#or was it something else i cant really remember now

[beenbaanbuun]

Neighbour w/ song mingi

words - 3.1k

genre - smutty

warnings - fem!reader, afab!reader, neighbour!mingi, mysterious!mingi, drop-out!reader, bitter!reader, wet dreams, masturbation, nicknames (kitty, good girl), i think that’s it

——————————————————————————

Coming home from a night shift is never fun, but its even less so in winter. As if the bone-deep tiredness wasn't already bad enough, now you have to compete with the inescapable chill of the air and the long, dark mornings that seem to drag on for eternity. It feels like months since you’ve actually seen an ounce of sunlight, sleeping through the few short hours that you’re granted around this time of year. Then you wake up again at 4pm, just in time to watch the sun go down beyond the horizon as you cook your breakfast of packet ramen and coffee.

Its a depressing existence, and you’d be the first to admit that, but you cant really afford much else. As a drop-out in a city full of students, you don't really have too many options. Full time jobs favour people with actual qualifications, and the part-time job market is wildly oversaturated by struggling teenagers looking for a way to fuel the various addictions that come hand in hand with being at university. You remember it well; the £16 bottles of Tesco’s own brand vodka that went down about as easy as a fist full of gravel, the weed from a random dealer who passed you his number at 3am while you were sitting drunk on a park bench. Its an expensive life to live, and you don’t blame them for snatching up every single decent part time job your city has to offer.

Not really, anyway. Theres certainly a little resentment there whenever a drunken customer cusses you out for refusing to serve them. Perhaps a little hatred when you’re sent in to handle yet another bar fight between two men twice your size. Definitely a lot of frustration whenever you feel the amused eyes of your neighbour as he watches you sleepily fumble with your keys whenever you return home in the morning. You’ve yet to learn his name since he moved in, and part of you doesn't want to. From the few run-ins youve had with him, you can already say that no amount of resentment or hatred or frustration you feel towards your working situation compares to what you feel for him.

That stupid bleached hair that he lets grow into something akin to a shitty mullet before cropping it short again, that brash voice that you can hear through the thin walls of your apartment as he yells at whatever sport is playing on his tv, those strangely soft eyes that watch you with so much amusement as you stumble around your shared corridor. He gets home about the same time as you after his morning run, and you hate it. You hate him. Cocky, irritating, handsome bastard.

“Someone pissed in your cereal, Kitty?” he pulls you from your thoughts with a quick quip. His shoulder is leaning against the wall on your side of the corridor, almost as if he was waiting for you to arrive home or something. It wouldn’t surprise you if it was; he seems the type to imagine camaraderie where there certainly isn't any. Perhaps he sees you as a friend, despite never having asked you for your name, or your age, or where you work, or anything else about you, for that matter. Maybe he’s lonely.

“I don’t eat cereal,” you scoff as you brush past him to get to your front door. He twists his body to watch you amble past him, your keys already poised in hand, “why would i want to eat cold mush every morning? Its gross.”

He chuckles brightly as if you’ve just told the joke of the century, and you weren’t just complaining about the concept of the nation’s favourite breakfast food. The judgemental glare you shoot in his direction happens just as easy as his laughter.

“It's a metaphor, Kitty,” God, you fucking hate that nickname, “surely work can’t have fried your brain that much.”

He wears a smirk that stretches from ear to ear, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly as he stares you down. Part of you wishes you could sock him right in his pretty little face, but a smarter part of you knows that the muscles that decorate his body arent just for show. He's like a dog in that sense; no matter how cute and unassuming he makes himself out to be, there's always going to be a part of you that understands what hes capable of. Dogs were once wolves, after all.

Your gaze cant help but flicker to a scar on his cheekbone, and then up to the newer one that sits on his left hand eyebrow. They’re not the type that you get from playing a little too rough as a kid, nor the type thats left over from surgery. They’re purposeful and dangerous and it makes you wonder just what he did to deserve them.

“My brain is fine,” you make a point of looking away from the scar above his eye, no longer wanting to dwell on what might of caused it, “not that the state of it is any of your concern.”

He laughs again, his smile cracking his face in two as your annoyance only grows. How is it that he can make you feel so… undermined? With such ease too! Its like every toothy grin is an act of condescension, every comment crawling beneath your skin like beetles. You’ve met plenty of arseholes in your life, and yet theres been no one who angers you quite as much as him.

