far was the removal of some cheap linoleum tiles that were laid in the kitchen at some point- a renovation Grian can heartily agree with, there’s some absolutely gorgeous hardwood underneath- but they didn’t get far. The removed tiles are still sitting about in a haphazard pile, hammer and chisel abandoned on the floor beside them. Frantic footsteps smeared in the dust and powder paint the scene of a terrified contractor fleeing for their life from the reported ‘ghostly hauntings’. 

In any case, they haven’t heard any activity from the spirit box, nothing unusual has stood out on UV, and the salt Impulse laid out is still undisturbed. Surprise, surprise. Grian’s spent most of his time admiring the elaborate wooden trims lining every wall, scuffed as they are. What he wouldn’t give to properly restore this place…

“Hey, Dipple Dop?” Skizz calls suddenly. “Your radio working okay?”

Impulse gives him a curious look. “Huh? What, is there-” He pauses, glancing down at his radio. “Oh. Oh, yeah. Yeah, actually, mine’s on the fritz, must be overdue a battery change.”

“Oh?” Grian tilts his head innocently. “You don’t think it’s a ghoooost?”

Impulse purses his lips. “I don’t think everything is a ghost,” he says mildly. He clips the radio onto his belt, turning to the door. “I’ve got extras in the van, hang on…”

“I’ll go, too,” Skizz says quickly, slinging an arm and his wing around Impulse’s shoulders. “Buddy system! You know what, I- I’m tellin’ you, you never split up when hunting ghosts. That’s how they get you, dude.”

Oh. Oh, no.

Grian gives them a warning Look.

They give him a cheeky Look back.

“Yup, yeah, that’s true,” Impulse says with obvious feigned sincerity, steering Skizz out of the room. “So uh, you two keep at it, okay, and we’ll be right back…”

“Oh, okay!” Scar says cheerfully, busy setting up the tripod over in the corner and completely oblivious to their scheme. “Have a great time not getting murdered!”

Grian opens his mouth to protest, but Impulse and Skizz are already gone out the front door. Leaving him and Scar completely alone. Totally by coincidence, surely. Oh, he knew his drunken confession to Impulse at the school’s annual bar crawl fundraiser night would come back to bite him eventually.

It’s almost insulting, in a way. Like they think the only reason Grian hasn’t made a move is because he hasn’t had ample alone time with Scar. Like he needed them to give him an opportunity. But if he’d wanted to confess to Scar, he already would have. He’d have had it well done by now. They could give him a little credit.

See, the thing is, he’s thought about it. Plenty of times, in fact. But the issue he keeps coming back to is that if he tells Scar about his crush on him, then Scar will know about it. There’ll be no going back at that point. And if Scar doesn’t feel the same way- well, Grian can kiss their friendship goodbye. So yeah, no, he doesn’t think he’ll be making any dramatic love confessions tonight, strangely enough.

The risk of an awkward silence developing is astronomical, so Grian clears his throat. “Man… isn’t this place somethin’,” he says, then immediately fights the urge to cringe.

Scar, luckily, gives an emphatic nod. “It is, it truly is amazing.” He straightens up, dusting his hands off as he turns to Grian. “You know who’d really love this place, is Gem?”

“Oh, yeah, for sure,” Grian agrees. He busies himself with the UV, so he’s not just standing around. “We should take some pictures for her.”

“Oh, good idea!” Giving the tripod a final once-over, Scar wanders over to Grian. “So, any fingering goin’ on, yet?”

Grian nearly drops his glow stick. “Sorry- any what?!” he screeches, whirling around on Scar.

“You know, ghost fingers!” Scar says, perfectly innocent. He holds his hands up, wiggling his fingers in demonstration. “On the- on the glowy light?”

Grian takes a deep breath, face burning. “Oh Scar, buddy, you gotta think through your words better before you say them, alright?”

“Whaaat?” Scar pretends like he doesn’t know. “What, I’m just- you’ve got the stick, you know, little glow stick for when the ghost touches, uh-”

“Nevermind,” Grian groans. “Anyways, no, I haven’t found any ghostly handprints and I never will, because ghosts aren’t real.”

Scar folds his arms. “Well, hey, maybe the ghost is just polite! You know, he- maybe he’s just minding his business, not touching anything or- or anyone. Just because we don’t get anything on UV doesn’t mean ghosts aren’t real, I’ll have you know.”

Grian sees the challenge for what it is. “Alright…” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his spirit box. Holding the transponder to his lips, he belts out, “Where ahhre yewww?” in his best imitation of an over-exaggerated pop-punk accent. If Impulse and Skizz are eavesdropping through their radios, he hopes he gave them a start.

Scar laughs. “Oh man, been a while since I heard that one! You-”

I’m close.

Grian jumps so badly he nearly drops the box, his wings puffing out involuntarily. “What?! Wha- who said that?” he demands, spinning around.

Scar blinks at him. “What? Did you hear something through the box?”

“I- I dunno?” Grian says uncertainly. The box seems to be working as normal; when he holds the receiver down, there’s a faint hiss of static, and the bulb remains white. No further noises come from the speaker.

After a couple seconds of tense listening, Grian feels silly. Way to play it cool. He switches the box off with an exasperated sigh. “No, of course I didn’t hear anything through the box. Like I said, ghosts aren’t real.”

Scar hums noncommittally. “Oh, Grian... you know, there are some things in the world that can’t be explained.” 

Grian snorts. “Oh, yeah? Well, I- I got a few explanations for ya.” He counts on his fingers. “It could’ve been this old house creaking in the wind, or an electrical surge causing feedback through the transponder, or- or, not to mention, Impulse and Skizz pranking us through the radio?”

Scar snickers. “That does sound like something they’d do, I’ll give you that.”

“Yeah.” Grian slips the box back into his pocket. “And y’know, being in a creepy abandoned house, after dark, out in the middle’a nowhere... it’s easy to think you’re hearin’ things.”

Scar rolls his eyes, but his expression is fond. “I know, I know, so you’ve told me. But one of these days, mister, you’re gonna eat your words.”

“Right,” Grian drawls. “I’m so scared…”

The front door slams shut.

That makes Grian pause. They always leave the front door open while out on a job. It saves time when they have to go back and forth from the van, and saves battery life on their radios when they can just shout to each other through the open doorway. Obviously this job is a little different, because Impulse and Skizz have clearly got it in their heads to try and get him and Scar together, but he wouldn’t think they’d go so far as to-

The lights suddenly flicker and go out. But in the split-second before they do, Grian sees a shadowy figure silhouetted against the door.

Pure instinct takes over. Grian spins on his heel, grabs Scar by the arm, and absolutely flies down the stairs to the basement. He knows they’ve disturbed one or two piles of salt but right now, he can’t bring himself to care. His wings are bumping against the walls and he’s certainly never tried carrying someone as big as Scar before but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t even process the ache of it rattling through his body. He bursts into the basement, feathers flying, and careens towards the back of the room, around a tall shelving unit, and into the corner.

There’s a heap of boxes stacked up in this corner; Grian unceremoniously shoves Scar over top of them, dropping him in the narrow space between the boxes and the wall. He’s wedged in as far as he can himself, laying across the boxes, his double pair of wings preventing him from squeezing in beside Scar. He’s still got the UV light clenched in his fist, he realizes belatedly- he braces his forearms against the wall to try and cover it, fanning his wings out behind him to block it out from the rest of the room. Glancing back over his shoulder, he tries to gauge how much light is getting through when a noise makes him freeze.

Footsteps.

They’re soft and light- certainly not the heavy boots of Impulse or Skizz. No, they sound almost barefoot. And as they gently tap down the stairs, the sound of giggling fills the air. It’s a feminine voice. Young, like a child. Like a little ghostie girl is prancing down the stairs to murder them.

Grian thinks he might pass out. Can ghosts actually kill people? How would they do it if they’re incorporeal? He’s never considered the question before, he never thought he’d have to because it’s ridiculous, ghosts aren’t real, of course they can’t kill people-

The footsteps stop. 

Grian isn’t sure if he’s still breathing. He doesn’t dare move. A chill runs up his spine, making every single feather stand on end. He can almost hear the high-pitched violins that would be playing right now if this were a horror movie; the cheesy, overdrawn kind of horror movies that are always playing at the drive-in that the four of them watch while piled into the back of the van in a tangle of limbs and spilled popcorn and oh god he’s spiraling now because he’s about to be killed by a ghost-

Bye-bye!

The chill recedes. Somewhere in his peripheral vision, he sees the faint glow of light from upstairs return.

It’s over.

Grian’s mind is spinning. What was that? What was that? It seems impossible, it doesn’t even feel real to be in this situation right now but he is, there was a ghost, there was a ghost. It feels insane to even think it. But the residual adrenaline coursing through his body reminds him it was very real, he just encountered a ghost.

A ghost! Oh, after three years of very loudly decrying the entire concept as rubbish. He can’t believe it. He really can’t believe it, this is the absolute last thing he expected to happen tonight. Ghosts are real. Ghosts are really, really, real. He doesn’t know what to do, who would ever believe him? Is this how the others have been feeling this whole time? God, he can’t believe this-

“G...?” Scar’s voice pipes up hesitantly. “What... what are we doing?”

Oh, right. Grian glances down at Scar- and his heart jolts. He’d been so focused on getting away from the ghost, he’d acted without thinking, so only now does he realize the... predicament he’s put them in.

Scar’s slumped against the floor beneath him, head tucked just below Grian’s arms. His long legs are still draped over the box that Grian’s laying across, resting on either side of his waist. And due to the odd posture Grian’s in, his chest has been thrust rather close to Scar’s face, lit by the soft purple glow of the UV.

This is probably the closest Grian has ever been to sitting in Scar’s lap.

Grian’s not proud of the yelp that escapes him. “Sorry, sorry!” His wings flail as he struggles to push himself off of the wall, stumbling back onto his feet. It’s clumsy and uncoordinated and he nearly falls backwards, his heart pounding.

Scar manages a laugh, easing himself up off the floor. “No, no, it’s okay, I- I just... what- why’d you bring us down here?” he asks, dusting off his jumpsuit.

Grian catches his breath. “Wait, you... didn’t hear the creepy ghost on its way to kill us?” he asks, frowning.

Scar‘s eyes widen. “What? There was a ghost?”

No way.

“Are you-!” Grian throws his arms up. “Honestly, I- I know avians have better hearing than most but that’s insane. She was laughing! Laughing and skipping down the blumin’ steps! And you didn’t hear any of it?”

“No…?” Scar shrugs helplessly. “I’m sorry, okay! I- I don’t know, I was- a lot was happening, you- you’re grabbin’ me, pulling me down the stairs and into this little corner, I didn’t know what was going on! I didn’t know, I- I was all disconbodulated- disco- bobo, bobumated? I was a little distracted, okay. Jeeze, give a man a break…”

“Distracted?” Grian repeats incredulously. “You’re the one who actually believes in ghosts, here, how could you get distracted? What do you…”

He trails off. Scar is very clearly fighting to avoid looking at Grian, but for the briefest moment, his eyes dart down to Grian’s chest. Suddenly confused, Grian follows his gaze, and-

Oh, for goodness sakes. At some point during his frantic flight, the stupid zipper on his stupid jumpsuit came down again, exposing a frankly scandalous amount of skin. Not Scar-level of scandalous, but pretty close.

Grian immediately feels himself turn red. “Oh. Uh- right,” he hastily pulls the zipper back up, “sorry ‘bout that…”

Wait. Wait just a second. 

