#this is badly phrased it’s been a long day. what I’m trying to say is that whenever the two characters talk to one another | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heliads · 2 years ago

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hi!! can i please request a nikolai x reader where they’re childhood friends and one day (maybe they’re on the topic of marriage or something) nikolai says they should just get married, and reader thinks he’s joking because why would he ever like her like that?? i feel like he’d be sitting there with a serious face as she laughs, but then she slowly realises that it’s not a joke.

sorry this is long and probably worded badly, i’m sleep deprived </3 but i think you write nikolai so lovely

ooh this is fun!! childhood friends to lovers SLAPS

masterlist

It is well known that Ravka is doing its best at the moment. Your dear country has been at war for years and decades, if not centuries. If you aren’t fighting back the relentless creep of the Shadow Fold at your doorstep, you’re fending off foes from north and south as Fjerda and the Shu Han try to take your land. Ravka’s townspeople go hungry, its children go without heroes.

All this, and yet the second you start on your trek back home, you do so with the brightest smile on your face. You’ve been a diplomat for the Ravkan crown five years now, and returning to your homeland always feels better than anything.

This latest trip was long, too– three months away, far too long for your taste. The time away only made you hunger to wrap up your negotiations as quickly as possible. The Kerch may guard their coin fiercely, but let it be said that you could coax aid out of anyone.

That’s why you were sent over, although not without a significant amount of grumbling from the very person who gave you the order to travel. Nikolai Lantsov– that’s King Nikolai to you, although you haven’t used that title in your life– always hates to lose you. You hate to lose him, too, which is why both of you have been waiting on this day ever since you left three months ago.

You have known Nikolai for longer than you have known yourself. Your parents worked in Os Alta, orbiting around the Grand Palace, and the two of you grew up by each other’s sides. You leaned on him when you learned to walk, and he leans on you now for help in keeping his country afloat. There’s nobody in the entire nation you miss half as much as him.

Nikolai is your best friend, to put it plainly. That phrase doesn’t seem strong enough, though. Nikolai is everything to you. Losing him would kill you just as surely as a blade to the throat. You love your position, how it lets you travel the world and do actual good for Ravka, but Saints, how you miss Nikolai every time you leave.

By your side, your appointed guard lets out a dry chuckle. “Well, I’m sure our king will be delighted to see you. Do you think he’ll listen to a moment of the scheduled debrief or just rush straight to you?”

You roll your eyes, although you can’t quite meet your tormenter when you answer her. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

If there was ever someone to be intimidated by you, though, Zoya Nazyalensky would not fit that description. Most would argue that sending the Second Army’s best fighter out to protect a simple diplomat would be a waste of a good fighter, but Nikolai insists on sending her with you whenever you leave the country’s borders. Every time someone asks him about it, Nikolai just says that he refuses to lose such an important asset to Ravka.

Everyone knows the obvious truth, which is that he can’t stand the idea of his best friend getting hurt when he can’t keep you safe. While you’re in Os Alta, he can send a guard to stand outside your door day and night, or he can make sure you’re always with him so he knows you’re alright. Outside of Ravka, Nikolai has no such insurance, so he gives you the next best guarantee of perfect health: Zoya Nazyalensky with a bone to pick. You have yet to be troubled.

Zoya’s status as your guard does not stop her from teasing you, something you’ve learned quite quickly. She laughs at you now, almost incredulous over your sheer obliviousness.

“I refer to the fact that Nikolai is infatuated with you, obviously. Everyone knows it.”

Your jaw drops in disbelief. “That’s so wrong. We’re friends, Zoya. He’s clingy with the people he likes, yes, but he does that with everyone.”

Zoya arches her brow. “He sent you a message at least twice every single week that you were gone. Not because he needed mission information, but because he missed you. That’s terrible.”

You grin. “When you put it that way, it sounds dreadful.”

“It is,” Zoya sniffs, “I’ve never seen him so hopeless. Do me a favor and accept his affections already, will you? I’m starting to get tired of watching the two of you dance around your feelings.”

You swat Zoya on the shoulder. “Not a chance,” you declare, “We’re friends, and that’s that. Besides, if you’re so tired of being around people who think they don’t like each other, why do you keep trying to eavesdrop on Genya and David?”

“It’s funny,” Zoya argues, “I’ve never seen Genya stumble over her words that many times. They have a chance, though. I think David might actually manage to spit out a confession by the end of the month. I can’t say the same about you and Nikolai.”

“That’s because there’s nothing to confess,” you point out, “and stop looking at me like that, will you?”

Zoya wisely says no more, but you can sense her proud grin burning into your back when you look away.

You have no idea what Zoya is going on about. You and Nikolai have never been interested in each other, not like that. You can’t take the risk of ruining your friendship with him were either of you to fall out of love. To put it simply, the dangers far outweigh even the strongest satisfaction of finally having Nikolai in every way.

Also, even if something like love were to work out between the two of you, it could never possibly last. Nikolai is a king, you are clearly not a queen. He’s going to go off and marry a princess or a noble or someone that can solidify Ravka’s domestic or foreign relations. Who are you to other royals?

You’re just a diplomat, and although it is the greatest fun in the world to convince yourself that this could mean something to someone like Nikolai, it never will. You can be his friend, his ally, his voice of reason, but nothing more. Never anything more. He knows this just as well as you do, which is why he would never say anything about it. Even if the impossible were to happen and Nikolai were to scorn all women in the world for you, he has too great a duty to his country to ever marry for love. It could never be, and that should not sting at you the way it does.

You’ve had thoughts like these many times before, and they always come to the same conclusion. That’s why you’re able to push them from your mind as the gates to Os Alta draw nearer, and simply bathe in the sight of the capital city after so long. It might cause you endless grief, but Saints, you love this place. You love the person who’s waiting for you inside.

Nikolai must still attend to the proper decorum expected of him by society, so he greets your entire party with solemnity upon your arrival. You can tell by the shine in his eyes when he turns to you, though, that you won’t be getting away with a mere handshake and expression of gratitude for your service to Ravka.

Indeed, the moment people start trickling away, Nikolai grabs your hand and pulls you away from the swirls of conversation. The two of you don’t dare to speak until you’re in his office and finally out of the view of everyone else.

Then and only then does Nikolai allow his guard to drop. He grins like a kid and pulls you close, the arm around your shoulders just as strong as ever.

“It’s good to see you,” he says, “I missed you terribly.”

You laugh. “I could tell. I think you kept the messengers in service from the sheer quantity of letters you sent alone.”

Nikolai gives you a look. “I expected communication. That’s a very kingly thing to do.”

You laugh. “I’m sure it is. Now, what troubles have you been suffering through all this time? I seem to recall a few long-winded descriptions of terrors such as a gala or two.”

“Not just a gala or two,” Nikolai shudders, “but several. Every nobleman within traveling distance has sent their daughters over as many times as they can.”

You feign horror. “You mean to tell me that you had to entertain guests at lavish banquets all this time? I thought I was going through it while I was trying to avoid getting killed in Kerch, but you’re right, this is so much worse.”

Nikolai aims a playful strike at your shoulder. “No need to be sarcastic, Y/N. At least you got to show off your ability to maim in full force. I have to salvage Ravka’s relations with every single lord and lady in the world. I think I’ve actually batted my eyelashes more times than my suitors.”

It’s hard to keep your somber expression in place, but you fight the urge to break as best you can. “You do have wonderful eyelashes.”

“I know,” Nikolai sighs. His eyes glint mischievously. “And they should appreciate it, too.”

“I’m sure they do,” you say soothingly.

Nikolai chuckles. “You’re so supportive. I can almost believe that you’re not laughing at me internally.”

You smile at last, unable to hold it back any longer. “With you, Nikolai. I’m laughing with you. There’s a difference.”

“I’m sure there is,” Nikolai grouses, “now, if you could put your mind towards actually helping me out instead of just finding humor in the situation, that would be even better. I’m going to have to make a decision at some point, but no matter who I pick, our allies are going to be furious.”

Although the two of you love to joke around, you can tell that Nikolai is genuinely nervous about the choice. Ravka’s foreign relations are fraught enough as is, something you can attest to given the sheer quantity of diplomatic missions you’ve undergone in the last few months. Nikolai can’t afford to cut ties with a noble or nation just because he picked the wrong girl.

You steeple your fingers together, trying to think this through. “Well, you’re going to have to be clever about it, obviously. No girl wants to believe that she’s only getting married because of a political move. We like to pretend we’re not pawns in your political games whenever possible, you know.”

Nikolai nods as he listens. “Alright, so she would have to feel useful. Better yet, she could be useful to Ravka or her native country itself. That work could continue on when she marries me.”

You make a vague sound of agreement. “Exactly. Also, she’d have to be someone liked by the other countries. If you marry a Shu Han princess, you’d better pick someone who isn’t going to anger Fjerda, or the other way around.”

“So a Ravkan would be safer?” Nikolai asks, “you know, because it wouldn’t pit two other countries against each other?”

You shrug. “Probably, but if you can get a solid tie to another nation, that would be nice. They can at least pretend not to despise us during the wedding.”

Nikolai cracks a grin. “I’m all in favor of that, trust me.”

You shudder. “I should hope so. I haven’t been wining and dining foreign leaders just for you to mess it up over a bad engagement.”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Nikolai quite so self-satisfied. “Alright, then,” he says after a pause, “those are your only qualifications for my bride?”

You ponder the matter a moment longer. “I think so,” you decide at last. “Of course, they’d also have to make you happy.”

“I thought we all had to sacrifice our happiness for the success of Ravka,” Nikolai points out.

You lift a shoulder. “You’ve done a lot of sacrificing as it is. If it came down to two equally good offers, I’d want you to make one that wouldn’t force you to live the rest of your life in a marriage you hated.”

Nikolai smiles, more to himself than anyone else. “Okay. Will you marry me?”

You laugh before you can stop yourself. “Sure thing. I can already hear the wedding bells.”

When he doesn’t laugh along with you, though, your easy spirits begin to die away. “No. Nik, no. You can’t be serious.”

“I am serious,” he protests, “come on now. You fit every one of the rules you made. Plus, you would make me happier than anyone else. You always have.”

You shake your head, as much to convince yourself that this is a bad idea as him. “You’re forgetting one important thing, Nikolai. I’m not a princess. Our marriage would have no political benefit, and that’s the entire point of it.”

“Not even our happiness, as you so gladly mentioned just a few moments ago?” Nikolai asks. You think he’s pleading.

“That was happiness within the bounds of a successful marriage,” you argue, “and that wouldn’t happen with me.”

“Why not?” Nikolai queries. “You have a fair amount of foreign credit. More than you realize, I think. Do you know why I keep sending you on those damned diplomatic voyages? It’s because you have a way of convincing even the stodgiest old army general of switching to your side. Marrying you would win over some allies more than anything else.”

“It’s a good dream,” you whisper, “really, it is, but I can’t have you throwing this choice away on a friend. If you’re fine with marrying any Ravkan who’s decent at negotiations, you might as well pick someone that you could actually love.”

“What makes you think that person wouldn’t be you?” Nikolai asks.

The room goes deathly quiet. Neither of you have dared to so much at hint at that topic before, but now that it’s a possibility—

“You’ve never mentioned anything of the sort before,” you breathe.

“Neither have you,” Nikolai counters. At your exasperated look, he grins and relents. “But if you wish me to be more vocal about my affections, I shall. How about this: I have loved you for years. The only person I have ever wanted to marry was you. If you present me with the chance to win your hand, I shall do so with every power invested in me. Are you certain of where my heart lies now?”

You stare at him, then begin to smile. “Yes, I think I am.”

