#thank you for the ask this is wonderful <333< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[slutzforbueckers]

omg ur paige fic today was so good, specifically the first few paragraphs like the doe eyes and her being needy i love cutesy shit like that. could you maybe do a fluff blurb (friends to lovers) of y/n and paige having a sleepover or smtg and y/n is studying and paige wants to cuddle and then it’s just like cute shit 🙏🏽 pleak

friends do this…right?

♡—pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

♡—warnings: nothing just fluff

♡—synopsis: sleepovers with paige have always been interesting, this one in particular happened to open a new chapter in your lives.

♡— a/n: thank all of you for all the condolences and being so patient!! ily all <333

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

“are you done yet?” paige asked… for the millionth time since you sat down in your chair. you shook your head with a breathy laugh and flipped the page of your textbook, not even looking up. paige groaned and fell back onto the bed, spread out starfish style. “i’m tired.”

“then go to sleep.” you mumbled. paige let out a scoff, annoyed and offended, and that made you look up. her hair was messy from showering and air-drying, her cheeks pink and warm, and she’s giving you those impossibly wide, glassy eyes like you’ve just broken her heart by choosing homework over her.

“this is supposed to be a sleepover.” she sat up and crossed her arms, her bottom lip jutting out in a small pout. your eyes dropped down for a second, glancing at her lips, but you didn’t allow yourself to look longer than that.

you leaned back in your chair and rested your arms over your head, highlighter still twirling between your fingers. “this is a sleepover. you’re over at my house…sleeping in my bed. this is the definition of a sleepover.”

paige rolled her eyes and slid off the bed, her baggy sweats falling back down her legs when she straightened them out. you watched as she walked closer, your body already reacting to her even though all she did was take a few steps into your space. paige circled behind you and leaned down, draping her arms over your shoulders and resting her head in the crook of your neck.

“i want you to lay with me, please? at least until i fall asleep then you can come back to being a nerd.” her breath was warm against your skin as she spoke, it kind of tickled in a way that sent a tingle up your spine. “please?” paige’s voice had that sleepy whine to it and there was no way you could tell her no.

you sighed—mostly to put up a front, like you were fighting harder than you were—and tilted your head to the side, letting it rest against hers. “you gonna fall asleep fast?”

paige hummed and nodded her head, her nose brushing your jaw. she pressed a quick kiss to the side of your neck before pulling back and tugging you out of the chair. you tried to hide your smile as she dragged you to the bed and climbed in, pulling the blankets back to make room for you.

you crawled in beside her, barely settled when she hooked an arm around your waist and buried her face in your shoulder. her voice came out muffled. “see? this is so much better than homework.”

“you’re just clingy.” you rolled your eyes, your fingers starting to trace featherlight lines up and down her arm. it got quiet after that—the kind of quiet that made you wonder if the other person was asleep, but you could feel they weren’t. paige held you tighter, as if you would slip away too soon.

you shifted slightly, your hand now resting against the small of her back. paige’s lashes fluttered at the hand placement and she shifted as well, her leg now draped over yours as she pressed herself closer. your thumb rubbed slow circles against her back, right where her sweatshirt had bunched up, and her skin was warm underneath.

her hand slid beneath the hem of your shirt, just to rest at your waist, fingers splayed, not doing anything but being there. in a way it felt intentional. and then she was looking up at you with those same wide, blue eyes that made you give her everything she asked from you.

you were the one to break the silence—with a small breath at first but then you had to ask: “this is normal, right? i mean like— friends do this…right?”

“we do this.” her voice was quiet and unsure—like she was scared to say the wrong thing. your fingers pressed into her skin slightly, a movement you weren’t entirely aware of. honestly, you weren’t really aware of anything past that point. the next thing you really registered was when paige shifted and her lips brushed yours.

it was tentative at first, slow and barely there. her breath mingled with yours for a while, her forehead pressed against yours. both of your eyes had been closed, something inside of you scared that if you’d open your eyes the moment would disappear and prove it wasn’t real.

but then you felt it—real, sure, everything you imagined and more. paige shifted again, moving so she was in your lap. your hands found her hips and you lightly squeezed, pulling her closer. your lips moved together like fitting the perfect puzzle piece, like you’d been doing it for years.

paige pulled back, her cheeks flushed and lips kiss swollen. you finally opened your eyes and for the first time you thought she was actually nervous. her eyes met yours and you smiled, your chest tightening at the look in her eyes.

“friends do not do this.” you laughed, trying to deflect from how hard your heart was beating in your chest.

“we do this.” paige smiled, dropping her head down onto your shoulder. you ran your hand up her back, tilting your head to lightly bump hers.

“yeah, we do.”

[almostwisegalaxy]

Hi! Can you write about the reader being Si-eun's younger sister (either one year or a few months younger) who used to be bullied in school but never talked about it? She doesn’t confide in Si-eun or their mother until one day when she comes home from school, and this time she really breaks down in front of Si-eun.How would Si-eun react, and how would he deal with this as her brother? (I’m looking for a platonic/angst-to-fluff kind of story.) Thank you so much for your hard work!<333

Up to two

Yeon Sieun x Sister!reader platonic story Part 2

In this story the reader has a shy character and is 14 years old.

..................................................................................

The sky was pouring a fine, almost invisible rain over the city, but Si-eun felt it weighing on his shoulders like a wet blanket. He had come home earlier than usual from high school, abandoning the gray corridors of the building where the boys shouted to exist. Their voices, their postures, their fury... it all exhausted him. He found neither warmth nor comfort in their gazes, not even a shadow of what he unconsciously sought: a sincere connection.

But at home, there was Y/N.

The door had closed silently behind him. The lights were dim in the small apartment, as if even the electricity thought twice before imposing itself too much. And there, on the sofa, sitting cross-legged, Y/N looked up at him. Immense eyes, dark and bright, curious but silent. She said nothing. She almost never said anything. But she looked at him as if he were the whole world. He wasn't the whole world. He was a broken boy who had never learned to love anything but silence. Yet, with her...

"Ddeul-kkot," she whispered.

It was their secret word. A trembling flower. A whispered idea to say "I waited for you" without anyone understanding. He dropped his bag without a word and walked towards her. She held out her hand. He took it without hesitation. Her small, warm palm was the only thing that brought him back to himself.

Yeon Si-eun was not a big brother like the others. He hadn't learned how to be one. He hadn't seen his father love, nor his mother forgive. He had only seen absences, closed suitcases, silences heavy like ceilings that were too low. But Y/N had appeared one day. So small. In the arms of a man who was their father to both of them, but who wasn't really anyone's father.

And since then, she was his.

She would sometimes lie down against him in the bed that was too big for one person. He never said anything. He let her do it. She would snuggle against his back or his chest, depending on the night. He could feel her breath, light, almost regular. He didn't fall asleep right away. Sometimes, he would lie there, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling, wondering why his heart was beating so fast, so painfully.

When she was there, he breathed better. He would let his hand slip into her hair, caressing it slowly, as if to say, "stay a little longer." She didn't speak. She didn't ask questions. She simply stayed close to him. And in this blurry and violent world, it was the only certainty he possessed.

They had their code. Simple words, often absurd. "Ddeul-kkot" for "I'm here." "Samak" for "say nothing." "Chik" for "I need you." No one understood them. And they didn't care. It was their refuge, their secret home between coded phrases, shared glances, silences woven like promises.

That day, after school, Y/N had waited for him. As always. She knew when he came home, even if he said nothing. She never jumped into his arms. She wasn't one of those clingy children. But she stayed there, sitting up straight, calm, with that small smile that existed only for him.

"You look sad," she murmured an hour later, as they lay side by side. She had come, naturally. Like every night.

He didn't answer right away. The ceiling was blurry. The streetlights cast an orange glow on the faded plaster.

"It's nothing."

She turned her head towards him. He felt it. And he sighed.

"I wish you had been born somewhere else. That you had a real father. A mother who loves you. That you weren't stuck here, with a brother like me."