Scar was distracted from a literal ghost hunt going on... because Grian’s bare chest was showing? Does that... does that mean he liked it? 

Scar’s avoiding his gaze again. His cheeks are tinted pink.

“Scar...?” Grian ventures carefully. “Were you... lookin’ at my chest?”

Scar’s cheeks darken. “Ah, I- I- don’t- I mean, why would you- I didn’t mean to, it’s just...” He fumbles for the words. “What- what am I- hey, your pecs were basically in my face! I wasn’t trying to look, I- I just-”

“Scar,” Grian says, keeping his voice light and teasing, “did ya… did you like what you saw?”

Scar splutters for a moment. “Well, sure, Grian,” he tries to laugh it off, “I mean, anyone- anyone with eyes can see you’re uh, you know, you’re- you’re pretty attractive. I- I’m secure enough to say it, I don’t care, it’s- sure, of course, you’re very muscular! You’re a- you’re a muscular man, it’s just not always obvious with the sweaters you wear. Or- sorry, you call them jumpers in Britain land, right, they’re jumpers-”

“You been checkin’ me out, Scar?” Grian asks, caught somewhere between playfulness and utter disbelief.

“Uh...” Scar rubs the back of his neck. He exhales slowly, clearly debating with himself. “I... maybe? What... what would you say... if that were the case?”

Grian swallows. His heart is absolutely racing now, and he’s broken into a cold sweat that’s definitely not supernatural in origin. The air between them feels fragile; he’s acutely aware that a single word from him could swiftly plunge them back into the realm of safe familiarity, of casual light-hearted teasing between friends. Scar’s always said things that bordered on the flirtatious, and Grian can hide behind the plausible deniability of teasing. This entire interaction doesn’t have to mean anything. It can be easily moved past and forgotten.

And yet, strangely enough… Grian doesn’t want it to. Maybe it’s the post-haunting adrenaline or the fact that he could’ve died tonight, but all of a sudden, he feels like taking a chance. Like he could finally say what he’s wanted to say for the last three years. He managed to hold his own against a blumin’ ghost, for goodness sakes- he should be able to face his own feelings head on.

He takes a breath. “I’d say that’s a relief… ‘cause I’ve been checkin’ you out since day one of first year.”

Scar stares at him for a long moment. His expression is utterly unreadable. The silence draws on long enough that Grian feels a spike of panic, worried that maybe he’s mishandled the situation-

 “... oh my god,” Scar says finally. “Really?”

It sounds like the good kind of surprise. Grian offers a shy smile. “Yeah, yeah,” he admits. “I- Scar, I know I’m real good at playin’ these things close to the vest, but uh, I- I’ve had a massive crush on you since... basically since the day we met.”

“Huh.” Scar blinks. “You’re serious. You- you’re not pranking me right now?”

That startles a laugh out of Grian. “No! Scar, I don’t- we just survived being hunted by a ghost, I’m not pranking you!”

“Well, that’s- that’s amazing!” A grin spreads across Scar’s face- and man, oh man, does he have just the most wonderful smile. “Oh my gosh, G, I don’t- you don’t even know how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

The relief is almost overwhelming. “Yeah, me too!” Grian laughs, half-dazed and half-giddy, running a hand through his hair. “I- I even- look, the whole reason I even joined this group was as an excuse to hang out with you!”

Scar’s mouth falls open. “No way! That’s- that’s the whole reason I joined in the first place, too!”

Now it’s Grian’s turn to gawk. “Are you joking?”

“I’m not!” Scar insists, “I swear, I’m not- Impulse said he wanted to start the group and maybe we’d all join and get to hang out and I thought ‘hey, ghosts are cool and Grian is cool’ so I just-”

“Oh, I can’t believe this…” Grian groans, hiding his burning face in his hands. “We really are idiots, we’ve wasted nearly three years…”

Scar’s hands close around Grian’s wrists, lightly pulling them down from his face. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to make up for lost time,” he says smoothly, leaning in.

Corny, but Grian will allow it. He closes the gap, tilting his head up to meet Scar’s lips.

In that moment, everything else fades away. All the nervousness, all the second-guessing, even the bombshell discovery of the existence of ghosts- there could be one standing in front of them right now and Grian wouldn’t care. The way Scar gathers Grian in his arms, hands gently roving through his feathers- it’s bliss. It’s perfect.

Scar kisses him strong and purposefully, with no trace of carelessness or haste. He doesn’t rush. There’s intent written into every single movement, jaw working to deepen the kiss. Grian curls against him, hands splayed across Scar’s chest. He can feel Scar’s heart pounding through his flushed skin, and it’s wildly exciting- to think Scar is just as breathless as he is. 

Growing bold, Grian dares to slip his tongue into Scar’s mouth, and the noise he makes- part surprise, part delight- sends pure electricity fizzling up his spine. His mind is starting to drift away from him, lost in the sensation of weightlessness, of floating, that almost makes him feel like he’s gone completely incorporeal- like his own spirit has become untethered from the mortal coil.

Then Skizz’s voice comes down the stairs.

“G-Sharp! Scarface! You down here? We just saw a freaking ghost on the cams, and- oh my god!”

Grian breaks away from Scar, but not quick enough. He turns to see Skizz and Impulse standing at the bottom of the stairs, expressions shocked. And then, as if they’d rehearsed it, they both break into massive shit-eating grins and spin around to high-five each other.

“Woo!” Impulse cheers. “We got ‘em! Ladies and gentlemen, we finally got them.”

“Yeah, baby!” Skizz pumps his fist in the air. “Oh, I love it!”

“Oh, would you two stop it?” Grian huffs, but he’s not really cross. Hard to be cross when he’s on cloud nine. “The ghost did most of the work, alright?”

“That’s right,” Scar sniffs, winding an arm around Grian’s waist. “You know, I- I’m startin’ to think you all were in cahoots! Cahoots, I say!”

“Dude, if only,” Skizz laughs, walking over to clap them on the shoulders. “Could not have planned it better, that’s amazing. Well done, gentlemen!”

“Yeah, it’s about time!” Impulse adds, crossing his arms. “I was starting to think we’d graduate before either of you fessed up, I- I had to take drastic measures…”

“Impulse,” Grian says warningly, “if you’re about to tell me you started this whole paranormal investigation group just as a way to push me and Scar into confronting our feelings, I swear-”

“No, no,” Impulse assures him, chuckling. “I really do like the ghost-hunting deal, don’t worry. But uh, we did deliberately ditch you guys in the hopes that something would happen.”

Scar waggles his eyebrows. “Oh, things happened, alright.”

“Scar!” Grian swats at him, but he’s laughing and it feels good. It feels right. After all this time spent worrying about worst-case scenarios, about denying his feelings for the sake of maintaining the comfortable mundanity of his comfortable life, it turns out the scariest part was the fear itself.

The irony doesn’t escape his notice. A bit on the nose, if he’s honest.

“But in even bigger news,” Impulse graciously continues, “you saw the ghost? And you believed it? You, Mr. Non-Believer in all things ghostly?”

Grian sighs. “Yeah, yeah, I know…”

“This is incredible!” Skizz claps his hands together. “Okay, okay, we gotta go cleanse the area and I wanna hear everything, got it? Don’t leave a single detail out!”

Grian slips his hand into Scar’s as they follow Impulse and Skizz back up the stairs. “Yeah, alright,” he relents. He supposes he’s due for a lot of ‘I told you so’s’. But really, it’s a small price to pay for the life-altering knowledge that ghosts are real… and for finally finding the courage to believe in something extraordinary.

Scar hums. “Wait, details about the ghost or about the kissing?”

“Scar!”

~*~

[ma1dita]

Why do I see Luke and trouble being like "Shut up and kiss me" after Luke or trouble (whichever) talks about something they enjoy and the other is like I'm gonna kiss them cause they're so cute

done and dusted

luke castellan x dionysus!reader

a/n: fun lil short blurb for lukie pooks!! enjoy kissing him lol ty for the req morghen this was from a while ago-> check out my partners in crime series if you wanna see more

wc: 675

There’s a subtle curiosity that fills the air whenever Luke Castellan is around. You know by now not to deify gods nor people, much less a curly-headed boy with flighty eyes and a grin that always makes you feel like he knows something you don’t.

“Dangerous… the way you’re looking at me right now, trouble.” Luke’s grin is almost evil as his gaze washes over your curled up frame on the tattered couch. You’re gathering fabrics and props from the basement of the Big House for the next play you’ll organize, and Luke came along to help you carry some boxes (you’re more than strong enough to do so by yourself, but he just wants some alone time with his girl).

“M’not even doing anything! Just looking at you,” you smirk, bumping his hip against yours and his cargo pants brush against the skin of your thigh. He hisses, dust clouding your view of him when his leg catches the edge of the wooden table in the corner of the room.

“What’s this for again?” he sniffles, wiping his nose and tossing a headpiece into another box as he watches you sort through sequins and scrolls on the floor.

“Romeo and Juliet. Classic. You know I have a thing for Shakespeare,” you begin to ramble, swooning over one of the greatest love stories of all time but all Luke can do is focus on the one between the two of you. He’s oddly quiet, and you turn from your bent over position to see him admiring the view. Rolling your eyes you grumble, “Babe, were you even listening?”

“Yeah, you were talking about having a thing for a dead guy that isn’t me….” he teases, pulling you in by the belt loops as your hands trail up to wrap around his neck, “and you were about to tell me about how much you love me!” He smiles stupidly, like it’s a matter of fact. He’s incredibly lucky it is, he thinks, as you crack a smile and kiss his jaw, shaking your head at your boyfriend’s antics. “That’s not even what I was trying to say, Luke. Even though I do love you. What I was saying is that Romeo and Juliet is an amazing piece of literature because no matter what they go through, it all starts and ends with love. How beautiful is that?” you yap, not noticing that he’s backing you onto the edge of the dusty table. Like you weigh nothing, between your breaths you’re lifted onto said table with a yelp and his hands stay firm and warm on your hips.

“You’re beautiful.”

“For gods’ sake, Luke,” you giggle, “what do you want?”

His nose trails a path from your collarbone to your cheek and up into your hair—the scent of you overpowering the other elements in this decrepit room. Sweet, and soft, and his.

“I want the love of my life to just shut up for a second and kiss me. How about that?” he murmurs, lips already brushing against your growing grin as you pull him in by the curls on the nape of his neck.

Sometimes he wishes it was more normal to keep eyes open during a kiss. Luke doesn’t want to miss a single second of you even as you occupy all of his senses—the plush of your skin under his wandering hands, the smell of your perfume wafting as he pulls you closer into him, the sounds of your soft moans under his ministrations and the taste of you in his mouth as you slip your tongue against his own, dancing in familiarity in tune with your noises. He sneaks peeks of you through heavy eyelids—unable to rip away from the sight of your bliss in his arms.

And then you’re pulling away with a smirk, “M’not letting you defile me in a dusty basement, much less in my dad’s house.”

His lips press against your temple as he sighs, moving in the shape of words you can barely make out.

“Worth a shot.”