You don’t know that you’ve ever seen Nikolai even half so happy. “Call for Genya,” he beams. “We have a wedding to plan.”

grishaverse tag list: @rogueanschel, @deadreaderssociety, @cameronsails, @mxltifxnd0m, @story-scribbler, @retvenkos, @thatfangirl42, @amortensie, @gods-fools-heroes, @bl606dy

#nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov imagines #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov oneshot #grishaverse #grishaverse imagines #grishaverse x reader #grishaverse oneshot #shadow and bone #shadow and bone imagines #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone oneshot #grishaverse nikolai #grishaverse nikolai imagines #grishaverse nikolai x reader #grishaverse nikolai oneshot

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thespectralvision · 9 months ago

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I typed up a little thing on Facebook, where I'm trying to be more open about my struggles and less internal, and I wanted to share it here too, since this is my space to be my weird little robot loving self:

It doesn’t take long for most people to realize I’m a Marvel fan. Usually that comes with a follow up question- who is your favorite character? I love watching the reactions; it’s clear people expect me to say Spider-Man or Iron Man or one of the other, more ‘popular,’ heroes. My favorite reaction when I said it was Vision was a comment made of “That’s a bold choice.”

The Vision certainly isn’t the most popular Avenger, it’s true. I’ve talked with artists at conventions who don’t bother bringing prints of him because they just don’t sell and space is limited. I see the comments on conventions where Mr. Bettany is a guest saying “Is Vision the best you can do?”. It sucks seeing that, and upsets me because every character is important to someone. Yes he’s not the most exciting or action packed hero. He’s kind of silly looking. He’s a thinker more than a fighter. And he’s been treated pretty badly in writing since the late 80’s and forgotten until very recently.

Trying to explain why he’s my favorite would take me days. Even choosing my favorite comic run/issue is hard. I would argue that Tom King’s series The Vision from 2015-16 is my favorite series of all time. I’ve read it over and over, and while it’s contested by some as being out of character I think it’s one of her few times Vision (and more importantly his trauma) has really been explored. I’ll talk about that run in another post maybe. I’m also very fond of some one off issues, like Avengers Spotlight 40 from 1990, where (White) Vision finally seeks help for everything he’s struggling with.

The comic I always reread on really bad days though, the one that really explains what Vision has become for me, is Avengers: No Road Home 10, the finale of the run. When I met Paul Bettany I mentioned this story to him - I don’t know if he’s read it or not, but he was kind enough to listen. In the run the godess Nyx wants to engulf the world in darkness, silencing everything. As someone who fights depression and has for a long time she feels almost symbolic of that. Quiet, calm, darkness and the end of light. She plans on doing this by finding The House of Ideas and destroying it, and at that point the run becomes somewhat metaphorical. Vision is the only Avenger able to follow her in before she closes the door, and ends up in the house - another dimension made of stories, where he faces Nyx alone. Now some context for the run - it begins with Vision, broken beyond repair and almost seeking death, believing he will finally be human if he can find a true death. Wanda and Monica and the others are very upset by this, trying to stop their friend and help him understand that death is not what makes us human (It is Vision after all, who always strives for something he can never truly be, while endlessly embodying the best of humanity despite that). He followed Nyx in because he wanted to die…And then we get this panel.

I won’t spoil much more, it’s a personal favorite run and I highly recommend it, but Vision eventually finds, and then becomes the light that defeats the darkness…using the power of stories, and memories, of his friends. And that’s what he became for me. I think about his stories, and the stories I want to tell about him to fight my own inner darkness. I paint images of him in bright colors and focus on the lights because it makes me feel better. He’s powered by the sun in the comics, and even in the MCU often symbolized with light through hologram like effects and the glowing Mind Stone. WandaVision made it clear he was the bright spot in Wanda’s life too. That’s just who and what Vision is in the Marvel-verses. One issue used the phrase "You were meant to be a Vision of mankind's brightest future" to describe him. And that’s one of the many reasons he’s my favorite. That’s what super hero stories are for I think, inspiring us and showing these silly spandex clad heroes against impossible odds to inspire us to fight the seemingly impossible things in our lives too.

I really love thinking about and writing these sorts of things. I tried blogging about comics and Vision for awhile but people didn’t seem interested. I think I’m going start doing it again for me, because much like my art it makes me happy sharing this silly Synthezoid with the world. Thank you Marvel, I never expected I would be so emotional about a red robot man but here we are.

#the vision #wandavision #marvel #mcu #Spec's Thoughts

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accidents-in-the-laboratory · 1 month ago

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OWP

Here's another one from my "these will never see the light of day" document. Focuses on The Green Goblin from Spider-Man (2002). I thought this was a funny concept and something Goblin would definitely do.

Also, shoutout to @somebody22222 who expressed interest in seeing the stories from that document!

Under the cut because it's long. Hope you enjoy! Comments are much appreciated!

Goblin glared at the traffic light, which still shone red. He and Otto had been stuck in traffic for hours, and this had to be the hundredth light they had been stopped at. Normally, Goblin wouldn’t have been bothered by having to wait in traffic — he could just sleep, or talk to Otto, or give control back to Norman so he could deal with the boredom.

But he had been thirsty earlier and he and Otto had stopped at a gas station. He’d gotten a large drink and had finished it within half an hour.

It didn’t take long for the drink to pass through him. But by that point, they’d already gotten stuck in traffic.

He’d told Otto several times that he needed to use the bathroom, becoming more and more desperate as time went on. Each time he said something, though, Otto simply replied with “I know,” followed by some other phrase like “There’s nothing I can do right now” or “I’m trying to get out of this traffic.” Still, nothing had changed. They were still stuck in traffic. And Goblin needed to pee. Badly.

He glanced down at the empty large drink cup sitting on the floor in front of him, and chastised himself for getting the large size. He squirmed in his seat, trying and failing to find a comfortable position. He’d undone his seatbelt several minutes ago, mentioning that it was putting pressure on his bladder and making him feel worse. Otto had allowed it, since they weren’t moving anyways, and even agreed that it might help.

Goblin looked at Otto. The man was staring straight ahead, and Goblin wondered if he was trying not to look at him.

“Octavius,” he whined. He was about to mention once again that he needed to pee, maybe adding how badly he had to go, but before he could Otto said,

“If you complain one more time I’m going to drop you off on the side of the road and drive away.”

“I’d prefer that actually,” Goblin said. “I’d finally be able to pee and I think it would be funny to watch Norman panic wondering where he was.”

He started to laugh but instantly stopped when he felt his control over his bladder slip. He struggled to regain control and was thankful when he did. Still, he could tell that the slip had let out more than just a little urine. He squirmed again.

“I’m not actually going to do that,” Otto said. “But please stop complaining. You’ve been saying the same thing over and over again for hours and it’s driving me crazy.”

“Well, it’s true,” Goblin replied. “And it keeps getting worse. I don’t know how much longer I can hold it.”

“There’s nothing I can do right now. That isn’t going to change until I can get out of traffic.”

Goblin sighed, leaning his head back against his seat and squeezing his eyes shut.

“There’s a Home Depot near here. Once I can get off of the freeway, I’ll stop there and you can go in and find the bathroom.”

“How long will that take?” Goblin asked.

“I don’t know,” Otto replied in a groan. “It looks like traffic is starting to move though, so it hopefully won’t be that much longer.”

Goblin hoped he was right. He tried to distract himself in trivial ways — counting the number of red cars, singing to himself, counting the number of people who were in the cars around them. It helped enough that time passed a little faster, but it didn’t fully distract him.

As Otto had said, the traffic did start moving eventually. Goblin was relieved when they finally exited the freeway. It didn’t take long to find the Home Depot, and Otto pulled into the parking lot and drove up to the entrance.

“I’ll wait in the parking lot. It shouldn’t be hard to find me.”

Goblin would have laughed if he wasn’t afraid of what would happen if he did. Instead, he nodded and quickly left the car.

He jogged to the entrance, pulling up the hood of the hoodie he was wearing. He always felt more comfortable hiding his face, because he didn’t want to connect himself to Norman. The hood provided enough cover that he wouldn’t easily be recognized, but didn’t cover his face so much that it was suspicious.

He hurried through the sliding doors. The store was huge. Goblin realized he’d never been here before, but he didn’t think much about that fact as he swiftly walked through the store.

There were so many aisles that Goblin quickly got lost. He cursed under his breath when he ended up in the same aisle twice. He hadn’t thought to ask someone where the bathroom was, and he instantly regretted it.

It quickly became clear that there was no way that he was going to make it to the bathroom in time. He would need a miracle to get to the toilet before he lost control. He could already feel his control slipping.

He was sure he was about to pee himself when the miracle he needed appeared. It was a sign hanging above one of the aisles that read “Bathroom.” He couldn’t believe his luck when he looked down the aisle and saw a toilet not that far from him.

“Thank God,” he whispered. He jogged down the aisle, already pulling down the zipper of his pants. He stopped abruptly in front of the toilet, spread his legs a few inches apart, and aimed.

Goblin nearly moaned in relief when he finally let go. He briefly leaned his head back with a sigh, then looked back down at the toilet in front of him.

As he began to think rationally again, he realized that the toilet hadn’t had water inside of it, like toilets usually did. He also noticed that it didn’t appear to be connected to any pipes. It was only then that he realized how weird it was for a store to have a bathroom in the middle of one of its aisles.

He glanced around with his eyes, not wanting to turn his head. People who walked past him gave him judgemental looks, but nobody said anything or tried to stop him.

I don’t think I’m supposed to be pissing in this, he thought. But he ignored the thought. It wasn’t like he could stop and look for the bathroom instead. Not now.

When he had finally finished, he looked around. People still looked at him with weird expressions when they passed him. He looked down at the toilet, now filled with urine. Not knowing how to get rid of it, and definitely not wanting to tell anybody about it, he slowly lowered the lid of the toilet, slid his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie, and walked away.

He walked back to the car and slid into the passenger seat. He closed the door and Otto looked at him.

“Did you make it?” he asked. He looked Goblin up and down and added, “It doesn’t look like you had an accident.”

Goblin cringed at the phrase. Apparently, it was a “better” way of saying someone peed (or pooped) in their pants, and at first, he’d been indifferent towards it. But one day he’d heard a mother ask her child if they’d “had an accident” (which they clearly had) and since then the phrase made him feel like a child.

“I did make it,” he replied without making a comment about the phrase. “But I don’t think I did it right.”

“What do you mean?” Otto asked.

“I found a sign that said ‘Bathroom’ hanging above one of the aisles. I wasn’t thinking clearly — for obvious reasons — so when I saw the toilet I immediately ran to it and…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He knew Otto understood. The man stared at him with a shocked and horrified expression on his face. But the expression only lasted a few seconds before Otto burst out laughing. Goblin was confused.

“Why is that funny?” he asked. It took a few minutes for Otto to regain his composure enough to reply.

“That was a display,” he said, wiping tears out of his eyes. “You’re not supposed to use it. It’s there as a model to show you what kinds of toilets they sell.”

“Oh,” Goblin said. “I thought it was weird to have a bathroom out in public like that.”

Otto laughed again.

“I should be mad,” he said, “But that’s so funny that I can’t be. And I doubt you’re the only person who’s ever done that.”

“When I realized that I shouldn’t have done that, I didn't know what to do, so I just put the lid down and walked away.”

The sentence made Otto laugh harder. Goblin laughed with him.

“Imagine the face of the next person who opens it,” Otto said between bouts of laughter.

They continued to sit in the parking lot until the initial humor of the incident wore off and their laughter finally died down.

“We should go,” Goblin said. “Someone might recognize me.”

“Good idea,” Otto replied. He started the car back up and drove away from the Home Depot.

They both agreed that they’d never speak about what happened, and they’d never go shopping at this store.

#fandomo #fictomo #omo without plot #owp

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clockworkoreganoart · 2 months ago

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Sun In Your Eyes

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Durring lockdown in the fall of 2020, I was a student in Lyon, France. The regional Covid response required residents to stay indoors aside from a 1-hour/day allotment within 1km of their place of residence for the purposes of grocery shopping, medical visits, or walking pets. Needless to say, renting a small room, I got a little bit stir crazy. The benefits of this amounted to spending time challenging myself to work on colored sketches compared to my usual b&w pencil drawings. Evidently I was inspired by the internal longing to be out in the sun compared to stuck inside.

A few journal entries from the year 2020:

(April 27, 2020):

At times I experience moments of clarity, as though I am only just waking up – that all the moments of my life prior were a haze or a dream like trance. That I am now awake and clear. Then those moments pass.

“How do you feel?” (June 2, 2020):

In movies people always share their thoughts and feelings while a person it is meant for is asleep. Don’t do this. You never know. And you never know how badly that person needs to hear it. Your child, your lover, your parents, your friend. Never miss an opportunity to share how proud, valued, talented,… etc. they are and should be known.