She remained silent for a moment, then, slowly, she slipped her hand into his.

"But I'm happy here."

A tear rolled down Si-eun's temple. He didn't stop it. He never cried in front of others. But with her, he no longer wore a mask. He was no longer the strategist of the class, nor the boy who was hated for his coldness. He was just a boy who loved his little sister more than he had ever loved anyone else.

Y/N was not like other children. Not because she was shy or reserved, but because she knew how to observe. She understood adults without speaking, thwarted lies with a gentle smile, manipulated situations without seeming to. It was her strategy. A calculated gentleness. A mastery of silent attention. A gift she used to make people underestimate her, always.

But not Si-eun. He knew. He had seen her do it. He had even seen her pretend to cry so that a teacher would let her out of class, just to bring him his forgotten notebook. He had said nothing. He had just looked at her with silent respect.

One day, she had told him:

"You don't need to fight with your fists. You could win with silences."

He had looked at her for a long time. She had lowered her eyes, a little embarrassed. She wasn't good at long sentences. But she thought them intensely. And he understood them before she finished.

Y/N was not popular. No one really liked her. The neighbors murmured. The schoolmates avoided her gaze. But he, Si-eun, looked at her as one looks at a rare star. She was all he had, and all he wanted to protect. He had never desired something with such gentle obsession. He thought of her every moment. Wondered if she was okay, if she had eaten, if someone had hurt her.

He had the impression that if she disappeared, the world would suddenly go out. There would be nothing left.

And she, with her silent way of slipping her hand into his, of resting her head against him without asking anything, knew all this. She didn't say the words. But she lived them. And that was enough.

That night, before falling asleep, she whispered to him:

"Chik."

He smiled, his eyes closed. He squeezed her hand a little tighter. She was there. And so was he. For tonight, that was all that mattered.

---

Flashback – 13 Years Earlier

That night, it was raining.

Not a peaceful rain. A driving, aggressive rain, as if the sky itself wanted to collapse onto their dilapidated building. Si-eun, almost five years old, was sitting in his tiny room, one arm in a cast, a flickering desk lamp illuminating his worksheets. He didn’t understand everything he read, but he kept going. It was his method for stifling the screams.

Because in the living room, the world was burning.

“YOU BROUGHT THAT KID HERE LIKE IT WAS NORMAL?!”

“She’s MY DAUGHTER! She has nowhere else to go, what did you want me to do?!”

“And me? And our son? Does he deserve this? Does he deserve this SHAME in his own home?!”

Shame.

That word had lodged itself like a thorn in Si-eun’s heart. A shame. A daughter born of a mistake. An error screamed through the walls. He heard her name — not Y/N, not yet — spat out with hatred, tossed around like garbage they no longer knew where to throw.

And in that din, another sound. Tiny. A rustling. A stifled breath.

Si-eun stood up. Slowly. As if moving in a dream. He crossed the hallway — his small steps muffled by the worn rug — and stopped at the living room doorway.

No one.

Except a baby carrier forgotten at the foot of the sofa. Placed there like a cumbersome bag.

He approached. In the dim light, he saw large, wet eyes fixed on him. No tears were falling. But she was trembling. So small. Too still. As if she already knew that making noise was dangerous.

She wasn’t crying.

She didn’t dare.

He picked her up in his child’s arms, clumsily, his cast scraping against the fabric of the baby carrier. She didn’t move. Just a small sigh, a kind of silent relief. As if she knew he wouldn’t reject her.

He went back to his room. He closed the door. He locked it.

When the banging came, he didn’t answer.

“Yeon Si-eun, open up! You can’t do this, damn it!”

“You have no idea what you’re doing! This isn’t YOUR PROBLEM!”

He wasn’t listening anymore.

He sat on his bed, Y/N against his chest, and began to breathe softly. She did too. He felt her heart, a tiny beating drum, against his own.

He was only five, but he understood. This baby, no one was expecting her. No one wanted her. Except him.

She was his now.

The Early Years

They didn’t talk much. Neither of them.

Y/N had that silence born in the womb of abandonment. And Si-eun, he had learned very early that words were used to lie or to hurt. So they lived together, without unnecessary chatter.

But their gestures spoke for them.

When she learned to walk, it was to him that she reached her arms.

When she had nightmares, she would crawl out of her room, drag her blanket into his, and he would hoist her onto his bed without a word. She would snuggle against him. He would place a hand on her head. They would sleep like that.

Always like that.

“Do you think the stars are watching us?” she had asked him one day, her voice hoarse with sleep.

“Maybe.”

“And if we told them our secrets? Would they keep them?”

He had smiled. A rare, fragile smile.

“I think they would listen to you. Not me.”

“You’re a star too. But one that’s forgotten how to shine.”

He had turned his head, surprised. She was already blushing, hiding under the covers.

He had said nothing. But he hadn’t forgotten. Ever.

There was no gentleness in the house. There were only the sounds of breaking dishes, fleeting glances, chronic absences. But between them, there was an invisible cocoon, built in silence and simple gestures.

He tied her shoelaces in the morning.

She brought him water when he coughed at night.

She often fell asleep in his arms.

He watched her sleep. Sometimes, he told himself that she was the only thing that proved he had a heart.

They had invented their own language.

Because real words were dirty, misused, dangerous. So they had created others. Ddeul-kkot. Samak. Chik.

“Ddeul-kkot” to say: I’m still here.

“Samak” to say: Don’t talk about it. It’s okay.

“Chik” to say: Stay.

One day, he had been beaten up at school. A group of older students. He had refused to cry. He had come home, collapsed in the hallway. His bag torn. Blood on his shirt.

She was five years old.

She had knelt in front of him, her small hand on his chin to see his swollen face.

“Chik,” she had said.

He had nodded, his teeth clenched. She had stayed with him all night. She didn’t talk much, but she stayed.

Always.

The tenderness between them was discreet, but visceral.

When she cried, he would place his hand on the back of her neck and pull her against his chest.

When he was angry, she would place hers on his and whisper: Samak.

They had rituals.

In the evening, he would open his blanket for her. She would slip in, as naturally as could be, and snuggle against him. Sometimes she would rest her head on his chest and listen to his heart.

“It beats fast,” she would say.

“It’s because I think too much.”

“Do you think about me?”

He never answered. But he would gently stroke her hair, and she understood.

When he came home from middle school, his gaze empty and his knees scraped, she didn’t ask questions. She would go get the first-aid kit. She would dab a cotton ball on his wound, blow gently, and say:

“You won, huh?”

He would nod. Sometimes not. But she wouldn’t ask for more.

One day, he had cried. One night. He had broken down. He had sat at the foot of his bed, unable to breathe, his fists pressed against his temples.

She had woken up.

“Si-eun?”

He hadn’t answered.

She had slipped out of bed, sat down in front of him, her small hands resting on his knees.

“Do you want me to sing?”

He had nodded, almost imperceptibly.

And she had sung. An invented song, clumsy, with lyrics that didn’t rhyme. But he had breathed. He had held on.

A memory. Precious.

Once, she had fallen at school. A boy had pushed her head against a locker. When Si-eun had come to pick her up, he had seen the red mark on her forehead. He had asked what had happened. She had smiled.

“He said I was weird. So I showed him that weirdos can bite.”

He had chuckled. Just a little. A short, shocked, but proud laugh.

“You’re dangerous.”

“Like you.”

He had taken her hand. She had squeezed it tightly.

They never said “I love you.”

It wasn’t necessary.

Because every look, every gesture, every silence said better than words: You are my only person.

And in that cracked house, in that world of held-back blows and cold violence, they had invented something rare: an indestructible tenderness. A pact without oaths.

Si-eun wasn’t born to love. He hadn’t learned.

But Y/N had given him, unintentionally, the only thing he had never had: a reason to stay.

And she, without saying it, without ever asking, had shown him what it was to be chosen.

Not out of duty. Nor out of obligation.

