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fanon-elio · 3 months ago

Text

By your side.

Part 4

Summary: You are the CEO of a big company and hired Lycaon as your personal attendant, however it seems that your wolfish butler has developed a crush on you. So while you and him were on a business trip, both of you were forced to confront your growing feelings for eachother.

Tag: Blue Letter (Hurt/comfort)

Pairing: Von Lycaon x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is completely fictional and is not canon. You are responsible for the content you consume, so if the following warnings trigger you, you may read at your own risk.

Warnings: Fluff, Slow burn'ish, long fic, mutual pining, reader is smaller than lycaon, lycaon is down bad horrendous, friends to lovers type stuff, some flashbacks here and there.

Angst, Jealousy, mentions of injury, mentions of blood, Lycaon being awfully hard on himself, Guilt, body dysmorphia.

Other warnings: lowkey my first fanfiction, so bare with me here. (T^T)

Yes, this fanfiction WILL contain Nsfw in the future.

I added some throw-away characters to the story as plot devices, no they're not oc's and they hold no importance to the story other than providing character development.

This fic contains a lot of scenarios written in Lycaons pov cuz i eat this shit up for breakfast.

Hello how are you? First things first, I apologize any mistakes you may find, and constructive criticism is always appreciated. This part is a bit longer than the previous ones because if I would have split it up, the pacing would have felt weird. I hope you enjoy regardless.

"You're y/n right?" The woman asks, and you nod, a little confused as to how she knew you despite never having seen or spoken to you. She seems to have picked up on your confusion "I'm sorry, I don't mean to offend you-" you try to explain, but she interrupts you, and instead gives you a reassuring pat on the shoulder "don't worry babes, I get it your cautious, but I'm totally on your side, I'm Natalie by the way" she introduced herself, pumping her lip gloss a few times "in fact, nobody has ever made my looser of a husband as mad as you, and I respect you for that big time" she said, and you let out a short chortle, more so to mask your still growing confusion "when I tell you that he got so pressed over your conversation with him after dinner, he really done called his mom to cry about it" she lets out a hearty laugh, and you followed short. But then again you couldn't help the question burning on your tongue as to why she stayed with him, if she clearly didn't like, much less loved him. "Honestly, how do you even put up with that man" you carefully asked her, rummaging through your purse for your lipstick "ugh honestly, that's a mystery to us both babes" she says while she applied another layer of lip gloss.

"To be fully honest with you babes, he actually totally catfished me on our first date" you stopped rummaging as you looked at her in disbelieve, if dear Natalie didn't have you full attention before, she definitely had it now. You turned to her, giving her your full attention as you waited for her to spill the tea to you "listen, we met over a dating app actually, and the first time I saw him I was like, where are the 6.5 foot, and your full head of hair at that you bragged about over text?" Both of you laughed as you finished applying your lipstick, now knowing why she didn't like him. You would have expected her to be just as insufferable as her husband, but instead you internally apologized to her for judging her too soon. Clearly you had no idea she was chill like that.

"But then again, I just gotta know..." you fix your earrings, then turn your head to look at the black haired woman next to you, "be honest with me, what do you even see in that man?" You inquired, all politeness be damned. She lets out a cackle "well, that depends on the day..." you give her a look, silently asking her to elaborate "...today I saw in him a brand-new eyeshadow pallet, and tomorrow maybe a new Lamborghini" she pops her lips, then shoots you a mischievous smile. "He is a hateful, desperate, and rather pathetic man" she continues, and you nod in agreement to the statement of him being hateful considering how he had treated Lycaon "clearly the dude is trying to cope with something, and if I'm fully honest with you, I'm really just sticking around cuz he pays my families bills" she finished, and you're reminded of your own financial dilemma "I know how awful it sounds but listen, I gotta make it worth my time somehow" she says, putting her hands up in an innocence feigning manner.

"But enough about me, what about you babes" you look at her again, your lipstick finding it's way back into your purse "you really won life, I mean your boyfriend is so hot, and he seems to be all over you" she says and your confusion once again resurfaces. "My boyfriend?" she mimics your confused expression as you slowly began to connect the dots in your head, "oh! no, wait, he's not my boyfriend!" You say, realization hitting you square in the face, which is now just as red as your lips while Natalie gave you an equally shocked expression. "Well babes, what are you waiting for? Hello?" She says, and you look away in embarrassment "listen, it's not like I don't want him to be" you admit "but it's... complicated" you sigh "he's my personal attendant, it would be a scandal so much is for sure" she nods along.

"Listen, people fall in love all the time, and it's rarely ever convenient" Natalie says, crossing her arm as she leans against the bathroom sink "trust me you'll regret it more if you try to ignore it" she says, and you knew she was right. Letting out a huff, you confess "truth is, I think I'm just scared of ruining what we have you know" she raises one of her eyebrows as a silent question "if I confess to him, and he doesn't reciprocate my feelings, not only would it ruin our friendship but also would make all of our interactions hella awkward" you say, a blush once again creeping its way onto your face as you internally beat yourself up for talking about your love life with some stranger in a bathroom "and even if he does, we could potentially risk ruining our careers." She takes a step towards you "shit sure sounds like a whole mess..." she says "but even then, at least you tried" she once again putts a hand on your shoulder "just talk with him, test the waters you know" she says and right now she reminded you so much of Zhu yuan.

The Pub sec officer kept saying the exact same things to you, something along the lines of "a conversation never hurt anybody" or "for starters, just ask him if he's into someone" speaking as if she had ever been in a relationship with someone, even though everyone knew she kept her job like a lover. She was also the one who had recommended Random play to you, dragging you there to pick out a romantic movie for quote unquote "Inspiration." Clearly she had been in kahoots with the the manager of the store, judging by how awfully enthusiastic said young woman seemed when she handed you the movie.

"I need to get back now, gotta keep my gremlin of a husband outta trouble" she says, as she walked past you, bringing your spiraling thoughts back to reality "maybe give what I told you one or two more thoughts on your way back to your prince charming" she said on her way out, doing finger guns as a silent way of encouraging you. And weirdly enough, it does.

As the door falls shut behind her, you once again turn to the mirror, looking yourself over one last time as you silently come to the conclusion to be honest with your feelings.

To both yourself and him.

You step outside the bathroom, wondering how much time had passed while you chatted with Mr. Goldman's better half. You make yourself on your way back to your table, hoping you haven't worried Lycaon too much with your rather long absence.

But it seems Lycaon has to wait for you just a while longer, as you're stopped in your tracks by a tall man.

"Excuse me miss, are you miss y/n by any chance?"

---~---

Worry began to grow in Lycaon's gut as he looked at his pocket watch. You have been gone for over 30 minutes now, and he couldn't help but think that something awful must have happened. More so because of Goldman's distinct absence in the dining hall, his table having stood empty for quite some time now. He put his watch back in his pocket, having decieded to go look for you himself.

He pushed his chair back, and stood up, gently smoothing out the wrinkles that had formed on his suit from sitting as he looked around the room. His sight being the only sense he could currently rely on since it was neither impacted by the loud noise of chattering that made his ears ring in discomfort, nor by the plethora of strong floral scents that painfully burned in his nose, and in turn made it impossible for him to distinguish the sound of your voice or the smell of your perfume from the crowd.

A few more minutes pass as he walked around the hall, still no trace from either you nor that vermin, but he swore if something had happened to you, and Goldman was to blame, he would tear out that man's throat.

"Scuse me" he heard someone from behind him saying, ripping him out of his thoughts as he turned around coming face to face with Mrs. Goldman "Sorry I didn't mean to startle you Mr. L/n" she said, and he fought as he tried to suppress his tail from wagging. "How may I help Mrs. Goldman?" He asked politely, not caring about correcting her, while he secretly ravished in the thought of being married to you.

"I just wanted to ask if you'd be so kind, and give your wife this note" she asked, secretly grinning to herself as she noted that despite calling you his wife he still hadn't correcter her. "I will see to it Mrs. Goldman" he replied, feeling admittedly a bit skeptical, "have you seen y/n by any chance?" He asked, and she shook her head "nah sorry, I left the bathroom before she did, honestly i myself am looking for my husband" she said, annoyance clear in her voice as both of them shared the hope that Mr. Goldman hasn't found you first.

Finally, he spotted you after what seemed like an hour of walking around aimlessly, his tail swishing gently behind him as he wanted to make his way over to you however, his heart sank when he noticed that you weren't alone:

You were with a man - thankfully it wasn't Mr. Goldman, instead you were talking with another thiren. You didn't seem uncomfortable in any way, in fact when the man put his hand on your shoulder, you didn't recoil nor did you seem alerted in any way, you blushed even when you chatted with him.

He tried to swallow the lump in his throat and shake off this awful sting he felt in his chest as he watched you.

But to no avail.

He clenched his jaw painfully and let out a deep huff as he once again felt this feeling coursing through his veins like molten iron. A feeling that he was already painfully familiar with, having felt it before when that vermin Goldman so openly and shamelessly flirted with you.

Pure jealousy.

Not even reminding himself of the moment you two shared during the speech could ease his nerves now, quite the opposite actually, it only seemed to make his situation worse.

This was supposed to be his special day with you.

His clawed fingers traced the golden tie clip gently as he recalled the memory of both of your reflections in the mirror just a few hours earlier. He is supposed to make you blush like that, like he had done in the boutique when he called you beautiful.

He felt even more insecurities bubble up from the depth of his mind as he watched the man bend down to speak something in your ear, as you played with your earring. Something you would do if you were flustered, whatever this man has said to you, it seems that you liked it.

Lycaon felt a growl bubble in his throat when he watched how close this stranger was to you - his favourite person.

He is supposed to be this close to you, like when he had embraced you after your horrible dinner with that disgusting worm. That place by your side was his.

He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears as he looked at you, drowning everything around you out like tunnel vision; with you at it's center as he searched for any kind of discomfort on your features, shamefully hoping to find something so he could swoop in and steal you away - steal you back.

But there was nothing.

He took a deep breath, and fixed his tie as he made his way over to you, his doubts following him every step of the way. The metall of his prosthetics clacked against the marble floor, the sound of which was, for some reason, almost deafening to him as he approached slowly.

He only had himself to blame he thought. That despite the feelings he harbored for you for so unbearably long, he's never made an attempt to win your heart always valuing his professionalism over his feelings, too afraid of the possible consequences that could come from them.

Was it too late now? Did he miss his chance?

He heared you laugh, normally a sound that he craved. But now it didn't make him feel content, because it wasn't him who made you laugh. "Pardon me" he politely interrupted, fighting with himself to not bare his teeth at the other man infront of him "Ah Lycaon, perfect timing" you said "this is Mr. August" you said, and the thiren extended his hand in greeting "a pleassure meeting you" Lycaon took his hand, politely shacking it "the pleassure is all mine" he responded, even though it was the farthest thing from the truth.

You gave Lycaon a brief rundown of your conversation with Mr. August, saying that the host of tonights gala would like to have a private chat with the both of you. Mr. August was send to fetch you, and both of you got a bit lost in conversation. Lycaon nodded as he took in the information, but secretly all he could think about was how awful that man's scent clung to you.

He shouldn't smell this, he should be smelling your parfume, your shampoo or your body wash, and not another man's cologne. It taunted him with the way it wafted around his nose, like a bitter reminder that he wasn't as poised and polished as he liked to present himself. He wanted to pin you to the nearest wall, to lick you clean of that stench, and he internally scorned himself over how possesive he thought about you right now, despite lacking the courage to confess his feeling to you.

You and Lycaon followed Mr. August as he guided you down a hallway, you cautiously looked around, noticing the extravagant decor and expensive artwork hanging on the wall. On one hand you were glad to be away from the masses, and on the other you felt nervousness rise in you again. You were thankful that Lycaon was with you, since you were sure that you wouldn't have been able to face that Lady on your own. You looked at Lycaon from the corner of your eye, noting how stiff he seemed. You were aware that something was off with him, but you couldn't pinpoint exactly what was wrong. He had acted strange ever since he had approached you and Mr. August earlier. You pondered for a moment, could it be he was angry with you because you pretty much left him at the table, waiting for you while you chatted away with Mr. August? You swallowed thickly, that had to be it, and who could blame him that really was awful of you. Here he was supporting you the entire evening, making sure you were alright and you just leave him sitting somewhere. What a great friend you were.

You gently tugged on Lycaons sleeve trying to get his attention, and his ears perked up in suprise at the sudden sensation "I'm sorry I left you sitting at the table for so long" you apologized to him "there is no need to worry master, I'm not offended" he responded with a smile, a professional empty one.

You frowned, clearly something must have happened, you thought and dreaded the idea of Mr. Goldman having harrased him again with his usual racist antics. You swore if that was really the case, then you would make your threat of doucing that midget with your drink a reality. Maybe even giving him a good kick to where the sun doesn't shine on your way out.

You placed your hand on his forearm "are you ok?" You asked him, your voice laced with concern while he stayed silent for a moment, seemingly caught off guard by your question "everything is fine master" he replied, breaking eyecontact with you. Your own landed on his clenched fist behind his back, you wanted to reach out and hold it like he had done with yours earlier but chose against it, opting to give him some space. You gently removed your hand from his arm, and his tail dropped a bit at the lack of your touch. Mr. August stopped infront of a door "we are here, Milady is waiting inside for you" he said, and opened the door for the both of you as you stepped inside.