[inmyheaddd]

walkin’ out the door with your bags - grayson hawthorne x reader - part 3

⤷ “pardon my emotions, i should probably keep it all to myself”

wc: 3k summary: things are as normal as ever between you and grayson, and gigi comes up with a plan… a double date. a/n: sorry i’ve been SO SLOW with these updates 😭 i had to cut this in half because it was getting sooo long (the flashback will make a lot more sense in the next part lmao)

masterlist || part 1 || part 2 || part 4 || part 5 || part 6

the past…

you and your class were on a trip to a planetarium of some sort.

you had just turned 9 and entered your astronomy phase - that never ended up fully leaving you - and were absolutely thrilled. you had a permanent smile on your face the whole day. 

it was now a break time, kids could spend their money on whatever they wanted; magnets, souvenirs, in the gift shop, and by far, the most popular choice: ice cream. 

“are you not going to get any?” you asked the boy sitting beside you on the bench, before bringing your plastic spoon to your little cup, and then to your mouth again. 

grayson barely looked at you, “no.”

“why? this ice cream is so good.”

he looked at the rocket keychain he held in his hand. he told you earlier he’d bought it for his youngest brother, xander.

“i’m not hungry.” he said flatly.

“yes you are, i can see it on your face hawthorne!” you pointed a finger at him, “you want ice cream sooooo bad it hurts, but you’re too scared of acting normal.”

“no i don’t,” he said, “and i am not afraid.”

“sure you are,” you said with an overenthusiastic nod, taking another bite of your ice cream.

grayson eyed you, “are you insinuating i’m not normal?”

you giggled, “yeah, because you don’t like ice cream. that, or you pretend to not like it. both are super weird.”

he furrowed his brows at you, absentmindedly twirling the keychain around his fingers. “…what if i simply haven’t had it before?”

your jaw almost dropped. there was no way that was just a hypothetical question. 

“you’ve never had ice cream?” you exclaimed, eyes wide with surprise. when he didn’t respond, you continued. “woah, grayson. that’s actually kind of sad…” as your best friend it’s my duty to get you to try all the best flavors one day— and trust me, there’s a lot.” 

“i’m perfectly fine without ice cream in my life.” he retorted, quite snappily too. “and without cavities. i’ve seen my brothers get a tooth extracted … it does not look pleasant, to say the least.”  

you took another bite of your ice cream, “what’s life without a little risk— or too much sugar?”

he eyed you, “less trips to the dentist.” 

the present…

it had been a few weeks since that hawthorne event, and things were back to normal with you and grayson. no more awkwardness, no more almost confessions, just you and your best friend.

you found yourself outside grayson's house, tapping your foot impatiently after ringing the doorbell twice.

you

— hello — bro — i’m outside  — no one’s opening the door — are you leaving me on seen?? 

you waited a moment, seriously debating whether to go home or not as you glanced  at your phone, watching the bubbles form and disappear.

grumpy blonde 👎

— No.

you

— …is this because i called you bro — sorry — sorry grayson davenport hawthorne***

*grumpy blonde 👎 reacted 👎🏻 to your message* 

how fitting.

grumpy blonde 👎

— Do you not have a key? I had one made for you months ago.

you

— oh — well — i kinda lost it

grumpy blonde 👎

— I’ll have a new one made soon.  — I’ll be down now, apologies for the wait.

you

— aw — it’s ok oren just let me in — i think he feels bad for me LMAO 

when the door finally clicked open, you barely took 3 step before you heard the front door shut close. the coldness of the house immediately hit you. 

why was it always freezing in this place?

grayson came down within 10 seconds of your arrival, and 10 minutes later, you were sitting on his bed as he organized the new suits he had bought earlier that day. 

so that’s why he was taking so long. 

now, you just finished explaining the long winded plan you and gigi had been planning for a week now. 

it sounded his worst nightmare. 

you loved it.

“so… yeah. what do you think?” you asked, a coy smile on your face as grayson turned to look at you.

“you came all the way here to ask me to ask me this?” there it was: the eyebrow arch.

“well, if i called you or asked over text you’d just say no.” you shrugged, “but in person i can just annoy you until you say yes.” 

“i’m not going on a double date.” of course he was going to say that. “nonetheless with gigi and noah.”

you sighed frustratedly, nearly falling back on his bed. “but why? it’s all friendly and platonic, and he’s actually so nice! i’ve even talked to him a little and—“

he quit reorganizing his suits and swiftly turned his head around to look at you. “when have you spoken to him?” 

you laughed nervously at his intense gaze, “chill,” you said, “he just drops gigi off at our door sometimes, or waits outside if she’s about to come out.”

“i do some subtle interrogations of my own for your information, hawthorne,” you continued, your voice a little quieter, more meaningful. “youre not the only one who cares about gigi, you know.” 

the knit in his brows loosened, and his eyes broke away from yours for a second. “you’re right. i apologize.” and just like that, his eyes quickly flickered away again.

his back as turned to you, “i do want gigi to be happy.” he said, knowing how gigi jokingly says otherwise. “however, not everyone has the best intentions. it’s difficult to not be wary.” 

you watched him open a table drawer and pull out his glasses box. he put them on, and then took out his phone. 

after a moment of silence, you continued your persuasion attempts. 

 “i know that, this’ll be your perfect chance to see what’s going on,” you said in a singsong voice towards the end, “and gigi already promised no public displays of affection between them, if you were worried about that.”

he just hummed, clearly not showing any interest in the whole ordeal, not wanting to discuss it any further.

you sighed again, and briefly checked your phone. you realised you would have to leave soon if you wanted enough time to get ready. 

you still sat watching him, though. it looked like he was trying to inspect something closer on his phone - that, or he had really bad eyesight - because he squinted and pulled his glasses down his nose bridge momentarily as he looked at his phone. 

he looked from his phone to you, “what time is this… double date happening?”

you stifled a laugh, “you look like a grandpa.”

he raised a judging brow, but you could see that smile creeping in. “i’ll repeat myself, when is this double date you speak of happening?”

“wait,” you realised what that meant, “you’re coming?!”

“i did not say that.”

you jumped up from the bed, beaming at him as you placed your hands on his arms,  “i knew you’d come to your senses!” 

he tilted his head back but made no attempt to move. and maybe it was your imagination, but it almost looked like he was smiling. 

“it’s at that one restaurant with the name i can’t pronounce and the weird logo, and gigi said to pleasewear something with colour, and that we should be there at 7!”

he sighed, looking like he was about to say something, but then he hesitated for a moment. his frown disappeared, and it seemed whatever complaints had too.

“i’ll be there to pick you up at quarter to.”

you blinked at him, your hands falling back to your sides, “quarter to?”

“6:45.”

“why didn’t you just say that then?” you joked. “quarter to,” you mocked him in a deep voice. “so extra” 

“extra?” he asked with a hint of a laugh.

“you’re extra, grayson hawthorne.”

his expression stayed the same , “it seems like you have new words to call me every week.”

“yeah, ‘cause you’re easy to make fun of.”

grayson accepted that and managed a smile, and also seemingly ignored everything you had just said. 

he changed the subject completely. “your glasses really suit you. have i told you that yet?” 

you willed yourself not to smile as you tilted your head to the side, “are you being sarcastic again?” you brought your hands to touch the frames you had promised to wear, and have gotten so used to them that they’d become second nature.

“i wasn’t ever being sarcastic,” he instantly replied, but his voice was rid of any teasing. 

you felt a few butterflies dance in your stomach, but you wouldn’t let that have any visible affect on you. “i’d believe that if you didn’t have such a good poker face.” 

his smile faltered slightly, “why would i lie to you?” 

butterflies at this point your stomach was turning into a mosh pit at the point, “because you’re my friend and you’re annoying.”

he nodded, that kind of slow nod that said that he wasn’t following what you were saying at all. “fair. good point.” 

“when do i not make good points? ” you asked, half laughing as you took a step back, not giving him any time to respond before you called out. “actually, don’t answer that! and don’t forget to wear some colour!”

—

to your surprise, he actually did wear some colour. and somehow, the colour of his tie complimented your dress perfectly. his suit was a mix of biege and grey, with a stark white button up underneath. 

and true to his word, he was outside your door at exactly 6:45. gigi had left the house much earlier with noah — they were going to some indie concert before the dinner. 

when you and grayson were brought to your table, you shared a surprised glance. noah and gigi were already sitting down, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen two people looking more blissfully happy in eachothers company. they couldn’t take their eyes off one another, so enamored with eachothers company. 

when they noticed you two, noah smiled nervously as his eyes landed on grayson, and gigi nearly jumped in excitement.

—

“are you currently working?” grayson asked noah, before raising his glass to his lips.

you felt so bad for the nervous boy, this had been going on for the past 30 minutes. he was adorable in a puppy sense, he reminded you of a pug, or a golden retriever, maybe, with his curly caramel coloured hair, and big brown eyes hid behind circular frames, that stayed on gigi for the majority of the time.

“yes!” noah’s voice picked up, before he heard his own enthusiasm and cleared his throat. 

“i’m a, uhm, veterinarian.” he spoke more leveled, and grayson didn’t say anything, so noah filled the silence between the table.

“my parents own multiple law firms around texas and some other states, but… it was never what i really liked.” he said with an almost wistful tone in his voice, “my siblings are all lawyers, but i prefer dealing with animal problems than people problems.” he added, chuckling nervously.

“yeah! he’s the cutest with cats, you should see it!” gigis voice was full of enthusiasm as her hand lightly grabbed noah’s upper arm, “but he’s actually a dog person, which is totally okay, actually! opposites attract!” 

they looked at each other and shared a small laugh, while you thought: 

opposites? 

they were practically written in the same font, gigis was just in bold, with a little cat emoji beside the text. they worked so well, gigi once told you half asleep at 3 am; “you know, i think i’ve missed him in my life before i even knew him. does that make sense?” 

quickly being brought back to the present, you smiled warmly at gigi, and soon enough conversation flowed between all four of you. 

it wasn’t long before you lost all track of the conversation as you zoned out on what noah was doing to his plate.

he was pecking at his food, seemingly separating the chicken from his alfredo on one half of his plate, and the pasta on the other half. 

this was going on for a full 2 minutes.

grayson turned to look at you as he noticed your unusual silence, and his eyes followed your focused gaze. 

he gave noah a very stern questioning look, and noah looked confused as his eyes flicked between you two, wondering why you looked so confused. 

“what?” he asked nervously, almost hesitant before looking down at his plate. “oh,” he realised your confusion, “i um—“

gigi seemed to have picked up on what was going on, “—he’s separating the chicken from his pasta for me because he doesn’t like it, and because i’m obsessed with it! isn’t that right noah?”

a sheepish smile grew on his face, before looking at gigi with so much love in his eyes, it made your heart warm and leap for your best friend. “yeah,” he said, “that’s right.” 

grayson hummed bedside you, “oh, of course.” he offered them a small smile out of politeness— an unusual act for him, but you assumed it was for rare occasions like these when he saw the sheer happiness beam off gigi’s face.

he must’ve sensed it too; they were an odd couple, but they worked perfectly. 

as if on cue, gigi reached over with her fork, abandoning all the cutlery rules she had been taught as a child, poked the chicken with the utensil and waved it just infront of  to her mouth, “om nom nom,” she giggled as she looked at the curly headed boy beside her, non stop quiet laughter from the both of them as she put her fork down, not even taking the bite she intended.

you and grayson shared another glance, chuckling, but wondering what was so funny that they were still laughing— nothing objectively funny had even happened, she had just said one thing. 

but you quickly realised that was one of the things that just wasn’t for you to get. 

that was probably how people thought of you and gigi, you thought. 

like when you’d be shaking with laughter with tears in your eyes over the stupidest things, and when someone would ask what’s so funny, they’d look at you strangely once you attempted to explain. 

it was just for you two to get. and now, she had someone else to have that with.  

you couldn’t have been more happy for that girl. she deserved it, more than anyone.

you were now thinking selfishly— wondering when you could experience that with someone you loved. even though you did have someone you loved so dearly: gigi, it was just like romance was just not in your playing field. 

everyone you had talked to always expected something from you, or expected you to be someone you weren’t. that, or they just didn’t care. 

you took your eyes to your hands, habitually fiddling with your fingers under the table to stop your thoughts from going any further. 

it wasn’t the time to be acting like this. you looked up and your eyes found their way to grayson, who’s head turned just as his eyes caught yours for a split second.

he looked at his plate, gigi and noah’s laughter died down now, and grayson was already asking him another question about his life. 

suddenly, you felt gigi’s leg nudge yours under the table, one of her ways of silently asking you if you were okay. 

you nodded at her to let her know you were fine. and in response, she attempted to raise a interrogative brow — she told you she’d been trying to learn how to do grayson’s eyebrow raise — and then narrowed her eyes to comically thin slits. 