But because he couldn’t do otherwise.

---

First Year – Eunjang High School

The wind at Eunjang felt alien.

It whipped Yeon Si-eun’s face like a constant slap, reminding him with every step that he was no longer home. Far from the city he knew. Far from the alleys where he had learned to endure. Far from Su-ho, from Beom-seok, from everything he had wanted to protect — and failed.

Su-ho…

Just thinking of his name made his stomach clench. The images returned unbidden: his friend’s body, slumped, eyes half-closed. The screams. The blood. The metallic glint of a bat. The echo of his own heart beating too fast, too loud. Too late.

The transfer to Eunjang had been imposed. A decision made by adults who claimed they wanted to “protect him.” But no one had asked Si-eun if he wanted to run.

And above all, no one had asked him if he was ready to be separated from her.

The Surprise

It was a rainy Saturday, again. It often rained on important days, like a signal. A way for the world to mark pivotal moments.

He was returning from the high school library, bag over his shoulder, his mind tired, his heart drowned in silence. He didn’t like this new environment. Too many unfamiliar smells, too many gazes he didn’t yet understand. And that gang, invisible but omnipresent, like a constant threat lurking in the corridors, ready to erupt.

He had barely placed his hand on the doorknob of his student housing when something shifted in the air.

A presence.

He cautiously opened the door… and saw her.

Y/N.

Sitting on the small bench against the wall. Her backpack against her crossed legs. Her chin resting on her knees. She was waiting for him.

The shock was so great that he said nothing right away.

She raised her head, and her eyes shone softly.

“Ddeul-kkot,” she whispered, a smile playing on her lips.

And then, he smiled too. For the first time in a long time.

A discreet smile, almost stolen from the pain. But a real one.

“You came all by yourself?” he asked, quickly closing the door behind him.

She nodded. No pride, just a matter of fact.

“It’s not safe, Y/N. It’s far.”

“I know.”

He sighed, approached, and crouched down in front of her.

“You could have gotten lost. Which bus did you take? Have you eaten?”

She held out her hand to him. He took it. The simple contact brought him back. It always did.

“I wanted to see you.”

He didn’t answer. He sat down next to her. She rested her head on his shoulder. As if she had done it all her life. And in reality, it was almost the case.

They stayed there for a long time, without speaking. He made her fried rice with the leftovers he had. She ate it slowly, as if it were a feast.

And when she was finished, she glanced at him sideways.

“You’re sad,” she said.

He didn’t deny it.

“Su-ho… is still in a coma.”

Silence. She had never met Su-ho. But she knew. She read his silences like others read books.

“You can talk to me,” she had said. “Even if it’s hard.”

But he said nothing.

She didn’t insist.

The Rituals :

On Fridays or Saturdays — depending on his class schedule, depending on travel — they would meet. Even if it was just a call. Even if it was only twenty minutes.

But some nights, she would make the trip.

She would arrive with a plastic bag containing kimbap she had made, or a box of tteokbokki bought at the convenience store near their old neighborhood.

“It’s not very good,” she would say.

“It’s fine,” he would reply. “You came, that’s the meal.”

They would eat side by side. Sometimes on the floor, legs crossed. Sometimes sitting on the too-narrow bed. They spoke little. But when they did, it was always true.

“I saw you smile with someone the other day,” she said one evening.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Were you following me?”

“No. I saw it in a photo from your school. He had a weird smile. Not like usual.”

“He’s a boy from my class. His name is Park Humin.”

“Do you like him?”

He hesitated. Then nodded.

“He has secrets, like me.”

She smiled softly.

“Then he must be kind.”

She wasn’t jealous. Never. But she wanted to understand those who approached her brother. Because for her, no one was as precious. And anyone who entered his world had to be worthy.

The Absences

Then, one day… she didn’t come anymore.

A Friday. He waited for her. Nothing.

He sent a message. No reply.

Saturday. Nothing.

He worried. Of course. But she had had exams before, school obligations. Maybe she was just busy.

The following weekend, he made ramyeon for two. He let it cool.

The third weekend, he didn’t make anything at all.

She hadn’t given any news.

He had waited. Sent a simple, short, worried “Are you coming?”

She had replied hours later: “I’m tired. Samak.”

And then, nothing more.

No Saturday either.

He had taken the train one Sunday morning. An impulse. A contained panic. He had walked to their building. The apartment was locked. He had waited in the hallway. Two hours.

She hadn’t come home.

When she finally replied, that evening, it was to say: “Sorry. I went to sleep at a friend’s house. I needed to… get some air.”

He felt his stomach clench. Y/N had never slept at anyone’s house. She didn’t like it. She said other people’s houses “breathed wrong.”

But he didn’t insist. He didn’t have the right to insist.

And she… she kept silent.

And yet, he knew she was okay. Not because he had seen her, but because he still felt the invisible thread between them. She existed. She was breathing. But she was drifting away.

The last time she had come, she was wearing flesh-colored tights.

Almost invisible.

But he had seen them. Of course, he had seen them.

Y/N had never liked wearing tights. She said they “itched her legs.” But that day, he had noticed the artificial line at her ankle. He had noted the tension in her movements. She scratched discreetly, glancing at her legs when she thought he wasn’t looking. And that day, she had kept her jacket on, even in the warmth of the apartment.

And then, when he had accidentally placed his hand on her ankle, she had flinched.

He had looked up. She had smiled at him, too quickly.

“I’m just tired,” she had murmured.

He had believed her.

Because he wanted to believe her.

Because he was scared too.

And she, she had closed herself off.

She didn’t want him to see. Not now. He already had too much to bear.

Y/N, in Silence

She looked at herself in the mirror every morning, her fingers tracing the marks that were slowly fading.

The bullying was brutal. Not always, but often. There was blood, screams. Not just words, sneers, whispers that soiled the air. Sometimes a shoulder bump in the hallway. A hand brutally pulling her hair. A poisoned remark.

But above all, there was the isolation.

The certainty of being alone.

She said nothing. She told herself she was strong. She told herself that as long as she could walk to him, everything was fine.

But she had begun to doubt.

And one day, she had told herself that she didn’t deserve to be a burden to him. Not him. Not Si-eun. He had fought for too many things, too many people.

She told herself that if he knew, he would break. He would return to that violence she had always dreaded in him. She had seen that flame, one day, when a man had raised his voice at her in the street. Si-eun hadn’t even hit him. But the man had fled. Cold with fear. Before his gaze.

And Y/N had known: her brother didn’t need to shout to destroy.

He just needed to decide.

She didn’t want him to decide to hit for her.

She wanted to be strong, as strong as him.

So she hid the marks.

She had fallen silent.

And she had stopped coming.

But the distance between two silences, however long, cannot erase bonds woven with such care.

Even in his too-narrow bed, even in the heart of Eunjang’s violence, Yeon Si-eun still sometimes dreamed that she pushed open the door. That she said “Ddeul-kkot” with that small smile.

And even if he didn’t know it yet…

He was going to discover the truth.

And that day, the world around them would change again.

---

There was something almost gentle in the uproar.

Yeon Si-eun walked slowly behind Humin, Hyun-tak, and Juntae, their voices bouncing off the damp brick walls of Eunjang High School. Humin was laughing too loudly, as always, slapping Hyun-tak’s shoulder with every sentence. Juntae, in his own way, was talking about absurd things, a plush toy in his bag and bright ideas in his head.

They weren’t like Su-ho. Not like Beom-seok either. There wasn’t that invisible thread, stretched taut between them, made of survival, silence, and unspoken wounds.

But they were there.

They fought together, shared the injuries, the retorts, the silent glances in the hallways. They got each other out of trouble, waited for each other after class, placed drinks on tables without a word when one of them seemed on the verge of collapse.

And sometimes, Si-eun thought: maybe this is it. Another version of friendship. Simpler. Less torn.

That day, they were coming out of a small confrontation with students from another high school. Nothing too serious — a stupid settling of scores, an exchange of blows, a few bruises stinging under their uniforms. They were dirty, tired, laughing to forget.