"I'm grateful for the oppertunity to talk with you in person, Ms. Y/n" the host spoke, her wheelchair standing next to the sofa she was sitting on "please, have a seat" she offered, and both of you sat down in the sofa across from her "allow me to properly introduce myself, my name is Clementine Walker, head and founder of Walker International Bank" she introduced herself, more so out of politeness since both you and Lycaon already knew who the Lady sitting in front of you was. She was a well known figure in New Eridu after all.

However, much like yourself she rarely ever appeared in public, choosing to dedicate most of her time to the funding of hollow related research. "I'm sorry, I don't think we are aqquainted yet" she said, her head turned towards Lycaon "it appears as such" he replied "I am Von Lycaon, I serve as Lady Y/n personal attendant" he said politely bowing his head "delighted to make your aqquaintace, Mrs. Walker" He seemed colder than usual.

Mrs. Walker turned to you once more "I assume my husband has already informed you about the purpose of this meeting, yes?" She asked gently placing her hands in her lab "even though it was on rather short notice, please pardon my poor time management." You blinked a few times, voicing out the thought both you and Lycaon shared "your husband?" Mrs. Walker giggled a bit "Yes, August Walker is my husband" she replied, and you apologized for your impoliteness but she assured you that it was alright "it suprises a lot of people" she had said.

Shortly after Mr. August returned, setting down a tray with tea before excusing himself again. You intently listened as Mrs. Walker spoke, internally screaming as you misjudged the temperature of the beverage in your hand, burning your tongue a little in the process. Mrs. Walker, or Clementine as she prefered you'd call her got straight to the point of why she had asked for your time, as she shared her wish of becoming an Investor for your company. For a moment you thought of asking Lycaon to pinch you, just to convince yourself that this was really happening.

Lycaon however was currently boiling in shame, his jealousy now having fully morphed into guilt, and embarrassment as he remembered his earlier antics when he saw you with August Walker. How unbecoming of him to jump to conclusions like that, opting to try and deflect from what he had seen, and felt by putting up his usual professional demeanour he used for any other client.

But you weren't any other client, and he recalls how ashamed he felt when he had seen your expression earlier, clearly concerned for him as you looked right through his carefully crafted facade. He felt beyond awful for pushing you away like that.

However, in a corner of his mind he was silently celebrating. Knowing that perhaps, it still wasn't too late to capture your heart like you had done with his. But especially after today, he didn't know if he could even muster up the courage of asking you out even if he had the oppertunity.

"If I may be so bold to ask" you started, feeling rather anxious in Mrs. Walkers presence. "What was it that sparked your interesst for my company?" You asked, hoping she wouldn't find your question offending. Suprisingly she let out a warm hearted chuckle as she gently moved up her dress, revealing a pair of prosthetics. "Believe it or not, but you have sparked that interesst in me yourself" you tried to apologize to her for prying into such a private topic but she set your mind at ease "it's quite alright deary" she had said.

Slowly your cups began to get emptier, and emptier as Mrs. Walker told the story of how she had met her husband. You and Lycaon perked up when she explained that August Walker had also been her personal attendant, who had taken care of her when she had lost her legs, and whom she had ultimately fallen in love with. As the clock hit 11 am, you decieded to also make your way back home, having thanked Mrs. Walker for the oppertunity and promised her to stay in touch.

The way to the car, and the ride was silent. While you still pondered what could be wrong with Lycaon, he himself occupied his mind trying to figure out where to go with his feelings now. Should he should act on them, or give them up. Mrs. Walkers Story was still fresh on both of your minds, and it gave Lycaon a little hope when he thought about you and him.

Back home, you once again kicked off your high heels like you had done yesterday. You should feel at ease now, that straining evening was over, and you gained a new and influencial ally that could potentially solve all of your financial problems. But you didn't feel like celebrating, too concerned about your companion. Said companion has taken to the kitchen, still having not spoken a single word since the gala. On silent feet you decieded to approach him, trying to carefully pry what was wrong.

You found him in the kitchen, downing a shot of whatever alcohol he had found in the refrigerator, something that concerned you even more by how out of character it seemed for him. He rarely ever drank, prefering tea over anything else. His tie was undone, and his suit jacket layed abandoned on the chair nearby, folded neatly regardless "Lycaon" you started, alerting him to your pressence "are you unwell?" You asked him and he put the bottle to the side, taking a Martini glass from the cupboard. "everything is alright master, the strong smells tonight just have taken quite a toll on me" he lied, and you noticed immediately by the way he pressed his ears to his head. "How about we celebrate your success" he said returning to what he was doing, still refusing to meet your gaze. You sat down in your usual spot as you watched him reach for a knife, noting how much his hand shook. "Has something happened with goldman? Has he harrassed you again while I was away?" You tried again "not at all master, please do not worry" he replied and you took a deep breath. You weren't mad at him, no - right now you were very concerned by the way he acted. "Have I... done something to upset you" you asked which was admittedly what you worried about the most.

This question caught Lycaon off guard so much, the hand that held the knife missed the lemon he was peeling, and the sharp edge of the blade found the flesh of his finger instead "damnit" he whispered, holding his now bleeding finger. The fur around it slowly turning red, and that was your last straw. You got up from where you've been sitting, quickly aproaching him, the sound of which startling Lycaon. "I apologize, I'll quickly grab a bandaid and-" you interrupted him by gently taking his hand, leading him away from the cutting board. The knife now laying abandoned, a red stain on the pristine blaid, just like the stain on Lycaon's pristine demeanour.

You turned on the faucet, gently holding his finger under the cold water. He winced a bit at the temperatur and the small sting of his wound making contact with the water, but he once again felt himself absorbed by the different in size of both your, and his hand. You grabbed the first aid kit from under the kitchen sink, rummaging through it, and shortly after wrapped a bandaid around Lycaon's finger. The shame Lycaon felt in this moment was almost unbearable for him. His guilt sending an ice cold shiver down his spine, while his face heated up at you doting over him. His ears pressed to his head again and he tried to speak, to at least say something.

But a simple "Thank you" was all that left his mouth.

You sighed heavily, and he feared he had dissapointed you "master I-" you gently shushed him, grabbing his hand, and carefully guided him towards the living room. You sat down, gently patting the spot next to you, urging him to sit. He obliged dispite his discomfort, he knew you ment well even though right now he was afraid what you might say to him. "You know, I always appreciated that I could tell you everything, you always had an open ear for me, and never judged me" you started "and I'm sorry that i haven't shown you my gratitude for that enough" he strongly wanted to object, seeming dissatisfied with you feeling like you had to apologize to him even though it was him who created this mess by refusing to confront himself. "But, I want to become that same kind of person to you too" you gently reached for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. The contact seeming to immediately relax him a tad bit, just like how his own touch had calmed you. "Just know that I will always have an open ear for you as well, no matter what" he studied your expression, you weren't mad neither dissapointed. Your face radiated a form of certainty, and security, he squeezed your hand tighter. He was conflicted, should he tell you about his feelings now? How would you react? Surely it wouldn't be a good idea if he made you worry with his uncharacteristic antics, just to kiss you.

Kiss you?

Without him even realizing, his heart had acted faster than his brain could worry about the consequences, his lips finding yours in a quick and tender kiss. He quickly moved away, mortified at what he had just done "My sincerest apologies! I don't know what came over me!" He apologized, once again avoided your gaze, feeling the urge to flee. But you gently grabbed his chin, turning his head to look at you. You two looked at eachother for a moment and he finally cracked under your caring gaze."I was jealous, I apologize" he admitted "I had seen you talking with Mr. Walker earlier and thought he may have been... flirting with you" you looked at him, tracing calming circles on his hand with your thumb "why would you be jealous?" You asked carefully "because I-" he stopped for a short moment, taking a deep breath as he summoned the courage to speak the words he's wanted to tell you for so long "I'm in love with you."

you're eyes widened, but you didn't seem apphaled nor insulted by his confession, which set his spiraling mind at ease, even if just for a little "why have you never told me" you asked, internally calling yourself a hypocrite for the exact same reason "I was worried it might cause a scandal, I wouldn't want to ruin what you have worked so hard for, and the friendship we had build" he said "besides I-" he took a deep breath "I thought that maybe it would have been for the best if you had found someone else" he said, his ears once again pressing to his head, clearly betraying how he felt about that statement "why would you think that?" You asked confused, feeling bad for bombarding him with so many uncomfortable questions.

He slouched a bit, a pained expression on his face "Look at me" his hand perched on one of his mechanical knees as a silent way of accentuating the crux of his dilemma, and he once again broke eye contact with you "I'm only half a man" he spoke, the following silence slowly nurturing that weed of doubt that had taken root in his mind. That sentence broke your heart. You knew loosing limbs is awfully traumatic, but you had never fathomed how bad Lycaon's own body dysmorphia really was. And how could you have know, it was a part of him always carefully locked behind his polished and perfect demeanour, shamefully hidden away from the world.

You reached out to him, gently cupped his cheek, and he looked at you again "you have gone through thick and thin with me these last one and a half years, and you always supported me" you started, gently stroking his cheek with your thumb "you may think of yourself as nothing more than half a man..." you smiled at him with the same beautiful smile that would always make butterflies erupt in his stomache, and it seemed to lighten up his dark mood "but to me, you're already my whole world" you confessed, and he held his breath, his brain slowly starting to process your words "does that mean you-" he started and you nodded "I'm in love with you too Lycaon." His eye lightened up at your words, his heart doing jumping jacks in his chest as you held his face in both your hands now, looking deep into his eye "so please, kiss me properly" you said, slowly leaning in, and he obliged immediately "with pleassure, master."

Your lips connected again in a searing and loving kiss, the butterflies in your, and his stomach exploding into fireworks. He cupped the back of your head, deepening the kiss, pulling you closer to him, and you straddled Lycaon's lap in response. His hands were gently perched on your hips, your arms found their way around his neck as you both fully enjoyed the intimate moment you shared with eachother. You heared Lycaon's tail thump against the sofa, while he questioned if this was really happening or if it was just another one of his desperate dreams. And even if it was, then it was the best he has had in a long time.

You two seperated the kiss, still holding eye contact with eachother, both slightly out of breath "damn" you started and he tilted his head a bit to the side, his ear flicking in confusion "you're incredibly handsome, and you're an amazing kisser" you complimented him and he chuckled "a compliment that I'll gladly return in full" he said, burying his face in your neck. His tail moving excitedly from side to side as he held you in his embrace never wanting this moment to end, wanting to hold you forever.

You leaned against his chest "so goldman really didn't bother you" you asked, and Lycaon reached for your hand, gently taking it in his "no don't worry, that cretin hadn't shown his face after you told him off after dinner" he said bemused. You looked at your hand, marveling how much bigger his was than yours "more like you told him off, if I didn't know any better goldman would have almost caught fire by the way you had looked at him" you giggled. He laced his fingers with yours "I'm sorry if my behaviour in that situation has made you uncomfortable" he said, a twinge of guild finding its way back into his voice "don't worry you didn't make me uncomfortable" you said, bringing his hand to your face and planted a kiss on his knuckles "I liked it, the way you stood up for me, and protected me" you blushed a little as you remembered the situation, now realizing that there might have been a twinge of possesiveness in his words as well. He gently laid his head ontop of yours "I also liked how you had stood up for me during yesterday's dinner" he hugged you a bit tighter, tracing little shaped on your hand.

"I admire you you know" you said and he perked up "how so?" He asked you, while you thought about how he had spoken about himself earlier "because, dispite what happened to you, you never gave up, and stayed diligent" you said, hoping your words would soothe that ache of his "you're inspiring" he was speechless, his heartbeat picking up a notch "you give me the strength, and motivation to keep working hard" you gently trace his mechanical knee, his heart was soaring as he watched you "and this doesn't make you ugly, or less of a man, it actually makes you very attractive in my eyes" you admitted "I know I can always count on you, and you can always count on me, you have my word" you finished, looking deep into his eye.

In a flash Lycaon had you pinned to the sofa, his lips once again finding yours. Only this time his kiss was different, it was hungry and lust driven as he used your suprise to push his tongue into your mouth as it moved against yours. The alcohol he had earlier seeming to fuel the fire that still burned in his stomache, as he unbottoned his shirt, exposing his muscled chest to you. He broke the kiss to let you catch your breath, your eyes were wide at his bold action. He gently grabbed your hand, and brought it to his face, placing a kiss on your palm. Then he spoke, low and gentle. You heart skipped several beats as his words left his mouth

"Master, please allow me to make love to you"

---~---

Part 5 ->

To be continued ->

First and foremost, thank you for reading. This chapter was definetly longer than the previous ones, but I wasn't able to split it without ruining the pacing.

Anyways, next chapter will be the Nsfw chapter, and I hope I nailed it. It's not often I write smut.

Lastly, thank you again for reading. I hope you enjoyed.