(July 11, 2020):

It has occurred to me that “what” is unimportant. What is important is the “how”. I knew the phrase “its not what you say (said) but how you say (said) it” in communication. But just recently I understand that better. It is not what you say but how you say it. It is not what you do but how you do it. It is not what you know but how you use it. We focus too much on the subject. The “what”. Look at grammar. But the other words of ~who, where, when, why, how~ are often more important. I’ve always been a big picture kind of thinker, without minding the details that much. I’m still trying to figure out if the devil of “how” is in the details or if it is a greater version of the big picture. This debate intrigues me greatly.

(September 15, 2020):

It is okay to grieve for something that never happened or was never real. It is okay to feel love lost for a love that was never a real love anyways. It is… maybe in some ways beautiful and okay. Because even if that one wasn’t right, there will be others. And this one, if it serves nothing else at all, serves to show that those certain qualities – the ones that make it hurt so much to let go right now- can exists. In you and in whatever it is. And if they can exist once, they can exist again.

#Art #artist #artwork #home-decor #journal #Painting #poetry

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nerdieforpedro · 1 year ago

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Wash Day

Joel Miller x Layla (plus size OFC)

Fanfiction (all ages)

Masterlist / A03 link / Joel Miller Masterlist / Drops of Sugar Series

Summary: Layla has decided to wash her hair at home today since everyone is out, but she does end up receiving some excellent help.

Warnings: Just fluff and possible badly written southern accent

Notes: I do not look forward to washing my hair but I also don’t feel like paying salon prices. I was very self-indulgent with this. I want Joel Miller to do my hair while he talks to me. 🥰 Like that’s all. Not much. 🤣 I am also convinced that he knows how to care for hair. I saw Sarah's hair. That's all I'mma say. 😏

This is in the same vein as my two part Sugar stories with the same OFC. @legendary-pink-dot gave me a good idea for hair related stories 😝

Sugar part one (I’m your fool Sugar)

Sugar part two (Let me at them Nylons)

Today was a good day for it, Layla decided. It was a Saturday; Joel was working with Tommy on a contracting job that was running into overtime based on their client’s changing tastes. Sarah was out for a good portion for the day due to soccer and then she planned to study at a friend’s house afterward.

The woman stood in front of her mirror and combed out her hair. It wasn’t particularly long, past her shoulders when blown out, but it was extremely thick and sucked up moisture like a sponge, leaving it constantly dry. She removed her night gown and strode into the bathroom and looked to gather her hair products from the little caddy Joel had set up for her. Layla used to keep them under the sink but Joel said he they should be more accessible for her and bought the caddy while he had been out and attempted to organize her hair supplies. She chuckled, reminded of how he always rubs the back of his neck when he isn’t sure about something and she pulled him in for a kiss, reminded yet again at how observant he is.

The water from the shower felt good as she wet her hair and massaged her scalp, repeating the process while shampooing her hair and washing it out after. She let the water flow over her shoulders after applying the conditioner and washing her body. This was the main issue with doing her own hair sometimes, the strain on her shoulders from trying to care for all it, especially the back which she has difficulty reaching. After rising everything off, she stepped out of the shower and towel dried her hair, then wrapped it so the bathroom floor wouldn’t be completely drenched.

The front door closed downstairs; someone had just come home. Maybe Sarah had come early, was the soccer game canceled? She slipped on a simple sleeveless sundress; she didn’t have time for underwear. Heavy steps made their way up the stairs.

No not Sarah.

“Joel, what are you doing home honey?” Layla asked, sitting on the bed, going through her after wash hair supplies box she kept in the closet. Joel stood in the doorway, happy to see her in just a towel on her head. Layla chuckled, “Keep starting Joel. I’m not starting anything while this hair is wet though. I’ll be fit to be tied if it dries and knots up.” The contractor smiled and stood before her and kissed her forehead.

“Wouldn’t dream of it darlin’ looks like I’m rubbing off on ya. Me and my sayin’s.” He grinned. Really, they complemented each other well, Layla had become relaxed her speech some and even picked up a few of Joel’s phrases. Joel had in turn and relaxed slightly, not taking everything so seriously. He looked through her hair box. “Which order you use these in sugar? I can help. Did Sarah’s hair for a bit before Tommy married Maria and Sarah turned her back on her dad.” Layla giggled, Joel would view it that way, she nodded and handed him the detangling spray and a comb.

“I take it you know how to section it out. I have a lot of hair Miller as you well know. I’d like to keep most of it if you don’t mind.” She looked up at him smiling. This was a lot of faith she had in him, she trusted a select few with her hair outside of herself, her hairdresser and her mother, Joel was going to be the fourth if did well. Joel nodded and spayed her hair; he looked in her hair box and found some clips to help divide her hair as he separated it into eight sections. He pointed to the leather chair, and she moved as it was closer to the outlet. Plugging in the hair dryer, he then sprayed the heat protectant on it. Layla sat still she had been anxious but she hadn’t needed to tell him anything, Joel started drying, section by section. The heat and Joel’s large hands running her hair made her sigh. Her feet patted the floor, she was feeling chilled below her shoulders, but it was fine she could deal with a little cold as an exchange for someone else doing her hair.

The Texan smirked as he looked down, more than halfway done with drying, he was also spraying some leave in conditioner after he finished drying. Just on the ends, he knew he would need the grease for her scalp in a bit. After he finished the eight sections, he went over all her hair with the dryer one final time. “Well shit girl, I still got it.” Joel exclaimed, nodding to himself, admiring his work. Layla tipped her chin up to peer at Joel, she laughed.

“I guess you do Joel, but it’s not like you to leave a job unfinished love.” She reached up to grab his hand and pulled it to her lips, kissing the back of it. It smelled like the guava spray he had just used on her hair. “You’re almost done Miller.” Joel leaned down and kissed her cheek.

“S’alright sugar. I got ya.” Joel put down the dryer and reluctantly pulled his hand back. Lalya brought her chin back down and faced forward. The older Miller brother spooned out a handful of a green hair food, commonly called grease. It didn’t feel too dissimilar grease that Joel used on his tools, he rubbed it between his palms and start kneading her scalp, beginning at the back of her head, and working his way up. The sensation made Layla’s toes curl a bit, his strong fingers massaging the warm flesh beneath her hair, his thumbs worked toward the middle of her head while his other fingers spread outward to the fringes near her ears.

“God bless those hands of yours Joel Miller.” The woman moaned, taking hold of the arm rests of the hair and dug her fingers into the chair, her feet arched as she pressed the balls of her feet into the wooden floor. Joel watched as she was relishing the massage. A soft smile came upon his face. Of course, he loved watching as his love appeared to be getting aroused, but more than that, she was sharing more of herself with him. He knew that they came from very different backgrounds, it was moments like this where they bridged their gaps with their shared experiences. His hands worked his way to the top of her head, and he tied her hair in her usual updo as she preferred it off her neck. Joel wiped the excess spray and grease from her shoulders and neck and touched his lips to her neck. He then used the same town to get the grease off his hands.

“Yer all set Layla honey. Ya gonna recommend me?” He asked coyly, she stood and walked over to the mirror, appraising his work though her head felt ten times better than it usually did. Sugar whipped around, making her dress spin with her, and pointed at Joel, curling her finger to tell him to come hither. He put the supplies back in the box and did as she ruffled his curly brown locks, she leaned up to his nose, then his cheek and then his lips, lingering for a minute, Joel wrapped and arm around her wide waist, squeezing her as he did whenever she was near.

“No. Unless it’s Sarah, I don’t want you doing anyone else’s hair. I’m greedy when it comes to you Joel.” Her hand landed on the pocket of shirt, feeling his heartbeat as she laid her cheek on his chest. “Thank you, I’ve never had a man do my hair before. You have any openings in about two, three weeks tops?” She asked playfully looking up at him, her wide smile, made Joel’s frown at her initial no disappear. He tried not to smile as well, but he knew how infectious it was, the crinkles around his eyes gave him away already.

“I reckon I can make it work in two weeks. I’mma need a deposit from ya though Sugar.” His booming laugh filled the empty house with its echo, another ritual began at the Miller home.

Tag List: @fhatbhabie @morallyinept @pedritapascal @pascalsanctuary @nissaimmortal @grogusmum @theywhowriteandknowthings @beefrobeefcal @goodwithcheese @iamasaddie @psychedelic-ink @modernperplexity @pamasaur @pedrodascal @marcus-is-my-muse @clawdee @mintypossum @trulybetty @perotovar @joelslegalwhre @josephquinnswhore @mandoisapunk @awilderi @deviinci @secretelephanttattoo @for-a-longlongtime @tessa-quayle @legendary-pink-dot @sin-djarin @maggiemayhemnj @rhoorl @magpiepillsjunior @intoanotherworld23

#pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #joel miller #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x reader #writing #pedro pascal #pedrostories #joel miller x plus size reader

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selectivechaos · 1 year ago

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Hello again! I have some thoughts on the post where you mentioned how it could be detrimental for people to think of autistic mutism and selective mutism as the same thing. I think that's what you were saying anyway?

This is something that has actually happened to me all my life so I agree that selective mutism and its connection to anxiety is really important. For as long as I can remember, I've had my mutism explained away as me being 'probably autistic' even though I've never actually been diagnosed. And that's never done anything to help me. It's only when the anxiety started taking over the rest of my life that it was recognised as anxiety and then I could actually understand what was happening to me. I just wish I'd been given that information earlier. But on the other hand, I know sometimes autism can be misdiagnosed as anxiety which is unhelpful as well. So really, we all suffer from people confusing the two.

Also, I'm kind of hurt that you seem to think allistic selective mutes don't matter or something? I don't know if I am autistic but my mutism is still disabling.

-🌵

hey 🌵anon! yeah your experiences are similar to mine in relation to people assuming i’m probably autistic. and i don’t know if i’m autistic or not because things are complicated and am trans in the uk.

i definitely do think allistic selective mutes matter. but did phrase it badly. i said something like “and i know it’s like, why should we care about them?”

so when i was saying this in the reblog i was trying to make it clear that by me pointing out that allistic selective mutes exist, i wasn’t trying to argue that the term should be absolutely gatekept from autistic people; it shouldn’t be seen as an allistic term or something only allistics have. because many times people say you can’t have both, which is bullshit.

i feel like there’s on the one hand people who reduce sm to an ‘autistic trait’. and on the other hand people who believe you can’t have sm and autism.

this stuff confuses me and i didn’t mean to disregard allistic selectively mute folk.

sm can be really disabling and i hope all selective mutes have a good day. you’re all really strong and wonderful. 🌹🌹

#sm tag #anon ask #🌵 anon #selective mutism #situational mutism

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onlyswan · 1 year ago

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Hiii Art!! How have you been and how's your work/studies whatever it is that you do. Good? Eh? Well mine's kinda on a dry and wet mode rn lol.

Mind if I rant here?

I have 2wk worth of exams coming up and I have no motivation to study. I honestly regret taking up the course im studying for. I mainly took it up because its lucrative and helpful in today's economy. But honestly I should have just pursued 14yo Lyfie's dream to become a nurse. It wouldve been so much more rewarding🥲🥲🥲.

Anyways despite that im just praying my gpa doesnt go down the drain, and im gulity right now because i wasted the whole day doing nothimg even though i told myself to go study. I couldnt do it. I just......well i knew what i was doing was bad but everytime i looked at my notes i felt as if i knew them all, and in the end achieved nothing. Sigh i hate myself for how repetitve this unhealthy cycle has become. Parental pressure isnt helping either. I try ranting and they say its just momentary tiredness and it would go away soon and then further guilt me into wasting time :((((.

Wow that became long. Im so sorry for litterally trauma dumping on you, especially if tou had a long day. It would be the last thing you'd wanna worry about 😂😂😂

Anyways i wanted to ask you about your writing, both as a fellow fic author and as loyal reader of yours. What inspires you to write?