“I’m just being neighbourly, Kitty–”

“That’s not my name,” you growl out, a thick layer of impatience coating your words.

“Yes, but it suits you,” he says with a shrug, “far better than the one written on the front of your mail, don’t you think?” What business did this man have looking at your mail? You’ve never once paid attention to his, nevermind going as far as to read the name that sits just above the address. You regret it now as you watch the playing field become even more uneven than it already was. Its you against him; the older, stronger, cockier man that knows more about you than you do him. Logic says that this is a game; one that you've already lost.

He says your name, humming it lowly to himself as if its an equation he’s trying to figure out. It sounds good, coming from his mouth, his accented drawl pulling at the letters in a way you’ve never heard before. The vowels get extended and the consonants ring out clear like a bell. It feels like the first time hearing your name, and whilst that might not necessarily be true, it certainly is the first time you’ve liked it. Its the first time its ever felt correct.

You could kick yourself for even thinking something so… pathetic.

“It might not suit me, but it is my name,” you insist as you try to ignore the desperate pitter patter in your chest. Its not a sensation you’re familiar with, especially not when it comes to him. You can only blame it on the romantic dry spell you’ve been facing as of late. Turns out the night shift isn't exactly conducive to meeting new people.

“Sure it is, Kitty,” you grind your teeth against one another, “but what's a nickname between friends, hm?” his teeth glint in the flickering overhead light, flashes of luminance against his pearly white canines. If he truly were a dog, you’d already be running, the look in his eyes telling you exactly whats going to happen if you entertain him for much longer. Like a rodent stuck in the maw of its predator, you can already feel your fate closing in on you. If you don't leave now, you fear he wont ever let you go.

You slip your key into your lock and twist it.

“We’re not friends,” is all you say as you bump your shoulder into the wood to pry it open, quickly slipping inside before locking it behind you.

Theres a chuckle, and a single soft tap against the door.

“We’ll see about that, Kitty.”

——————————————————————————

You sleep strangely.

Despite your mind wandering and your heart rate shifting between erratic and arrhythmic, it doesnt take you long to slip into a dreamland once your head is actually resting on the soft fluff of your pillow. Darkness washes over you like waves lapping at the shore, pulling you further and further into the deep until you’re stuck within the murky abyss of your mind. Fish swim past in the form of dream fragments, very few of them making sense.

Your neighbour grins down at you with a softened gaze, hands flitting around your face as if he cant quite help himself but touch. You feel it so clearly; a finger tip gracing the end of your nose, a warm palm cupping your cheek, minty breaths tickling your skin so perfectly. It feels so natural, which is strange given your regular distaste for the man. And as he pulls his hand away, you can’t help but to chase it. You lean in close; so close that you can almost taste his musk on the tip of your tongue. It feels so real, and while every rational part of you thanks the heavens that it isn't, there's still a tiny voice in the back of your head praying that one day it will be.

And the worst part is, your sleep addled mind doesn’t even try and shut that voice it. It seems to nod along, letting your mind wander further and further until the dreams shifts to you lay on a bed. It’s not your bed, so you conclude that it’s his. You’ve never seen it before, but your mind seems to have conjured up something that works. Dark walls, dark bedsheets, dark furniture, all illuminated by the glow of his laptop which loops an animated screensaver of a kitten playing with a ball of yarn.

Heavy hands paw at your flesh, pushing and pulling at you like you’re a ragdoll. They’re careful, yet firm, putting you in position without pushing too far, or tugging too hard. Its like he’s done this a million times before, and you’d believe it if he had! Everything from his smirk, to the unfounded confidence lets you know that he’s good at this; good at catching women in his trap and fucking them until they belong to him, mind, body, and soul.

And you can deny it if you want, but something tells you that perhaps he has you on a tighter leash than you care admit. Perhaps he already owns your soul, and judging by the way his tongue presses upon your clit in your dream, it’s clear that he already owns your mind. All that’s left for him to take is your body, and would it really be so bad if you gave that to him as well.