-Elio

#fluff #angst #lycaon x reader #von lycaon #von lycaon x reader #zzz x you #zzz x reader #zzz von lycaon #angst with a happy ending #furry #x reader #werewolf x human #werewolf x reader

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letsgoletsgetit08 · 22 days ago

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fix off pt. 1

summary: Mingi turns to every coping mechanism besides a healthy one in the aftermath of Jongho's death, two years later.

warnings: MDNI!!, 18+, su*c*de attempt, implied/referenced su*c*de, major character death, overdose, recreational drug use, religious imagery & symbolism, catholicism, barebacking, strangers to lovers, bittersweet ending, angst, hurt/comfort

pairing: priest!soft dom!Jeong Yunho x hot fucking mess!Song Mingi

author's note: HEY! Read the tags! This fic has some very heavy content! Please DO NOT READ this if mentions/discussion of suicide/attemps or character deat (RIP Jongho, so glad you're alive IRL, king) are in any way triggering to you! Also, know that myself and Ateez would be very sad if any Atiny or anyone else took their own life. Don't do it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ! !! !!! That said, this work is based on/influenced by/referencing - sometimes lightly, sometimes very directly because Phoebe Waller-Bridge is more of a genius than me - the show Fleabag. This show is personally very important to me, it both healed me in some ways and also hurt me very deeply. If you have seen the show, you know how this ends. Again, read the tags. Phoebe, if you happen to read this for whatever reason, I just hope you're flattered because of imitation and all that.

OKAY! Disclaimers disclaimed, please let me know if I missed anything. And with that, please enjoy. This one is kind of my baby. I hesitated to even post it here because I'm a little scared of how it will be received but you never know until you try, right? Comments, likes, & re-blogs are always welcome, but please be civil.

word count: 23,480

ao3 link: fix off

fix off

It's hard not to spiral.

Chest constricting, breath becoming shallow.

Mingi tossed the bar rag onto the counter and dismissed himself to the bathroom.

Cold water splashed on his face.

Not cold enough. Need some ice.

He thought he had seen Jongho. Which was impossible.

His friend had died nearly two years ago now.

He died two years ago.

Mingi composed himself enough to go back and sling espresso martinis to faceless patrons. Turning on his disarming charm enough to make decent tips.

Coping.

Back home, laying in bed, Mingi got off while watching the news. Contemplated texting his ex.

He was a little offended that she hadn't come back yet.

She always came back.

It was one of the only constants in his life, repeating the cycle of breaking up with Yuji when she became too overbearing, trying to be too serious.

“It feels like you only want to be with me for the sex.” She had accused him of it a thousand times if she had done it once.

“My friends really like you, too.” Mingi half-heartedly defended himself. She'll hate to hear that.

“Do you like me, Mingi? Because I'm trying. I want to take care of you.”

“I'm not a child.” Mingi pouted.

“You're the only person who believes that.” Yuji turned to go, taking his lack of response to her question for what it was, “I'm not coming back, Mingi. Not again.”

She'll be back.

She wasn't.

The next time he'd seen her, six months later, she had actually looked happy, something he honestly couldn't say during the times they had been together. Ring on her finger, hand around the bicep of a man Mingi vaguely recognized.

Mingi saw her. Caught her eye.

She's going to walk over.

She walked over and introduced her fiancé, “This is jfodwjjfow.”

He wouldn't remember the man’s name anyway, why bother to hear it when it was said the first time.

“So good to meet you, Jeff.” Definitely not his name. “Wish I could stay but I really have to be going.”

He barely noticed the confused expression on her face as he dashed away.

Two Years Ago

"You know that guy who comes in on Tuesday nights and sits at the end of the bar?” Jongho asked, looking up at Mingi with a devious grin.

"Tall guy who drinks red wine and looks like he wants to eat you?” Mingi teased him.

"Shut up, no way! He's probably looking at you. Everyone looks at you.” Jongho meant it as a compliment.

"Well they should look at you because I will just chew them up and spit them out.”

"Why else would God give you such big teeth?” Jongho skirted out of the way before Mingi could smack his ass with the bar towel.

"Do I have big teeth?!” Mingi was hurt.

"No!” Jongho stayed a few feet away, out of the line of fire, “No! I'm sorry, your teeth are fine!”

"I'm hideous!” Mingi whined.

“Hush, Mingi. You're perfect.” Jongho sighed, “Nevermind about that guy, anyway. I have my hands full with you already.”

“You love it.” Mingi shot him an innocent smile.

“Of course I do.” Jongho poked his cheek, “Who else will?”

A Tuesday. Probably.

“Mingi, promise me you won't be late tonight.” Seonghwa’s voice was stern, pleading over the phone.

Mingi had taken the call while riding Soobin's dick. Or maybe it was Seungmin. He couldn't remember. He'd just been calling him “baby” since he came over.

He was Hongjoong’s accountant.

“I won't.” He would. “Promise.” He shouldn't.

It was Seonghwa’s debut as Marius Pontmercy in an off-broadway production of Les Misérables. A big deal. He would finally be catching his big break.

“Okay, good because I really want everyone there.” Mingi faltered at the implication of the word. Like they were complete without Jongho. “It's very important to me. And I don't want to be embarrassed by you walking in late, I'm not even sure they will let you-”

“Yes, I know, Hwa.” He panted, Baby's hips bucking underneath him, “I'll be there.”

He’s noisy. Loves nipples.

“What are you doing? You sound out of breath?” Seonghwa’s voice was verging towards hysterical.

“Just out for a run!” Baby let out a moan that Mingi knew carried through the phone.

“Ew, Mingi! That is disgusting-”

“Fuck, yes, Soobin!” Mingi couldn't help but cry out, ending the call as the man nailed his prostate.

Soobin filled the condom inside him, Mingi followed quickly behind, collapsing to his chest.

“It's Seungmin, asshole.” The man pushed Mingi off of him and cleaned himself up, gathered his things to leave, shirt on inside out.

He’s probably going to realize he’s actually straight now.

Mingi got off to the memory of the scene again, later, in the shower.

He was only twenty minutes late to Seonghwa's debut that night. Tears streaming down his face at the performance. His friend was beautiful. The musical was one of his favorites.

I’m a total sap.

He wished Jongho were there to see it.

Seonghwa let himself be hugged backstage after the show, a rare treat, even letting Mingi linger for a beat before pushing him off, accepting the flowers he held out to him.

My bouquet looks pathetic next to the others. He’ll hate it.

“Didn't want it to go to your head too much.” Mingi quipped, joking about his bouquet.

“Thankfully, no one else had your same mindset.” Seonghwa was probably joking but his words stung. He studied Mingi’s face, not seeming to know how to help in the moment, instead, turning his attention to the rest of their friends, Hongjoong sidling up to his side as Mingi stepped away. “Let’s get everyone in for a picture.”

Everyone.

The word was repeated all night, at dinner afterwards, at the bar after that. Ringing in Mingi’s ears.

Mingi coped in one of the only ways he knew how.

Drink after drink, not knowing what was what, just that it had alcohol.

Everyone will be mad at me by the end of the night.

He had gotten too loud and apparently said something to upset Seonghwa. Not hard to do. Hongjoong scolded him, staying composed as he asked him to leave.

Yeosang sweet Yeosang ended up under his arm, guiding him to the curb outside of the bar, waiting on the Uber.

“What's wrong with me, Sangie?” Mingi slurred, ignoring how Yeosang’s body tensed when his head fell to the other's shoulder.

He's going to say nothing is wrong with me. They always do.

“Nothing is wrong with you, Mingi.” His voice was sweet, deep, soothing.

“Everyone hates me.” Mingi whined.

“No one hates you, Ming.” Yeosang wrapped an arm around his shoulders, “You just feel your feelings out loud. And you have a lot of them. Wooyoung is similar, but he has a San to regulate him.”

“I don't have anyone.” Mingi sobbed.

“You do, Mingi. You just push us away. And I get it. No one can take Jongho's place. He was that for you, wasn't he?” Yeosang asked gently.

Mingi didn't answer but sat up, looking at Yeosang.

He is so pretty.

Mingi leaned in for a kiss.

Yeosang stopped him with a hand, “No, baby. You're drunk. You don't actually want to do this.”

What the hell did Yeosang know?

He was right. Of course.

“Sorry.” Mingi mumbled.

The Uber pulled up and Yeosang helped him inside, instructing him to drink some water when he got home.

He should have asked for Yeosang to help him. He would have done it.

I should ask.

He should ask.

But he always pushed them away.

Mingi hated riding in cars. He gripped the seat for dear life the entire drive.

There was no one to make sure he didn't drown in a pool of his own vomit. The thought hit him somewhere on the ride home.

He wouldn't drown in a pool of his own vomit.

He hadn't yet.

I need a grilled cheese and a cigarette.

Two Years Ago

The Tuesday man was leaning across the bar as far as it would allow, flirting with Jongho. Mingi felt pride swell in his chest. They were cute. He was sweet, making Jongho blush, calling him pretty.

Bastard.

He hated sharing Jonho. Yes, the seven of them were friends, but he and Jongho were close outside of that. If he were asked to trade the six others for Jongho, he would. Easy. No one got him like Jongho did. Mingi felt a little like he had raised the man, with him being a little over a year younger than himself. He knew it had to be hard being the youngest in a friend group. He wanted to make sure Jongho had someone. They were roommates in college. It stuck. Had worked at the same bar together ever since.

In a lot of ways, though, Jongho had taken care of Mingi, too. Through heartbreaks and the general ups and downs of life.

He loved him more than anything.

Naturally, he was a little possessive of his friend. But he also wanted him to be happy.

He pushed down the acidic, curdling sensation in his chest. Let him be happy.

Mingi would be there for him when he inevitably let him down.

A Thursday? Maybe??

Wooyoung had talked him into hot yoga.

“It will be good for you, I promise!” Wooyoung sing-songed as they walked into the studio.

San probably loves the fact that he’s into yoga.

The studio was sweltering, they weren’t misadvertising, that’s for sure.

“I feel like I’m going to die.” Mingi complained.

“Shut up and take your shoes off.” Wooyoung instructed.

Not the first time he’s said that line.

“Buy me dinner first.”

“You need therapy.” Wooyoung rolled his eyes.

Tried that, didn’t work.

His therapist said that he was projecting his grief for Jongho onto what really was daddy issues. Or something like that. He really hadn’t paid too close attention. He had fucked his therapist after a few sessions though.

After sweating buckets and nearly pulling a muscle to keep from slipping and busting his face open, he thanked Wooyoung for inviting him and made him promise to never do it again.

On the way out of the studio, a bus was unloading.

Tuesday guy.

Mingi locked eyes with him as he hopped off the bus. Time stood still.

The man nodded and Mingi darted in the other direction, Wooyoung chasing after him.

He finally caught up, “Hey, what the fuck!”

“Sorry!” Mingi clawed his fingernails into his palms, “Forgot I liked the smoothie place on 7th better than the one on 9th.”

A lie.

“Well damn, you could have just said something!” Wooyoung scolded him, mostly playfully but still seeming perturbed at Mingi’s odd behavior.

Two Years Ago

Jongho was off that night. Tuesday guy sat in his same spot.

Mingi tested him.

Tuesday failed.

Took Mingi to his apartment after work.

Fucked Mingi senseless into his mattress.

Fucking Tuesday.

He never learned his real name.

But he would never have called him by it anyway.

Mingi’s dad had cheated on his mom.

Any given day of the week, honestly, does it really matter?

The bar was dead that night and Mingi didn’t bother to fight to close with his new coworker. Let himself be cut early so that he could go home.

He texted the group chat on his walk home.

Got cut early. Anyone wanna meet up?

He waited for replies. None came in. No one had even read the message.

Fine then.

He walked aimlessly around the city, finally landing on a park bench, staring out over the lake. He didn’t know what to do with himself.

The sun was setting and he watched it paint the sky pastel.

He dialed Jongho’s number.

Hey, it’s Jongho! Leave a message. Or just text me like a normal person.

Again.

Hey, it’s Jongho! Leave a message. Or just text me like a normal person.

Interrupted.

“Anyone sitting here?” A feminine voice, light German accent. He looked up.

She had stick-straight dyed red hair to her shoulders, microbangs, piercings, and was more tattoo than skin.

“No, sorry. Just um.” He looked down at the phone in his hands, “On the phone.”

“Why are you apologizing?” She raised a sharp eyebrow at him. He spotted a tongue ring when her mouth was open.

“I don’t know. Sorry.” He blinked at her. Clocking that he had just done it again.

She studied him, “Hm. You’re sweet, aren’t you?”

He shrugged.

“Pretty lips. I like you. If I take you to my place, you can’t murder me, okay?”

She looks more like she would be the one to murder me.

“Okay.” He agreed.

Looks like I have plans tonight after all.

“Oh, you’re going to be fun.” She smiled, standing up and offering her hand to help him up. He followed her like a lost puppy to her apartment.

The Germans are known for their open-mindedness in the bedroom. I should have remembered that.

He was tied to her bed from all four corners, wrists and ankles secured. Cock leaking pathetically onto his stomach. She walked around the bed, strutting in her elaborate black lace lingerie, pulled the blindfold down over his eyes.

They had discussed it briefly on their way over. Limits, safe word (tiramisu), and the light system.

Green light. Green light. Green light.

He felt the bed shift as she crawled between his legs, fingers dancing over his skin as she teased him everywhere except where he wanted it.

“So desperate already for me, aren’t you, Mingki?” Her accent added an extra percussive affect to his name.

“Yes, goddess.” He breathed.