(I.e set time aside to write your fics and even feel motivated to open up that document? I have so many plot bunnies, headcanons and fic ideas, but no matter how enticing, everytime i try opening up my google docs, that burst of excited energy saps away. Urgh its so frustrating!!😠)

And for your fics, we had possible teases of engagement btwn jk and oc and even f2l hopelessly pining jk and oc. So i was wondering will we ever get a confession scene 👀👀👀?

I rmbr when jk ssid somewhr in an interview where he would love to lift his partner up and kiss them and my mind went str to the in which couple lol knowing your writing and since its jk its gonna be so cute cheesy and gonna involve tears 😇.

Funny enough i also know that both oc and jk are heavy on respecting e/o be it space or privacy, and when i heard Twice MISAMO's Do Not Touch song which was about consent and it was potryaed beautifully compared to art masterpeices, it got me thinking about their initial stages of skin ship or how they got comfortable around e/o physically or even their first time. Idk im just so invested in this universe lol 😭😂

Hmmm, but thats it for now. I'll reach out to you soon!!! :D

-Lyf

hiii lyf <3 work is draining and some customers are rude but my co-workers are fun to be with so it’s alright 🥲 uni also started this week and it’s nerve wracking but also soooo exciting !! i’m just gonna need some time to adjust to this new life + schedule 😬

i’m so sorry to hear that beloved :( i’m sure with the given the circumstances that you chose what you thought would be best for you at that time and i think it’s important that you recognize that too !! 🫂 and yesyes studying is so freaking difficult especially when you don’t feel motivated >:( for me personally time management has been pretty helpful. i love schedules ^^ sometimes i do house chores first to get my brain into work mode too and i give myself little rewards during break times (which are sooo important) or after studying hehe like snacks or screen time !! please look after yourself and your health. 🥺

dw i’m mostly fine with you guys ranting about stuff like school !! because same !! but i’m just putting it out there that when it’s abt triggering stuff i have to restrain myself 🥲 i don’t reply to those because it really affects me badly mentally too :(

hmmm when it comes to inspiration to write 🤔 like i said i do love schedules hehe i open a draft every night before bed + in my notes i also save words/phrases/scenarios that pop in my mind throughout the day but couldn’t write yet :D but i don’t really get to write everyday bcs i’m too tired or nothing just comes out. sometimes i only write one sentence or one paragraph then pass out lol. on a good day i finish one scene and maybe start writing the next too !! a jungkook weverse live will always 100% give me a big rush of motivation tho 🤭

and i doooo want to explore the earlier stages of oc and jungkook’s relationship 🥹🥹🥹 i have many many plans !! but i just want them to be perfect so it might take me a while </3 this is still a long journey if y’all are up for it hehe thank you so much for being invested in our little iw universe !! �� it truly means the world to me that i get to enjoy my passion like this :") ilysm lyf 🫂

#omg yes i think about that interview all the timehdkdjkf like he is such a romantic!!! i get so giddy when i remember 😭#art’s post office ☁️#lyf <3

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sarah-dipitous · 1 year ago

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Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 198

Sharp Teeth/Hide

“Sharp Teeth”

Plot Description: Garth is in the hospital after mutilating a cow and being hit by a car, but Garth runs away — with a dark secret in tow

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: look, if Garth is barely surviving running through the woods, getting shot at, and hit by a car…I don’t know if I have it in me

I forgot that they split up…

Sam…don’t. slap. Garth.

He was HANDCUFFED TO THE BED. HOW DID HE GET UP??

What is this episode??? Garth ran away, stripped down naked, and stole a car. What were you doinggggg???

Dean…why are you lying to Sam again???? You have photos of Garth (not naked…but just boxers. Wouldn’t have taken him for a boxers guy) oof. That’s probably the quickest one of their lies has been found out

Omgggg, Deeeeean stop with this whole “we can’t hunt together because I’m poison” thing. I hope to for that this doesn’t last too much longer

Excuse me?? Does….Garth’s a werewolf now?? And he has a werewolf girlfriend??

MARRIED?!?! He met this girl just after becoming a werewolf and within two months MARRIED HER? They’re…kind of grossly cute together

This is the least cool werewolf pack I’ve ever seen. No one’s even asking anyone where they’ve been, loca

Aww, they cooked the food for Dean. That’s nice

Noooooo, Garrrrrrth. I know you couldn’t know but…don’t bring up Kevinnnn, not to Dean

Wait…the cop is a werewolf TOO?? Uh oh…he’s part of the pack (or was….before Dean threw a silver knife into his chest)

I’m guessing there’s something fishy with Garth’s wife’s stepmother…I think she’s behind the whole dark underbelly of keeping the image of the pack squeaky clean (because this is supernatural and it’s pretty misogynistic)

Oh this is interesting…it’s not a pack, it’s a CULT trying to bring about Ragnarok and also eradicating human beings (whether feeding on or turning them)

Yeah. I knew it wasn’t the reverend who took over this weird group, he was bitten…it has to be his fourth generation werewolf wife whose father was the old reverend

Yeah, this was very predictable. Didn’t know she had a brother who was killed by hunters, but that would make the more recent interest in werewolf dominance more understandable

She really had to get her villain monologue out, ruining any chance she had at pulling off her scheme

Yes, Garth, don’t let Dean think he’s the only one who let Kevin down!! Take some of that weight off his shoulders

I do wish we had gotten just A Kevin and Garth episode (or a Kevin, Mrs Tran, and Garth episode, really)…Garth called Kevin his friend

Please stop pretending that you don’t miss each other.

Dean…I know that’s basically your catch phrase “we’re family” but like…you’ve now betrayed Sam’s trust…probably as badly as he did yours back in season 4

YES, Sam, set that boundary!

“Hide”

Plot Description: something haunts Caliburn House and the Doctor finds himself part of the ghost hunt

It took me just the tiniest bit too long to get the “I’m the doctor” “Doctor what” “if you like” joke

It’s kind of fun that he came here INTENTIONALLY to ghost hunt

Is this just an episode to parallel this ghost hunter dude and his assistant with the Doctor and Clara? Both pairs are flirting so awkwardly, it’s nauseating

I would like to carry a candelabra through an old mansion just ONCE…but no ghosts (my phone tried to autocorrect that to ‘no gojo’ or ‘no ghostfacers’. Brilliant)

You know, just as I was about to say that I was bored, things got interesting, and we’re REALLY digging into these other characters AND the ghost

Omgggg. I hate this. The girls are strictly talking romance while the guys are talking about war and death and guilt….

Oh, Clara. But like….I get where you’re coming from. It IS overwhelming to be able to see the whole life of Earth from the same spot in snippets. Yes, the TARDIS is amazing but…it has the potential to be such an easy way out, such a shortcut for the Doctor instead of taking time. He LITERALLY just takes and takes and takes time, and it feels like he doesn’t care

Well, that certainly isn’t terrifying. You don’t KNOW? You know the ghost you’ve been hunting is actually a time traveler stuck in a pocket dimension but you don’t know the thing she’s running from??

Sure. We’re just going to pop into pocket universes like it’s nothing, now…

I miss when this show was low budget :/

Oh no… he’s stuck there…

My bet’s on the thing being sympathetic. It’s HIDING from the Doctor

Another Clara?? Oh the TARDIS interface thingy. Man, the TARDIS REALLY hates Clara

Please don’t tell me he leaves and Clara gets stuck instead. You can’t do this twice

K. NOT sympathetic, just playing with him

This mansion and its grounds are gorgeous in the daylight

Oh, the monster IS sympathetic I guess?? It was looking for it’s lost love

This episode was really…….weird, and not in the normal cool way

#hellsite nostalgia tour 2023

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truckreincarnation · 1 year ago

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An Unexpected Feeling || Chapter 3 Motive

You lean against the pier’s railing, gazing out at the beautiful sunset before you. The sky is a deep orange, and the ocean waves beneath you glitter like countless precious gems. In all your life, you’ve never seen anything so breathtaking. You wish you had your sketchbook and markers with you to try and capture the sight, but those are back at the hotel.

“I never get tired of this view,” says the person standing beside you. “Glad I was finally able to show it to you.”

The voice belongs to your best friend, Joules, without whom you never would’ve made the long journey from Bend to Santa Monica. They glance at you and smile, the sunlight reflecting off their cat eye glasses.

“Took you long enough,” you reply, a wry smirk creeping onto your face. “It was almost worth the 13 hour drive it took to get here.” “Almost?” She repeats skeptically, her eyebrows raised. “Come on, Harriet. Don’t pretend you haven’t been having a great time.”

You playfully stick your tongue out. “Fine, I admit it. Today’s been an awesome day.” More than that, it’s been one of the most fun days of your life. You spent the whole time exploring Santa Monica with them as they showed you around the city they grew up in. They introduced you to some childhood friends, took you to their favorite restaurant, and brought you to a local comic shop (where you spent more money than you intended). This visit to the pier serves as the perfect capstone to the day’s adventure.

Joules chuckles. “See? Being honest isn’t that hard.” That gets you to roll your eyes, but you’re not sure if they notice. “Today’s been really special,” they murmur wistfully, and you nod in agreement.

A comfortable silence falls over the two of you as you listen to the gentle sound of the waves, intermingled with the laughter and screams emanating from Pacific Park behind you. You look towards Joules, at the way they seem to be glowing in the soft orange light of the sunset, and…

And you realize that when you’re with Joules, you feel safe. Safe in a way that you can’t remember ever feeling in your life. You’ve gotten so used to the feeling of distrust, of danger around every corner, that it took you until now to realize what safety feels like. You know that Joules will never hurt you, that you can rely on him to be there for you when you’re in pain, that his presence will always be able to make you feel less afraid.

For some reason, your heart begins to beat faster, and your cheeks grow warm. Your eyes flit down to Joules’s hand resting on the pier’s railing. You’ve never held anyone’s hand in a long time, not since you were a very small child. But right now, you want nothing more than to reach out and take hold of his, to squeeze it tightly and never even consider letting go.

This feeling… it has a name, doesn’t it?

“You okay, Harriet?” Joules’s voice snaps you out of your reverie, and you reflexively stand up straighter and shove your shaking hands into your pockets. Deep in your chest you can feel your heart pounding, and a short, three word phrase pops into your mind. You want to say it. You want to say it so, so badly. You’ve never wanted anything more in your life.

But you can’t. Because as much as you trust Joules, as safe as they make you feel, the risk is just too great.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you mumble, hoping that he won’t be able to notice the slight tremble in your voice. “Just a little tired is all.”

“Wanna call it a day, then? We can head back to the hotel and chill for the rest of the evening.”

“Works for me.” You turn away from the railing, towards the bright lights of the pier’s amusement park. “Could we grab something to eat on the way back? I’m getting kinda hungry.”

“Of course,” Joules says, flashing that unforgettable smile once again. “There’s this awesome taco place you just gotta try.”

As you both begin the walk back to Joules’s car, you hesitate. You glance back at the sunset, at the railing where the two of you stood together, and you quietly wish you had been able to say those three words.

There will be other chances. Someday, when you’re ready, you’ll be able to say it out loud. But until that day comes, you’ll hold tightly onto this feeling and never let it go.

#ch3 #motive #vision #harriet

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thearchivistsjournal · 2 years ago

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Day 335,

No Catacomb nightmare, but last night was still unsettling. Mists are out in full today, so I’ll probably get one tonight.

Backing up a little bit, it’s not so much that last night was unsettling in and of itself as the implications when I woke up this morning. The truth is, my memory of last night is uncomfortably fuzzy, and I’m mostly going by what Maiko told me.

After watching from the window long enough to be reasonably certain that there weren’t going to be any shades out and about tonight I managed to talk Maiko into watching the eclipse with me from out on the porch. At first, it was just as neat as I’d anticipated, watching the nearly-full moon rapidly pass through its phases toward new over the course of an hour or two. There was something subtly different about the shape of the shadow as compared to regular moon phases though. More apparent that it was being caused by something moving in front of it. Or maybe it just felt that way because it happened over a short period of time.

The reddish tint to the shadowed portion didn’t become apparent until the brighter light had been reduced to a sliver around the edge. Upon reaching that state of uneven gradient lighting, it seemed more obvious to me than normal that the moon was in fact a sphere. The image of it as a great eyeball, with the darkest portions as the pupil and iris and the light limned edge arc as the sclera. Although if it was an eye, its gaze was focused on some other, more interesting portion of the cosmos, paying no attention to our small lives on the ground.