“i’m okay,” you mouthed at her, but she gave you a look that said “we’re talking about this later,” before you both returned to the main conversation at the table. 

the rest of the evening was fine, with the dim lighting and soft piano in the background and the quiet chatter from everyone else in the restaurant. you shared funny embarrassing stories

when the bill came, noah immediately reached for his wallet, fingers fumbling a bit as he pulled out his card. across the table, grayson was also pulling out his wallet.

“hey, it’s alright, i can pay” he said, glancing around the table with a nervous smile.

grayson briefly looked as he set his card down on the table. “allow me, it’s no worry.”

noah hesitated, glancing between grayson’s card and his own. “no, really—i want to,” he insisted, voice a little shaky but clearly set on it.

grayson shook his head lightly, "please, i insist.” the words were even and polite but left no room for argument.

“no, seriously, i have no problem paying—“

“and neither do i. please,”

“it’s okay, actually, i’d love to pay.” noah managed, scratching the back of his neck, looking between you, gigi, and then back at grayson.

your eyes flickered between the two like a tennis match. you and gigi exchanged a look, both stifling smiles as noah shifted uncomfortably. then gigi spoke.

"hey, how about i pay?"

both grayson and noah turned to her instantly, in sync, and said a definite, adamant,

"no."

you couldn’t hold back a snort, catching gigi’s eye as she rolled hers, before her face lit up with an idea. 

finally, after an intense game of eenie meenie miney mo —suggested by gigi, noah payed. 

grayson reluctantly put his card back in his wallet, tucking it back in his pocket as noah flashed gigi a nervous smile. 

when they caught eachother’s eyes, grayson offered noah a slight nod, almost of respect. noah returned it with a smile.

you and gigi once again glanced at eachother. in both your eyes, that seemed like a success. 

a/n: this is such a filler chapter but i wanted to properly introduce my new fav, noah, and showcase his bond with gigi 😋 I PINKY SWEAR there’s so much fluff in part 4 you might have to check in with ur local dentist…

taglist: @x-liv25-jamieswife @wish-i-were-heather @thecircularlibrary @whatsamongus @hermesenthusiast

@littlemissmentallyunstable @anintellectualintellectual @lovethornes @maybxlle @sheisntyou

@emelia07 @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @charsoamerican @hxress23

@imaseabear @soleilars @clarissaweasley-10 @off-to-the-r4ces @thelov3lybookworm

@lanterns-and-daydreams @graysw1fe

[luna-and-la-estrellas]

NEED HELP? - A.W.

: ̗̀➛ pairing: aaron warner + reader

: ̗̀➛ genre: fluff

: ̗̀➛ summary: despite running late for kenji's party, aaron still insists on being a gentleman and strapping on your heels for you and later removing your make-up.

author's note: um, saw a prompt on pinterest and a random thought crossed my mind which resulted into this drabble, very basic writing so beware

the evening was quiet as the clock struck eight past twelve and you and AARON were running late for kenji's party in which nazeera had bought a tangled cake for the occasion. (much to warner's dismay.)

you stumbled down the stairs quite clumsily as you searched for something to complete your outfit as aaron buttoned up his shirt with care.

you found a nice necklace that complimented your outfit, being a dainty shade of white. "aaron, we're already late!" you start as you stand in the entryway, holding a pair of heels in one hand.

he murmured, "i don't mind being late to kishimoto's party, i'm mostly going because nazeera and you will be upset if i didn't." his eyes glanced at the heels in your hand before taking it from you.

he kneeled down and you frowned, "aaron, what are you doing?" he murmured in response,

"helping you, love. can you move your left foot?"

you reluctantly obliged, warner softly put on the heel, strapping it mindfully as if you weren't already late. though, you didn't complain.

he did the same for the other foot. after getting up, he smiled and said, "now we can get going." you roll your eyes playfully as you left the house. his arm found its way around you waist as you headed to kenji's party, a soft breeze touching your skin with a feather's touch.

the party had been a bit wild, juliette and kenji having multiple drinks, which turned the party into some sort of karaoke festival.

when the two of you left, stars already dotted the sky and darkness gloomed in practically every corner. when you arrived home, your eyes were dropping and aaron's steady hand guided you.

he had taken off your shoes before guiding you to the bathroom. you murmured tiredly, "all i want is for a good night's sleep with you."

a soft chuckle escaped him as he got makeup remover from your organized bag of bathroom essentials. he grabbed the wipe and delicately wiped the make-up off.

he helped you out of your clothes and into your sleepwear, patiently. normally, you would've insisted on doing it yourself but you were exhausted so there was nothing to do but to let him take care of you.

not late after, you were half-asleep on the bed as warner prepared himself for sleep. when he joined you, you murmured, "thank you for taking care of me."

he hummed, "it will always be the first thing i do." quickly, the two of you fell asleep in each other's arms.

[mindfulstudyquest]

❥﹒♡﹒☕﹒𝘀𝘁𝘂𝗱𝘆 𝘁𝗶𝗽𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗮𝗰𝘁𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝗺𝗲 𝗽𝘂𝘁 𝗺𝘆 𝗮𝘀𝘀 𝗼𝗻 𝗮 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗶𝗿 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝘁𝘂𝗱𝘆

organization: i know it's the most trivial advice in the world, but i swear it works. before doing anything, i take my planner and review everything i have to do, i divide the study by subject, amount of things to study and review spaces for exams. realistically, you can't expect to do it all in one day, but a good plan could almost allow you to sleep at night!

a clean workspace: i can't fucking concentrate if there's a mess aroud me, i get distracted easily, even by dust, so before i start studying i always deep-clean my desk. i know that not everyone can afford a personal and quiet place to study in their houses, so try to find yourself a small angle where you can really focus.

go to study in a library / café: i didn't believe it at first, but it's actually useful. if you have the opportunity to go to a library or a café after school ( or near your house ) do so. being surrounded by people who are studying like you really helps to focus, you'll be less inclined to get distracted and procastinate. i would feel uncomfortable using my phone in a library with other people who are doing their work while i'm sitting there scrolling on tumblr.

breaks: ik ik, not very blair waldrof, hermione granger, spencer hastings, rory gilmore of me, isn't it? but is it worth it. sometimes i end up having really bad headaches from studying and, even if i keep studying, the quality of my work decreases significantly. breaks are fundamental. i would not recommend using social networks for your beak, because they litteraly drain your attention, rather do your skincare, prepare yourself a snack ( eating is important! it's what makes you focus ), read 10 pages of your book, dance a little bit in your room, do stretching, go outside and buy some mint chewingum, something like that.

EAT!: girls, boys and theys, we know. i honestly think that almost every person that craves academic validation ends up developing a sort of eating disorder. it's not even the food, is the fact that you are too busy studying that you forget to eat, ignoring stomach cramps, or the fact that you didn't get that answer right and now you don't feel like you deserve the lunch. i understand bc i AM like this, like you. but think about it: you need to do it in order to survive ( but this is secondary to the grades, right? ) and to keep your brain active. you can't walk around with blurred vision because you haven't eaten or drunk for fourteen continuous hours. i swear that eating like a normal human being helps you to keep going.

sleep: same thing as eating, but with our terrible sleeping schedules. i know that school is toxic so we end up finishing our homeworks at 2 am everyday ( if we're lucky ) but when you have the chance, take a nap and recover.

repeat things as if you were explaining them to someone: this is litterally the fastest way ever to learn fundamental concepts when you're studying. imagine that you're talking to a friend that doesn't know anything about the subject that you're studying and try to explain the topic to them. finding simple words for a difficult topic will help you understand it thoroughly, on this basis you can then build an articulated and more academic speech. repeat things out loud, doesn't matter if you look crazy, you already are <3

check and organize your notes the same day: i never have time to take proper notes in class, so i review them as soon as possible, with the lesson still fresh in mind. it really helps me understand the subject and makes the further study much easier.

watch youtube videos: youtube is my favourite class. sometimes teachers are dumber than students and you, who don't have a degree in that subject and are tackling a topic for the first time, don't understand a damn thing. ofc not!! sometimes professors are terrible at explaining stuff, but fazal from pakistan isn't. i passed my physics class with a 10/10 thanks to an indian guy on youtube. documentaries and yt videos are a simple and nice way to understand better topics and do insights for extra credits.

delete social media: i'm gonna do another post specifically for this.

"STUDY!" wallpaper: last but not least, the dumbest yet the smartest advice, set as lockscreen a white / black / whatever background with a big fat "STUDY!" written on it. everytime you're about to pick up your phone and procastinate the wallpaper will scold you.

hope this was useful or at least fun to read byee

[sleepyparalysisdmon]

SVT with an ADHD partner

Requested? Yes!

Genre: comfort

Seungcheol

Whether you’re a student, taking on new responsibilities at work, or picking up a big project at home, Cheol always encourages it, especially if it’s something that you really want to do or are passionate about. But he’s concerned when you’re carrying a lot of stress related to these things. Over dinner, you lament that you’re having trouble prioritizing everything you need to do because everything feels both important and urgent. He asks you to make him a list and your eyes glaze over a little because you definitely don’t have one, but he’s insistent. So you jot down what you can remember and the meal is long forgotten as he helps you work through the order things need to be done in by due date or how long it will take, and how important things really are (is this for an elective class or a major class? Is this for your boss or for someone else? Is this part of the project a hazard to leave unfinished in the house for long or will it just be a little bit messy if it sits for a bit?). He does it in such a delicate yet detailed way that the next day you don’t feel so overwhelmed by the long list because you actually have a game plan. 

Jeonghan 

You two regularly play a little game called ‘Hannie, can you help me find something’. You never know where you last had it or saw it, but he always asks just in case. He helps you look, tearing apart the house if he has to, especially if it’s an important thing. When this lost item is found (and it almost always is), he’ll hand it back to you and teasingly say something like, ‘what would you do without me?’. But if you ever seem upset by this comment or having lost the thing in the first place, he’ll be quick to reassure you that he’ll always play this game with you. Still, he buys little things to give you visible ‘homes’ for things - like a hook on the back of the door so your favorite sweaters and jackets don’t get wrinkled in the floor, or a decorative bowl to drop your favorite jewelry into so you don’t lose your favorite ring, or getting clear containers for things and labeling them so you know where to look for something. These little things make your life easier, so he’ll keep doing them. 