If you were awake, you’d be hating yourself for having these thoughts, but you’re not, so you indulge. Your hands fly to his hair and tug on his silky strands like they’re the only things keeping you anchored to earth right now. It’s all too much; far more than you’ve ever felt in a dream before, and before you know it, you’re coming undone. Your heart is hammering, and your eyes are flying open and your own fingers are being drenched in your cum as they stimulate the motion of your neighbours tongue on your clit.

Fuck, you really must’ve been horny if you had to resort to sleep-wanking.

Disgust fills you from top to bottom as you sober up and let sanity rain down on you once more. Your fingers are sticky, but not quite as much as your thighs. Your underwear is seemingly nowhere to be seen, although you don’t doubt that it’s had the same treatment. You feel a mess, both physically and mentally. Seriously! Thirsting over a man you’ve dedicated your last few months to hating? It all feels too surreal to think about.

Yet think about it is all you can do. As you crawl out of bed, you can still feel his breath on your skin, and as you strip with wet sheets and shove them into the wash, you can still practically smell him. The steam that surrounds you in the shower makes your head spin, and its almost like you can’t stop yourself when for the second time that night—although the first time in whisky awake—your fingers find their way dancing over you clit to the thought of him consuming you.

You cum twice, maybe three times before the water turns cold and you’re left shivering and ashamed of yourself. This time it’s worse than when you first woke up, though. You’re conscious, and you willed those images to come into your head. No longer can you give your brain the benefit of the doubt because this time, this is exactly what you wanted, not just some crazy, nightmarish concept you’ve dreamt up.

“Fucking hell~” you growl to yourself as you switch off the water and lean your head against the cold tile. Your fingers are pruned, and you can’t tell whether it’s from the shower or the constant abuse of your poor clit. Either way, it’s a clear signal that you need to get a grip; get out of the bathroom and remove any thought of that man from your brain. These thoughts aren’t normal, you tell yourself as you wrap a fuzzy towel around your body; you don’t even know the man’s name for heaven's sake!

You make a mental note to check his mail the next time you leave the flat. By the end of the day, you want to know as much about this man as possible. If he’s going to take over your every thought, waking or otherwise, then you at least deserve to know the name of the man that’s ruining your life.

But speak of the devil, and he shall appear, right?

There’s a knock on your door; three short taps that almost go unnoticed by you. “Shit—coming!” You yell out as you hurriedly slide some pyjama bottoms over your thighs and a loose hoodie over your head. The towel on your hair remains in place, keeping your wet locks contained and out of your face. It makes you feel a little silly, as you make your way over to the door and crack it open to reveal your neighbour, but then you remember that you’ve painted him as a slut, and so a woman with a towel wrapped around her head probably isn’t too unusual of a sight.

“Kitty,” he says with a sly grin the moment the two of you come face to face. What would happen if you just slammed the door in his face, you wonder? Would it wipe that look off of his face? You doubt it; a man like that is only spurred on by rejection. They’re too full of themselves to understand that not everyone in the world wants to get in his pants.

Fragments of your dream flash through your mind.

Maybe you do want to get in his pants…

“What do you want?” You try and push the thoughts of his tongue on you away as you speak, but you can’t push away the warmth that pools in your stomach as he looks you up and down. His gaze is so brazen as it studies your form, taking extra time to travel over your curves. They’re well hidden by the oversized clothing you don, but with the way he studies you, you almost feel naked.

“Oh, nothing much,” he takes his time in returning his gaze to your face, letting his eyes linger on your chest for a moment or two. You’re almost tempted to cross your arms and cover yourself, but there’s some sick part of your brain that’s enjoying the way he looks at you. It’s the same part that conjured up those dreams, and make you play with yourself in the shower; the same part that’s trying to convince you that lusting this hard over a man you’re supposed to hate is entirely logical. You hate that part of yourself, and yet you don’t dare fight it as it takes control. “I made too much food; I wanted to know if you’d like to come over and have some?”

Immediately, your brain goes blank. Stepping into the apartment of a man you don't really know is a bad idea, right? Sure, he’s your neighbour, but that doesn’t mean he’s safe. Your eyes flicker across his scars again, and the burning question of where they came from returns. Your mind wanders to all sorts of dark places, and you try to ignore the way it makes the uncomfortable ache in your stomach deepen. You remember reading somewhere that fear is a powerful aphrodisiac and it’s the only explanation for the wetness that’s gathering between your thighs for the hundredth time today. It has nothing to do with his fluffy hair, or how hot he looks when he wears that condescending expression!