When Maiko had mentioned the moon turning red earlier in the day, the phrase “blood moon” had come to mind, but if that description was accurate at all it was only because old, dried blood takes on a similar rusty hue. If I’m being honest, I was a little disappointed it wasn’t a brighter red. Maiko expressed a similar dissatisfaction, sharing how the first time she ever saw this happen her mother had tried to comfort her by saying how the moon was going to turn red like them, but it really wasn’t the same shade at all. The discrepancy had just made it creepier for her.

Not long after that discussion is where my memory of the rest of the night gradually starts to get less coherent. At some point Maiko asked what it was I was humming and tapping out on the porch railing. I hadn’t realized I was doing that, but she said I’d been at it for a while. It was the hunting rhythm, of course. At the time, while mildly surprised I felt curious, perhaps bemused, rather than alarmed. Looking back now, I find that alarming.

It was sometime after the eclipse reached its totality that the nature sprite appeared. Or perhaps it appeared sooner and that’s just when Maiko noticed it. I was still looking up at the moon when her sharp whisper drew my gaze downward to where the nature sprite was standing out in the middle of the mist-blanketed yard with its back to us and arms held up to the sky.

Some still-lucid part of me was surprised that Maiko could see it.

The last thing I can clearly remember from the night was thinking that I was going to show that thing how it feels.

What “it” I was referring to, I’m not entirely sure now. When I try to recall the rest of the night all that comes to mind are vague sensations. Hunger. Aggression. Thrill. Glee. Satisfaction.

Maiko tells me that I stared at the sprite, clicking my teeth together in time to the rhythm before telling her to “pull me out if this goes badly” and stepping off the porch. She says I walked over to the nature sprite, reached up, grabbed one of its branching antlers, turned it to face me, and began shouting at it. Or maybe singing? No words, just vocalizations to that rhythm.

In return, the nature sprite turned the rest of the way around, grabbed both of my wrists and lifted me into the air until my feet were above the low-lying mists. According to Maiko I started “singing” louder and kicked it until it dropped me. My sore wrists and bruised toes attest to the accuracy of this report. After dropping me the nature sprite threw something shiny in the direction of the house, disappearing into the mist not far from the porch stairs. We’re pretty sure it was the bracelet, but with today’s real mist we’ve not yet gone out to look for it.

Maiko saw the nature sprite lean down with a hand extended to where I had fallen and then saw my own hand reach up out of the mist to slap it away before the rest of my body pulled itself up. What followed reminded her of the times she’d seen me dancing in the rain and the storm. I no longer vocalized so much, but my movements still seemed in time with that rhythm and more coordinated than I usually seemed capable of. The nature sprite seemed inclined to dance to a different, more chaotic tune. A tune whose basest underlying structure seemed faintly mirrored in the cacophony of almost-animal, almost-human noises that began to arise from the surrounding trees. And with that noise, glowing eyes began to appear in the dark.

Maiko tells me at that point she started to move to come get me but I saw her and shook my head. There was a long pause when she got to this portion of filling me in. Supposedly, I’d smiled at her in a way that unsettled her more than the rust red moon or the noises of the sprites.

I apologized for that, even if I can’t remember.

She said I wasn’t myself.

As my dance with the nature sprite went on, one of us would periodically grasp the other and attempt to take the lead. Not that I ever had the strength to break free of its grip when I struggled, nor to force it to follow me the times that I lunged to grab it in a motion that was less like taking its hand and more like pouncing on or tackling it. But, as the dance wore on the nature sprite seemed more hesitant to reach out; seemed to nearly flinch when I made sudden motions toward it. Maiko says at one point she thinks I actually bit it.

Any time the other watchers got too loud, the nature sprite would start screeching and I would return to my shouted vocalizations until they backed down.

This all went on until all songs were interrupted by the sound of moving trees behind the house. Maiko says that in the sudden silence that followed the pairs of glowing eyes in the trees went out one by one. And then the nature sprite disappeared into leaves on the wind, leaving me gazing up at the moon with arms upraised. Holding her breath and resisting the urge to look up and behind the house, Maiko watched until the first arcing sliver of white light returned to the moon and the sound of moving trees behind the house resumed then faded.

Maiko tells me that when she reached me I was lying on the ground once more, obscured by the mist. My eyes were still open with a relaxed grin on my face and I was softly muttering some nonsense she can’t recall. She carried me into the house, locked the door behind us, and got me into bed with the blanket over me.

She didn’t say it, but I’m pretty sure she stayed up most of the rest of the night watching over me. Or maybe just watching me.

I apologized again for putting her through that.

She said I wasn’t myself.

When I woke up this morning I was aching all over and my arms were covered in light scratches. My throat is sore in a similar way to the mornings after the nightmares where I woke people up screaming. Even if I can’t remember it, my body certainly feels like it went through what Maiko described.

There’s too much to all that for me to unpack and speculate on right now. I’ve been spending most of my time today trying to cast out or bury the echoes of that rhythm with other songs and tales. As much as I’d considered it as a potential anchor to use with the Catacomb Depths, last night has me more reluctant than ever to treat it as anything other than a last resort. I’m afraid I’d be trading one sort of losing myself for another.

I need to talk to Pat about this the next time I see him.

Or maybe the time after next, given that tomorrow is Maiko’s day.

<==Previous Next==>

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talenlee · 2 years ago

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Speed of Thought

New Post has been published on PRESS.exe: Speed of Thought

There is a fundamental unfairness to the speed with which I create words and the speed with which you, probably consume them.

these pictures added time

You may be a slow reader, a deliberate reader, or even a widely distracted reader, someone with one of the many focus challenges that I and my cohort are often afflicted (though I do think in the case of myself whatever is wrong with my brain is a byproduct of behaviours inflicted, not something wrong with the wiring at a base level and yes I recognise that even in saying that I am somehow trying to absolve myself from talking to a doctor and getting diagnosed or maybe even medicated in a way that will help me and make my life better but what’s a better time to stop a habit of a life time) and that means that while you may find it very challenging to say, read a thousand words, you’re much more likely to simply not read them than you are to struggle through them over the course of a day. If you are inclined to read long form articles like this one (how long is it? I don’t know yet, I’m not done) then you probably read at a pretty typical speed which

new tab let’s check the numbers not just going off memory

okay so first link I hit says it’s about 200-250 words a minute, sure that’s fine let’s treat that like that’s true. That means a thousand word article is going to take something between four and five minutes to read through and that article, assuming it has images, references and citations and any modicum of research did not take four minutes to write through. Some articles take literally days of broken-up effort, revision upon revision to make sure I’m not misrepresenting an idea or a making a point badly, or really, to just come back to find what it is was I thought was fun about approaching this idea in the first place.

at the time of getting the pics, it was an extra 4 minutes

You notice the breathless pace here? Yeah, I’m writing this as a stream of consciousness. Trying to use the backspace key as little as possible and trying to keep my fingers going which means that I am not doing much to keep the thoughts in my head, stewing around in a little cage to make sure only the good ones get out. I haven’t degenerated to the point where I’m having to make sure I’m not just repeating some pat phrase like I know my brain resorts to at some point – for the longest time as a little kid, I knew that if left to my own devices I would start talking about the DOOM rocket launcher, though not in any meaningful way. I’d just start saying ‘rocket launcher,’ as if I was introducing the concept to a newsreader, realise I’d just done that very weird behaviour aloud, hope I hadn’t done it around anyone who could recognise me or hear me, and then move on with my life.

Anyway, the point is this is me trying to speedrun a thousand words. Checks word count oh hey it’s 534 words at this point, that’s not a great sign, but also doing a bit better than I thought I would be.

Writing a thousand words as quickly as possible, while still trying to hold onto some coherent expression (and honestly betray the mindset of the person who’s engaging in the practice) is a challenge that serves no purpose and yields no reward but does serve, to me to make it very clear exactly the differential between the speed of reading versus the speed of writing. I don’t think it’s unfair to say that, at this point, I do not predict this will be a good article, nor even a particularly clever one, if only because you didn’t need to see the divergence into how I would occasionally start conversations with the air like I was being interviewed on the television by Kermit the Frog, intrepid reporter, and yes, hi, Corey, I know the jpg you’re about to send me.

What it does do however, is make me think about scale.

Because yes, I cannot write a thousand words as quickly as you can read a thousand words (at least, if you’re reading like a book; in a conversation you may not realise how many words fly past you very quickly, and listening to a thousand words on an audiobook has a much more stable meter, for a variety of reasons including best practices and accessibility). But when I write a thousand words down, and you take four minutes reading it, that time differential is pretty bad, for my effort vs your enjoyment. But if it took me forty minutes to write and it takes you four minutes to read and there are nine of you then well boy howdy – I’ve broken even.

this brings is up to 22 minutes

And what if we scale it up?

What if instead of me writing a thousand words in forty minutes, I spend weeks and months honing my craft to excecute a forty minute performance. Not the writing, now, no; because as you know, tomorrow is the start of another Games Done Quick Marathon, in which this question in my mind of speed lurks large.

I thought to myself, what could I write about, during GDQ, that would fit the theme of GDQ, since we’re talking about speedrunning already in all the socials? What would that look like? What kind of things are going to unfold from just that starting point of how fast can bleep bloop bloop bleepily?

This is one of the answers.

That creating things often involves putting in work that is rendered invisible and sometimes dissolved by the experiencing of it. And that that’s okay. And that all of this, in a way, is a performance; that my words are inert, until animated by your mind and the reading, just as the speedrun is an invisible form of play, animated by the player who seeks it. Foucault said something about speedrunning, kinda.

This is a thousand and nineteen words. It took ten minutes.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

#GDQ2023

#GDQ 2023

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argumentativewarthog · 2 years ago

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December 2016 (2)

If I die... it’s because there was nothing left. Matter-of-factly, I’m sad about a lot of things, but this is no desperate in-the-moment attempt. Sleeping forever has been on my mind consistently for... 7-8 years. Little thoughts throughout the day, every day. And I’ve exhausted every attempt at being happy. Every last one, I promise.

I’m sorry to the friends and family I hurt by this. I can’t be sorry enough. But I can’t live for other people who don’t give me what I need in return. You can’t give me those good morning texts or those comforting words when I’m crying at 4, 5, 6 a.m. You can’t give me the feeling of being loved unconditionally. I wish you could. But every time I try for it, let my guard down, accept the love of someone, it leaves. It’s time to leave that pattern for good.

I had so many words to say and it felt like I was never being listened to. I wanted everyone to love me. But I will never be that girl at summer camp who sings on the top bunk and people fawn over her. I’ll never, ever be anyone people wish to be. No one will keep up with my life in the ways I’ve kept up with theirs. I’m an outsider to everyone -- I’m the weirdo.

And the worst part is that I found a fellow weirdo. Someone who affirmed and validated everything about me in ways no one else in my life could. And he’s gone now. The first and last person in my life I’ll meet who understood me perfectly, in every way. I don’t believe I’ll ever find that kind of bliss again; I truly don’t. I want it too badly to ever find it again.

I’m sick and tired of always being the odd one out. Forgotten about, never loved or cared for in the ways I would like the most. Most of my life, I’ve craved a kind of attention I’ll never get. Ever. Every hope of getting it again is gone. I can’t go on for another six months feeling this lost and directionless. Every day there are a few hours of distraction, but then... more darkness. It’s been the only constant, and it’s all I remember.

I fucking hate everything that’s happened to me. It’s only been loss and embarrassment and shame and secrets and lies and guilt and playing nice because I’m the good girl. It’s not me at all. I want to leave this place, and this is the only way I know how. I’ll never make anything that people will love. I’m not pretty enough to be remembered. A relationship -- that one source of love -- kept me alive, and the only one I ever truly cared about is gone. I’m through. There’s nothing left.

I won’t apologize.

I haven’t wanted to be awake for months now. No day is a good day. Always reminded of what I could have; jealous of you, Z. People will lvoe you. Me, they forget.

I want to set myself on fire. Stop sitting on my hands so I can yank the steering wheel and careen off the road.

...