Joshua

You often lament about how cluttered your space is. You say it’s an organized mess and it wouldn’t normally bother you because you feel that you can function in it just fine, but you’ve been shamed about it a few times, whether it be the wrinkled, free-floating papers in your backpack, or the haphazard stacks of random things on your desk at work, or a total inability to keep your closet organized and not all over your floor. Where as Hannie is worried about your object permanence and losing things, Joshua is worried about adding some structure to these things to take stress off of you and reduce the shame you might feel about it. He buys you folders for each of your classes in colors you like, or a few cute labeled baskets for your desk to sort things by status, or installing a new closet organizer that might be more user friendly. He also absolutely doesn’t mind to come behind you and pick up and straighten a few things here and there if it prevents you from stressing about it when you see it later. 

Jun 

When you ask him how to make that one recipe that you both really like, Jun mindlessly rambles off the instructions. You don’t answer and he notices that your eyes glaze over. You ask him to repeat it again, but your glazed look doesn’t change when he does. He asks if you’re okay, and you admit that it’s a lot of steps and you’re afraid you’re going to mess it up. You’re not a bad cook, not by a long shot, but he sees that you need to take one thing at a time. So he goes to the kitchen and cooks with you, guiding you through the recipe. The following week, you find a neat little binder with handwritten recipes and detailed step by step instructions. There’s even a long strip of tape on the margin of each page, allowing you to mark off what you’ve done and not done with a dry erase marker. (I’m low key emotional thinking about this level of thoughtfulness.)

Hoshi 

No matter what he’s had to do that day or how tired he is, he is never too tired to match your energy. If you’re restless and need to get up and do something, he’s going with you. No request is too wild. A walk around the block? Sure. A sprint around the block? He’ll laugh but say ‘why not’ and start a game of tag. Need to blast music? He’ll hand you his phone to pick what you want to play on speaker. Need something visually stimulating? He’s putting on some bright, flashy game for the two of you to play. Genuinely, his creativity knows no bounds. 

Wonwoo

Everybody has bad days and you’re included in that. Wonwoo might have a little bit of a temper, but does everything he can to squash it with you, even when you are particularly quick to anger. It doesn’t prevent every single fight, but most often, he’ll tug you over to sit with him and ask what made you so angry and what he can do to help. Sometimes it’s something he can help and sometimes it’s not, but he does his absolute best to meet you with understanding when your temper flares, knowing that it could be a thousand (sometimes seemingly unrelated) things that made it bubble up in the first place. When the fights are unavoidable, he’s so apologetic afterwards because he absolutely hates fighting with you.

Woozi

He absolutely understands that sometimes some things just can’t be finished in a timely manner or at all, but he gets a lot of satisfaction out of finishing things when he can. One day, you’re watching him put away things you’ve left out or closing things you opened but forgot to close. He does this wordlessly without an ounce of bitterness, but still, you lament because you can’t seem to be able to close a damn cabinet, much less finish a big project. Will not let you linger on that because he genuinely doesn’t mind doing these little things, but he’ll always offer to help you make progress on those big projects. Literally does not matter what it is, he’ll take an active role by working on it with you, or take a more inactive role by just accompanying you as you work on it. You’ll never turn it down because you enjoy his company.

DK

Now I promise I’m not recycling ideas here, but the concept mentioned in my bipolar reaction for Seokmin applies here too. You like to talk and he likes to talk so really, you guys are the perfect match. He gets you, but sometimes others don’t. If anyone ever makes a comment that you’re talking too much, he will go out of his way to be even worse just to prove a point, because no one makes his baby feel bad!! He will not let you feel upset by this for long because he loves that he can talk to you about literally anything. He’d skip almost anything if he could just to keep the conversation going sometimes. Will forever be both the #1 fan and #1 defender of your yapping. 

Mingyu 

Now he’s protective naturally and you fire up a lot of those instincts. At first, he thought it was just because of how much he cares, but then he realizes it’s your bravery (or rather your impulsivity) that makes him that way. Because you will walk home alone at night, or go out and overdo it on the drinks, or go toe-to-toe with someone twice your size just because you’re pissed off, or speed when you drive. He loves your bravery, admires it even, but dreads the thought of you getting hurt when you sometimes lack this sense of danger for certain situations. So he walks with you or drives you everywhere, and accompanies you to the club every single time he can, and deescalates a tense situation or pulls you away all together. It really is just another reason for him to never leave your side, like he needed another one. 

Minghao

He knows stress is unavoidable to some extent, but he’s sometimes very worried about how it weighs you down more than most people. While Cheol might help you manage the source of the stress, Mingaho will be more worried about reducing the stress itself because it’s a good tool to have when you can’t avoid stressful situations or prioritize your way through it. Again, I promise I’m not recycling ideas here, but I genuinely think he’d be all over making sure you eat and sleep and find ways to relax. Even if you aren’t into meditation, he’ll have you try things like deep breathing, painting, and tai chi. Will not let you feel bad for a second about how other people seem to be able to handle this sort of stress. It doesn’t matter if other people can because it’s you he’s worried about. 

Seungkwan

While you’re a big picture person, he’s a small details person. It’s never bothered him, he actually enjoys that you think differently than him and open his eyes to things. But the cool thing is that he can do the same for you. You’re overwhelmed by or totally miss details sometimes, but he’ll do little things to show you that it’s not so scary. Like if you’re watching a movie together, he’ll pick out a little detail and say, “Oh my god, did you notice that?” He’ll roll the movie back and let you focus on it. Or he’ll encourage you to slow down for a second and reread the email you’re about to send. Or he’ll assure you that it’s okay if you made a mistake and that you can fix it. He will never, ever let you feel stupid for needing the little reminders to take a moment and pay attention to the details.

Vernon

Now, here’s the thing. He’s forgetful and yet not. Let me explain. He knows you forget to pack your lunch, so he does. He knows you forget your laptop charger when you put away your laptop, so when he sees the lone charger, he’ll put it with your laptop. He knows you sometimes forget to put the cap back on the toothpaste and puts it back on wordlessly. But you help him too. You remember names when he doesn’t. You don’t complain when he forgets to put the toilet seat down. You sometimes remember his schedule better than he does. I’m actually really soft thinking about the way you guys might help each other out with your own versions of forgetfulness. 

Chan 

In the beginning of your relationship, he thought your impatience was kind of cute. Don’t get me wrong, he still does, but he has come to realize just how frustrated you are sometimes because of it. Sometimes it’s little things like something taking too long to bake in the oven. Sometimes it’s that it takes too much time to actually fold your laundry. Sometimes it’s that slow driver in front of you on your way home. Sometimes it’s that you have an appointment in a couple hours and you can’t fathom squeezing anything else in before that. He helps by trying to counter this impatience in ways, sometimes subtle, sometimes not. He distracts you while something bakes, or he offers to fold your laundry, or he drives you wherever you need to go, handing you the aux cord. And on those appointment days, he wakes up early with you to help fill the time in a way that doesn’t feel constricting, assuring you that you won’t be late because he won’t let you be.

[k3n-dyll]

Domestic!Sevika [Drabble]

||Men, minors, and ageless DNI

CW: None just Vika being cute

AN: not proofread, just started writing

Masterlist Divider Creds Helpful Palestine Links

Domestic!Sevika who has never been in love before you, finding herself roaming around your apartment while you're out and noticing a basket full of undone laundry sitting near the washer.

You've been super busy recently and haven't had much time or energy to keep up with certain household chores and laundry was one of them.

Now, Sevika has never been one to just...do shit for people. Not unless it benefitted her in some way. And yet now she finds herself sorting your darker clothes from the light ones, washing them separately, drying them then heading back onto your bedroom and putting them away. She doesnt even roll them into a ball and toss them into drawers like she sometimes does with her own things - she folds them. Neatly.

She finishes and is quite proud of herself, going back to giving herself a bit of a tour of your place, but oh, look at that - the sink has dishes from last nights dinner date.

On any normal day you'd have washed them after eating but Sevika had other plans, which is why she was over at your apartment the next morning in the first place. A part of her feels bad for practically carrying you into the bedroom the night prior instead of helping you clean up, so she may as well make up for it by washing those dishes now, right?

Needless to say, when you get back that afternoon your apartment is spotless and something heavenly is wafting from the kitchen. There's no sign of Sevika until you walk back into your bedroom. Shes lounging on top of the blankets of your now made up bed, reading a book.

"You did all this?"

And she just stares at you for a moment, thinking.

"Oh, dinner? Yeah. I figured since you cooked last night..."

You shake your head and begin to explain what you mean fully. You could literally see your reflection on the counters when you walked through the kitchen and shes just sat here as if she hasnt moved all day. Even when you elaborate, she just shrugs as if she hadnt just made your life 10 times easier by simply being left alone in your house for a day.

"I dunno...I just got bored I guess"

Is her explanation for it, though that was clearly a lie, but you werent going to push her into saying anything sappy. Her work around the house said enough. She's been here before, sure, but its clear that she takes in every little thing you do. She's cooked your favorite dish, folded your laundry and sorted it in the specific way that you always do. She'd managed to get every little organization quirk of yours down to a T.

"Well, thank you for getting bored" you respond, kissing her on the forehead, and while she'd never say it out loud but that little bit of praise makes her heart jump.

I love her sm

Little drabble that is solely based on my urge to act like a housewife when I'm with my girlfriend. I'd lasso the moon for that girl istg

Taglist: @half-of-a-gay, @porcelainmystery, @delinthecut, @sevsbaby, @archangeldyke-all

[ametrictonofaudacity]

Gaps 5

Yandere! Platonic! Batfam x Mentally il/Forgetful Reader

Warnings: exploitation of mental illness, depression and self-neglect, forcing the use of medication, manipulation,arguing, implied threats of violence against an animal (DW MOMO IS IN NO DANGER), and captivity and general yandere themes.

Despite what you thought, they don’t hound you twenty-four seven. They are not constantly at your side, are not as close as they normally are. Dick comes around, because it’s Dick and you were normally attached to the hip. Or you had been. Things were different now.

And of course the peace wouldn’t last. Of course the Wayne’s wouldn’t be content to allow you some much needed time to adjust, of course things went wrong. When there’s a quiet knock at the door of your room, you’d stiffened, Momo in your arms.

Tim pushes the door open. It was always Tim, or Damian, or Jason. Dick didn’t really come to see you in the mornings. Not after you’d refused to even touch the food he’s laid out, not after you had ignored his existence the entire time he’d been in your room. As far as you were concerned, Dick was to blame for all of this. He’d had the initial idea to kidnap you, he’d introduced you to his family, he’d been the one to cause your pain.

You shift, fingers clenching your blanket tightly, letting Momo slip out of your arms. She prances up to Tim, rubbing her face against his pant leg, and it makes your heart race in your chest. None of the Wayne’s had hurt her, sure, but she was so little and friendly that it worried you that they would. Tim, thankfully, barely even acknowledges her. He gently nudged her out of the way with his foot, setting down the tray he had been carrying on the bedside table.

“Alfred mentioned that you hadn’t touched your plate. Is the new medication interfering with your appetite?” He asks, and you swallow. You really didn’t want to have your meds changed again. They had just put you back on the prazosin for fucks sake, and you would prefer if you didn’t go back to those stupid drugs.

“Did Alfred mention it or were you just stalking me again?” You mutter, drawing your knees up to your chest. Tim frowns.

“It’s not my fault you keep trying to do something stupid!” He snaps, and it’s defensive. Angry. Maybe it’s because he knows he shouldn’t be doing this. Maybe it’s because he knows he’s in the wrong.