He didn’t feel like laughing. But he smiled, a little.

Because they were alive. And in this school, that counted.

They had stopped at an old, half-abandoned café. Humin was tapping on his phone, always halfway through posting something or looking for a joke. Juntae was scribbling on a paper napkin, focused like a child. Hyun-tak stood a little apart, his back against the wall, his eyes narrowed.

That’s when Si-eun took out his phone. A reflex. An old habit. To see if Y/N had replied to his last message. Just a “you okay?” sent two days earlier.

No reply.

He sighed.

Then, almost without thinking, he opened their shared messaging interface. They had been using a family cloud for a long time. She would sometimes upload drawings, photos. Silly screenshots.

And there… he saw the folder.

Named “School,” simply.

He had never paid attention to it.

He opened it.

The first photos seemed ordinary. Class notes. A teacher’s remark. A schedule.

Then.

An image.

Blurry, taken from the side. Y/N, sitting alone in a classroom. Behind her, two girls are laughing, their faces turned towards her. A hand is visible, holding a pair of scissors, like a silent threat.

Another photo. Her locker. The door twisted. Papers thrown inside. Insults scrawled on the pages of a notebook.

Then a video. Ten seconds. A girl pushes Y/N against a wall. A voice is heard: “You’re not so tough when your brother’s not around, are you?”

And another one. Y/N in tears, but without a word. She holds her bag against her like armor. Her knees are dirty. She’s bleeding a little at the elbow.

He no longer remembered his breathing at that moment.

Only the sound his heart was making. Dull, immense.

He had locked his phone, without saying a word.

He had stood up abruptly. His friends had looked up.

“I have to go,” he blurted out.

Humin watched him go, surprised, but said nothing. Juntae just smiled softly, then went back to his drawing. Because they knew too, without asking questions.

He had run to his housing. Taken the train. Swallowed the stations without seeing them. His fist was trembling. His jaw was clenching.

It had taken him three hours to arrive at Y/N’s door.

She had opened it.

He said nothing at first.

Neither did she.

But when he held out his phone, screen lit, and their eyes met…

She had lowered her gaze.

“It’s not what you think,” she murmured.

But her voice was trembling. Too much.

He took a step back. Just one.

“Why… didn’t you say anything?”

She hadn’t known how to answer.

“Y/N, why didn’t you tell me anything?”

He repeated. Louder. His voice was breaking. Tears welled up in his eyes, without him being able to control them.

“Why did you let me believe everything was okay? Why did you stay alone? Why did you lie to me?!”

She backed away, her back against the wall. He saw her silhouette tremble. Her fingers gripped the fabric of her skirt.

“Because you were going to break,” she whispered. “I didn’t want you to break again…”

And then, he cried.

Really. Openly. Without shame.

Not the discreet tears he had learned to hide. Not the usual silence. No.

A raw grief, a heavy, exhausted, ancient sob.

He had collapsed on the floor, his hands over his face, unable to speak, to scream, to breathe. He was crying for her, for him, for everything they had gone through alone when they could have been together.

She had knelt down, timidly. And she had slipped her arms around him.

She hadn’t said she was sorry.

Because there were no words for that kind of pain.

Just gestures.

He held her close for a long time. Until his tears dried. Until his breathing calmed down.

Then, without asking, he took her hand.

“You’re coming with me.”

“But…”

“You’re coming. Now. You’re not sleeping alone anymore. It’s over.”

She didn’t protest for long.

She followed him.

The Housing – After

She had gotten into the habit of always placing her shoes in the same spot.

Of putting her bag against the left corner of the room. Of sitting on the edge of the bed when he was cooking. She didn’t talk much. But she was there.

And he, he checked her messages. Her clothes. Her elbows. Her silences.

He didn’t ask questions anymore, not right away.

But every night, he watched her, as if to make sure she wouldn’t disappear.

She was recovering slowly. She still had nightmares. Sometimes, he would hear her half-crying in her sleep. Then he would place a hand on her back, and she would fall back asleep.

One morning, she had slipped a note on the table:

I’m going to try to get better. For you. But mostly for me.

He had read it. And he had cried again. Discreetly, this time.

They had gone through hell, each on their own.

But now, they had decided to walk together.

And even if the world around them didn’t change…

The inside, it had begun to heal. Step by step.

---

The day Si-eun decided to talk to their parents, he hadn’t slept a single minute the night before.

He had sat on the edge of his bed, phone in hand, heart heavy like lead. He dialed their father’s number first. He knew it was the easy way out, but starting with him would be simpler. Or at least, less brutal.

The old man picked up with a tired voice. He didn’t say anything kind. Didn’t ask about his daughter.

— You know why I’m calling, Si-eun simply said.

— It’s about Y/N, I assume.

— You knew. You knew what was happening to her. And you did nothing.

There was a silence, then a sigh, like air leaking out of something long sealed shut.

— I’m ashamed, Si-eun. But...

— You don’t get to be ashamed if you keep doing nothing, he cut in.

He wasn’t shouting. But his voice sliced through, firm, sharp like a blade dulled by too many years.

— You and Mom—you’re responsible. You abandoned her. I did too, at first. But not anymore.

— What do you want? For me to crawl to you on my knees? You want money?

— Exactly. I want you to pay. For her therapy, her classes, everything she needs to live without lacking anything. This isn’t a favor. It’s your duty.

He didn’t wait for a response. He hung up.

Their mother, though, had been harsher. Less ashamed. Less compassionate.

— You’re overreacting. That girl is always whining. Do you really think it’s not her fault she got rejected?

He stood up. Grabbed his stuff. Slammed the door on his way out.

They would never live with her.

Y/N knew that. She hadn’t even asked.

In their new student apartment—a slightly bigger two-room unit, poorly insulated but warm—she could finally breathe for the first time in ages. At her new all-girls school, she was no longer “Si-eun’s sister” or “the weird girl from class 2-4.” She was just Y/N. A regular teenage girl. With colorful flashcards, earbuds glued to her ears, a backpack too big for her frame.

And little by little, she became herself again.

The real Y/N.

The one Si-eun had known when she was a baby.

He still remembered. She’d learned to walk and talk almost at the same time, barely over a year old. Out of necessity. She followed him everywhere, two stubborn little steps behind. Always calling out “Oppa! Oppa!” in every room.

She didn’t cry. That was beneath her, even back then—by her own baby rules. But she would sulk. Over nothing. Just to get her brother’s attention. So he’d pat her head. Give her his last cookie. And even now, at almost fifteen, she still sulked. When he forgot her favorite bread. When he told her to sleep earlier. When he spent too much time with his friends instead of her.

He loved it.

Not the sulking itself. But what it meant—that she had that gentle, bratty spark again.

He often thought: she came back.

But the journey had been long.

And for her to return, he had to face the worst.

He found the proof of her bullying “by accident.” An old chat window left open. Screenshots she had probably meant to delete, but hadn’t found the courage to erase. Degrading photos. Mockery. Insults disguised as jokes. Public humiliation.

He spent hours reading everything. Sorting it. Holding himself back from screaming. From breaking things.

Then he confronted their parents. Filed complaints. Notified the school. Sent warnings to those responsible. One of the bullies even changed schools after that. He wasn’t doing it for vengeance or pride—he wanted change. He didn’t want this rotten system to ruin anyone else like it had ruined her.

He also convinced Y/N to see a therapist. A gentle young woman with round glasses and a slow voice who never pushed, never insisted. Eventually, Y/N began to talk. A little. Then a lot.

And one day, she laughed. Not loud. But a real laugh. That of a carefree child.

**

They lived their routine like an old couple in exile.

Breakfast together—or not. Arguing about the dishes. Sharing the heater in winter. Listening to music together. Staying silent when memories grew too heavy.

But the balance was there. Fragile. Uncertain, yet real.

And then one day, came the Hyun-tak incident.