With no warning, she began licking his cock from base to tip, guiding it into her mouth without even touching it with her hands. The tip of it hitting the back of her throat immediately.

I'm way too well hung for someone to be able to do that so easily.

She worked him expertly, slow at first, then picking up her pace until she estimated he was close to his peak, a faint pop as she pulled off of his dick. He squirmed, searching for any sort of touch, wanting to cum so badly. He heard her chuckle, “Oh, no, mein liebchen, it won't be that easy.”

He whined and pouted, cut short as she positioned herself above him, rolling a condom on and applying lube before lining herself up and taking him in one go.

I'm way too well hung for someone to be able to do THAT so easily.

She sat still, cockwarming him until he couldn't take it, sweat breaking out on his forehead, hips bucking, which earned him nothing besides sitting up so that only his tip was inside of her. He couldn't reach, no matter how hard he tried, to enter her any further. Eventually, she lowered herself ever so slightly, once he stilled his movements, proving he could be patient. She bounced up and down, tiny movements, only taking the first few inches of his length. Normally, he would be slamming his hips at breakneck speed by this point but he felt more turned on than ever before as he was brought to the edge again, only for her to pull off at the last second.

She was straddling his face seconds later, “Me first, then we'll revisit you. If you can manage to get me off.”

“Yes, godd-hmmmpph” she cut him off by placing her wet cunt on his face. The lube was strawberry flavored and he ate devotedly, like it was the last supper.

I'm not even religious!

He focused hard, listening for little moans and the involuntary twitch of her hips to guide him in knowing what she liked. It was so much harder to gauge with a blindfold on, but just as his jaw was aching so bad he thought he might have to give up, cock throbbing and leaking precum into the condom, she finally came, crying out at her release.

“What a good pet.” She panted, moving back down to his cock again, taking him in one go and grinding her hips evilly, swiveling them but not letting him fuck into her still. “You can't cum until I come on your pretty cock, understood?”

“Yes, goddess, please let me make you come.” He begged, surprising himself.

She fell forward bracing her hands on his chest as she fucked herself on his dick. He almost lost it as he finally felt her clench around him, moaning at her second release, then surprising him by removing the blindfold.

“Eyes on mine and beg me for it.” She demanded.

“Please let me cum, goddess, please I'll do anything, please, please, goddess, I-” she stroked him with her pussy, as he begged until she was satisfied, tears streaming down his face.

“Okay, since you asked so nicely.” She stilled her hips, “Go ahead and use me, you filthy boy. So desperate.”

He cried out as he tried to get a better range of motion to fuck her. She didn't help at all, but he was already on a razor wire, and soon he was cumming hard. She dismounted as soon as she felt his orgasm start, ruining it. He whimpered pathetically, not feeling satisfied, not enough cum leaving his body.

She chuckled, “What's wrong, my little pet? You wanted to cum. I let you cum.”

He couldn’t answer, genuinely crying now.

“Color, Mingi?” She asked, seeming concerned.

“Green!” He sobbed.

“Good.” And she removed the condom, his dick still hard. She stroked up the underside with one steady finger until his hips were bucking pathetically again, then she gripped him genuinely, working him to a real release this time. The sound that escaped his chest was something he was sure had never left his body before, thick ribbons of cum hitting his stomach and chest, covering her hand.

“Thank you! Fuck, thank you.” He cried as she worked him through it.

She made sure he got proper aftercare when they were done. He stood in her doorway, staring at his shoes, voice barely above a whisper, “Can I… um. See you again?”

She smiled sympathetically, “No, so sorry, darling. I only ever do this once with someone.” She tapped his cheek, “Best of luck out there. I really did have a good time.”

“Okay.” He sighed, “Thank you again.” And he turned to leave, feeling emptier than ever as he walked home.

Two Years Ago

Jongho was a mess when he got to work that day, dark circles under his eyes. Mingi clocked it immediately, dragging him to the walk-in cooler to talk.

“What's wrong?” He asked, trying not to panic, certain he was found out.

Jongho never cried. It ripped Mingi’s heart in half. “He fucking-” Jongho choked on a sob, “I don’t know what I did wrong! I-” He buried his face into Mingi’s chest, “He told me he cheated on me and then-” A huge sniffle, struggling to catch his breath, “He said he couldn’t live with the guilt and he broke up with me! I don’t know what’s wrong with me-” Another wave of sobs racked his body.

“Shh, come on. You can’t work like this. Let’s get you home.” Mingi pulled him to his side, guilt spilling down his spine like ice water.

Back at their apartment, Mingi spent all night taking care of Jongho, wrapping him in a blanket on the couch and letting him talk things through. Three bottles of wine between the two of them. He had no clue why Tuesday hadn’t told Jongho the full truth. He was too scared to do it himself. Instead, he let the gravity of his sin guide his actions, coddling his friend to try to make up for it.

They ended the night curled up in Mingi’s bed together, Jongho still crying softly as he drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, the bed beside Mingi was cold.

He had thirty missed calls on his phone. None of them were from Jongho.

He panicked, calling the last person who had called him back.

“Mingi, thank god.” San’s voice was thick, clearly he had been crying.

“What happened?” Mingi’s voice was strained, anxiety eating him alive.

“Mingi… It’s Jongho.” San took a shuddering breath, “He’s- he’s gone.”

“What do you mean, ‘gone’? There’s no way. He was upset but I’m sure he just turned his phone off and he’ll be back here any time with a pack of cig-” Mingi refused to believe what he had just been told.

“No, Mingi.” San cut him off, “They found him. His car, it was-”

“No! You’re wrong!” Mingi was in denial, verging on hysterics, “They’re wrong, they need to check again! He’ll be back any minute!”

“Mingi…” San sobbed. He heard him mutter something about not being able to do this as the phone was passed to someone else.

“Mingi. I need you to take some deep breaths and calm down.” Hongjoong’s voice was surprisingly gentle over the phone, but commanding enough to make Mingi stop sputtering nonsense that he knew, deep down, was all untrue.

“I’m sorry.” Mingi felt tears begin to streak down his face, “I’m sorry. I’m listening.”

“Hwa is ordering you an Uber. We should all be together right now. You need to get dressed and be downstairs in ten minutes, okay?” Hongjoong’s voice only wavered slightly.

“Okay.” Mingi hung up the phone.

Once he was at Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s apartment with the others, they filled him in on everything they knew, which truthfully, was very little.

Jongho indeed had alcohol in his system, according to the coroner, but having known him, he had a pretty high tolerance. It wasn’t certain he had been too drunk to drive. He had left no note, but the way the crash had happened, it almost looked intentional.

There was no way of knowing now, of course.

Mingi filled them in on why Jongho had been upset. Not the full story. He didn’t think he could ever admit that to anyone. Even with the added context, the friends all silently agreed that it had been an accident. The alternative was far too painful.

The pit in Mingi’s stomach begged to differ. The doubt that lingered would never leave him. Not even for a moment.

Seonghwa’s Bachelor Party

Mingi felt especially proud of himself, walking up to Seonghwa’s apartment - his fiance would be staying at a hotel that night - knowing what surprise he had planned for the night.

He’s going to do backflips.

The stripper he had hired was around Hongjoong’s height, pretty dark brown hair, wide, soulful eyes. Mingi had picked him out himself, wanting the surprise to be absolutely perfect.

When he stepped inside the apartment, his stomach dropped.

I really shouldn’t have muted the group chat.

He was under dressed in slacks and a sweater. Everyone else was in suits. More than just their close friend group was there, too. A memory niggled at the back of his mind, vaguely remembering reading a text saying Seonghwa’s more conservative cousins would be in town from Korea. They were staying for a few months before the wedding, through the holidays, since the wedding was on New Years Eve, treating the trip like a long vacation.

Mingi tried to turn around to back out, wanting to call the booking agency immediately to cancel the stripper, but Wooyoung spotted him, looking relieved to have an excuse to leave the conversation he was having with a particularly dull looking family member, making his way to Mingi in just a few strides, pulling him into the living room.

“Thank fuck!” Wooyoung whispered into his ear, “That guy was talking about the stock markets and I thought I was going to die.”

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Mingi couldn’t help but laugh at the situation.

“He got got, too!” Wooyoung jutted his chin out, gesturing towards the kitchen, where San was sequestered by three cousins, eyes pleading as he met Wooyoung’s gaze.

Mingi cackled as he saw San mouth “Help!”

A punch on his arm from Wooyoung startled him, “Why are you underdressed?”

“I muted the group chat! You guys talk so much.”

“Well some of it is important, dumbass!” Wooyoung scolded him, “You better not be planning anything stupid tonight.”

“What!” Mingi tried to look surprised, “I would never! I’m just here for Seonghwa.”

“Yes?” Seonghwa had heard his name and was headed towards them, “Mingi, why are you underdressed?”

“I’m sorry! I can’t read, you know that.” Mingi whined, trying to sound innocent.

“Just, please, please don’t do anything stupid tonight. It’s already tense with my family here, I had to bribe them to even come to the wedding by promising we would get married by a Catholic priest. Neither of us wanted that, but no offense, I didn’t want my wedding to just have you guys and all of Hongjoong’s family.”

“We’ll be good, Hwa. Promise.” Wooyoung offered.

“It’s not you I’m worried about. I need the princess to survive the night without making it all about himself.” Seonghwa snipped, then his face fell, looking a little remorseful, “Sorry, that was harsh, I-”

“No, no.” Mingi pretended it hadn’t hurt him to hear, “You’re right. I promise I’ll be good, tonight is all about you and making your weird, boring cousins happy.”

As it turned out, keeping his weird, boring cousins happy was a tall order. They didn’t want to play drinking games - they barely wanted to drink, they didn’t understand Mingi’s sense of humor, and when they weren’t talking his ear off, they seemed to be treating him practically as wait staff, asking for more of the snacks from the kitchen, or another beer, or what his beliefs on the afterlife were. The latter of which he dodged, making a lame excuse of needing to pee.

Mingi had snuck off to the bathroom attached to the primary bedroom, searching through Hongjoong’s side of the cabinets, hoping that the man still had a bit of a fun side. Exclaiming in excitement when he found a little bag of weed gummies buried carelessly under other over-the-counter meds and random, clearly forgotten about toiletries.

He figured they were probably old, so he popped two in his mouth before even reading what the label said. 25mg/piece.

Fuck. Well. Too late now.

He spotted an old bottle of Xanax, giving it a shake to see it was almost completely full. He pocketed it as well.

You never know.

When he emerged, he was rudely reminded of what he had been so worried about when he had arrived.

Yeosang was answering the door, letting a man dressed in a black, sparkly, see-through shirt, red, glittery, heart-shaped pasties covering his nipples clearly visible underneath, and loose black pants, the outline of his bulge making itself known as well. Yeosang, innocent and clueless as ever, let the man inside before Mingi could get over there to stop him.

The weed began to hit Mingi and he couldn’t make his feet move as the man turned on the bluetooth speaker in his hand and a loud, harsh techno beat took over the room, every single voice going quiet to stare.

“Who’s the beautiful blushing groom?” The man surveyed the room noisily.

Seonghwa’s cousins were stunned silent, but Yeosang still hadn’t caught on, pointing to Seonghwa, “That’s him!”

The Hongjoong look-alike stripper ripped his shirt off as he approached Seonghwa, and only then did Mingi’s brain catch up to his feet, jogging over to stop the man.

“I’m so sorry!” Mingi tried to cut him off, “There’s been a mistake, I messed up-” He let out a giggle, his weed-fuzzed brain finding the situation hilarious despite himself.

“Is this your idea of a joke, Mingi?” Seonghwa looked mad, hurt, and very disappointed.

The stripper was not tuned in to the conversation and had started trying to dance for Seonghwa.

“No! I’m sorry! It’s not a joke, I didn’t read the group text and I was going to cancel-” Mingi touched the stripper’s shoulder, trying to pull him off, “Hey, can you please stop that, you need to go, I’ll pay-”

“HEY!” The stripper yelled, “No touching! That’s literally the first rule you agreed to when you booked me!”

“Mingi, get the fuck out of here.” Seonghwa scolded him.

“Hwa, I’m so sorry! I’m going, I promise-” Mingi pleaded, hands coming up to try to show his innocence, but hit the stripper’s ass on their way up.

“What the FUCK did I just say?!” The stripper wheeled on him, punching him straight in the right eye socket.

San was there in an instant, putting the stripper in a hold and froggy walking him out the door, Mingi following dejectedly behind, trying to keep the tears from spilling out as the cold air hit his face again.

“San, please, I’m sorry, he has to know it was an honest mistake.”

“Honestly, Mingi. Not right now. Just.” He huffed a long breath out of his nose, “Just save it. Okay? It’s not me you need to apologize to.”

He turned his back on Mingi, heading back inside the house.

The stripper glared up at him from his spot on the curb, holding his hand out for payment.

“Are you insane? No one carries cash.” Mingi spat at him.

“Then Venmo me, dickhead.” Not-Hongjoong instructed him.

“No! Fuck off. You ruined my night.” Mingi turned around, trying to start walking home, but was stopped when the stripper jumped on him from behind, struggling to put him in a headlock due to their height difference. It was enough to get Mingi to turn around, though, which earned him a knee to his crotch and a sickening crack of his jaw, followed by his left eye. Mingi doubled over and took off running the best he could given his current state, lip bleeding onto his sweater, ignoring the shouts from the angry stripper behind him, hating how high he was as he staggered home in the cold, the world around him not feeling real.