Even you can’t seem to make yourself believe that lie.

“I don’t really know you well enough to go to your apartment,” you try to reason, although you hardly sound stern about it. Your voice is weak, shaky, and there’s plenty of room for push back. With your brain teetering on the edge of too-horny-to-be-logical, you have no doubt that if he were to push too hard, you’d be sat at his dinner table by the end of the night. Perhaps you should just slam your door in his face; it would solve a plethora of issues, including giving you the privacy to fix the one between your legs (again).

“Well, my name is Mingi,” he smiles and you almost collapse to the floor right then and there. The name bounces around in your skull. Mingi, Mingi, Mingi. It suits him; you like it; you can imagine moaning it.

“Mingi,” you whisper back to him, and his eyes darken.

“It sounds pretty coming from you, Kitty,” suddenly the nickname doesn’t sound so bad. It shoots a tingle down your spine right to that aching spot between your thighs. You gasp, and he looks at you like you’ve just moaned his name for the entire building to hear. Something tells you that the night is heading in that direction anyway. “So what do you say? Come over?”

And against all your better judgement, you nod.

Like a lamb to the slaughter, you just fucking nod.

“Good girl.”

[nomsfaultau]

Philza got him this time. That in itself was a relief, despite the vise grip locked on his wrist verging on painful. Still the only thing hurting was his long dead heart. Could’ve been worse, like his legs getting broken. Again. At the very worst, Philza would be annoyed. That didn’t mean much though, same as it ever was. The cycle of trapped-freedom-hunted-caught grew almost mundane. Only thing that changed was his waning hope, even if his determination was steadfast.

But when he was escorted to his room, Tubbo was waiting there, bright eyed and unaware anything is wrong. Harder to escape with a weak, slow human. But Tommy grit his fangs. He’d do it. If anything his determination had grown. 

But harder, too, when he realized he was confined to his room and didn’t have access to the manor anymore. Harder, when the days wore on and the vampires never visited and Tommy finally, finally realized their true plan as the blood thirst built inside him. Harder to escape with the newly reborn fledgling of an already weak sire. With Tommy’s one reason to fight folded neatly into their coven, why should he resist any longer? He’d have everything he wanted right here. He could hear Philza’s smirking logic, and hated the fact he might just be right. But the fact they thought they could force him to attack Tubbo -the fact part of him wanted to, some disgusting possessive instinct promising he could keep his Tubbo forever- only further fueled his determination to not turn Tubbo.

Or…harder to escape when Tubbo was dead. What need would he have to escape, once his world was gone? And as days passed and his self control eroded, the later became all the more likely because if Tommy started to drink now, he might not stop until Tubbo was completely drained. 

It was okay at first. He’d missed Tubbo so so much. They talked until their voices were hoarse, first Tommy explaining everything happening, then all his escape attempts, then anything and everything because he finally had his best friend back. He felt better than he had in weeks just because someone else was there to confirm that everything happening was messed up, and cheer him on for his clever and daring escape attempts instead of chiding or attacking him. Brilliant, Tubbo called him. It helped, since for so long he only felt weak and stupid and pathetic and Tubbo was incapable of seeing him like that.

But then he started needing the conversation for a different reason, as he began to sharply remember how long it’d been since he last fed. And to be fair Tubbo needed it too, he wasn’t getting fed either. Still. The scent of his exhales was starting to make Tommy’s mouth water. Tommy hadn’t even been aware he could smell carbon dioxide. 

And suddenly he had to question his own motives. Because he’d been close, real close to Tubbo the last few days, the pair lacking any personal space. And sure he’d missed his best friend, but was that clingy…or carnivorous? Tommy untangled himself slowly. He felt cold almost immediately with no body heat of his own. He picked the furthest corner of the room. Tubbo followed immediately, because of course he did. 

“Don’t.” Tubbo hummed a questioning note, head canted. Tommy bit his tongue, then winced as a fang punctured through. Old blood filled his mouth. He really, really didn’t want to spell it out. “I’m getting hungry, big man,” Tommy explained quietly, roughly. 

“Oh. Well- we don’t have food, but at least we have blood,” Tubbo offered casually. 