I’m a pansy. I can’t even go through with this. Can’t even cry. I want to throw up, it hurts so bad that I can’t express it.

I only stuck around this long because I had more to say. I kept throwing out that fishing line, hoping someone would take the bait and love me forever. But nothing doing.

No one ever loved me enough. That went out the window with “you’re an alien.” It died the last time you squinted at my eyebrows. I hid everything from you both because there was nothing left that I could do to repair our relationship.

No one knows or cares about my story. That much is clear. Sure, they feign interest, but it’s not real. There’s a limit. It ends with “hang in there” or “those generic phrases you use to get people to stop talking to you.

This is the closest I’ll come to killing myself. I’m sad because it’s not more extravagant. Of course I’ll survive and keep living one miserable day after the other. A sad life lived for no one but me, and I’m trapped here. Fucking trapped.

Even if I keep on living... 7-8 years of not wanting to be alive doesn’t make the rest of it worth it. That’s too many years spent ugly inside my head. Too much horror to ever be normal again. No one will love me now. It’s too late; the cycle has reached its limit and has tripped into unlovable.

If I act normal -- if I do what I’m supposed to do, what you tell me to do -- then I’m fucking pitiful. If I act out like this, I’m at least owning the misery. But I don’t need to justify myself to you. You don’t know what you do, and it’s killing me. You don’t change but expect me to.

Let me freeze to death out here. I’ll shit and piss myself after death and someone will notice me before I can rot too much. Tell everyone. But even a day after my death, people will stop remembering. I’m not worth anything at all. Nothing. Ugly girl who people forgot is in the room; forgot exists.

Play “Glass Eyes” at my funeral.

...

I’m not getting better. The candle is coming to an end now; I’ve burnt it for too long. There is no bottom. It’s this forever. Nicotine setting in and I can’t write. This is the end. But it isn’t enough.

If I stop doing this, doing the drugs, then I’ve given up. And I can’t do that. Giving up is worse than death. It means I’ll be on my deathbed at 60, 65, 70, 75, 80 and will look back and think nothing was worth it. At all. At least this way I’m feeling.

Stuck. And ugly in every way. Not in a position to ever get love. And I’ll tell people about this and then everything will change, just like in September. But change is all I have.

One fucking cigarette. And no tears still.

Despair isn’t tears.

There we go.

#not as old #the dark times

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wynterlanding · 1 year ago

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“I can honestly say I’ve never been to London.” Casual to admit but there is something underlying on his breath. An edge of innuendo even he wasn’t fully aware of. It slipped out so easily he could feel this spark igniting harder. Brighter and tighter around his heart; chest filled with an immeasurable ache. It’s not painful. Clearly there’s a floating sensation. Butterflies are an odd phrase always has been but Landon could say it’s close to what he’s feeling. Except it is all consuming sinking into his soul. “Believe it or not I was born here in New York.” Long ago directly before the second war ended. A fact he keeps to himself for obvious reasons. “I’ve been other places. For a while I was down in Louisiana. Some years back. Trying to help a friend and –” First caught in the wiles of a witch who did him wrong in every way possible. Old memories he wants nothing to do with.

Landon wiped it from mind. He can easy with Alice in front of him. Funny how all those past problems melt. When he looks at her it’s as if none of them every existed. Is he going too far too soon? Or is this unmistakable? How can’t he get this girl off his mind? Would it be insane to pursue knowing he can’t have her? She’s with a boyfriend who treats her badly. He just knows. All it took is one encounter.

“Well let’s say this city always calls me back. Been here ever since.” Years have gone by but he still never found what he was really looking for. That song is an appropriate soundtrack to his life. Strolling downtown with Alice Lee though? Magic doesn’t have to be done by witches. Magic exists in the moments spent with a person who is creeping into his subconscious. “Family is a bit old. I don’t really make a habit of boasting or anything. It’s just a fact.” Old family roots with money could be interpreted from his words but Landon means old in a sense he can’t quite explain. They’re rooted here. He’s rooted here as a leader to world she has no clue exists. At least for his people in his clan anyway. “Right now I’m a bit of the ‘head’ of it.” He almost let slip patriarch but he is the sole male heir these days. Another reason why he has to be careful lest he allow vampires to hurt the rest. @xwildheart // prev

#keep the streets empty! werewolf #xwildheart #if the heavens ever did speak shes the last true mouth piece! landon x alice ! au #wings & wolves! celestials of the moon #wings & wolves! part 1

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nnight-dances · 2 years ago

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SOME GUY!

pairings: mark lee x f!reader genre: fluff, angst, heated moments tropes: close friends to lovers?, mark avoids u because he's stupid, taeyong as your perfect ex who's still in love w u, u kiss mark's face to shut him up. warnings: mint ice-cream slander, mark is some guy, skinship, college frat party, not proofread.

author's note: haha guess who's in their mark phase hhhhh... sorry he's just such an interesting guy i could write him all day long. either way!!! more mark appreciation, less depression <3

—

at the end of the day, mark really was just some guy.

that’s what he thought to himself everytime he sat down to really consider the reality of all things. he doesn’t mean to get all self-deprecating and emo like that, but it was just a neutral truth thing that kinda hurts the first time you realize it but then it’s just the obvious thing in your daily life. but of course, if he ever did tell someone that he always felt like some guy among a bunch of cool guys, regardless of their gender, he would have to sit through one of those ultimately useless and pitiful speeches about how talented he really was.

— “you know what? you’re right!”

mark’s thoughts zap off their route when he hears you agree with his remark a few seconds ago. honestly, he hadn’t been completely sure if you’d heard him because of the lack of reaction you’d given him. but when you suddenly chuckle and agree with him, mark chokes over the stream of dr pepper in his throat.

he coughs desperately, “wait, what?”

your smile widens, “you’re just some guy. that’s like the perfect description of you.”

under normal circumstances, mark thinnks he would’ve been offended by how certain you sound. but the way you say it? it’s not like you’re trying to be mean or condescending… more like you’re just saying the truth. the neutral truth thing…

“i can’t believe you,” mark mutters, face splitting in a laugh, “i can’t believe you’re agreeing with me!” you look slightly confused but continue, “don’t tell me you’re hurt? you were the one who brought it up!”

mark shakes his head, controlling his laughter, still slightly losing his mind. “you’re really something, bro. i just didn’t expect you to actually be honest.” he laughs again, taking a sip of his drink again, becoming aware that he was being too loud for a bookstore. thankfully though, on a brief glance around, nobody seemed to care.

you fiddle with the zipper of your pencil pouch in thought. then, a shrug as you look back at mark, “hmm, isn’t that funny. i’m some thing, you’re some guy.”

mark falls into another fit of laughter before he knows it, disbelieving more than anything over your badly disguised shamelessness. you hold in a laugh as you land the last punch to his gut, “the perfect pair, isn’t it?” — the punch that sends him right into an oblivion of a world where nothing except you makes sense.

(ok perhaps, mark was being a tad dramatic. you know what he means though: he’s smitten.)

—

if someone were to kidnap you for the purposes of interrogating your honesty behind your claims that you thought mark was some guy, you’d probably get shot in the head instead, because there was no way you were letting anyone in on the information that you did not actually consider mark some guy.

maybe, a little, yes, but at this point, the phrase ‘some guy’ needs some more definiton. some guy as in boring and bland and dry and overdone? absolutely not. if that was what mark was, you wouldn’t have been committing every last one of your wednesday evenings, aka the only free evenings you ever get, to sitting in a crowded bookstore to pretend to do homework with him. you never did homework with mark around.

mark was the kind of some guy that was just being himself. yeah, that’s all you got. mark was mark. good explanation.

“bro? y/n, you good?”

you blink, finding mark swaying in front of you. you were currently sat on a bench near the building where your next class was.

“uhh, sorry,” you take off your headphones to look up at mark, “what are you doing on this part of campus?”

mark shrugs with a playful smile, “why can’t i be here?”

“because you literally don’t take any classes in the econ department?”

he shrugs again, “what if i’ve changed my ways? we’re still young and free, y/n, think a little outside the box, won’t you?”

“you’re taking econ? how- how did you-?”

“oh, look at that,” mark cuts you off, holding up his phone in front of your face. the time reads 11:05 am. “it’s time for our class. let’s go.” you’re busy processing his words (our class???) when he pulls you by the arm and toward the hall behind you.

and that’s the story of how you go from knowing absolutely nobody in your econ class, to sitting next mark in the extremely damp and cramped chairs of your econ class which means your arm is constantly touching his which you, for some reason, don’t hate. probably because the chilly fall wind coming through the window next to mark always makes you glad for the warmth.

mark, on the other hand, smiles a small smile whenever you shuffle closer because even though, the guy (doyoung is his name?) in front of him is always asking him to close the window, he would rather not.

—

“you’re kidding? ice-cream? in this fucking weather?” you question mark, coughing a fake cough to make your point.

“what are you, a coward?”

when you give mark an unimpressed look, he breaks a laugh, grabbing hold of you by your elbow. cheekily, he says, “please. for me?”

you frown, feeling your resolve crumble under his stupid gaze, “i hate you,” you say but let mark pull you after him into the tiny corner shop.

the two of you huddle over the menu of the ice-cream shop, and you exclaim quietly, “oh! i’ve been wanting to try their raspberry choco flavor for a while!” mark looks between you and menu, “ah, really? that sounds kinda good.”

then, he shifts to look at the girl behind the counter, “uhh, we’ll have one mint chocolate and one raspberry choco, please.” you gasp at mark’s choice, “m-mint chocolate?! mark. i think i might break up with you.”

mark is too busy reddening at your joke that hits too close to home to notice the worker chuckling at you. she processes your orders and mark has time to recover.

when he looks back at you, you’re still grimacing. “i didn’t think you could get any worse.”

“are you sure you should be saying that to someone who’s treating you to icecream?”

“huh?” your eyes widen and then you smile, “ahhh, i see. i wasn’t aware you were bribing me into have a favorable opinion of you.” before mark can retort though, you continue with a smirk, “i’m not complaining though.”

your smirk both flusters and scares mark because it’s evidence you’re upto no good in your head but before he can air his suspicion, you’re reaching out for the two cones of icecream that the girl is handing out.

“you guys are really cute together,” the worker remarks shyly, giving you a thumbs up of approval.

mark chokes on the first bite of his mint choco icecream. you look at mark and he expects you to shut down the worker swiftly, but then you reach for his hand, pulling him closer with a bashful smile and say, “thanks, that’s really sweet of you.”

“uh-?” you cut mark’s question off by pulling him out of the store after you.

when you’re outside, you burst into laughter at the perplexed look on mark’s look, looking absolutely adorable next to his already melting green blob of an abomination.

—

the next morning, mark is still suffering through it, unable to come to terms with your actions yesterday. they were honestly not out of character for you. you were always one to do shit just because you knew it would get a reaction out of someone else. like, that time you didn’t tell mark he had spinach in his teeth the whole time he was speaking in econ and only told him at the end. yeah, sure, but surely that was different from you pretending that you and mark were together. right?

mark’s pulled out of his thoughts when his phone buzzes next to his pillow. he stirs to his side, opening his phone only to find a text from you.

y/n: fuck u

mark’s heart skips a beat, no matter the fact that you’re swearing at him the first thing in the morning.

mark: what did i do now…

y/n: it’s ur fault

mark: ???

y/n: i’m fuckin sick

“oh, fuck,” mark swears, sitting up with a frown, fingers quickly shooting a flurry of concerned texts back.

mark: oh shit really?

mark: im so sorry

mark: how bad is it?

y/n: it’s just a cold, dw not that bad

mark: what does that mean?

you, however, don’t bother to elaborate any more on your condition, going silent.

he groans, guilt settling in the slouch of his shoulder as he stares at his screen for a solid 10 minutes before giving up on your response. as he gets ready for the day, at the top of mark’s to do list is to visit your dorm room with medicine and snacks.

but by the time 3 pm rolls around, mark finds himself constantly distracted by classes and homeowork. he looks at the time and sighs. you hadn’t managed to get back to him. but considering how he hadn’t seen you in econ or lunch, your cold was more than ‘not bad’.

sitting outside the library to collect his thoughts, he spots chaewon, your roommate. the two of you had run into mark on a grocery shopping errand and mark had had a decent enough conversation to make him run up to chaewon.