They were coming back from the supermarket, arms full of bags, when they ran into Humin, Juntae, and Hyun-tak at the street corner.

Y/N froze instantly.

Humin, true to form, shouted too loud:

— OH! Si-eun! Is that your sister? Hey little sis, you’re super cute—

But she had already turned and walked away. As expected, Si-eun dropped the bags and went after her.

He knew her: it wasn’t shame. It was fear. She didn’t like strangers. Not yet.

He calmed her down. Brought her back. And she reluctantly agreed to return and say hello. From a distance. No words. Arms crossed.

And then, it was Hyun-tak, surprisingly, who stepped forward first.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t reach out. Just handed her a cold drink, wordlessly, and sat beside her on the sidewalk like they’d known each other forever.

Y/N blinked. Stared. Then took the drink.

Humin looked stunned, like “What? Even I got ignored!”

And Hyun-tak, that smug calm kid, just smiled with the arrogant pride of someone who had accomplished an Olympic feat.

From that moment, he became the one she tolerated the most. Not that they talked much. But he understood her silences. And Y/N… she trusted him. Just like that. Instinctively.

(They fall in love afterward, but that's a whole other story.(⁠´⁠∩⁠｡⁠•⁠ ⁠ᵕ⁠ ⁠•⁠｡⁠∩⁠`⁠))

(Yazzzzzz Story is juste (⁠☞⁠ ͡⁠°⁠ ͜⁠ʖ⁠ ͡⁠°⁠)⁠☞ here)

**

That evening, Si-eun came home with a light heart.

He watched his sister place the drink carefully in the fridge like a rare treasure, and she muttered:

— At least he’s not as loud as the others.

— Should I tell him you like him?

— Don’t you dare touch my social life, oppa.

He laughed. She fake-pouted.

And in that exact moment, he knew they had survived.

Not just physically. But truly.

They had walked through darkness.

And now they moved forward, side by side, like before. Two kids in a world too big, but strong enough together to stand tall.

.................................………………………………………

[orangesaek]

Hiii I hope you’re doing good. I love your writing and i was wondering if you could write something about jaemin picking his s.o from work after a tiring day and just have a chill evening like dinner and movies. Thank you so much <3

PLEASE IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TT^TT I hope you're still around, and thank you for requesting this :') <333

a/n: not proofread but will update if I find something off!

The office lights buzzed overhead as you gathered your things. Your limbs ached from a long day. You were mentally preparing to zombie your way home when your phone buzzed—it was a text from Jaemin.

'Outside. No arguments. Let me be your hero today UwU'

You blinked before your brows furrowed in confusion. ‘Hero???’

'Babe, I’m so tired rn my brain can’t even process your message,’ you replied. As you waited for the elevator, another text arrived.

'Cute. You’re being rescued, my princess.'

Your brows furrowed once more in confusion, and right when you were about to type in a response and ask him what he meant, the elevator arrived. You quickly put your phone back in your pocket, deciding to just respond to him once you’re home.

After what seemed like forever in the elevator, you finally got off and walked towards the exit when you noticed a familiar car outside. 

‘...Jaemin?’

A smile crept across your face when your suspicions were confirmed.

There he was, leaning casually against his car, dressed in comfy neutrals with that warm smile that never failed to melt your exhaustion away.

Jaemin opened the passenger door.

“Your special carriage awaits, my gorgeous queen.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his theatrics.

“You didn’t have to—”

Jaemin interrupts, placing an index finger on his lips.

“Shhh. We both had a long day, baby. Let’s be tired together but in comfort, okay?” he said, a gentle smile on his lips. You just nod quietly.

“Good girl. Now, get in,”

You weren’t sure where you were going. Apart from asking each other how your day went and the music playing softly in his car, the ride was pretty quiet. But it was the type of silence that was comforting. It never actually mattered where Jaemin took you because you knew that as long as you were with him, everything was going to be perfectly all right anyway.

As the car finally came to a stop, a grin spread across your face when you realized where Jaemin had taken you. He smiled softly at your reaction.

“You’re that happy?” he asked, although the answer was obvious already. You nodded enthusiastically.

Jaemin chuckled before mumbling ‘cute’ as he pinched your cheek affectionately.

“Come on, princess,” he softly called as he got out and helped you out of the car. You were standing outside your favorite restaurant, a small family restaurant outside the bustling city.

It had been a long while since the last time you both were there, so the familiar smell made everything feel like a warm hug to you.

The owner greeted the two of you warmly when you came in, happy to see you back again. When you were finally seated, Jaemin ordered your usual without asking because, of course, he remembers. As he jokingly called it, your ‘I’m-too-tired-to-function’ meal.

You both just sat there with his hand holding yours across the table.

“Thank you,” you smiled softly at him.

“I love you, too,” Jaemin responds, gently rubbing his thumb on your hand with a loving smile.

While waiting for the food to arrive, both of you listened intently to what the other was saying as you talked more about what happened at work. Your eyes widened in excitement when your food finally arrived, with Jaemin giggling at how cute you looked while clapping your hands in tiny.

“I swear I almost fell asleep in the elevator earlier,” you casually said before slurping on your noodles again.

Jaemin chuckled.

“If you fall asleep mid-slurping, I’ll carry you out like a princess. No shame.”

You laughed at this response while covering your mouth to keep the food from accidentally spilling out.

“Will you tuck me in with my chopsticks then?” you playfully asked.

“No, but I’ll wrap you in these napkins like a burrito.”

The two of you laughed and talked about whatever for the rest of your dinner.

“Ready to go home, gorgeous?” Jaemin asked as he opened the passenger door for you like it’s second nature. You nodded, getting inside with Jaemin quietly saying, ‘watch your head’.

You clung onto his arm and sighed in content with Jaemin expertly driving with one hand.

“There’s this movie Xiaojun said made him question his sanity because of how absurd it was.” Jaemin suddenly said. “Do you feel like watching a dumb movie with me tonight?”

You giggled at the thought and looked up at Jaemin.

“Of course, babe. Let’s,”

As soon as you arrived, you both kicked off your shoes in a hurry. Jaemin was already changing into one of your oversized hoodies that he somehow claims was ‘ours’ now. He set up a blanket fort on the couch while you grabbed some snacks.

“All set?” Jaemin asks, and you nod, opening one of his favorite snacks for him.

Movie night finally begins, but just barely 20 minutes in, you were already curled up with your head on his chest, half-watching, half-snoozing.

Jaemin runs his fingers through your hair affectionately, chuckling lightly at how hard you tried to keep your eyes open but failed anyway.

“This is my favorite kind of night. Just you, me…” he sighed, smiling to himself in content. “And a dumb movie.”

“What was that...?” You mumbled in your sleep.

“I said, ‘I love you’,”

And you swear, right before drifting off, you felt him kiss the top of your head and pull the blanket a little tighter around both of you.

[rrat-king]

Smart Bricker is so important to me! Especially because my thing with the Applebees siblings is they all have at least some level of ADHD in different ways. His thoughts truly run a mile a minute there is always at least 5 things ticking around in his head. Helio gave him ADHD because he knew if he didn't Bricker would lock in so hard he'd ascend to godhood /lh. He also made Bricker grow up in a racist church because he knew if he ever linked up with Adaine and Riz nothing would ever have stakes ever because they'd have it solved like that. Give king like one Fantasy Adderall and he's so focused you're not hearing from him for days.

And like, his siblings know he's fiercely smart as well like he's on Kristen's list of the smartest people she knows. Like she fully believes (though she'd never say this to him because that's embarrassing) no matter what he wants to do with life he can do it because he has the brains for it.

The converse is that if he has no interest in something he does not even pretend to GAF. Like everyone thinks he's bad at like, math because he doesn't try at it but its like he helps C with his homework a lot and he's fine. He just doesn't like math so he sees no reason to bother. Like yknow that kid in the back of the classroom who says ''Miss when are we ever gonna need this in life??'' That's him but 1. He keeps that to himself and 2. He thinks that about math in general. He completely genuinely sees no practical application for math in life.