“I’m not- great. About stopping.” He’d probably end up killing Tubbo. Or worse. 

Tubbo frowned in thought, as if he could logic a solution out of something impossible. “What if I bleed into a cup, to control the amount?”

The thought made him dizzy with thirst. Tommy squeezed his eyes shut against the vision. “That- that wouldn’t work. Don’t. Cause then you’d have an open wound, and I wouldn’t be able to- no.”

Tubbo didn’t like that answer, because of course he didn’t want to watch his friend suffer. But Tommy didn’t want to murder his friend even more, and won that contest of wills. “Fine. How can I help, then?”

“I guess…try not to get hurt. No stunts. Or paper cuts. Or bruises. Just- sit still and try to stop looking delicious.”

Tubbo threw up his hands in exacerbation. “I can’t! I’m a certified snack!”

They could laugh then, in the light of day. And it was so bad when Tubbo was awake and laughing. But Tommy didn’t really sleep as much as a human did anymore. The hunger was sharper at night, acutely aware this was when he was meant to be hunting. The hours dragged a long, long time without anything to distract him from the bloodthirst, save watching the slow rise and fall of Tubbo’s breathing. It was a rhythm burned into his new nocturnal predator instincts. Each inhale replenished sweet oxygen into fresh blood in a way a breathless vampire could only steal. Tommy was running out of blood fast, starting to suffocate on it. Breath pooled around the still Tubbo, building up to overwhelm his senses in honeysweet nectar. 

And Tubbo just seemed to glow in the night. The soft citrus radiation of thermal energy radiating off him in resplendent infrared curls. Like a drop of sunlight in the depths of midnight, mesmerizing for how long it’d been since Tommy saw the sun for the last time. 

He had uncurled without awareness, catching himself already half crawling closer. Embarrassed, Tommy rose. Silently, of course. He wouldn’t want to interrupt his slumber. Steps so light they scarcely registered noise to his advanced hearing, avoiding the patches of the floor where moonlight crept across. Tommy paused at the foot of the bed, lingering. 

Tubbo. His best friend in the whole world. The sound of his heart beat was so comforting after the uneasy silence of his own chest. He missed Tubbo’s hugs so much, so warm and right unlike the cold prison of his coven. It hurt to hold a distance. Unnatural for the two to be separate. The scent of Tubbo’s breath was intoxicating. Like spring incarnate, luring him closer, closer. That was his friend. His mate. He’d always help Tommy any way he could. 

The bed creaked softly as Tommy’s knee sunk into it. When Tubbo shifted in slumber, Tommy froze, carefully watching. Minutes dragged on without response, heart so steady and familiar, divine waves of carbon dioxide washing over. As if it were an invitation, Tommy advanced crawling across the bed in lurches, carefully stunted to Tubbo’s every shift. The slightest indication, and he tensed, coiled to pounce.

It was a careful balance, intuitive even to a fledgling. The moment prey’s sympathetic nervous system activated, oxygen would flood its body. Slow respiration was alluring, but it was hyperventilation that really drove vampires into a frenzy, since it maximized time before they needed to feed again. But take too long, and that precious oxygenated blood would be wasted in its intended purpose of fueling the flight or fight response. 

The prey was far too deep into slumber. Carefully, slowly, the fledgling came to loom over. Though ravenous enough to feed regardless of its slumber, the evolutionary pressure weighed down in sharp instinct. An involuntary feeding hiss poured from his throat as his fangs bared, the prey stirring as atavistic alarm bells began to ring in the back of its mind. The fledgling seized its wrists, pinning down so it wouldn’t struggle and waste precious oxygen. At the first hitching gasp as it jolted awake, his pupils thinned to slits. 

“Tommy..?” 

It was agonizing to wait. And then he heard it, the first melodic notes of a heart slamming into over drive, fear filling the air.

“TOMMY!”

The fledgeling snarled, forcing the prey still. So easy to overpower the bucking of a human. Slow, it was meant to be slow, the fear rolled off it in waves building up fresher, sweeter blood. But impatient as he was, the fledgeling seized his prey’s jaw, slamming the head to the side to expose its neck. Its chest heaved as hyperventilation kicked in. Good enough, he decided, though Sire would chide him for not giving more time for the fear to set in, but he was so, so ravenous. Jaw open wide, wider-

“TOMMY ONE OF THEM’S ATTACKING! HELP!”