“oh!” chaewon is surprised at first when mark blocks her way with a quick hey. “oh hey, mark!”

“um,” mark looks at the take-out box in her hands, “um, is that for y/n?”

“oh, yeah. did you hear? she woke up this morning with a fever.”

“a fever?”

“yeah, it was pretty high too. i had to force her to stay in bed or i think she would’ve just gone to class like the dumbass she is.”

mark frowns, “oh, no. has she eaten all day?”

chaewon hums in thought, “she told me she was fine for breakfast. i’m not sure if she had lunch though so i was just going to take some pizza and salad in case she’s been starving.”

mark’s frown deepens as she adds, “oh i better hurry though! i have to get back here in time for my dance practice.”

“ah…” he scratches his head, “uhh, if you’re busy, i wouldn’t mind dropping it off to y/n.”

chaewon raises an eyebrow, “wait, really? you’d do that?”

“um, yeah. it’s my fault she got sick anyway. i made her eat icecream last night.”

she laughs, “a little icecream wouldn’t have done that. but sure! it’d be a great help, if you did that. thanks, mark.”

mark hadn’t thought this through, he realizes when he reaches the door that reads y/n on the door, right next to chaewon. he takes a deep breath, clearing his throat, before knocking on the door. “y/n?” his voice breaks mid-sentence and he wants to hide in a hole somewhere, but you’re quick to throw your door open.

your hair is up in a bun which bobs in rhythm with your head, when you find mark outside your room, “mark? what the fuck are you doing here?”

“you weren’t responding to my texts,” he mumbles, and then holds up chaewon’s takeout box in one hand and in the other, the bag of medicine and snacks he’d packed. “i come bearing gifts though.”

you cough hoarsely into your elbow, pulling at the hem of your green hoodie as you consider mark in front of you. “you could’ve told me you were coming,” you sound… shy? mark thinks as he follows into your room after you gesture him to enter.

he looks at your bed and chuckles at the mess that is your bed. then, he smiles as he looks at the eccentric yet coherent collage of pictures and letters on your wall. “this is so you,” he comments and places the food and medicine on your table.

you pout, “a room that looks like all hell broke lose… is me? wow, thanks, mark.”

mark wants to refute your comment, he does, but then he gets distracted by how the way you say his name in your hoarse inside voice and he coughs a little. “i got you medicine though?” he sounds squeaky to his own ears.

you smile though at that, looking inside the bag he’s kept. “ahhh, ramen! i knew i could count on you, mark lee.”

mark almost wants to beg you to stop saying his name so much. but instead he shoots you a thumbs up, “how are you holding up?”

you nod in thought, still unpacking everything mark bought, “hmm, i’m alive. you should’ve seen me in the morning though i felt like something was trying to crawl out my skin.”

you laugh at the imagery, pausing when you catch the guilty look on mark. you already know he’s about to apologize when he opens his mouth. you hold up a finger threateningly, “i know i said that in the morning, but it’s not actually your fault. i always get sick like this every time fall rolls around.”

“no, for real though, i did force you to come eat icecream with me, didn’t i? i’m sorry.”

“ugh, mark, trust me, i wouldn’t have eaten the icecream if i really didn’t want to,” you say, too kindly for your usual snarkiness as if you can sense how genuine mark’s apology was, “for real, my body’s just weird like that.”

when mark remains silent for another minute, you groan, “i know! you can repay me. stay and we can watch a movie or something. all the sleeping’s making me feel gross. plus, i couldn’t eat all this food myself.”

and that’s how mark finds himself settled next to you on your bed, blanket covering half his body, watching gilmore girls (your fall preference of entertainment, it seems). the first half hour went by fine, with one of you commenting ocassionally at something the characters did, but then you shifted closer to mark with a cough.

he was shocked at first but then he wonders if the medicine you’d taken before were starting to take effect. (he’d questioned how wise it was for you to be taking them before watching something, but he also didn’t want to make your condition worse.)

“you good, y/n?” he mumbles under his breath when he feels your head come to rest against his shoulder. he sounds surprisingly calm for the turmoil that is bursting within his veins at the contact.

you hum in acknowledgement, sniffing a little, “yeah, just a little sleepy.”

“oh, you should probably rest then,” mark reaches for the spacebar to pause the episode but your cold hand pulls his finger away. except you don’t let go of his finger, instead seeming to crave warmth, you’re suddenly holding his hand, icy fingertips coming to rest against the back of his palm.

mark’s hearbeat is in his ears by now but he lets you hold his hand as you protest, “mm, don’t wanna sleep. just keep watching.”

you don’t sound promising but he doesn’t argue, letting you having the final say in this situation.

five minutes later though, you stir against mark’s side, arm now in his lap and… yeah, you’re falling asleep.

mark freezes at the realization when he sees your eyelashes fluttering shut. oh god. oh no… this wasn’t good for his well-being. or his obsession with you. or anything.

he clears his throat, hating himself, “um, y/n?”

you don’t respond except for a short grunt that indicates you don’t intend to wake up. he doesn’t have the heart to move you but also, this wasn’t right, was it?

there wasn’t anything wrong with it per se, except of course the fact that it did not help mark’s big fat ugly crush on you or the fact that he spent the whole day thinking about how you were sick and it was his fault.

you move slightly in your sleep, suddenly seeming to come to. your eyes open a little, “mark?” your voice is dangerously low.

“yeah?” mark can hear the nerves in his voice.

you’re pulling him now, without a warning, onto your bed. “you’re warm. stay.”

mark’s eyes widen when you turn to hug him around the waist.

fuck. fuck. fuck. FUCK. this was… THIS IS…. UTREJKLSGIURKEJU?????YGSAELRIAY

mark brain malfunctions for a good minute before he remembers how to think. first, he thinks he has to leave or you’ll hate him forever. but when he tries to budge, you groan an annoyed groan making him scared to leave..

??? what is one supposed to do in these circumstances?

he stills, deciding it was better if he let you doze off comfortably. he slowly places an arm around your shoulder, patting a reassuring back rub into your skin. you nuzzle closer into him, clueless of the way mark is short-circuiting.

before he knows it though, mark finds himself dozing off, chin pressed up against the bone of your shoulder. the sleep isn’t chaotic like his thoughts usually are, but it’s a peaceful sleep, the kind that you only get when you share a bed with someone.

—

ever since that eventful… nap, mark has found himself growing closer to you, in all senses of the phrase. you’d seemed to start trusting mark more, your bookstore evenings turning into whole days spent in each other’s company. sometimes you’d be at each other’s room, more often yours, but otherwise, you’d end up in some new corner of campus, giggling over half-completed essays and collectively complaining about econ.

you’d also grown closer… physically. something about spending a sick evening in someone’s arms, you’d like to say. whatever the reason was, one way or another, you’d find a way to be next to each other.

you’d made a habit of holding mark’s hand, especially on colder days when your fingers lost all feeling till you pressed them into the knuckles of mark’s warm ones. other times, mark’s hand would be on your shoulder or back, casually doodling into your skin, a lazy smile on his face while you dramatically narrate some event from your life.

mark could tell something was different, though he dared not investigate what it was, too afraid to mess up what he had right now.

but then, he does the stupid thing of asking you the question.

it’s on a late night hangout in your room when chaewon’s out for the weekend to visit home, and y’all are sprawled on your bed, exhausted from a movie marathon.

something about the dim lights and the way you lean against his shoulder, makes him speak. “do you like someone right now?”

for a good while, mark thinks he mustn’t have asked the question out loud because of how quiet you are. but then, “what about you?”

“not fair! i asked you first,” mark complains with a chuckle. you shrug, “not telling if you don’t.”

he rolls his eyes, “two can play this game, y’know. i’m not giving.”

“ugh, fine. i’ll tell you about my ex for now.”

mark’s ear perks up at the mention and he waits for you to continue.

“ah, this is so embarassing to talk about. but.. last semester i was with taeyong.”

“wait. lee taeyong?”

“mhm-hm. you know him? he was a good guy, but i don’t know, something felt off. we broke up right before new year’s eve so that was fun.”

mark falls silent as he recalls everything he can about lee taeyong. so far he has: perfect face and killer charm. oh yeah, wasn’t he a student athlete?

“you dated an athelete?” mark can’t help but ask.

“see! i know you’d make fun,” you whine, hiding your face in your hands.

“no- no, i’m not making fun. that’s insane. taeyong is, like, famous.”

you groan, “and you’re listing all the reasons i broke up with him.”

mark isn’t sure what he can do with this information so he releases a strained chuckle, suddenly ready to head back to his room. he can’t be too obvious though, so he waits a bit.

“what about you?” you ask him, poking his arm. “any embarassing boyfriends?”

mark laughs despite it all, “i wish. i was in a silly little relationship but it was so long ago that i hardly remember.” with that, he sits up, a little abruptly.

you frown as he clears his throat, “um, anyway, i should get back soon. i’ve got to sleep.”

“the fuck?” you question, “it’s like 11 pm?”

“well, yeah, i have an early morning tomorrow.”

“on a sunday?”

“yeah, uhm, i forgot to tell you about this new job i have. anyways, i should really sleep soon. i’ll see you later, yeah?”

and just like that, mark leaves your room, with you gaping at how fast he’d made his exit, not even bothering to make real excuses. new job? halfway through the semester? yeah, sure. you feel your mood dampening at mark’s sudden cold shoulder, wondering if you’d upset him. but no matter how many times you thought about it, you weren’t sure what had made him act like that.

mark, on the other hand, can’t get the conversation out of his head, even as he walks to the library at 8 am on a sunday, ready to finish all traces of homework in existence. it doesn’t matter though because sitting in the silence of the study room, his mind repeats your words.

he was a good guy, but i don’t know, something felt off.

boy, did mark feel stupid as shit. for everything? for thinking you were into him. somewhere along the way, your hands on his had him confused. for a minute there, he had stopped thinking about how he was actually just some guy. some guy who you chose to hang out with now and then, some guy who was your friend. mark was nowhere close to being taeyong, and even taeyong didn’t cut it for you. really, though, he couldn’t blame you. you really did deserve the best anyone could imagine.

a text from you interrupts his self-loathing spiralling.

y/n: heyoo!! u alive?

y/n: u left kinda abruptly last night. is everything ok?

mark clenches his fist as if to obliterate the hopeful smile that threatens his face. he thinks of how he might respond: sorry cant talk i’ve to make sure i’m not in love with u before i see u again or maybe: sorry i’m just trying not to cry in broad daylight bc i love u too much hjbykyvkvyf

“fuck! sorry!” a voice pulls mark back from his head. he looks up to see who’s broken into his study room… only to see lee taeyong standing there in confusion. of course this happens to mark.

“uhh, can i help you?” mark barely controls the snap that tries to escape him at the sight of taeyong.

“um, sorry,” taeyong looks down at his phone then back at mark, “i could’ve sworn i booked this room for the next hour…”

mark frowns, certain he’d booked this room for the next two hours. usually, he would’ve just told taeyong he’s booked it wrong, but instead he just says, “oh? i guess you can take this room then. i’ll go somewhere else.”

mark starts packing up but the other boy protests quickly, “no, no! it’s okay. i- um, i’d feel bad if you did that. what if… what if we shared? it’ll be nice to have someone else in the room, no?” taeyong smiles brightly at mark and the latter wants his eyes to stop working already.

call it the law of inertia, but something in mark doesn’t let him just leave the room, almost intrigued by how this might turn out. “alright, then.”

taeyong, as much as mark hates to admit it, is really nice. he hadn’t ever heard anything to refute that, but sitting silently in a room with someone really tells you all you need to know about someone. either way, the study sessions somehow seems to provide mark some sense of peace.

or so he thinks.

what he doesn’t expect is that two hours later, as the two of them are packing up to empty the room for the next occupant, for the next occupant to be… you. yes, of course, that’s gonna happen in this story.

for a moment, mark doesn’t find it particularly shocking to see you but when he notices the stiff look you share with taeyong, he realizes what’s happening.

you’d just entered the room with a knock when you’d noticed who was inside. your eyes travel between mark and taeyong, your mind unable to make sense of this.

your first thought is… is this why mark was weird last night? because he was close to taeyong and got offended by your remarks?

that would be the easy alternate, wouldn’t it? but even you can tell there’s a dryness in the way mark looks at the two of you, a look that unsettles you. of course, the sight of taeyong also unsettles you.

he speaks up before you, “y/n?”

you awkwardly wave at the two of them, “hi mark. hey taeyong. didn’t expect to see the two of you together.”

you look at mark pointedly but he’s not giving you much to work with. he just laughs as taeyong rushes to explain, “ah, i made a mistake in booking this room at the same time as mark, and he was kind enough to let me stay.”

marks want to leave right now. because of the way taeyong’s eyes are sparkling at the sight of you, hands nervously fidgeting. but he decides against it, when he sees you uneasy you seem, tight grip around the strap of your tote bag.