Back at his apartment, he drew himself a bath, placing the bottle of Xanax and his phone on the edge of the bathtub before climbing in.

His head still felt wrong from the weed. Off-kilter. Anxious. Like melting cotton candy.

He lined up the pills on the lip of the bathtub, counted them.

He read the label that time.

He took three.

Dialed Jongho’s number from memory on his phone.

Hey, it’s Jongho! Leave a message. Or just text me like a normal person.

Again.

Hey, it’s Jongho! Leave a message. Or just text me like a normal person.

His brain went pleasantly fuzzy.

Head falling to the back of the tub a little clumsily.

He took three more.

Hey, it’s Jongho! Leave a message. Or just text me like a normal person.

He took three more.

Hey, it’s Jongho! Leave a message. Or just text me like a normal person.

The words started to lose all meaning as his vision blurred and he sank further into the water.

His fingers dialed the only other number he had memorized.

“Mingi?” Hongjoong’s voice was sleepy, clearly worried.

“Everyone hates me.” Mingi sighed, slipping down further into the tub, water feeling like molasses on his skin. Everything felt warm. Sticky. Cottony.

“Why aren’t you out with Seonghwa for his party, what’s wrong?” Hongjoong asked him, voice urgent.

“I think I fucked up, Joongie.” Mingi’s voice was slow, distant, tinny, metallic and childish sounding in his own ears, tongue too thick for his mouth.

“Mingi, baby, tell me what you did.” He heard Hongjoong get up from bed, “Where are you?”

“‘M home. I love you guys.” Mingi sighed, his vision going spotty.

“No, Mingi, stay with me!” Hongjoong pleaded.

But Mingi’s phone fell into the bathtub with a subdued splash as his vision went dark.

H e y , i t ’ s J o n g h o ! L e a v e a m e s s a g e . O r j u s t t e x t m e l i k e a n o r m a l p e r s o n .

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Mingi blinked his eyes open slowly, head splitting as his pupils adjusted to the bright lights.

The unmistakable smell of disinfected hospital hit his nose. He was equal parts relieved that he was alive and annoyed that he was so incompetent he couldn’t even kill himself properly.

His muscles screamed as he turned to the left, finding an open-mouthed, haggard looking Hongjoong asleep on the rigid hospital chair next to him.

Tears streamed down his face silently as he felt himself drift back asleep.

“I swear, he didn't seem that bad when he left!” Wooyoung's voice was hushed, urgent as he defended himself.

Mingi didn't open his eyes yet, not wanting to give himself away, now very intrigued in the conversation.

“I guess the stripper must have beat him up when I kicked him out. I should have driven him home.” San's voice quivered at the end of the sentence.

“Yes, someone should have stayed with him.” Hongjoong sounded incredibly exhausted and a little mad.

“It's easy to see now, but I mean was he acting that abnormal leading up? I don't understand what set him off.” Yeosang sounded genuinely worried.

“You guys realize the anniversary of Jongho’s funeral was the day before yesterday, right?” Hongjoong asked reproachfully.

The silence was deafening.

“I knew it was soon…” San trailed off, clearly ashamed.

“I know we were all friends with him. And I'm not saying whatever friendships all of us had with Jongho weren't important or as meaningful or anything like that. I would never minimize that.” Hongjoong took a deep breath, “But it was different for Mingi. I think we all know that, deep down. And I don't think any of us have acknowledged it. We've been pretty hard on him.”

“Who exactly is ‘we’?” Wooyoung asked, his tone biting, “From my point of view, we've been pretty normal with him. The only person he's fought with is your fiancé.”

There was a pregnant pause before Hongjoong spoke again, “I- I know. Seonghwa knows, too. He doesn't mean to be hard on him… I promise he's trying. You guys have no clue how hard he's beating himself up over this. He hasn't eaten since he heard. I'm really worried.”

“He has to know Mingi won't blame him for anything-” Yeosang started.

“He needs to grow the fuck up and get here and be supportive.” Wooyoung huffed, his tone erring on petulant.

“Baby…” San tried to calm him down.

“Sorry.” Wooyoung mumbled.

“He'll come by when he's ready.” Hongjoong said simply.

“Well try to give me warning because I really don't want to see him right now.” Wooyoung spat.

Mingi tried to stir to bring attention to the fact that he was awake, not wanting the conversation they were having to turn into a fight.

“Wooyoung-” Hongjoong said at the same time San tried to soothe him, “Jagi-”

“Guys.” Yeosang made eye contact with Mingi as he sat up in bed.

“Mingi!” Wooyoung nearly tripped over his feet to get to his bedside, San and Yeosang following behind, Hongjoong giving him a little more space.

“Youngie.” Mingi croaked, his throat incredibly parched, mouth tasting too much like mouth for his comfort.

“We're so sorry, honey.” San’s face contorted, holding back tears.

“We didn't know how bad it was.” Yeosang offered.

Hongjoong poured him a cup of water, which he took gladly, taking a sip before speaking again, “I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking stupid.” He felt tears build in his eyes again, looking over to Hongjoong, “I'm sorry you had to find me like that.”

“Mingi, no. I'm just glad I found you.” Hongjoong laid a hand on his shoulder, never being one to be very comfortable with physical affection.

“I'm so sorry.” It seemed to be the only phrase Mingi could remember how to say.

Luckily for him, the nurse came in then to check on him, taking his vitals and informing him that he had been accepted to an inpatient behavioral health hospital and that transport was being set up as they spoke.

“You're sending me to the psych ward?” His stomach dropped.

“Yes sir, we're required by law to have you admitted after a suicide attempted. You're considered very high risk right now.” She spoke as if she had delivered the same line a thousand times already that day.

“I just failed to commit suicide and I feel like dog shit!” The effort from raising his voice made him dizzy, “There’s no amount of money you could pay me to convince me to try that shit again right now.”

His friends didn't seem to know what to say

“You will just have to take that up with your psychiatrist at the hospital. I'm sorry. If you don't go willingly, the doctor will have to put you on a 72 hour hold.”

Mingi closed his eyes, seething, “Fucking… fine.”

“Okay, good. I'll let the doctor know.” She walked out of the room and no one moved until she was out of ear shot.

Wooyoung cocked an eyebrow at him, “You're really gonna-”

“Hell no. You guys have to help me get out of here. I'll stay with one of you, I promise, I just can't… please. Don't make me.” Mingi all but begged, feeling small and vulnerable like a child.

Everyone turned to Hongjoong, the de-facto leader, often thought of by his friends as the dad of the group.

He looked between the men before finding Mingi’s eyes, sighing when he saw how desperate his friend looked, “San, trade clothes with him and go distract the nurse.” He never stopped looking at Mingi while he spoke, “We're getting him the hell out of here.”

Five minutes later, Hongjoong, Yeosang, and Wooyoung surrounded Mingi from four sides, trying to obscure him from the view of anyone who might try to stop them, though it was essentially futile, considering how Mingi towered over them, giggling to themselves as they heard the nurses gasp and squeal. San had evidently just taken off his paper scrubs shirt as a distraction. They made it into the elevator and all the way downstairs undetected, within only a few hundred feet of the front door when they heard San’s out of breath voice from the stairwell yelling, “Run!”

They obeyed, taking off towards the parking lot, hopping into San's 4-Runner as he unlocked it to signal its location, though he himself was still a hundred or so yards behind, bare feet slapping on the pavement (Mingi had squeezed his feet into San's shoes) as the guards slowed their pace behind him, clearly accepting their defeat, out-paced easily by the athletic man.

Mingi felt like death as he wheezed, exhausted from the effort in the middle back seat of San's car, wedged securely between Hongjoong and Yeosang, San hopping into the driver's seat. He felt like death, yes, but he also felt more alive than he had in a long time, being the first one to crack and start laughing in the car after a moment of unsure silence. Wooyoung followed second, his high pitched wild laughter making everyone else submit to a giggle fit as well. San rolled down the windows and stuck his head out as he drove out of the parking lot, hair blowing in the chill winter air, yelling, “Nice try, bitches!” as they made their escape.

Two and a Half Years Ago

Mingi and Jongho had managed to sneak away from Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s engagement party, finding themselves in Hongjoong’s den, laying on the floor, rather cross-faded, skin still damp after coming inside from the balmy spring air that had enveloped them on the back porch.

"I can’t believe they’re finally going to get married.” Mingi sighed staring up at the ceiling.

"San and Wooyoung must be thrilled. I bet San is scheming already.” Jongho chuckled.

Mingi scoffed, “I think San has had a ring in his closet for a year at this point.”

"You’re probably right.”

Mingi turned his head to look at his friend, studying his profile, the shape of which he had memorized years ago, “First those two, then Wooyoung and San. You think everyone will expect us to get married next?”

Jongho met his gaze, “Mingi, no offense, but I will only marry you at fifty if we’re both still single.”

"Promise?” Mingi was mostly joking.

Jongho rolled his eyes, “Someday, someone will take care of us like we do each other.” He turned his head back away, “But just in case… yes. Promise.”

"Hell yeah.” Mingi pumped his arm in victory.

"You left Yeosang out of all of that, by the way. What’s he going to do?”

"I assumed he would move in with Youngie and San at some point.” Mingi deadpanned.

Jongho chuckled, “I’m honestly surprised they haven’t all moved in together yet.”

Footsteps had them craning their head to the back of the room.

Seonghwa’s arms were folded, “Did you guys plan on being antisocial all night?”

Mingi and Jongho shrugged, sitting up, Jongho helping Mingi to his feet.

Seonghwa sighed dramatically, “Please come back and join us. Act normal for once.”

“Yes, mom!” Jongho mocked.

They had to swallow their giggles as Seonghwa marched them back to the kitchen and living room, where everyone else was gathered.

The Present, October 15th

Mingi woke up, slightly disoriented, in Wooyoung and San’s guest bedroom, far too early in the morning. His face was throbbing, bruises and swelling finally going down, but still aching and tender nonetheless. He looked on the bedside table for painkillers before remembering that he hadn’t been left with any from the hospital, considering how he had chosen to depart. That, and he assumed, a cold pit in his stomach, Wooyoung wouldn’t allow him access to any meds without supervision. Really, Mingi felt zero desire to ever try to hurt himself again, but he understood that his friends were just doing their due diligence to protect him.

Embarrassment and shame coursed over him.

I'm a fucking mess.

He looked for his phone, finally finding it plugged in on the desk on the opposite side of the room.

He scrolled through and replied to messages from Hongjoong and Yeosang, telling him he was feeling fine and thanking them again for their help.

He knew it was too early for Wooyoung to get up, so he scrolled absentmindedly through his phone for a while before the pain from the wounds on his face, his split lip and bruised jaw and eye sockets, were too much to continue ignoring. He looked around in the room for any of his belongings, not finding anything except what he had worn of San’s home from the hospital.

The dresser in the corner of the room stared at him and he walked over to take a peak. Some of Wooyoung and San’s off-season clothes were in there, shorts and swim trunks mostly. But in one drawer alone, was one of Jongho’s old hoodies. Faded dark green and perfectly worn. Mingi remembered it because he had borrowed it on more than one occasion after work, on their walk home, always having been one to forget a jacket. Jongho acted like he was put out to lend it to him, but Mingi knew as well as he had, he didn’t mind a bit. Now that he thought about it, it was totally possible that Jongho had always worn it just for his sake. The man ran very hot, constantly complaining about it, even in winter.

Mingi brought the sweater up to his face, hoping it would still smell faintly of him, but knowing deep down it wouldn’t. He slipped it on, zipping it up, putting the hood on, and heading into the kitchen to try to find some coffee. After a few minutes of searching (much to his guilt, realizing that they had locked up their knives), Mingi found the necessary supplies to make coffee, rustling through the pantry for something to eat as it brewed.

“You’re up early.” Wooyoung’s raspy morning voice startled him.

“Ah!” Mingi whipped around, “Sorry, yeah. My face fucking hurts.”

“I’ll get you something.” Wooyoung gave a small smile, “Sorry, you understand why I couldn’t just leave you some-”

“Nah, I know.” Mingi waved him off, “I would do the same thing. Don’t worry.”

Wooyoung nodded, “Okay, good. I’m glad. I’ll go grab it.”

Mingi poured two cups of coffee as Wooyoung returned, handing him a steaming mug in exchange for two ibuprofen tablets.

“Thanks, man.” Mingi tossed them back, swallowing them dry, knowing the coffee was still too hot to sip on, “And thanks for letting me stay. I don’t want to put you guys out-”

Wooyoung placed his mug down on the kitchen island, his typically sharp, vulpine features turning soft, crossing over to hug Mingi out of the blue, “No way, Mingi. I’m just so glad you’re okay.” He pulled back, “I’m so mad at you, too. But it’s far outweighed by how glad I am that you’re here.”

“I’m glad I’m here, too.” Mingi confessed.

“Good.” Wooyoung blinked back tears, swallowing, “I couldn’t do another funeral, Mingi.”

“I know.” Mingi’s face flushed red, embarrassed at the idea of causing his friends so much grief, “I know. I’m sorry.”

“No more apologizing.” Wooyoung commanded, “You should keep it, by the way.” He nodded at the hoodie Mingi had donned.