The fledgling knew no other name for himself but hunger. But his best friend calling for help woke an even deeper instinct inside him, far older than the new parasitic ones hijacking his biology.

How harrowing, to stare into the terror of his best friend’s eyes and know he put it there. 

Tommy scrambled away, pitching off the bed to fall into a heap of limbs. Something in him snarled, he needed to feed, needed to, need-

Bristling fangs snapped shut on his own wrist. Tommy closed his eyes, drinking deeply. It felt like suffocating, if he were honest. Maybe he wanted it to. But it felt enough like feeding to satisfy his bloodthirst for now, even if he knew it’d be back with a vengeance. 

“TOMMY! TOMMY HELP I DONT KNOW WHERE HE WENT. I CAN’T- HELP ME!” Tubbo screamed. 

His human vision had lost of the monster in the dark, fear spiking in tumultuous waves. But immediately he caught the glow of Tommy’s eyes once they opened. 

And suddenly he was staring down the sharpened end of the stake in the hands of his best friend.

“Heyyyy big man,” Tommy rasped. Tubbo immediately slumped with relief in a way that made Tommy feel so much worse. 

“I can’t see nothing, where’d he go? Is it safe?” Apparently, the only thing worse than your best friend realizing you’d tried to kill him, was your best friend not realizing you’d tried to kill him. 

“He’s-“ Tommy’s voice cracked. “He’s right here, Tubs. No one else. There’s never been anyone else.” 

The stake in Tubbo’s hands hesitated, and lowered. It should’ve never stopped pointing at Tommy’s dead heart. 

I had a dream about vampire dark sbi, where Tommy was turned into a fledgling against his will and was desperate to escape. His coven had other ideas however, and so Tommy was constantly getting hunted down by Philza, Techno, and the Jawless One.

oh. Were you you expecting Wilbur? No that dude is problematic, and my dream presented the ideal solution: replacing him with a monster made of long mangled limbs and a ripped off jaw that dangles on a thread of viscera. So I’m just sayin, here’s how 4/4 can still work-

[plasticsandwich]

ivy grapefruit. grapefruit ivy

[starrysharks]

hotel manager

[greatgoddyke]

time to make your choice only you can be the one

[lesbiancarat]

for anyone wondering, what about Han Sungsoo? 🤔 it seems that he hasn't been the CEO of Pledis since early 2022, the role until now was filled by Lee Dahye, a former VP for Bighit. HSS has still remained in the company but was demoted to an internal director

if you're wondering how you missed this, don't worry, there was never an official announcement! 🙃 carats had to find this out more than a year after the fact by doing some digging

but now Lee Dahye is being replaced by Kim Yeon Soo, who's the original VP of Pledis before they were acquired. He's the one that appeared on SVT Club, and he has historically had a good relationship with Seventeen. the way I always thought of it is Nu'est was HSS's project group, where Kim Yeon Soo oversaw the creation of svt. after the acquisition, he was put in charge of Hybe Labels Japan. it seems now he will remain in that position while also taking over as Pledis CEO

personally, I don't know what to think of this yet. on one hand carats have always had a positive view of Kim Yeon Soo, and he's always seemed to have a close relationship with svt. and I would say I'd rather have him in charge than a hybe plant

but the timing of it is very convenient. this is pure speculation on my part but with Seungkwan's Instagram post recently and all the stuff going on with hybe, it wouldn't surprise me if hybe was bringing in Kim Yeon Soo to try and appease the members (and possibly other Pledis employees). it definitely feels like they're trying to appease /somebody/ with this move, and I can't see it being the fans since most carats didn't know about Lee Dahye being the CEO in the first place. so I can only assume it's people within Pledis they're trying to appease 🤷‍♀️

[lesbiansanemi]

For the first time since I can remember I did not hate every second around my family and… not only that actually…. Kinda enjoyed myself? Idk, just got home and I’m real tired but I think that’s just cuz I was up early and busy and then had the drive home. Christmas stuff and all that. My mom did…? Get me a pair of shoes that were lesbian colors…. I can’t tell if that was some insane coincidence and she didn’t know or her trying to say/do something all things considered. Apparently my siblings kept telling her I wouldn’t like them when she picked them out (which is fair I wear almost exclusively all black and mostly boots over tennis shoes) but she insisted so…. Mmm…. On the one hand I wish she would just like… say something? But if it was some weird way of being supportive I guess it was kinda sweet? Idk. I might be reading into it and it was just a coincidence