Arguably him being smart is what enables him to be such a smartass. He's truly that one Mulaney bit that's like ''13 year olds are the meanest people in the world because 13 year olds will make fun of you but in an accurate way, they will get to the thing you don't like about you without even looking at you for long.''

And also as a fun tidbit. I agree he's definitely gay and you'll hate me for this one but his awakening was definitely Ricky Martin. I know he watched the Livin La Vida Loca music video on loop, because he ''liked the song''. Pre-Aguefort Kristen who didn't yet know what a gay person was thought it was just because he appreciated Ricky as an artist. It was not. She figured it out a few months after starting Aguefort but decided to let him realise it first and come to her.

the ricky martin thing is killig me so so much. literally he is obsessed with him but does not get it until he Gets It and. slightly life shattering what do you mean he just likes ricky martin the average amount (no one has had to guts to tell him the average amount is so low)

he has so little interest in the things he has qualified as unimportant. literally what do you mean he is going to use the quadratic formula? magic exists that is dumb and he doesn't care (does he know the whole formula and how to do it but just refuses to cuz it's boring? absolutly). he's one of those kids that is really good at getting the class off topic but the teachers are too charmed by him to stop it which is also. so annoying to his siblings cuz by god do adults like bricker and he doesn't get in trouble for anything cuz of it.

also dude. ur so absolutely right if him and adaine and riz all got together they would truly be such an unstoppable force it's just the issue that he's still dealing with how to be normal around other races cuz he has been so programmed with fucked up info and adiane and riz both have such a low tolerence of tweens. aelwyn can take the scathing jabs cuz she can she come right back at him but riz and adaine are morally conflicted over being mean to a 13 year old which. skill issue on thier part.

sorry yeah the ricky martin thing is going to haunt me and the only thing i can think to add is that it would translate bricker having a crush on ragh if he ever met him

[writingjourney]

since you posted that Secondo drabble, I’m dying to know…what do you think is one little thing that his partner could do that would make Secondo feel loved? just like an everyday thing that many of us would overlook but would be so special to him :)

i have a whole bunch!! i always say secondo is a provider, he is someone who takes care of others but struggles to accept someone taking care of him in the same way, hates feeling vulnerable. he isn't used to having company for longer than a few hours, so once you spend a lot of time over and naturally start helping him he's overwhelmed by the intimacy of it all. very much an acts of service and physical affection sort of guy, if you meet him there he'll swoon.

here is a spontaneous list of what gets his heart beating:

helping him with his cufflinks

fixing his tie in public

kissing him in front of others

reaching for his hand first

making his morning coffee before he gets a chance to do it (i hc him as an early riser so he's usually up first, you have to be sneaky)

any gentle touches, soft kisses and words of affection that are not transactional (all of them, what a concept)

leaving little notes for him to find

sending him cute texts throughout the day (he hates texting, you're the only one he texts back)

cleaning the reading glasses he uses at night

marking the page he fell asleep on while reading in bed

eating the food he made for you

catching you wearing the perfume he gifted you

subtly matching his outfit when you go out together

using any sort of personal pet name on him

when you take care of him after sex (he can get emotional when it's particularly intense)

plugging in the heating pad with no comment

when he gets to be the little spoon

when you tell him you love him (every single time)

[ladycibia]

🤣 the gwent post kills me because its so true. Glad to see im not the only one.

I'm glad you enjoyed it! ;w; I love joking around the game mechanics and the idea of Geralt being obsessed with gwent amuses me XD

original post

[rudnitskaia]

If Maura marries Rocky how would Augusto feel about his new son in law?

Oh gosh, tysm for such a wonderful question honeybun, it's a pleasure to write a reply 🥺💖

Actually, Maura and Rocky technically are married since early spring of 1928. It was a pure accident — due to a series of silly jokes that were uttered by both of them without thinking they ended up in the Arbogast Funeral Home in the middle of the night and coerced kindly persuaded Abelard to marry them only to find out later that it was an actual marriage. They both immensely panicked and planned to divorce at first, but then decided that they're both alright with the fact.

They hid it, but Augusto knew about that quite soon in the middle of 1928. He was quite shocked by the fact — he was always suspicious about Rocky's presence in Casa di Rondine and knew from the first glance that Rocky was a slippery guy, so of course he was hostile towards him at first after such a "magnificent" revelation. He had a very strong urge to choke Rocky and kick him out every time he saw him. xDD

But Augusto is totally his girl's papa and, because he trusted in Mau, he made himself not only to humble with the fact that this joke of a marriage has already happened, but also to give Rocky a small vote of confidence. Staying watchful and suspicious, of course.

Augusto and Rocky had more than a year to get used to each other. And, despite finding Rocky's actions too impulsive and his behavior too peculiar, soon Augusto couldn't help but... uh... warm up to Rocky? In his youth Augusto also was very loud and hot-headed, and, though because of very different circumstances than Rocky, Augusto also ended up on the streets, being abandoned by his family and having no one to rely on, only, unlike Rocky, Gusto in addition had a little baby to care about. Not to mention Augusto also agreed to help in illegal matters to his only friend, so... he kind of understood Rocky's situation and fell to sympathize to the guy, because Augusto knew on his own skin how harsh the world can be and how your own stupidity's consequences snowballs until it crushes you completely or until by some miracle someone will offer you a helping hand and you manage to take it. Since Christmas of 1928 Augusto clearly showed Rocky that he considers the young man a part of the family, appreciates Rocky's care about Mau and trusts him with doing so. After that they quickly built up a nice, warm and strong mutual father-and-son dynamic — Augusto was very willing to genuinely give Rocky a "father's shoulder" that the guy lacked all his life and basically family things (look after him being fed, having a place to sleep, having warm clothes etc.), and Rocky didn't hesitate to take it all, praying not to screw everything lose it. But, alas, November of 1929 separated Rocky and the Venza family.

If Rocky and Mau reunite in 1931, Augusto will be happy with the fact and will support their little family until his very end. If no, he will help Maura to raise Niccolò and will become very sadly thoughtful every time a flicker of Rocky appears in his grandson, feeling the need to wander alone and smoke until his melancholy (and resentment towards Rocky, if the latter is alive) mutes for a while. He will miss the guy as a real son.

[residentialsinyomakai]

Yokai to Human Form Tidbit

Ok so there's human designs/ forms for Caspian's yokai friends 1, for fun, and 2, cause there's some situations where it's convenient/just better to have some in human forms (EX: Whisper coming to Caspian's choir concerts and conferences bc his parents are. fairly absent). Everyone has their own opinions on it and stuff and in this post I'ma talk about Baddinyan's!!

So fun little fact he does Not Like being human. This is mostly for body dysphoria adjacent feelings, like all of a sudden he has different hair, no fur, different ear placement, etc. The 'phantom limb' thing tends to happen with his tails, too, which is trippy and kinda uncomfortable. He also hates that a lot of his senses are dulled. smell, hearing, sight (especially in the dark), it makes everything feel kinda hazy and causes him to be a lot more stressed about everything.

Idk maybe I just think it's kinda funny to see a character thrown into a whole new form and reasonably be like. what. the hell this sucks. His easygoing (nice way of me saying his lazy ahh) and usually pretty chill/surprisingly level-headed mood is def worsened when he's constantly feeling skin that doesn't technically belong to him. A form he shouldn't really have.

As a result, he's oftentimes irritable and anxious in this form, with some days being better than others. He typically avoids having to use it unless he needs to though, and refuses to take his glasses off for anything. Has to be bribed with a Chocobar to enma forbid go out in public. He's also less used to it than most due to his extreme aversion to it. He just hates it and everything is physically gross and cloudy and nothing's in the right place and he can't explain why.