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to take-”

“Mingi, I’m sure. He would have wanted you to have it. It just makes me fucking sad every time I see it. I want to remember him in different ways other than just being sad he’s gone. Please take it.” Wooyoung’s eyes were soft as they peered into Mingi’s soul.

Mingi held his gaze for a moment, before finally nodding, “Okay. Yeah. Thank you, Wooyoung.”

“Of course, Ming.” Wooyoung sipped his coffee before turning around to retrieve a skillet from the cabinet under the island, “Let me make you some pancakes.” He stood up and cut Mingi off before he could protest, “No. I’m rephrasing that. I’m making us pancakes. And you’re going to eat them with me.”

“That sounds great, Youngie. Thank you.”

Mingi watched as the younger began to gather ingredients, pouring them into a mixing bowl and starting to combine them. Something kept clawing at the back of his mind though. He didn’t know how to breach the subject so he just asked, “Have you um… heard from Hwa?”

Wooyoung stirred a little aggressively and Mingi nearly laughed at how his jaw clenched at the mention of their friend’s name, “No. Although to be fair, I think Hongjoong made it clear he shouldn’t talk to me right now. I’ll ask San when he wakes up, but I highly doubt it.”

“Ah.” Mingi couldn’t think of anything else to say. He understood why it might be hard for Seonghwa to see him at that very moment, but he wished he knew exactly why his friend didn’t want to see or speak to him. Was it because he was mad at Mingi? For the party, or for trying to kill himself? Or was he mad at himself? Or was it all just too much for him to face? Maybe a combination?

Wooyoung poured the pancake batter into the skillet, “I can hear you overthinking. This is partially why I’m so mad at him. He’s leaving you wondering why he won’t reach out.” He waited for the edges of the pancakes to bubble before flipping them, “You know, for someone who gave you so much grief for making things about yourself, he sure does have a nasty habit of doing it himself, doesn’t he?”

Mingi snorted, laughing at how true the statement was, “I’ve always said he and I were too similar in all the wrong ways.”

Wooyoung couldn’t help but break a grin as he plated the first batch of pancakes, handing it to Mingi, “You might actually be right about that.”

Wooyoung joined him at the table a few minutes later, and it didn’t take long for them to defrost a bit as the man realized he didn’t have to handle Mingi with kid gloves. San joined them a bit later, and there for around an hour, everything felt almost normal. Like they were in college again, scarfing down breakfast at someone’s apartment after a night at the bars. It was so nice that Mingi found himself just staring, watching Wooyoung and San interact together. The two of them had become symbiotic practically immediately, nearly a decade ago at that point. He realized possibly for the first time ever, seeing how so painfully domestic and intimate the two of them were, that he wanted that with someone.

He hadn’t noticed the tear slip down his cheek until San looked at him, concern falling over his delicate feline features, “What’s wrong, Song?”

Mingi laughed at the intentionally bad rhyme, “Nothing. You guys are just cute. I’ve missed you a lot. I’ve missed this.”

Wooyoung kissed San on the cheek, “Hear that? He thinks we’re cute.”

Mingi crinkled his nose in fake disgust, “Okay less so now.”

San chuckled, “We missed you, too, Mingi.”

“We’ll make more of an effort. All of us. Promise. We all need each other and it’s time we stopped isolating.” Wooyoung looked at him a little pointedly.

“I agree.” He nodded, knowing that Wooyoung was also holding him culpable for that last part.

“Good.” Wooyoung smiled, before standing up to start clearing the table. Mingi and San helped, San explaining that he had taken the day off of work to hang out with Mingi.

“Oh, um, I mean. You don’t have t-” Mingi started, feeling once again like a child.

“Yes. We do.” San said, a little stern, but there was no resentment in his voice.

Mingi nodded, “Okay. Thank you. I’ll be glad to have your company.”

San didn’t press or try to make him talk all day, which Mingi was grateful for. They watched movies and played video games for most of the day before Mingi felt like he needed a nap. They ate together like a family once again that night.

The next couple of weeks went on like that until they started to trust him again, leaving him alone during the day while they both returned to work. Mingi wondered absentmindedly if he still had a job. His boss hadn’t even called, but maybe his friends took care of it. He wondered if he even cared. Really, he didn’t know why he had even stayed after Jongho’s accident. He could bartend anywhere. If he really wanted to continue doing so was the real question. After graduating with an anthropology degree and no desire at the time to continue his education, he had just continued to do what had gotten him through college. No reason not to, he was handsome and very good at his job. Made great money. But weirdly enough, nearly dying had him taking the first look at his future that he had bothered to take in years.

Maybe I should go back to school.

He had always liked the idea of teaching at a university level.

Seven Years Ago

"Fuck, yes, baby. Just like that!” Mingi looked up in awe as the girl he’d had eyes on all semester from his Literature class was riding his dick, letting out pretty moans. He didn’t even care if they were fake, she felt incredible.

Click-BANG!

The dorm door flew open, a completely distraught, clearly sleep deprived and hungover (possibly still drunk) Jongho barged in, only blinking as the girl covered herself and yelped, diving beneath Mingi’s navy comforter, laying herself flat to his chest.

“Mingi, I fucked up. I thought my history test was next week, you’ve gotta help me.” Jongho begged him.

“Right now?!” Mingi whined, hips still rocking under the girl whose pussy he was deliciously buried deep inside of.

“Please?” Jongho begged him, “I’ll pay for your laundry for a month, hell, I’ll do your laundry for a month, man, but please help! You’re the only one who knows anything about history.”

Mingi’s pace picked up at the compliment, hearing the girl moan as he plunged deeper, “Okay, fine, I’ll meet you at the library in twenty, and you better get coffee for both of us.”

“Thank you so much, I owe you!” Jongho packed his backpack, moving at a tortoise’s pace in Mingi’s eyes, who was barely restraining himself from moving like a hare.

“Jongho, get the fuck out of here!” He half-yelled, half-panted, grabbing the girl’s hips and beginning to slam her onto his cock, moaning as she moved her hips to match his movement.

Jongho sped up, haphazardly tossing his history textbook into his backpack and darting out of the room, saluting Mingi as he turned his back and closed the door.

"God, yes, Mingi!” The girl cried out while he rubbed her clit with his thumb, head falling back as she clenched around him. He followed moments later, spilling into the condom with a broken sigh.

In his post-nut clarity, Mingi made a surprisingly good history tutor.

Jongho had gotten a nearly perfect score on his test.

October 29th

Mingi was being given a chance to prove himself. He loved Wooyoung and San but he missed his apartment. He missed being alone, oddly enough feeling more alone around the couple than he did when he was by himself.

It didn’t help that he had decided to swear off sex for the time being. He wanted to be sharp. Clear headed.

He had decided to apply for graduate school.

There was no reason he wouldn’t get in, truthfully, but it had been a while since undergrad and he would need to get letters of recommendation from his old professors, plus take the GRE, and write an essay for his application. All of it was due in March the following year, in order for him to start at the fall semester, but he wanted to get a head start, scared to leave anything to the last minute.

He was being given a chance to prove himself by going out with his friends for Halloween. Promising to not take off, not do any drugs, and limit himself to a few drinks. Agree to go home with Wooyoung and San at the end of the night.

He could do it. He felt it in his bones as he tied up his shaggy, grown out hair for his Geto costume. He could be good.

I can be good.

Wooyoung and San were getting ready and changing into their Gryffindor and Hufflepuff costumes in their bedroom, so the knock on their door in the living room confused Mingi.

“I’ll get it!” He called towards his friends’ bedroom.

He opened the door to Seonghwa, dressed as Rey Skywalker.

Mingi offered a small smile upon seeing the look of poorly disguised worry on Seonghwa’s face, “Hey, Hwa.” He moved out of the doorway, “Wanna come in?”

Seonghwa cleared his throat, stepping through the doorway, “Thanks.”

“Wooyoung and San are still getting ready but I can go get-”

“No!” Seonghwa cut him off, voice tense, “Sorry. No, thank you. I wanted to speak with you, actually. If you’re okay with that.”

Mingi led them over to the kitchen table, knowing it to be more out of earshot to his friends’ bedroom than the couch in the living room.

Seonghwa sat down across from him, folding his hands in his lap, almost like he was trying to take up as little space as possible.

Mingi waited for him to start. Maybe he was a little petty, but he really wanted Seonghwa to be the one to start. He felt that he was justified in being a little annoyed that it had taken the man two weeks to speak with him.

“Mingi…” Seonghwa’s voice trembled immediately, “I owe you an apology.”

“Hwa, you don’t have to, I understand-”

“No.” Seonghwa’s eyes snapped up to meet Mingi’s, “You don’t understand.”

Mingi leaned back into the chair, placing his clasped hands onto the table, “Okay. I’m listening.”

“The night that Jongho…” Seonghwa swallowed, “No one knows this besides Hongjoong. But.” He breathed deep through his nose, “I had a missed call, Mingi.”

Mingi blinked as the realization hit. “You-”

“My phone was on silent. I had been on the phone with family all day, frustrated about wedding stuff. You know my parents don’t approve. It’s not an excuse… It’s been eating me alive. It’s a big reason we have postponed the wedding for so long. I’m seeing a therapist for it now but I think I was taking some of my anger at myself out on you, Mingi. Because you were with him that night. You’re a heavy sleeper and you’d been drinking. We all know that. Jongho certainly knew that. It’s not your fault you didn’t wake up when he left. I see that now. But I was deflecting my frustration with myself onto you and blaming it all on that.”

“Hwa…” Mingi wanted to tell him it’s okay. The guilt of his own secret making itself known by trying to steal the air from his lungs, stomach twisting.

“No, please.” Seonghwa blinked back tears, “Let me finish.”

Mingi nodded, so Seonghwa continued, “When I got the call from Hongjoong. Well, Mingi, it hit me that I shouldn’t have let it get this far. I almost lost you, too. After yelling at you and kicking you out of my house.” A tear escaped his eye, making slow work through the makeup on his cheek, “I almost lost you, Mingi.” He sniffed, reaching for a paper towel to dab his eyes, “I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself. I’m so fucking glad that Hongjoong answered his phone. I should have been understanding. It never should have gotten that bad for you, Mingi, I’m so sorry.” His words started to rush out then, “I knew I should have been there at the hospital. I shouldn’t have stayed away, but honestly, Mingi, every time I thought about trying to talk to you, trying to face this, I nearly had a panic attack. Hongjoong was patient, of course, but he told me we weren’t going out tonight unless I talked to you. He was right. I’m so sorry it took this long.” He buried his head in his hands, “I understand if you can’t forgive me right away, Mingi. But I want you to know that I’m going to do better. I’m going to be there for you. I never want you to feel like you can’t come to me, or any of us. But please, please, Mingi, don’t let it get that bad again, I don’t know what I-”

“Hwa.” Mingi stood up, walking around the table, “Come here.” He opened his arms.

Seonghwa blinked at him from his chair until Mingi nodded, then his friend stood and let himself be hugged. “I’m so sorry.” Seonghwa mumbled into Mingi’s chest.

“I’m sorry, too. I never should have scared you guys like that.” Mingi admitted.

“I’m just glad you’re here.”

“Me, too.” Mingi squeezed him tighter, “And I forgive you, Hwa. If there’s one thing I’ve learned recently, it’s that we all process grief differently.” He released Seonghwa, moving back to his chair.

Seonghwa sat back down, “You sound like my therapist now.” A smile worked its way up the corner of his mouth.

“Well,” Mingi laughed, “I don’t have the right degree for that. But I have decided to apply for grad school.”

“Mingi!” Seonghwa’s face lit up with pride, “That’s amazing, honey. I’m so proud of you!”

“Thanks, Hwa. I love you, you know?”

Seonghwa smiled, “I love you, too, Mingi. I promise I’ll do a better job of showing it.”

“I’ll take it. Any extra love you have sitting around.” Mingi joked.

“Deal.”

“And then I’ll double it and give it back.”

Seonghwa laughed, “I know you will. You try to hide it, Mingi, but I know you’re a loverboy. Soft. Hopeless romantic.”

Mingi’s head tipped back with his chuckle, acknowledging how right his friend was, “Just don’t tell anyone, okay? I have an image to protect.”

Seonghwa stuck out his pinky, “Your secret is safe with me. Pinky swear.”

“Pinky swear.” Mingi let his finger wrap around Seonghwa’s, sealing the deal.

Hongjoong, dressed as Kylo Ren, called a few minutes later, having been waiting in the lobby of the apartment building for them. The four of them went downstairs to meet him, walking towards the subway station without being asked. Mingi was sure that they normally would have called an Uber, but they finally seemed to be acknowledging his aversion to riding in a car.

They met Yeosang, dressed as a vampire, at the bar.

Mingi did well for a while, but after a few hours out around so many people, noticing things he normally would have acted impulsively on - people discreetly exchanging small baggies of white powder, someone making eyes at him from across the bar, a woman trying to grind on him on the dance floor - added a sharp edge to the situation that he wasn’t accustomed to. He felt his heart rate begin to pick up, pounding in his ears, which had also started to ring.

His instinct was to dart off out the front door alone, but he remembered his promises to ask for help if he needed it. He searched the room, finally spotting Yeosang leaving the bathrooms.