They also all insisted on helping me move in February which kinda has me like ???? Because I’ve moved four times since I’ve moved out and they have never once done a THING to help even when I lived much closer but I’ll take it cuz that means I won’t have to rent a truck cuz they’ll bring theirs and I won’t have to hire ppl to move the big furniture so that’s a lot of money I’ll be saving

They're also giving me one of the beds and mattresses from my great grandma's house since they've been clearing it out after she died a few months ago because when they asked what all I would I have to move and didn't say a bed and then explained my bed is a 20+yo mattress laid directly on the floor they were like :/ which obvi I know wasn't ideal I just couldn't afford to get a new one but now I won't have to. Obviously it's used but it's still only a year or so old they said, and I don't think I've EVER had a mattress that wasn't at least 15 years old so that'll be nice. I hope it helps some of my back issues...

Anyways, idk what fucking happened to these people in the span of a couple months but it kinda feels unreal

[lionblaze03-2]

sometimes I think about writing and singing music not because I’m an incredible singer but because no one has my fucking voice, especially in popular music, and its disheartening to be born a girl, told you’ll only get girl roles or try to voice match other girls, or ‘sing with the girls’ and then only be able to match male voices because you’re a fuckin tenor and not anything higher. I can’t think of any girl Broadway roles I can hit all the notes on. Most songs I love I have to pitch down for myself or use falsetto for singing along to. It bothers me a lot less now because I’m an adult who’s more secure in myself but as a teen in kids musical theatre it FUCKED with me, BAD style. And I know for a fact that even now when I hear people with a voice like mine singing I get excited and immediately invested in their work because they’re like ME, finally, for once. A brother in this world of being afab and having the voice of a recently pubescent boy forever. Maybe I should be that brother too.

[wormonastringtime]

reminder.

[thehardkandy]

I have now made it to six weeks, I think, of my daily mini workouts. Unfortunately doing it this consistently has in fact not made it any easier in the slightest. In honesty, it is harder because I do not have the momentum of the initial change. I am still going though

In reality too I probably have 2-3 weeks left at most that I will do, because after that I will no longer be home alone in the apartment. Still will have been worth doing I hope, so that I can do it easier when I eventually have the space long term

[arsenicflame]

the way i play with Izzyverse is with every Izzy forming from a branching timeline- that they were all the same at some point, only one thing sent them off on the path to be "someones". some are obvious; Sam, Ed, Jack & Hornigold branch from the mutiny- a split second decision on who to go with, a miss timed hit leaving him in Hornigolds grasp- but the others are less so. how would he become Jackie's, or Ned's, or Anne and Mary's? what happens to make an Izzy Stede's? how do they even meet?

[borealing]

im gonna go off on one in the tags pls enjoy

[ennuidays]

its not serious Ur not serious ab it An ur motives r stupid n hold no real life value

[kyouka-supremacy]

i have ✨mixed feelings✨ towards dazai Like, i like (?) him as a character, but he disgusts me as a person, idk how to explain myself and im so bipolar (j) like i love chuuya with burning passion and dazai is a motherfucker but i ship soukoku why would i ship the character i like with someone like dazai? idk but i do it and i cant stop send help chuuya deserves to be shiped with someone better like aku or sigma but skk have my heart make it stop please i've tried to start shiping dazai with others so i wont ship him with chuuya, i've tried with fyozai but then i see some fyolai shit and like theyre canon bro i cant ship fyodor with someone else, i've tried with kunizai too, it kind of works but not that much i still ship skk more theres SO GOOD skk fanfics and im confused with dazai and idk how i feel about him (basically a text of my random thoughts that I wanted to write down without effort and thats why theyre incomprehensible)

Anon don't worry I checked for you and there's no cops on Tumblr. Stan Dazai ship soukoku live love laugh ♡

[devotedlystrangewizard]

shoutout to indie games with unique artstyles that are only 5gb at most can we give it up for indie games with unique artstyles that are only 5gb at most

[fanofcarson]