“You barely take care of yourself, (Y/N).” He starts, and he angrily sorts your meds as he does so, fingers flicking through the pills to lay them out. You noticed he did that. Compulsively sorted or organized thing when he was thinking, lips pulled into an angry frown.He continues, ruthless.

“We’ve tried doing it your way. We gave you space, like you asked, and you haven’t eaten. You barely interact with anyone, you haven’t brushed your hair since after dinner three nights ago, and not only that, you’ve barely gotten out of bed. You only get up if one of us make you or if it’s to feed Momo or use the restroom.”

His voice starts to rise in anger, getting loudly and louder as he yells in your face.

Your ears ring. You can’t tell the cotton in your mouth is from disassociation, anger, or sheer, unadulterated indignation. How dare he.

“And who’s fault is that?!” You snarl, pushing yourself up. Tim wouldn’t hit you, you knew. He argued with you, and he was clingy as fuck during the rare occasions you let him touch you or got caught off guard enough to not protest when he initiated it, but never did he hit you.

“You all- I can’t even leave the HOUSE! I can’t do anything without a fucking escort! You watch me through the fuckin cameras, you creeper, don’t think I haven’t heard Jason fucking teasing you for it! You all might not be at my hip all the time, but I’m not stupid enough to let myself even THINK for a second that you aren’t aware of everything in my life!”

You scream.

“You’re so fucking convinced that I am incompetent and stupid, you’re so fucking convinced I can’t take care of myself, that you ruined my life for it! That- I can’t even leave the house, I can’t do anything by myself, don’t think I didn’t notice how literally anytime I walk past the kitchen, someone’s always watching me, this isn’t fucking fair or right, and fuck you for doing it!”

You snarl, and Tim just… stands there. Takes it. He doesn’t argue, which you expect, but he doesn’t apologize, either. You hate that you used to trust him. You hate that you used to look up to him, admiring his wits and intelligence when he had been using those very same attributes to rip apart your life so he and his family of snakes could pick up the pieces and put them back together again.

“I trusted you and all you did was throw my trust in my fucking face!” You snarl. “I told you, how I struggled to remember things! How I felt like I was going insane because my stuff kept vanishing! You offered- you offered to help me search my apartment! Was that just- just another opportunity to stalk me?! To manipulate me?”

Your voice cracks. You weren’t even screaming anymore, no matter how much the anger burns.

“You were right to trust us.” Tim finally says. “I know you don’t like it, I really do, and that it’s not fair, but we’re doing this to help you. You-“

He sighs, running his hand through his hair.

“You haven’t eaten. Haven’t brushed your hair, or your teeth. You’re lethargic. You fight us every step of the way on taking your meds. What if we weren’t around taking care of you? What if-“

He wrings his hands slightly, and you feel a trickle of doubt seep in. He seems to genuinely believe what he was saying. That you needed him, needed them, to keep yourself alive. To keep yourself sane. You don’t know if it’s delusion or paranoia or some other, crippling thing, but it makes your stomach twist with guilt and what might be sorrow.

“Tim.” You cut in, grabbing his hands in your own. His eyes widen, and you worry your grip is too tight from your anger and your desperation to be heard, so you loosen it, slightly. He tightens his grip.

“Tim, I took care of myself for years. And I-“ You swallow, there’s this faint pressure in your eyes that might be the beginnings of tears, but it was something. “- I get I didn’t always do the best job, okay? I get that. But you need to just- you need to trust me. Please.”

You plead, and his face softens, cracks. The anger drains and you feel guilt. What you’re doing, it feels like manipulation even though you know it’s not, and you wonder how the Wayne’s have gotten you so twisted up into knots that even asking for your autonomy as an adult and a person felt like some forbidden thing. You hadn’t even been with them that long. Certainly not long enough for Stockholm Syndrome to occur, and the conditions for Stockholm weren’t even really being met, you were pretty sure.

“I do trust you.” He insists. “We all trust you. But- you need help. Help that you won’t get for yourself and won’t let others get for you. Can’t you just trust us back?” He asks like it’s simple. Like you would want to trust the people who hurt you so totally, so completely, you thought you would never recover. The Wayne’s had been the few people in your life you had sought out, the few people who had been a part of your life, who hadn’t minded your quirks and oddities. They had fit into your life so seamlessly you had nearly forgotten a time they weren’t there, and it had scared you, so you’d pushed them away.

You should have pushed them away sooner.

Your hands go lax, and you slide them from Tim’s grip. There’s a moment where he seems reluctant to let go, before he releases his grip, and you place your hands in your lap.

You were already tired of arguing. The righteous anger had burnt itself out in the face of how sincere he was being.

“Why don’t we get you ready for the day and you’ll feel better?” Tim offers suddenly, like you hadn’t just nearly broken down in front him about being treated as incapable, being treated like a child.

You hold out your hand. He places the pills in them, and you glance down. You consider throwing them across the room again, but last time you had, you had simply gotten the same medication forced down your throat. You take the pills with a grimace, and Tim passes you a glass of water. This, you also resist throwing.

You eat mechanically, the food tasting like ash in your mouth even though you know it probably tasted delicious. Alfred’s cooking always did. When you’re done, you set the plate to the side, and Tim takes it.

“Why don’t you get dressed, yeah?” He asks softly, like you have a choice, and you narrow your eyes at him, silently communicating you wanted him out of the room. He doesn’t budge.

“Hey, Tim, where’s the-“ You jump slightly when Duke pokes his head in the empty doorframe, surprised.

“Oh! Hey, you’re up! Tim said you were having trouble with your hair, yeah? Want some help?” He lifts the comb and strangling brush, a myriad of other things in his arms.

You pause, considering. Part of it was spite, part of it was the fact Duke was asking, and not telling, but you nod, and he beams. He looks absolutely delighted, and he steps into the room after a moment.

“Awesome! Grab a pillow to sit on and let’s get started, yeah?” He beams, setting down his supplies on your bedside table. He doesn’t mention your meds, or the food, or anything else. It’s refreshing.

“Sure.”

Momo hops into your lap, the little opportunist, and you stroke her fur softly as Duke gets everything situated. Tim looks horribly jealous, and the thought makes you a little smug. It didn’t even feel all that petty, given how he had just been practically demanding you listen to him, and Duke had come in, offering you help but not demanding you take it.

Duke’s hands are gentle as he does your hair, carefully working out the tangles, and you hum, leaning back into it. You were still.. wary, you’d be an idiot not to be, but it was a little better with his fingers in your hair and you wanting them to be there.

“Duke?” You say slowly, Momo in your lap.

“Yeah?”

“Why’re you okay with.. all of this?” You start, fingers tapping on your thigh as he works out the knots.

“What do you mean?” He asks, and you wonder if he’s going to play stupid.

“All of it. The kidnapping, the tampering with my medication, the…” You trail off.

Duke sighs. He sounds so much older than he is, and it makes your heart ache.

“I’m not.” He says lowly, glancing at the now closed door Tim had left through. “I understand where they’re coming from, don’t get me wrong but.. it’s not fair to you.” He finished. “Figured I may as well give you some normally.”

You nod, and sigh, leaning against him.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

[thr0wnawayy]

Dissecting the Jaku General Hospital Disaster and MHA's failures with complexity

Ahhh, The Jaku Hospital Raid. The point where MHA's story went from it's ever increasing decline to throwing itself right off a cliff.

(boooring)

I think most can agree this event was a travesty writing/plot wise, but how about all of those in regards to MHA's setting. Well that's what I'd like to discuss.

Point 1: A Goal Without a Plan is a Dream

The plan summed up is "fuck around and find out".

The heroes came in to uncharted enemy territory relying soley on brute force, broke a bunch of equipment that did God knows what (for all they knew, it could have been lethal*).

Then they proceed to shoot themselves in the foot by getting too cocky, despite knowing that Shigaraki was undergoing some sort of procedure. X-less shoots a machine that for all he knew could have been a bomb or generator. Why?, because he had a "bad feeling".

* I'm talking potential toxic fumes, gas leaks, accidental combustion, etc

Now let's focus on the evacuation effort...

Oh.

Oh FUCK!

That's it!?. A couple hundred dozen heroes and a select handful of first and third year's.

One of whom, mind you, is strictly combat oriented by the (extremely niche) capabilities of his quirk. What can Bakugo actually do here?, in the worst case scenario (being Shigaraki's awakening) he's limited to one arm and two legs (maybe his mouth?). That will further drag him down due to his quirk relying on both hands to be viable.

And we see this!

Moving along.

Another thing they didn't count on was outside help. The moment Gigantomechia arrives, it throws another curve ball. With the only reason for their survival being Dues-Ex-Machina Best "Dirty laundry" Jeanist.

They failed in the end anyways because a large portion of the LOV+ the MLA escaped.

Point 2: Organisms Used for Nefarious Means

I will keep this section brief

Nomu are in my opinion one of the biggest wastes of potential MHA produced. Going from being unnatural goliaths capable of striking dread into the hearts of even the long standing No1 Hero, to being undead cannonfodder that heroes can beat up so the audience doesn't question their ethics or (lack of) morality.

It is a sheer miracle that the Nomu didn't leave the heroes worse for wear. This is again more due to Hori relying too heavily on "convince" and not enough on in-world solutions, but I digress.

The Nomu should have been the biggest threat and again, the heroes failed to account for this. They had no way of knowing, sure.

But they should have accounted this early on. What about the civilians, evacuating them isn't enough as seen in Hosu. I mean they were walking into a lab and they had dealt with Nomu facilties before (Kamino)

Were there inpatients during the raid? and if so were they evacuated or did the Heroes say "fuck it." Given what eas allowed at Central Hospital I wouldn't put it past them.

Point 3: A civilians point of view.

I want you to imagine for a moment: You're a civilian and your whole life, you've been told how wonderful heroes are and how they'll always be there, after all they're heroes.

Sure, they may dictate what quirks are "in" and maaaybe they have a tad to much influence over your average person but they're licensed and your not.

Why question it?

Then one day everyone and everything you've known is just blown away. Heroes barge into your house and begin scrambling to get you and your family out of your house before something happens, they dont tell you what.

It is a sloppy and hurried effort, your life's belongings tucked into a small carryon if you're lucky and some plastic bags if you're not. They tell you it's probably only temporary and you'll be back to normal shortly.

Then the nearby Hospital blows up. You and your family can only watch as heroes flee from the scene, some rising into the sky, others sprinting like hell. You barely make it out alive yourselves.

Within minutes everything is gone and it's not until the fightings iver that you hear it. You hear people (you think it's your neighbors) pleading in pain underneath the rubble, a little girl can be heard sobbing somewhere in the torn landscape.

Everything's been torn upside down.

And the heroes, the poeple you've depended on your whole life...

They quit. They say they need to find another line of work.

Is that what you are to them!?. Just another line of work, a number on a tally!?.

Worse still. The NUMBER ONE HERO has just been exposed by his presumed to be dead son for being a child beating, wife trafficking, eugenist with an implication that some, if not all of his children were made against the mother's will.

The current Number 2 murdered a man for the "greater good" (what even is "good" anymore).

The people who were supposed to protect you are quitting in droves, leaving vast portions of city to fall to villains and are refusing to take any responsibility for their negligence and poor planning that made an already bad situation worse.

Oh, also the single most dangerous villain in history has broken out of Tartarus and multiple prisons have been destroyed leading to further destruction.