Badude, on the other hand, doesn't mind being human! It feels more similar to his body than it does for Baddinyan, and is kind of a fun change of pace every now and then. He's Baddinyan's like. closest friend besides Caspian in this AU, so he's typically who's convincing him to not kill everyone in the room and/or take off the stupid leaf in public lol. Their convos can sometimes go like

"C'mon, it's just until we get outta the store. Don't get your non-existent tails in a twist-"

"Shut up and do nyot remind me right nyeow."

"(Oh it's like. that kind of day whoopsies) Mbmb, we can ditch these nerds and go look at the candy isle or somethin' for a bit..?"

He stinks at comforting people or anything like that but tries. Sometimes. idiots

I'm working on references, but all I have to say about their designs for now is vitiligo Black-Mexican Baddinyan and Mexican-Japanese Badude CANON!!! See you for now! :) Have a radtastical day out there, don't implode or get rocks thrown into your inbox!! (again for some of you...)

[wickmitz]

any thoughts/opinions on vikdecai?

i don’t believe i have any complex thoughts that haven’t already been said by the community at large! mostly my opinions just correlate to a very fond i like them, since mordecai kneecapping viktor in order to save himself from having to hurt him later is really one of the first things that humanizes his character. makes you realize he’s not nearly as cold or practical as he tries leading you to believe -- a front that unravels further given his atlas obsession. and i like that! my favorite thing about mordecai is his subtle longing for the lackadaisy crew, how much he doesn’t wish to hurt them, and how venomously he loathes his current life … what he’s doing now isn’t what he wants to currently be doing, but merely what must be done for his goal, one which is already layered in lackadaisy sentiment. so his bond with viktor is important to me, given how much it highlights this inner struggle and earnest truth within his character. but then again, this can also be applied to mordecai’s relationship with mitzi, atlas, and ivy, so let me discuss them in a more romantic sense. which i’m sure is what this question is trying to get at!

romantically, i view mordecai and viktor’s dynamic as … favorable? it’s entirely plausible there were feelings there, an intimacy only they shared as men inside atlas’ arsenal, people who were entirely knowledgeable of the lackadaisy’s nasty underbelly. it’s their slaughter of people deserving and of many, many innocents that help their boss’s speakeasy run, and this violence ( this constant watching one another’s back ) would only breed closeness in spite of the horror it’s built on. and, of course, they have core things in common outside of their job and efficiency for bloodsport! like their love for family, their devotion towards those who matter most, and how out of place they equally feel on this soil - - in this world and era, where everything feels like it’s out to get them in some way or another. their ability to connect beyond their surface level traits and quirks ( mordecai and viktor are very much opposites on their surface, and they have a habit of bickering about these differences, albeit lightheartedly ) demonstrates the profoundness of what they have and what they’d do to protect it. they care for one another in little gestures, insignificant to most but in a way that truly matters to them … as they can see the genuineness in it, since they’re putting themselves into the careful actions and aren’t just doing things for politeness sake. for example, mordecai tries adorning them in matching cloth so they’re two equal halves, symmetrical, and then we have viktor who pocketed mordecai’s glasses to give him later when they were done with their mission. i like to imagine there are more things like this in their relationship! stuff that isn’t as severe as life or death, like saving your friend’s skin by a mere inch or dragging each other to a finish line every day. any of atlas’ men can offer that. it’s the extra things, done out of agency and personal desire, that bring them closer than any other regular joe on atlas’ payroll. it’s rather clear that they were close canonically, and that viktor was perhaps mordecai’s closest friend in a way that atlas could never be due to the pedestal he was constantly put upon. and while we have less insight on viktor’s feelings, i’d imagine the betrayal has never, and will never, fully heal. it is not a wound he can easily patch up, and it isn’t something one could just forget either. how can you dismiss someone who used to be your hands and eyes and ears? when you two functioned as another man’s extra body in your entirety? you may as well have shared a mind when out on the field, and that’s a closeness and a trust which is hard to lose. viktor hardly lets anyone in as is, just as anti social as his spectacles wearing companion, so to lose that in such a violent was is an unspeakable pain he bears, i’m sure. mordecai took whatever remained of his life from him with that shot. he’s permanently robbed viktor the ability to defend the last few hairs he cares to protect. his purpose is now up in the air. and all this anguish from someone he completely and utterly believed in … there is a lot of hurt, is what i’m saying. a hurt that’s too deep and life altering for it not to be supremely personal too. it’s deep and festering and viktor ignores it, and mordecai ignores it, mostly, but sometimes his paw strays near his wound and he itches at it, and it reopens the ache all over again. there is metaphor to be found there! an abandonment and a departure that leaves you bloodied from maiming or being maimed. it is very easily a multi-layered sentiment!

however, i could still take this or leave it romantically, hence my earlier statement of favorabe rather than unabashed gushing and swooning. this is a ship i like, but i don’t read mordecai as crushing on viktor per se? i’ve always viewed his extreme relationship with atlas as puppy love that’s half bred from devotion, something not entirely genuine but also still genuine enough, which makes for a nice parallel between that and rocky’s bond with mitzi. his rivalry with atlas’ wife and his oddities such as wearing his boss’s shirts read as girlish crush behavior, typical things one does when believing themselves enamored, you know? naturally his views and feelings for atlas aren’t quite that simple nor easy to parse, and i’m not trying to simplify them in any way! i just believe he had a torch for atlas, and thus didn’t carry another for anyone else, at least not as intensely. whatever feelings he might have for someone would always be second to atlas, who was his very reason for living and breathing every day, who was his answer and justification and eventually? his obsession. in many ways i think mordecai was too wrapped up in atlas to properly develop feelings for viktor, even if there were inklings of something inside of him. ironically, the term something is what i love using when thinking about him with viktor or mitzi. mordecai is something with those two, he feels something, an unlabeled sort of thing he can’t really reach -- perhaps he doesn’t even want to, scared of what it might mean, what it could say. and it is different somethings! they are not the same feeling, what he feels towards those two, but it’s not fully known to him in the way that his feelings towards atlas was. it is not as clear! especially now, with things as awful as they are and with mordecai so full of turmoil he’s forcing himself to not share. he also has an intense aversion to emotions, obviously, which doesn’t help matters lol. this man could find some of the closure he’s so desperately seeking if he took more than a glance inside of himself, but then he wouldn’t be apart of this tragic tale, now would he?

still, in a better world where the lackadaisy’s gaggle of traumatized characters are allowed healing without any casualties or major losses, then i’d enjoy seeing a viktor and mordecai slowburn. where they decide to remain steadfast by each other’s side like once upon a time before, and they deal with life as a unit. maybe when given the space for it, mordecai’s affection can finally cement into real love for viktor -- the romantic kind, something sappy and disarming and maddening all at once. maybe viktor will allow such indulgences, finally able to touch upon his heart again and use it in a way that he hasn’t gotten to in a couple ages. or maybe he won’t share the specific feelings that mordecai possesses for him, but he’ll enjoy creating an entirely new thing that’s only for them : he can compromise and he can bend if mordecai is willing to bend just the same. they certainly wouldn’t be your typical couple, their emotions too stunted for regular dates or typical pda, but there’s something more special and intimate to them carving out their own space, and thus having their own secret world. a mix of platonic and romantic affections, a healthy dose of selfishness and desire they couldn’t ever have before but now can hoard so entirely, in small bearable doses. and there will always be some things they both won’t ever be able to shake ( mordecai disabling viktor, atlas, viktor’s daughter, etc ), although they could manage these aches and guilt better together, which is the exact sort of happy ending i’d want for them. if i may be so indulgent myself haha ( <- person who knows lackadaisy’s ending will be mostly dark and tragic but likes playing around with hopeful scenarios and what-if’s regardless! )

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

ari ari ari i need your thoughts on this!!! suguru who lives and breathes being able to take care of his s/o, like that's HIS MEANING to life once he's found The One. butbutbut what if he got severely sick like he isnt able to even get up and he's all weak and frail like a victorian child. obv his s/o wouldnt mind it at all and would LOOOOOVE to pamper him like the roles are literally reversed but he feels sooooooo guilty that now hes the one being taken care plsplspls this has been plaguing my mind