“what are you doing here?” mark asks and a part of you is relieved that he’s talking to you.

“um, homework. i didn’t really know what else to do ever since my friend started ghosting me.”

mark flinches at your attack, but persists in looking as indifferent as he can. “sorry about that, i got caught up finishing this essay.”

taeyong awkwardly coughs, “um, i should probably leave now. i have practice to get to.”

mark is quick to follow after taeyong, scared to death of being alone in a room with you. he doesn’t know what to do with himself around you anymore. “uhh, yeah, i’ll leave you to do homework, then! see ya!”

and just like that, it’s a repeat of last night. mark’s back receding except this time you watch him wave at you with a half-hearted smile as he leaves. you barely manage to close the door behind you before you feel yourself tear up.

this is stupid, you realize through tears, to be crying over something like this. but something like this? it meant a lot to you. you sit where mark sat minutes ago, the same disappointment in your eyes and a similar weight in your heart.

mark is not having the time of his life either though, as he walks out the library with taeyong, who starts asking questions about you as soon as he can.

“so you’re friends with y/n?” mark simply nods at that, having seen this coming.

“that’s cool. she’s really cool, isn’t she?”

“yeah, i suppose. she’s fun.”

“how close are you to her?”

mark laughs dismissively, “haha, i feel like i’ve done something wrong. calm down, bro.”

taeyong flushes at that, rubbing his neck, “oh, sorry. i didn’t mean to interrogate you like that. it’s just… you probably know about us, right?”

that words leaves taeyong’s mouth and buries itself deep into mark’s heart. us.

taeyong continues, “it’s just that i really miss her, man. i don’t think i’ve had as much fun with anyone else since her. or maybe, it’s just because i’m always comparing everyone to her.”

mark really doesn’t know what to say, feeling himself stuck in a similar situation. “hmm, it’ll get better.”

“i hope you’re right,” taeyong says, cheerfully patting mark’s back, “well, i have to go that way. see you around, bro. take care of her.”

take care of her? marks smiles remorsefully as he watches taeyong leave. and he wonders what was going on in your mind when you broke up with someone that perfect? what went on in your head when you befriended mark, just some guy?

—

on saturday, it’s been a whole week since you’ve talked to mark. you’d actually stayed up all night yesterday hoping he’d have a change of heart on friday night, and he’d text you with a can we talk? or come knocking on your door with an apologetic smile with some silly excuse. and you would’ve accepted it all because you were not familar with a mark-less existence. the past week was.. not good for you.

but on saturday night, you decide it’s enough. or rather, chaewon decides it’s enough when she sees you ready to spend the night in bed.

“y/n, i’m sorry but i can’t respect your stupid decisions anymore,” she bursts into the room with a concerned look.

you frown, “ouch? you just called me stupid.”

“because that’s what you’re being. i don’t care if you’re going through it, i’m not letting you woe over some guy on the weekend.”

you grimace at the phrase some guy, remembering your conversation with mark. “hey! i’m talking to you, miss,” chaewon’s hands pull off your bed. “let’s go out tonight. i don’t care.”

“chaewon…” you complain, voice low.

“y/n, my dear friend, stop giving up on life because mark lee is ghosting you. if i know anything about the two of you, y’all will be back to cuddling each other next week.”

you want to say you’re afraid that’s not gonna happen but chaewon is moving too fast for you. she throws a dress at you and then, a coat. “wear those and come to yunjin’s room. we’re pre-gaming.”

an hour later, you’re not feeling so bad after all. you’d forgotten how fun getting wasted really was. you giggle hopelessly when yunjin cracks another “slayyy~” at chaewon’s empty glass. as sakura pours her another shot, you nudge her with your own empty cup.

your roommate frowns a little, “you sure you’re not going too fast?”

you roll your eyes, “chaewon! you’re the one who wanted to slut me out tonight. how am i gonna do that sober?” that makes everyone double up in laughter and you down the vodka with a triumphant sigh.

another hour later, you’re really feeling yourself. the pre-game finally ended with all of you walking to the frat that was throwing tonight. the first step you take into the crowded room has you regretting your decision, but your worries go to waste once you’re hearing the music blast through your veins.

you stay within chaewon’s group for most of the night. the girls are fun, yunjin being one of the best people you’ve partied with. it’s halfway through a doja cat song when you feel your bladder getting full from all the beer. you groan at all the effort it’s gonna take to go upstairs to where the bathroom was, but you could use a break.

you quickly tell chaewon you’ll be back, pointing in the direction of the bathroom and reassure her you’re fine when she asks to come with. the world is definitely spinning as you go up the stairs but you do make it to the top without falling over.

but as soon as you reach for the door of the bathroom, you lose balance as the person inside emerges. “fuck,” you groan, falling over into the person ahead, “’m sorry,” you mumble, supporting yourself against the sink.

you’re ready to push whoever it is out of the bathroom when you heard a familar voice. “y/n?”

you look up and actually gasp when you see mark in front of you. “mark?!” you sound incredulous but honestly, you’re just ecstatic. “i miss you,” you say your thoughts shamelessly.

mark reddens or so your vision tells you. “y/n, are you drunk?”

you frown and shake your head, about to explain yourself when a loud voice outside tells you to hurry up with your business, the door still open. mark shouts a, “find somewhere else, buddy!” and shuts the door, locking it behind him.

your drunk brain isn’t doing well with the concept of you in a locked room with mark. “are you drunk, mark?”

mark laughs at your question, “a little, yeah.”

“okay, good, then can you just-” you lose your balance again and mark steadies you instantly, warm hand on your elbow. you lose your train of thoughts at the feel of him, looking into his eyes wordlessly.

you think you stay there for a minute like that, the two of you just catching up on all the looks you’ve missed out on in the last week.

“why are you mad at me?” you ask the question that’s been bugging you for ages. wanting mark to understand how hurt you’ve been, you pull at the sleeve of shirt, “i’ve been so sad. why are you avoiding me?”

mark takes your hand in his, “no! it’s not like that. i’m… not mad at you.”

“really?” you question him through a pout, “really?”

he doesn’t know what to do when pinned with that gaze of yours in that moment. and then his eyes land up on your lips, your little pout.

he knew the alcohol was a bad idea because now he can’t think straight, knowing he has to explain everything to you or he might lose it all. but somehow, instead of words, he feels another ugre crawl up his skin.

just as you open your mouth to speak, you feel mark’s lips on yours, stealing the breath from your lungs. you gasp into his mouth, and he pulls away just as soon as he leaned in. he drops your hand, falling to his knees.

it takes you a moment to re-orient yourself after the taste of mark in your mouth, but you hear mark sniffle and instantly join him on the ground, hands on his face.

“are you crying?”

mark tries to stop himself but he can’t. “i’m sorry, y/n. i’m so sorry.”

“hey,” you find yourself sobering up. how could you not when mark lee is in front of you, tears staining his ever-smiling face? “hey, mark, look at me.” he wipes at his face shakily, looking up at you through a fresh flood of tears.

“i’m sorry,” his voice breaks, “i’ve been acting so selfish with you. i shouldn’t have avoided you. i shouldn’t have kissed you. i’m.. it’s all because…” he trails off conveniently at the part of his sentence you most need to hear.

your fingers trail down to his chin, bringing his face back up, “it’s all because of what, mark? talk to me, baby.”

something in mark uncoils when you coo at him lovingly like that, his name as breathy as the nickname you suddenly throw at him. his lip quivers but his words are clear as day, “fuck, i’m into you, y/n. i know i’m just some guy really but i think i like you. i- like romantically, i’m dying to be with you.” he sighs when you don’t say anything, stunned into silence.

your hand stays put on his face though which mark thinks of as a good sign. gingerly, he takes your hand, gaze pointed at your interlocked fingers. “i know it’s awkward because you’re not into me like that. it’s all good, i understand.”

“mark, you’re drunk,” you finally mumble out, hand twitching in disbelief. “you’re just saying things.”

mark stiffens, “w-what? no! i’m serious, y/n. i’m not even that drunk anymore. how could i be, when you’re right here?” but then, he stirs, hands leaving yours, “oh, but if you’d rather forget that this happened—”

it’s a replay of five minutes ago, except this time your lips come crashing into mark’s, with so much force that you topple him over. he takes you with him, hand finding purchase at your waist as he pulls you on top of him, his back hitting the door of the bathroom.

your kiss is fierce, almost angry because you did not deserve to be kept in the dark about mark’s feelings. you push closer to him, making him groan into your lips at the intensity. you pull away then, hand at mark’s chest, “i hate you for avoiding me like that, mark. i can’t believe you.”

mark tries to explain himself but you’re kissing him again, swallowing his words whole, unforgiving in the way your hands grip his arms. again, you pull away, “what did you think? that i’d stop talking to you because you like me? you’re so stupid sometimes, mark.”

“i don’t—”

“no, you don’t understand. do you see me right now?” mark nods, eyes trailing at your disheveled state. mark couldn’t forget this sight if he wanted to: your hair wet with sweat, panting in between mark’s legs, lips a breath away.

“do i look like i hate you?”

“i mean, you do look annoyed,” mark remarks and you slap his arm with a snarl.

“that’s because you’re being unfair. what about my feelings for you, huh?” you challenge with a glare. “what about how much i suffered just because you decided to not show up to the bookstore? all because you came to some stupid conclusion by yourself?”

“wait,” mark starts, but you’re not letting him talk.

“no, listen, if i could, i’d seriously slap you. because i’m that down bad for you, mark! i’ve been thinking about doing this with you ever since you fell asleep in my bed that day. so fuck you, for hurting me like that.”

you’re breathless, eyes still trained on mark with that look of betrayal mixed with desire. you can’t help yourself though, mark looks absolutely breath-taking in front of you, mouth ajar in shock, lips red from your relentless kisses.

mark takes too long to process your words just then, long enough that you’re coming down from your high, embarassment flooding your veins. you go cold, standing up with a grunt. “i’m just gonna go back,” you mutter in disappointment, leaving before you can see mark’s response.

he’s coming back to his senses now, realizing that maybe you were right about how stupid he’d been. “fuck,” he breathes out, regaining his footing as he chases after you.

this chase proves to be difficult, given that the party only seems to have gotten more crowded since mark left. he struggles through the throngs of people, shouldering through, when he spots a silhouette of you in his peripheral vision. you were outside, apparently talking to another taller figure.

mark follows your shadow to the door, quickly making his way out. his breath hitches when he finds taeyong next to you. his arm is around your shoulder and you’re speaking to him in a low voice.

“y/n,” mark calls out, not hesitating to break taeyong’s hold on you, replacing it with his own embrace. he pulls you close. your eyes are teary and you sniff when you see mark, “what-”

“i’m sorry, can we talk?” he mumbles into your side, still aware of taeyong’s presence.

“oh, hey, mark. i was just,” taeyong moves to stand in front of the two of you, “taking care of y/n. she looked sick.”

“i’m fine, taeyong,” you reassure him, pressing yourself into mark’s side. “i’ll let mark walk me home. good night.” mark is impressed at how easily you dismiss taeyong, pulling mark after you.

“what do you want?”

mark stops you from walking, pulling you into a hug instead. “you’re right, i’m really stupid. let me ask you this instead: would you let me be your boyfriend?”

you release a soft laugh against his neck at his question, arms still for a moment for dramatic effect. then, you wrap yourself around him, kissing your answer into his ear, “of course, you idiot.”

—

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