He rushed over, grabbing his friend by the arm, “Sangie.” His grip was too tight, he knew.

His vision started darkening around the outer edges. Unable to take a full deep breath.

“Mingi?” Yeosang studied him, seeing his chest heave, eyes looking like they were having trouble focusing, “Come on, let’s get you outside.”

Mingi’s brain couldn’t make sense of his words, “Am I in trouble again?” His voice sounded small.

“No, honey, you just need some air, I think.” Yeosang looked at him more seriously, trying to ensure his words got through, “Mingi-ssi. You’re not in trouble. You need fresh air. I’ve got you, come on.”

Mingi let himself be led outside, gulping the cold air down like water as fast as he could get it inside his lungs.

“Just breathe through your nose, Mingi, you’re okay.” Yeosang instructed as he helped Mingi sit against the wall of the building.

Sobs racked his body unexpectedly, “I’m not trying to make everything about me, I swear!” Mingi looked at Yeosang, eyes pleading, desperate for his friend to understand.

“Mingi, no. No one thinks that. No one should have ever made you feel like that.” He grabbed one of Mingi’s hands, crouching in front of him, “You just got overwhelmed. It’s okay, really. I promise.”

Wooyoung and San had noticed their absence, evidently, as Mingi could hear their voices, tight with worry, coming towards them.

“Oh, thank God.” San said, sitting down beside Mingi, “Hey, you’re okay, Mingi.”

“He got overwhelmed, I think he may have been having a panic attack. But he came and found me.” Yeosang explained.

Wooyoung took Mingi’s other side, pulling his other large hand into his lap, “Good job finding Yeosang, honey.” Wooyoung squeezed his hand, “You did exactly the right thing.”

Mingi still wasn’t back to reality, but his brain had started to clear somewhat, “No one is mad at me?”

San put an arm around his shoulder, pulling him over so his head fell to his broad shoulder, “No, Mingi, I promise. No one is mad. You did the right thing. Let’s get you home, yeah?”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to make you guys leave early-”

He heard more footsteps approaching, “Of course we’re sure.” Hongjoong’s voice, “Come on. We’re all going to Wooyoung and San’s.”

“We’ll get takeout.” Seonghwa added.

“We can watch Avatar: The Last Airbender. I know you’ve been wanting us to watch it.” Wooyoung offered.

Mingi finally sat up, tears tracking down his cheeks, “Okay, yeah. That sounds good.”

Who knew letting your friends help you would be so nice.

Back at Wooyoung and San’s place, they piled together on the couch and the floor in front, pizza slices in hand as they watched Aang and the gang fight the Fire Nation. Mingi was wedged between Seonghwa and Hongjoong and he let his head fall to Seonghwa’s shoulder as he started to get sleepy.

He awoke a few hours later to find that everyone had stayed. He was in Seonghwa’s lap, everyone else snuggled together with blankets and pillows on the carpet or curled into armchairs. It felt like a sleepover they might have had in college. His heart ached with love for his friends. Jongho would have scoffed and acted opposed to it, but Mingi smiled as he pictured the man begrudgingly staying, probably ending up cuddling close with one of them on the floor.

For once, the thought of his friend didn’t send him spiraling.

He had agreed to stay another week at Wooyoung and San’s on their way back last night. He knew it was the right call. He laid his head back into Seonghwa’s lap and fell back asleep once more.

Three Years Ago

The roof of the bar was crowded, but Mingi and Jongho had managed to carve a spot on the railing for it.

“I’m confused why we’re drinking for this particular occasion!” Jongho had to practically shout over the music and voices.

“We’re celebrating for my mom!” Mingi said it like it was an explanation. It wasn’t.

“For her getting cheated on?” Jongho was still lost.

“For my dad finally signing the divorce papers!”

“Ohhh!” Jongho nodded, “Okay then why aren’t you drinking with your mom about it?”

“Because she’s not ready to celebrate it, but I am!” Mingi held his cup up, expecting Jongho to clink theirs together.

Jongho shook his head, finally doing what was expected of him, “To cheaters! May they learn their lesson and never do it again!”

“Cheers, I guess.” Mingi laughed, confused by what exactly his friend meant. “What’s worse, the cheater or the person they're cheating on with?”

Jongho considered, “The cheater. But it really depends on how close the other person is to the situation.”

“So you don’t think cheaters should be punished for cheating? Just learn their lesson and never do it again?”

“Their conscience will be punishment enough, I’m sure. Plus, I mean, I don’t think anyone is born a cheater. Or a mistress. Criminal. Everyone has things in their past that can explain their behavior, I think. It doesn’t mean they should never live a good life just because they do something bad.”

Mingi thought about what had just been said, unable to come up with anything to rebut with. “I think you’re one of the most empathetic people out there, Choi Jongho. Good work keeping it so well hidden. I fear if anyone knew, they would just take advantage of it.”

Jongho chuckled, “Shut up.�� He took a sip of his drink, “But thank you. Don’t tell anyone.”

~part two~

#ateez #ateez smut #ateez mingi #ateez yunho #ateez fanfic #fix on #yunho packs #mingi packs #bittersweet #ow owie ow ow ouch #inspired by fleabag

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clearancecreedwatersurvival · 9 months ago

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On a subject related to why it is important not to self censor in tags on ao3 so people can filter properly, one thing that drives me crazy that I have seen repeated by people who are deeply misinformed about ao3 when referring to the big four mandatory archive warnings is that ‘ao3 has entire categories of fic for these terrible things in fics and therefore its use and existence is morally wrong,’ which absolutely boggles my mind.

Those are not categories of fic. Those are content warnings. People are mad because the archive has content warnings. I’m sorry but I for one am extremely grateful for the ability to look at a fic, see a major character death warning, and be able to choose not to read the fic.

Like fandom has been having this same argument between these two points for decades: a. People deserve freedom of expression in fandom spaces and b. Other people deserve to be able to avoid triggering content. The archive warnings are the result of the synthesis of those two points, the already arrived at compromise for this conflict. If you don’t want to see something you should be able to filter it out. That’s what content warnings are for.

Also periodic reminder since I’m on the subject that chose not to use archive warnings is also a valid alternative to using warnings in the interest of preserving suspense. Which is why -chose not to use warnings is Very Different from -no warnings apply and people should take care to remember that when posting or reading on ao3. If you are sensitive to one of the four warnings, please remember that there is a difference in order to avoid content you do not wish to see, and approach fics labeled ‘chose not to use warnings’ with caution.

#ao3 discourse #ao3 #ao3 etiquette #shipping discourse #caitie speaks

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freddie-77-ao3 · 6 months ago

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sup yall we're vibing here

anyway. hey, my name's freddie, and i'm finally trying to write an actual intro/master post which... we'll see how this goes.

important stuff is highlighted in orange.

so, basic stuff:

as I said, my name's freddie. he/him pronouns. i'm a college student (majoring in accounting, might add a psych minor). not gonna say which college but i'm currently in california.

i've been on tumblr since 2019 i think? not under this account, this started as a fandom account and then spiralled out of control... really fast. um, my regular tumblr which i've not actually opened in ages is @chronicchthonic14 so. yeah.

not particularly relevant to this blog, but i might mention it at some point so, i have autism and adhd. and some other things but. like. that list is very long and those are the two most relevant because i promise if i come off wrong/mean, i didn't mean to, i just forget to make my words normal. but. those are the two most referenced. if for whatever reason someone wants to know more or has questions you can send an ask ig?

i'm scottish, born there. moved to US when I was four. finishing uni and moving back.

some quick warnings

this blog definitely contains cursing/vulgar language, whatever you want to call it, so if you're not comfortable with that, probably not the blog for you, as i don't tag cursing or anything for you to filter out.

if, for whatever reason, if i ever reblog something that contains a slur (against racial minorities, queer people, anything) i will ABSOLUTELY tag that though.

also if anyone has any trigger warnings they think any content needs, please let me know-- asks, dms, comments, reblogs

the cursing thing also applies for sort of dirty jokes? think that only applies to like. two posts and very not explicit. those aren't currently tagged but if they get any more explicit they certainly will be.

queer identity because the explicit reminded me, i'm asexual, and probably straight. maybe bi? dunno, don't particularly care. and i'm trans. ftm. this isn't the blog i talk about that on usually though, unless it relates to a specific ask or a fandom thing.

which, getting into what this blog is for because i can't think of anything else i need to add here (guys let me know if i forgot important stuff, please, i'm an idiot!!! i will forget the important stuff and write random shit instead!! i've already deleted three tangents from this!!)

sooooo

fandoms!! ones i write and/or post about or will potentially post about

percy jackson extending to hoo, toa, tkc (definitely post way less about this), mcga (again, way less). haven't read TSATS or COTG yet, but spoilers are fine. i post way more about minor characters. write fanfiction for and have some posted (both on here and ao3) and a bunch of snippets.

dcu-- films, comics, animated shows, all of it. personally, my favorites are young justice (the comics, not show version), new teen titans, and batman inc (batgirls, nightwing, and red robin esp). late 90s yj run is my favorite, and i loved the DCeased event. favorite batman comic is definitely court of owls run. no fanfics posted, but some on docs.

mcu-- way less so, but have a stucky oneshot. slowly making my way through in timeline order.

throne of glass. i'm an aedion and chaol apologizer because they do a bunch of dumb shit but then WHO DOESN'T in this series. fanfics in doc, not posted.

this would go on for ages if i listed everything so instead, here's an ask i answered on my fandoms/genres and everything. feel free to send me asks about anyone. if you send me something about radium girls i may cry though (tears of joy) so there's your advanced warning.

main things you'll see on my blog are incorrect quotes, snippets, and the occasional fic

this^^

my... idk, contact policy? seriously what do i word this

asks are always open, anon is on.

if you send hate... whatever. i'll probably delete it.

unless i find it funny. then I'll post it. there's really little you could say to me that would hurt.

when i say asks are always open, you can drop anything you want.

literally anything

you need to vent? want advice? want to request headcanons? request a fic? give me a prompt? ask random things about me? something else I've forgotten? go right ahead

if you want to ask me to update my fics? go right ahead. sometimes i forget i didn't post something.

send as many asks as you want, i don't care if it might be spam

i can't promise i'll respond to asks in a timely manner, sometimes i open my inbox and forget they exist for months, i'm sorry. if it's something you really want answered you can send another one

dm's are alright? if you want to be friends or something, go right ahead.

anyone can reblog any of my posts/comment/heart, i don't care. you want to heart 50 things in a row? i adore you. if i had kids, you would get my firstborn

if we're mutuals you can ask for my insta/give me yours.

now, other accounts:

anyway, i think that's it?

#intro post #introductory post #pinned intro #pinned post #blog intro

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teruthecreator · 2 years ago

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(tw for racism, pedophilia, transphobia, child impregnation mention)

yeah idk why y'all read this

i was originally going to just post this and have some tags with my reasonings, but i realized that opens me up to too much bullshit from people who may think i'm being unnecessarily mean or whatever. so i'm going to explain exactly why the screenshots above are something i hold issue with.

firstly, and i just want to get this out of the way, this post is not intended to be a hit piece against the creator. i've seen how she reacts to any mild-mannered or slightly joking criticism, so i know this post is probably going to not land well. but it isn't my intention to make her mad or anything--she's writing a piece of content for the internet, which means she is just as open to criticism as any other poster. and what i intend to go into in this post is criticism. i'm allowed to do this, as that is the nature of the internet. people are allowed to critique whatever they please, and if you don't want critique then you shouldn't post. simple as!

i am also making no attempts to posit myself as better than the creator. i'm not doing this for clout or moral superiority or any of that dumb shit. i simply want to discuss something that's been bothering me for a bit, while simultaneously warning people who haven't read this yet (who may be sensitive to the issues above) to steer clear. if things like casual racism or transphobia aren't properly tagged, then readers who are affected by such things run a risk reading this! same goes with people who are triggered by lewd content involving minors. i wanna make sure people are getting a more critical scope of this work than what has been hoisted up by others.

okay, now that i've gotten that out of the way, i'm going to get into my points.

firstly, the subtle and not-so-subtle racism throughout this fic, especially in relation to serizawa. i'm white, so there is only so much i can speak on without trampling over the words of other fans of color, but some of this feels so blatant it's odd it hasn't been noted earlier. it's important to note before i go into it that serizawa is specifically written as half-black half-japanese for this fic, in case the screenshots don't make it abundantly clear. but there are just too many moments of casual racism in this fic. i'm not talking about the plot point of serizawa being bullied as a kid for being mixed; i'm not mixed, so i can't speak on the accuracy there but it is well-known that black people face a lot of racism in japan. i'm talking about how it seems everyone else has these racist moments that aren't acknowledged by serizawa or the narration as being bad.

reigen hypothesizing over serizawa's exact ethnic background is just strange. yes he's a fairly observant guy (he has to be, with his job), but there is no canonical evidence to suggest he would immediately jump to theorizing whether serizawa is american or not. and the way it's posed in that first quote--"he has darker skin and the kind of hair texture that would likely indicate African ancestry"--is not great. that's an extremely inappropriate way to bring up someone's race. i don't think most people would stare at someone and be like "hmmm well your nose shape and hair texture would suggest you're of this race". it's racial essentialization that is only slightly covered up by the excuse of "oh he tweets in english". there are some other smaller moments of questionable wording, like calling serizawa's afro "sloppy" when it isnt (which btw there's another issue with the creator only referring to an afro as a "fro". it's a hairstyle; you're allowed to use the actual name of it). even if reigen cuts his hair in canon, he never states it's because serizawa's afro looks sloppy. (also there's something to be said about the casual racism baked into making your employee cut his natural hairstyle for a job, as that is a very real issue many black people face when wearing their natural hair or even protective styles in the workplace.)