This is then followed by a "blackout" period. Heroes give zero insight into what they're doing or what their plan is. Mutant discrimination is running wild, support gear is flooding the streets and any protests are being silenced.

So I'll ask you again, how do you react?.

Point 4: Hubris

Over all the entire operation was a complete and utter failure. I see alot of people giving the civilians flack for their strong reactions, but honestly I can't blame 'em.

The issue is Hori paints the narrative to minimize the damage towards the heroes. (For example he characterizes one of Enji's critics as a snobby shut-in surrounded by trash bags). We only ever see the worst aspects of the civilians because Hori has consistently failed to delve into anything beyond surface level emotion/themes.

Eri is a good example, she should be a very different character. She should be allowed to show her trauma and all the "ugly" emotions and baggage that come with that, we as the audience should see the lasting impact being killed repeatedly has had on her.

For example, Eri should be very adverse to touch. A problem that started with her father and was worsened by Kai.

She should be expressing her trauma through play (think reenacting her "surgeries" on dolls)

She should be distrustful and even cold (especially after Mirio abadoned her).

Her inability to smile might stem from a lack of viewing her self as equal to others, viewing herself as more of an object than human being.

But do we ever see this. No.

Because Hori doesn't let us. He simply as a writer, cannot appropriately handle or even seem to grasp complexity and every part of the story suffers because of it.

With the civilians it's no different and as a result Hori whether intentionally or not, twists the narrative to make them seem unreasonable.

This doesn't help when from what we've seen a shocking amount of MHA's main cast are drenched in hypocrisy. The only experiences we've had with the civilian population is through Shigaraki's backstory (bad) Toga's parents (very bad).

It's just not a good look.

Conclusion:

Over-all, the Raid and by extention the war was a mess in every aspect and I personally think the story would have been better off doing something else.

The time wasted here could have gone to any number of things (how about fleshing out the non existant world building) but I honestly believe that it would have been subpar regardless, it's all to apparent Hori had no idea where he wanted the story to go. That can be seen as far back as everything post MVA.

Just, what a mess.

[aboutkiyoomi]

009. the kenma makeup party | antipathy

a/n: ignore timestamps especially in this chapter and ik the texts in kenmas tweets are in y/n's pov but ignore it pls. i'm just a girl. also i realized i've been missing so many ppl who asked to be in the taglist, for future books i've come up with a more organized way for that.

"where are you going?" kuroo asked, throwing his head back over the couch to awkwardly watch kenma attempt to discreetly leave the apartment.

"going to..." he started before going to a low whisper. "y/n's house."

"you're going WHERE?" kuroo's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets before he flew off of the couch to stand in front of the door. he immediately sent a sos text out to the groupchat, something the roomates had adapted as a form of notification system to meet in the living room.

"WHAT HAPPENED?" bokuto yelled as he barreled into the living room at unnatural speeds.

"YOU SOS'D! IT WASN'T ME WHO BROKE THE DOORKNOB TO THE CABINET." hinata squealed as he halted at the scene of kuroo awkwardly block the door.

"i fuckin knew it." bokuto muttered before cutting a side eye at the orange-haired man.

"our trusted bro, kenma, is attempting to sneak out to see y/n." kuroo starts, looking at the men wide-eyed but knowingly. "at her house." he states plainly. the eruption of laughter and scolding filled the air of the apartment.

"how'd you manage this one bud?" came from hinata. "i'm proud of him." bokuto threw out, impressed smirk on his face.

"ok before you guys call me insane, she asked ME to come over. we're filming a video for her youtube channel. you know, for the whole fake dating for clout thing." kenma started, hiking the bag up on his shoulder, irritation burning across his face.

"honestly.....we're proud of you man. this is the most normal you've been about her. good luck." kuroo smiled slightly, patting his back encouragingly as he moved out of the way of the door.

"yea, we know you wouldn't do anything insane to get in her house. i just wonder what this means for the be-" shoyo starts before bokuto pounds on his shoulder knowingly, in an obvious attempt to shut him up.

"whatever. i'm going, i don't wanna be late." kenma started as we walked out of the house quickly.

meanwhile, in y/n's house, she found herself tidying up the common area of the house. going as far as dusting that one stupid bookshelf that sakusa bought to hold his trophies and other various awards of her roomates. silently, y/n padded into her office/studio and flopped on the couch, choosing to set up the camera to be prepared for the video.

for some reason, y/n felt this utter sense of swirling nerves in her stomach at the idea of kenma being in her presence for what she knows is the first time. not to mention, the house just so happened to be conveniently empty as kiyoko decided to head to meet an old friend of hers, sakusa decided to get some practice reps in with his teammate, atsumu and tendou was at the bakery, conveniently making a new apple pie recipe.

y/n's nervous thoughts were halted at the rapping of knuckles against the door. suddenly, the swirling feeling in her stomach dropped and she almost felt frozen in place. before she could overthink, she willed her body to trudge to the front door and breathe deeply before unlocking the door and pulling it open to reveal kenma kozume in all of his natural glory.

kenma smiled goofily, awkwardly shuffling as you stared at his lanky figure. hair pulled back attractively in a sort of makeshift ponytail, hoodie thrown haphazardly over his body but hugging his arms in all the right places and the oversized sweat shorts that revealed the slight expanse of his beautifully built calves.

"gonna let me in or do ya wanna look at me sum more?" he asks, tongue poking at his cheek gently. you're immediately shaken out of your trance when you remember who you're gawking at.

"you disgust me. but come in, i guess." you mumble the last part before moving aside to allow him inside.

"so, gonna tell me what this video is." he asks as he removes his shoes and places them neatly on the shoe rack.

"follow me." you reply, choosing to ignore his question as you lead him to your studio. his eyes begin scanning the room and observing the scenery before he speaks. "no..." he starts but your grin has already lit up your entire face.

"we're doing your makeupppp." you smile as you step aside to reveal the camera set up at your vanity area, all of your makeup splayed across the desk and some items you purchased to suit kenma's complexion.

"just put me out of my misery." he whines, placing his backpack on the couch that was pushed against the wall.

his whines went ignored as you rushed him to sit down and finished up the final tweaks to lighting before getting ready to turn the camera on but you spoke before pressing the record button.

"look....i'm an ass to you and you're an ass to me. the fans like that dynamic but we also have to seem like we like each other. soo...keep that in mind." you start, nervous as you fiddle with the tripod in front of you.

"when this camera turns on, i'm not y/n. i'm your girlfriend...so don't be too much of an ass." you finish, eyes glancing up to catch his golden ones.

"got it, princess." his voice is smooth and warm, sending sparks and goosebumps along your skin. your eyes roll to mask the simple effects of his nickname. you'd die if he realized how much you genuinely enjoyed hearing it, partly because you weren't sure why in the first place. and with that, the camera turned on and the act began.

"hi my loves!! today i'm here with a very special guest." you spoke, speaking animatedly in front of the camera, blocking kenma from the frame.

"my stupid boyfriend, kenma." you moved to the side, revealing kenma, who's cheeks are burning an adorable shade of pink.

"surprisee." he speaks monotously, eyes wrinkling slightly as he waves his hands playfully.

"i know a lot of you have speculated but we're here to finally come clean." you smile, looking away nervously.

"quit yapping and tell them what we're doing." he smiles quietly before placing his hands a bit above your waist, shocking you deep within your core. the feelings of the calloused pads on your clothed waist sent shockwaves up your spine and you couldn't help but jump slightly.

"rudeee." you mumble before moving to stand behind the chair, revealing the full vanity.

"today, i'll be doing his makeup. i'm excitedd, i've wanted to do this for weeks but he's been too shy." you spoke, explaining further about the plan of the video for your viewers before beginning the makeup.

the conversation flowed seamlessly, to the naked eye, it would be insane to assume anything other than love between the two of you. flirty comments covered in natural sarcasm and faux-pas anger. you knew the video would do numbers, solely because your fans know that you've never been one to talk about love and relationships on your channel.

as you're setting kenma's face with a powderpuff, you use your fingers to gently pull up on his chin, aiming for a better angle to ensure the product was fully blended out. as you focused, your eyes wrinkling in the process, kenma took the time to shamelessly admire you. golden eyes searched yours before falling on your lips and flicking up and away from you.

"see something ya like, love?" you ask, smirking cockily as you pull the powderpuff away, eyes falling to his again.

"definitely." he muttered, shamelessly lost in the expanse of your featherlight, gentle touch and soothing presence. your eyes widen, grateful that you're facing away from the camera as you feel warmth spread to your ears.

you tear yourself away, scanning the vanity table for the next step in an attempt to recover from the embarrassing, nervous gnawing of your lip. you turn back, remembering that you're filming and you push away the feelings of nervousness and allow yourself to be bold...for the sake of the video, right?

the video comes to an end, you laughing ridiculously hard at the sight of kenma in full glam, even allowing you to put lashes on him which caused him to look like a veteran pageant prince. your giggles began to mix with kenma's pleads to take pictures for the groupchat later. as you go to turn off the camera, kenma begins searching for the micellar water you had offered him.

you whirl around and grab it from him, pouring it on a cotton pad before pausing in front of him.

"can i?" you ask, holding the cotton pad up, implying that you wanted to do it for him

"be my guest, princess." he starts, leaning back comfortably before adjusting himself in the seat. your heart jumping at the sight of just how beautiful kenma kozume was, even with a full face of exaggerated makeup. it was something about the distinction in his features, the way his hair lazily fell into his face and the lazy smirk that constantly graced his lips.

you connected your phone to the speaker before playing some music lightly and began your work of scrubbing the makeup away, revealing kenma's soft skin. as you wiped away, kenma found the courage to rest his hands gently on the space above your waist, testing to see if this was okay. you sighed softly, feeling that swirl of nerves deep in your stomach before deciding, this is fine. how else would you be able to pretend to be his girlfriend if you weren't used to his touch. you reasoned like this and leaned into the touch, pushing locks of his hair away from his face before pulling it between your fingers.

"do you ever think hmm maybe i should fix my overgrown ass roots." you mumbled, inspecting the hair quietly.

"mmm i do but i haven't found a good stylist and i know i'd fry my hair off doing it alone. sooo, i just let it grow out." he mumbled, rubbing soft circles into your skin through the fabric of your tshirt.

"well, i know how...and this looks fucking ugly." you grumbled, throwing away the remainder of the cotton pads over his shoulder into the trash and looking down at him.

"wanna do it now? i'm not in a rush to leave and you could use it for more content." he shrugs, face neutralized as he glances at you softly.

"i mean...i do have bleach.. and it would be good to have some extra content with you." you mumble, thinking quietly.

"you don't have too but i thought it would be helpful and i would hate for my girlfriend to think i'm absolutely hideous." he laughed slightly at his own joke, removing his hands from your waist. your eyes widened slightly at the feeling and the lack of warmth.

"fine... it is helpful. so, thank you and i don't find you repulsive. just ugly." you shrug before walking towards the door, beckoning for him to follow you.

"whatever helps you sleep at night, princess." he sighs before following you into the bathroom silently.

the jokes and conversation flowed as you mixed the bleach mixture and began applying it gingerly to his roots, being careful to not overlap with the already bleached part. the two of you conversed of many things; about how you ended up moving in with your roomates, hinata and sakusa being on the same team and other random topics came about.

as he sat on the toilet seat, hair wrapped up neatly in a shower cap. he decided to ask a question, eyes continuously glazing over your appearance as you scrolled aimlessly on your phone.