ANONNNNNNNNNNNNN

THIS CONCEPT IS SO DEAR TO MY HEART………… hang on let me get my thoughts in order .

suguru is just . such a caretaker type. he feels so much more comfortable in that position. i absolutely think he’d devote himself to tending to your needs, and i absolutely think he’d feel extremely uncomfortable if he got so sick that he couldn’t do that anymore 😭 if he was forced into a position where he couldn’t do anything but meekly let you take care of him…. it makes him so viscerally uncomfortable because it’s just so foreign!!!!

this is just my take on him, but i really feel like suguru was neglected as a child …… he strikes me as the type who had to take care of himself, always, so that’s where he feels most comfortable. he’s so used to take care of others, and himself, and i think it gives him a sense of control that he’s dependent on. so when he gets hit with such a severe wave of sickness… and he can’t even get out of bed on his own…. :’3 well . i think he feels very helpless and very uncomfortable!!!!! maybe even a little irritated . he just hates the feeling i think…

so!!! you have to ease him into it :3 deep down he’d probably really, really enjoy being pampered and tended to…. but he’s so hesitant . i feel like he tries to fend you off and reassure you at first, but when you’ve made it clear that you’re taking care of him whether he likes it or not ……. he probably. gets a little shy 😭 he’s just a baby…….. speaks even softer than usual because his throat is raspy, pouts after taking his medicine, blushes a little when you spoon-feed him soup………. he’s just. SO cute. he gets so clingy i think. he really loves the attention and he’s very very embarrassed about it LMAO

ANYWAYYY IN CONCLUSION . you’re so bigbrained anon <3333 this man needs to be pampered and babied relentlessly . made then he’ll relax a bit.

[mizzfizz]

hi leapoopkins 🫶!! for the askkk can i ask about clark and leon for 🎂 or 🎇 or both uty

🎂 - do you have any special birthday celebrations you partake in every year?

clark loves to go ALL out on my birthday. he gets me flowers, a gift, breakfast in bed, and he plans a cute little date for us later in the day!! he is so SO super cute abt ittt. however, he doesn’t like a lot for his birthday, so we have agreed to keep it simple. i make him a surprise dessert, and he has the whole tray for himself (he still offers me a couple bites lmao)

leon and i have a birthday tradition where we go shooting. LMFAO is it random? idk, but it’s super fun. we’re both pretty good with guns, so it gets pretty competitive. we also have a little thing where the birthday girl/boy gets one wish granted, and it can be anything as long as the other person is able to do it :3

🎇 - do you and your f/o have a favorite holiday to celebrate together? what is it? do you have different holidays you like celebrating?

clark and i love christmas!! we have a little tree with presents we wrapped for each other :33 every christmas we have matching pyjamas, it’s literally sooo cute. and after we open our presents we make and eat breakfast together and then chill on the couch and watch christmas moviesss

leon and i LOVE halloween. we wear matching fits, and they r always goofy asf and reference some dumbass thing LMAO or lowk we decide to eat everyone up, it depends on the year. and we go out and get freaking candy hello??? and while we’re high on no sleep and it’s like 1 am, we go to a convenience store close by and buy drinks and snacks and go home, strip off most of the costume or wtv we can, and fall asleep on each other to a horror movie, drinks half drunken and snacks half eaten

questions from this post (thank yew @harlotistic <3)

[peppermintmochafem]

spanked a butch sub with a dog collar this week… btw

see this is what life is all about 🫶

[inumbrapugnabimus-maybe]

I'm sorry you're going through it 🥺 here's a hug for you 🫂 I hope you get some good rest soon

- hero-of-the-wolf

anndnsndnsna thank you ❤️❤️❤️

[outersoap]

ily <3

:0!!

:D!!!!!!!!

[rrat-king]

4 6 and 8 for the rec ask game!

4. a fic starring a character with less than 100 works

The Early Bird by @20dimensionsoftangerine

sprak lefevre is new to elmville straight from the mountains of chaos, so he goes to the only other goblin folk he knows for a place or stay: the gukgaks. capture's spraks insane deal while also fitting in his goblin teen charm, as well as having truly lovely insights into fantasy high goblin culture through sklonda's pov. adore this so much

6. a fic that made you laugh/cry

my foundation has disappeared by @wlwinry

au where Fabian's bad day happens a lot sooner and he never winds up in elmville, instead disowned and fending for himself on leviathan where he is marked for exile until the bad kids find him. incredible exploration of Fabian and ayda's potential relationship on leviathan as pirate kids. makes my chest hurt with the degree of angst, so truly wonderful.

8. a fic about family relationships

the difference between fight or flight by @allthecastlesonclouds

a kristen and her siblings fic I just adore, set after sophomore year. so full of wonderful headcannons and characterization of the siblings we haven't seen a whole lot of plus the way they have to deal with being raised in the household they did as kristen changes and grows herself. wonderful writing and characterization and featuring the one and only beloved trans bucky applebees aka bee <33

ask game here!

[yujeong]

I want to compare our opinions about Pete so hand them down!

Aww, how kind of you. A certain someone would ask "Why compare?", but we'll ignore his philosophical ramblings this time :3 How I feel about Pete He's literally changed the trajectory of my entire life, so... I kind of hate him (affectionate) ❤️ All the people I ship romantically with Pete / My non-romantic OTP for Pete Here's where I beg to differ, because I ship Pete with (almost) everybody! I just want to pass him around to *all* the men and see what comes out of it. It doesn't have to be romantic in the typical sense, it doesn't have to be good, hell it doesn't even have to be hot, it just has to have a dynamic that will make my brain go brrr. Besides VegasPete, which is the obvious choice, some of my favourites include PorschePete, ArmPete, KinnPete and KimPete, each of them for completely different reasons:

PorschePete have, what me and @wretchedamaranth love to call, a "secret third thing" of a relationship. Not platonic, not romantic, but something else, something only they can understand. I've written them this way before and I just love it so fucking much.

ArmPete represents my desperate need for someone to fall utterly in love with Pete and not have their feelings reciprocated; this is where Arm comes in. I have around 3k words of fic written for them, but it'll probably never see the light of day.

KinnPete is just bad vibes galore. They have negative sexual energy together, but their dynamic is screaming at me to notice, and I can't say I haven't. The true pet play dynamic, if we're being honest.

KimPete is... I don't even know how to describe it. I think what makes me go crazy about them (to the point of writing 25k words of pre-canon material for how their relationship came to be) is how similar, yet different they are as characters. Both closed off, both unwilling to share parts of themselves due to not even knowing themselves enough to do so, both such intricate puzzles to solve. Everything Kim is different from Pete, he's similar to Vegas, but not to the point of them being the same person. I don't know, I really, really like this one.

As for my non-romantic OTP, it has to be Macau&Pete. I have never been this obsessed with a platonic relationship that was barely shown in canon before. I have to thank Lusn and her brilliant fics once again, I'm never getting over them - I have someone's birthday gift to write after all ❤️ My unpopular opinion about Pete God, I have so many. I'll share 2 at the top of my head without explaining myself; I'd rather not be a nuisance about my niche opinions for the millionth time:

Pete isn't a masochist or into degradation or into pet play. The main thing I believe he is very much into - which is intensely backed up by canon - is being the most sub to ever sub.

I don't think Pete killed his father. I don't think he ever thought of killing his father. I don't think he ever wanted to kill his father.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with Pete in canon

Fuck, that's such a tough question. Honestly, I am starving for more safehouse moments, especially between episodes 11-12, because they skipped Pete getting better - or at least as better as he could get. So I'd add more scenes of Pete being sick in the show, and one moment I'd loved the show to have expanded upon is when Vegas found Pete unconscious and at the verge of death in episode 11. Vegas nourishing Pete back to health when he has no idea what the fuck he's doing while crying his eyes out? Damn I need this so much it makes me want to cry myself.