"so, how are you gonna repay me for this extra content. i'm expensive to book, ya know." he joked, placing his phone on the counter and arms crossing playfully.

"i could beat your ass. if you're into that kinda thing." you smile, not looking up from your phone to see his dismissive eyeroll. chuckling to yourself quietly, you look up and see his lazy smirk has grown into a genuine grin. it brought those swirling nerves up from your stomach and into your throat.

"i could uh- we can go make food. or order something..on me." you say, eyes widening gently.

"hmm i like that. can we make pancake sandwiches?' he questions innocently.

"kenma....what the hell is a pancake sandwich?" you ask, eyebrow raised in a concerned fashion.

"it's this thing shoyo came up with. make pancakes and then eggs with some pork belly and then you make a sandwich like thing. it's sooo fire. i'll show you how to make it for me." he speaks, pressing the alarm off of his phone to signal it was time to rinse the bleach from his hair.

y/n was beginning to question if kenma kozume was actually an asshole or if he just had asshole tendencies. but then, she looks back on the events of today and wonders if it was her, who had been the asshole the entire time.

taglist: @3lectraheart @fairyrots @chemiru @i-am-trying-i-promise @herteatime @shosuki @sereniteav @sunarots @babyyitsval @theweirdfloatything @ast4rg1rl @rockleeisbaeeee @punkhazardlaw @starykari @giocriedpower @cherryblossomly

[robertseanleonardthinker]

house and wilson r both autistic and on complete opposite ends of the spectrum

(bear with me here i'm autistic myself and it's hard to articulate my thoughts)

wilson masks heavily. he knows he's different than everyone else and he tries so desperately not to be. he wants to be seen as a normal guy. he's the furthest thing from it but nobody needs to know that if he can help it. he knew he was different since he was a kid and it upset him. he worked so hard to create an image of himself that is palatable. he is very concious abt it. he clings to normalcy. his knuckles r white and his nails r digging into it. the only person he is ok with letting go of it for is house. house is is safe space. house is the one person he knows will not care if he acts a little different.

house, however, doesn't mask very much at all. if he wanted to, he probably could (although i also partially think he couldn't) but he doesn't. he just doesn't give a shit. he doesn't care abt what ppl think and he doesn't rlly care how he affects them either. he says what is on his mind. he is the way he is and he feels no shame for it. social rules r stupid and he doesn't respect them. he doesn't respect any rules.

wilson is primarily sensory avoident. he likes peace and calm. he especially doesn't like visual overstimulation. he likes things to be neat and pristine. when his space is organized, he can function. his environment influences the state of his head.

house is very sensory seeking. he thrives in chaos. he needs the outside world to be as fast and loud and hectic as his mind is. he needs noise and things to look at and something in his hand (his stupid red autism ball). he's never doing nothing when he's thinking. he likes soap operas and crappy reality tv partially because it's good background noise. it doesn't take up much brain power, but it's still a constant noise.

wilson has big body language. he is very expressive. i know this is rlly bc rsl is a stage actor and that's what they do but. let me have this. but that's just how he is. every symptom of autism exists on its own spectrum. some autistics have a very flat affect, very little body language, and very little expressions. some (wilson) have the exact opposite.

house doesn't outwardly show many of his emotions. he definitely feels them, they're very intense, but he doesn't display them. he isn't expressive, and it's not by choice. that's just naturally how he is.

this is more of a headcanon but whatever. wilson likes stim toys. he stims subtly (part of him trying to cling to normalcy. he needs to stim and he knows that but he won't do anything like hand flapping or rocking.), like with a fidget cube or one of those spinny rings. when he's alone, he'll sometimes let himself stim in bigger ways and it's a great release. he doesn't rlly need to stim as much as house does tho. also i think he'd love pressure and cuddling for stimulation. he'd like to be squished.

house is always stimming. this isn't a headcanon. this man is always doing something! pacing, playing with his ball, listening to music, he's always doing something for some sort of stimulation. he likes vestibular stimming and big full body stims best. he likes to move and do things. he likes to be busy. a fidget toy won't do much for him. he was a pretty active person before the infarction, and that was a great release for his emotions. but now he can't do the things he used to so he needs to constantly be moving. he doesn't get a big release so he's just constantly letting it out.

they're both very particular abt their ways of living, but they do not live the same way. wilson likes calm, house likes chaos. if this is disturbed, they get upset and distressed.

wilson has more shutdowns, house has more meltdowns. not to say they don't have both, tho.

also i feel the need to say this: house's special interest is humanity. he loves puzzles and humans are the greatest one of them all. everything he does is motivated by his need to know why people do what they do. oh and also monster trucks.

[leafnyx]

Whumptober Day 1: Race Against the Clock - Poolverine

Word count - 1.4k

Warnings: Major character death, needles, experimentation

Setting: Post-movie

A/n: This is my first time writing Wade and Logan, sorry if I made any mistakes!!

(Based on ‘the bucket list’ by mikaminato on A03)

It’s been a few months since Wade saved his universe and brought back with him Logan, aka the BEST Wolverine. A title that might not be accepted by most, but Wade knows is true.

Logan has settled shockingly well into the universe. He lives with Wade and Blind Al, which is a name Logan still thinks is weird, and he has taken to sleeping on the couch since he doesn’t want to share a bed with two people.

Wade has gotten back into the whole merc thing, since after falling onto a car with Logan he thinks he’s been permanently banned from the dealership. Logan joins him on some missions, but he also does some alone, like the one he’s currently doing.

Wade is walking through a wing of what looks like a normal hospital to people on the outside, but is actually an undercover mutant-making organization.

There have been a few popping up recently in the area around where Wade lives, but he’s denied every job, since he doesn’t think he could deal with going back to one of these torture facilities, that is until now. They’ve been running low on money recently, and rent is coming up soon, so he had no other choice.

Suddenly, a group of people enter from a room infront of Wade, attacking him.

“Oh hey! I was wondering when someone was gonna appear, ya know it’s boring reading a fanfic without some action. The issue is that the author isn’t very good at action.” Wade rambles on as he takes down the guards one by one.

He doesn’t notice when one final person comes out of a room behind him. They run towards him, stabbing Wade in the shoulder with some sort of needle. Wade quickly turns around and screwers them.

He pulls the needle out, throwing it to the side carelessly. After a few seconds he lets out a cough, then another. He begins to feel weaker, swaying slightly as he slows down his walk.

“… shit” He says, in a slightly worried tone that he never uses.

He pulls off a glove and looks down at his suddenly non-scarred hand. He quickly pulls off his mask aswell and runs a hand through the hair that wasn’t there a minute ago.

“Fuck fuck fuck.” He repeatedly curses, “Fuck *cough*” He bursts into a coughing fit, calming down, and taking a few deep breaths once he’s done.

“Well where the hell was that cure during the first movie” He huffs out, in a sulky tone.

Wade continues walking through the lab, albeit way slower now, and he finds nothing else. There’s no more guards, nor patients.

He’s decidedly had enough of this job and begins to make his way back home.

Once he’s reached his house, he barges in like usual, announcing his return, but there’s no reply.

He lets out a relieved sigh, realizing that there’s no one else home, followed by a few coughs.

Wade makes his way to his room and changes out of his suit, putting on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, but he doesn’t take off his mask like he usually would.

He lays down on his bed and wallows in his misery, because there’s not much else that he can do at this point. He’s in his final stages of life, he can’t prolong it, and if he’s being honest he doesn’t really want to. He wants everything to end, the thought of it seems kind of peaceful.

After a few minutes he hears the front door opening and heavy footsteps enter, Logan.

The bedroom door opens and Marypuppins rushes in and jumps onto Wade.

“Oh my baby! And you said that you didn’t want her, now look at you, taking her out on walks and everything, like a good dad.”

Logan grunts and sits down on the bed before looking over at Wade.

“Why the hell do you still have that thing on, take it off” He looks at the mask still on Wades face.

“I don’t wanna, my body my choice peanut”

Logan rolls his eyes and reaches over to take the mask off of Wade, who tries to fight back and push Logan’s arm away, to no avail. Logan notices that Wade seems weaker than before but doesn’t have much time to think about it before he pulls the mask off and sees Wades face.

“What the fuck..” He says, as Wade looks at him, giving him an awkward smile.

“Surprise..? I’m not a walking ballsack anymore.” Wade says, obviously trying to joke but his tone doesn’t convey that.

Logan takes a moment to look over Wades face, finding it fairly attractive before his brain begins to properly work.

“How the fuck did this happen”

“Well, ya know that job I got, to check out that mutant facility. Some guy stabbed me with a needle that took away my abilities… so basically he made me hot again!” Wade tries to joke his way out of the seriousness of the situation.

“… it took away your healing” Logan says, his voice going lower than usual.

“Yeah… but think about it this way sweet cheeks, now you have a not-so-ugly roommate!” Wade promptly begins to cough loudly and violently again.

“Jesus fuck” Logan curses out, staring at Wade with a hopeless look on his face.

“Awh come on baby girl, don’t look so sad, you’re making me sad!”

“Wade you’re fucking dying…”

“Well.. yeah…” Wade attempts to find a joke or something to brighten the mood, but nothing comes to mind.

Everything goes quiet for a few moments before Logan quickly gets up, putting his jacket on, and begins to rush out of the door.

“Hey, where are you going?” Wade calls out.

“I’m gonna get your healing factor back” Logan calls out before running out of the front door, slamming the door shut.

Logan spends the next few days looking for the serum that Wade was previously injected with, hoping that if he injects him with it again, it’ll allow him to regain his healing factor.

While Logan is traveling around their world, looking for a fix to Wade dying, Wade is spending his days lying in bed, moping. His condition is very quickly deteriorating and there’s nothing that anyone can do about it.

Wades refused to get checked into a hospital, because he would rather die in his own house than in a random hospital room.

He’s spent most of his days out of it, barely realizing what’s happening around him. Most of the time Al is with him, but sometimes other people come to visit, Vanessa, Dophinder, Colossus, Negasonic and Yukio. Wades grateful that he actually has friends that care about the fact that he’s dying, but half of the time he doesn’t ever realize they’re there.

Overall he feels like shit, which is probably how you’re supposed to feel when you’re dying.

Logan continues to look for the injection, which is harder to find now since in the last few months there have been more efforts to get rid of them aswell as the facilities they’re used in. Finally, after what feels like forever but has only been around a week, Logan finds one.

One singular injection, in an abandoned building.

He then begins rushing back home, hoping that he isn’t too late.

Logan barges into the living room a day later.

“Holy fuck!” Al calls out from her spot on the couch, hearing the loud crash of the door.

“It’s me” Logan replies, rushing into the room to see Wade, who looks to be in his final moments of life.

“Logan..?” Wade calls out weakly, his usual joking tone completely gone.

“It’s me bub, I got it, I’m gonna give you your healing factor back.” Logan rushes towards Wade, ready to stick the needle in him before pausing to a second as Wade tries to sit up on the bed.

“I think I’m scared of dying..” Wade croaks out.

“Well you don’t have to die” Logan replies.

“Wait.. just give me a second..” Wade says, leaning onto Logan and closing his eyes for a moment. Logan gives him a few seconds, letting Wade relax.

“Wade” He says, quietly. But there’s no reply, not even a shift of Wade’s body.

“Wade?” Logan calls out, a bit louder. He then begins to panic, shoving the needle into Wades arm and injecting the serum into him.

After a few seconds, Logan checks Wades pulse. There’s nothing. He was too late.