i'm especially bothered by toichiro's very casual racist remarks. toichiro in this fic is a general bother of mine (most of which can be boiled down to "he would not fucking say that"), but the way she chooses to characterize him in relation to serizawa feels gross. calling a black man a slave should be a very obvious red flag, but also saying serizawa (again, as a black man) has a "brutal masculine appeal" is also extremely stereotypical and racist. and really there is just no need for it; toichiro's actions in canon prove how shitty of a guy he is without the need for him to be racist (along with other things i'll get to in a bit). as my girlfriend put it: he doesn't need to be a member of the fucking kkk to show he's a bad guy.

there's also, again, the very casual racist remark of calling serizawa a "dog". i don't care if that isn't the intent; when you are writing a character of color you need to be aware of your wording, even in insults (unless she intended to make tsuchiya racist, which i don't think she did).

secondly, the eugenics/child pregnancy bit. it is surreal to even have to write this, but i seriously do not understand the purpose of either of these bits in the story. they are so minor yet so jarring you can't help but wonder why they're there. once again, i do not think you need to have toichiro doing esper eugenics just to prove he is an evil guy. he has nuance, and by making him casually reference child pregnancy (like that isn't an INSANE thing to say) reduces that nuance to nothing. that's the only reason i could see why that bit was included: to make toichiro look worse. but, even still, the author is running the risk of potentially triggering victims of csa or people who don't want to see that by not properly tagging the mention of it (or, at the very least, warning readers in the intro notes). the only other explanation for it would maybe be shock factor??? but that's a pretty shitty thing to use for shock factor, if i'm honest. also the fact that the esper eugenics was referenced again in a more recent chapter just has me very disturbed and confused. there isn't a canonical explanation for why we see less espers who are women than espers who are men, but that doesn't mean we need to jump to fucking Eugenics. it's weird!

thirdly (and this is probably one of my biggest problems and the main reason i wanted to make this post), the weirdly lewd/sexual language shou uses constantly, along with referring to reigen as a pedo or a creep at several points. frankly, i think it's pretty fucking gross for someone in their near-40's to be writing a 12-year-old talking so casually about sex like that's normal. which, i'm sorry, but it's not. yes, teens know about sex and like to joke about lewd shit. but a 12-year-old is not about to make references to a grown man's virginity. 12-year-olds draw dicks on their desk bc they think it's funny. 12-year-olds say the word "buttfuck" because it has the words "butt" and "fuck" in it, and those are the two funniest words on earth to a kid that age. i literally do not understand the purpose of having shou be so lewd all the time. for one, it doesn't make sense for his character. shou is shown time and time again to be extremely mature for his age, but that maturity extends to shit like assembling a counter-terrorism unit and extending a hand to his father to allow him to try again. and even then he's still just as naive as any other kid his age! the omake where he's telling his guys to go to the "far right corner" based on ritsu’s advice proves that he still has plenty of blindspots that are indicative of his age. leaning into this raunchy, lewd version of shou is just weird. and, again, i think it is made a bit weirder given the author's age!!! not ageshaming or whatever--i'm 23 and i write fanfic, clearly i cannot judge there--but it is just extremely inappropriate in my opinion. also having shou be more versed in sextalk than serizawa is odd too and speaks to a larger issue of serizawa's infantilzation throughout this fic, but that's something i can get into in another post if people want an explanation.

also, the way she constantly calls reigen a creep and even has him being accused of being a pedophile during the twitter cancellation is extremely inappropriate when, again, there is NO CANONICAL BASIS FOR THIS! everyone just calls him a fraud and a scammer during separation arc; there is never a reference to reigen being seen as a pedophile in that arc. and, yes, while there are versions of mob psycho where reigen is very clearly written as a creep (looking very specifically at the netflix adaptation), that doesn't mean it's good. honestly, the creep mentions all just feel like really poor jokes that do not land in the slightest.

finally, the transphobia (aka WHY IS SHIMAZAKI A CHASER). i literally do not know what else to say other than: why? why is this a thing? why is he a chaser? what is the purpose of this? is it a joke? i feel like it's supposed to be, but seeing as the author is cis i don't think that's a joke she should really be making. it not only comes out of left field, but it's just kind of a weird thing to ascribe to a character for no reason. not to mention, it's uncomfortable! trans women deal with enough creepy antics from cis men in real life--why must they be accosted by this guy too? it's just weird and uncomfortable.

i wanna round out this post by saying, once again, that i'm not trying to attack anyone with this post. but i do hope people come away from this with a new perspective on this work, and maybe think twice before recommending it uncritically to someone. to the author specifically, i hope you can read my post without rage or indignance blinding you. i might be a little blunt or rude in parts, but it's only because i'm passionate and i don't mince my words when it comes to things i'm passionate about. to the readers, understand i am not judging you for reading this fic without noticing these things. your own life experiences will give you certain blindspots and there's nothing wrong with that. i have plenty of blindspots of my own! it's what makes us human.

there is more i could say, but this post is long enough. i ask that if you come to me in my inbox or in dms about this that you treat me with respect, as i will do that for you. writing something like this took a lot out of me, as i'm usually not so open about my opinion on shit like this.

have a good day :-)

#mp100 #side quest #yeah this is all from <- that fic btw #ive been sitting on this for about a week or so bc ive been nervous abt posting something like this #i dont want people to think im making a callout post just to call shit out #im doing this bc i dont want people to get triggered by this content and because i want fans to be more critical of the content they consum #media literacy is something A LOT of fandoms struggle with and it leads to things being praised uncritically #i simply want people to have perspective when going into a thing #anyways uh. goodbye <3 #edit: took the tw tags off bc tumblr was suppressing the post bc of it #so PLEASE heed the warning at the top if u have specific triggers and things

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fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic · 6 months ago

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Good Omens Fic Rec: Free

Anthony J Crowley's been living rough since he was kicked out by his parents as a kid. Somehow he's made it to the age of 40 and he's still alive, but if you asked him, he's not really sure how the hell he's managed it. It's not been pretty. Alistair Zachariah (Az) Fell runs a bookshop, but is still under the strict yoke of his parents: their eternal disappointment. 40 years old and he's desperately unhappy and hit crisis point. They meet (again?) as inpatients in an acute mental health ward. They have nothing in common. Obviously. How could they? They're practically opposites. So why are they so drawn to one another?

Length: 175,846 Words

AO3 Rating: Explicit/ Spice Level 🔥🔥🔥🔥

Best for: At Home, Angst, Human AU, Hurt/Comfort

Triggers: Severe Mental Health Issues including: Suicide, Self Harm, Disordered Eating, Drug Use, Sexual Assault (Past), Involuntary Hospital Admittance, and more. Please read all author notes

Read it here, fic by imposterssyndrome

*Minor Spoilers* To get the disclaimers out of the way, please check the tags and warnings for this story. It will not be the right fic for everyone. If you're sensitive to triggering content or can't engage with these topics healthily, it's best to skip this one. Take the warnings and author's notes seriously, they are there for your protection. But if you can handle this kind of content, let me tell you why this story is worth your time.

This is a story about two broken souls finding each other at their lowest points. It's a painful, brutal, and frustrating journey of healing, but we will get our happy ending. Crowley (later renamed Jae) and Az meet as patients in a mental health ward. Crowley has had a rough life since childhood and struggles with severe mental health issues. Az has just survived an attempt on his life. We follow them through their time in the ward, highlighting how difficult recovery can be in our society. Neither receives the support they truly need. Eventually, they fall in love, and we witness their many ups and downs as a couple. Their actions and choices will push, frustrate, and devastate you. But that's the point. Mental health is neither easy nor kind, and it can be cruel and desperate. Both characters need to heal themselves before they can heal their relationship.

What makes me so passionate about this story is that while reading it as a WIP, I kept thinking about the importance of media depicting serious mental illness for those who experience it, especially when written by someone who truly understands it. Representation matters for every group, and mental health struggles are no different. It's crucial to feel seen and understood, and people with "scary" behaviors deserve to feel represented too. It's so important to read a story like this, and not have the moral be "love conquers all". It doesn't. Love alone didn't save or "fix" Jae or Az, but that doesn't mean they aren't worthy of love. Once they put in the work, and start to heal on their own terms, then their relationship can flourish. It's beautiful and hopeful, to start at such a low point and be taken on this journey of freedom.

Again, be gentle with yourself, but if you can handle this content, I think this story has a message worth hearing. Sex scenes wise you'll be mostly fine in public, but this is truly an at home or in a safe space read. It can get in depth with some difficult topics, but it always handled them with grace. Breaks will be your friend! It's a long and heavy work, I don't want you to binge this one. I feel so fond of these specific iterations and I am so proud of them both for the journey they go on. My heart felt tied to them both throughout the weeks I had been following it and it's finale brought me to happy tears. Jae and Az will always have a special place in my heart.

To any of you that struggle with their mental health severely, and especially to my drug users and self harmers, I love you.

Read it here, fic by imposterssyndrome

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #fanfic rec #aziracrow #good omens fic rec #aziraphale x crowley #extra long #angst #human au #heavy topics #four flames #artist au #bookseller au #hurt comfort #free #imposterssyndrome #trans character

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slenbee · 1 day ago

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Content Labels & why you should always be using them if you post mature content.

Note: I will mention later why this post has a mature content label.

Warnings: long post, contains colored text.

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So a while back tumblr rolled out this neat little feature for posts called content labels.

For those who aren't familiar with what ✨magic✨ these labels can do, I'm here to tell you all about this amazing feature that is by far one of the best and most helpful tools to help keep your content safely labeled for those who may not wish to see violence, drugs, or sexual content...

And most importantly, it helps keeps your work away from minors.

More on that in a second. ;)

Now, what do content labels do, exactly?

To boil it down to the basics, the purpose of content labels is this:

Taken directly from tumblr's help page about content labels.

(click that link and read the full page for later btw!)

Content labels give creators more control over who can see their post (only those who want to see it, or only those over 18, for example). On the post viewing side, content labels allow anyone on Tumblr to omit categories of posts from their dashboard completely if they so choose. They can also blur the posts or simply choose to have them show up like normal.

There are four categories of content labels:

Mature The Mature content label is a catch-all and the default content label. It can be used on its own or in conjunction with one of the other categories. Any post with a content label will also have the Mature label (for example, it isn’t possible to add the Violence label and not the Mature label). If you feel like none of the other categories apply but you think there should still be some kind of NSFW warning on the post, Mature is probably the right one to select. Drug and Alcohol Addiction A post with a Drug and Alcohol Addiction content label might contain a discussion of substance abuse or addiction experience that may be dangerous to or trigger those at risk. Violence A post with a Violence content label might contain violent or graphic content similar to what you might see in a movie. Sexual Themes A post with a Sexual Themes content label could contain content such as nudity, erotic writing, or sexually suggestive subject matter.

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Why using content labels is so very very important:

Using these labels on your posts helps those that browse the tags they enjoy, avoid content that they don't want to see. Think of it like tumblr's post and tag filtering system, but.. a little different.

Like the drug and alcohol addition and violence topics for example, can be very triggering to those who may have grown up with abusive parents or suffered through an abusive relationship themselves.

A community label on a post helps them avoid any post with that label entirely.

An asexual or sex repulsed person may not want to see posts that involve 18+/NSFW fics, headcanons, or art between characters. And most of the time writers sadly don't put content labels on fics, just 'trigger tags' and 'warnings' at the top of their fics.

And, while, to some that might seem like it's enough, having a community label on a post with any sort of mature/NSFW content would mean it's automatically hidden from someone who has the option to not see those posts turned on.

Rather than someone who is looking for content needing to go in and add a bunch of specific tags or words to their filter list, as a content creator, adding a community label to your post helps those browsing tumblr avoid what they don't want to see.

Sorta' like how on Ao3 you have to put E+ ratings on your fics if it has explicit sexual content. Those not wanting to see that, can filter it out.

And above all else, the most important reason as to why I'm making this post for all of the content creators who are adults out there reading this, that I'm begging you to please use content labels for:

If you’re under 18, posts with any content label will be hidden and your content label settings will be locked until you’re over 18.

What this means: If you are an adult and you post any type of 18+ writing/art with sexual content, violence, blood, drugs, alcohol, or virtually anything else that you, the creator, feel should not be seen by minors, because you don't want or like the fact that minors are interacting with your content in specific fandoms/ships/tags?

And you use a content label?

Any tumblr user registered as a minor, cannot see or interact with it.

At all.

And if they do/are able to somehow able to bypass this, I'm pretty sure you can take screenshots of their blog (if it says they're a minor) and them liking/reblogging your labeled work(s) and report them to tumblr staff for lying about their age.

Which, again, I'm pretty sure is against tumblr's TOS.

So not only are you, the creator, being kind and considerate of others in helping keep these posts labeled to help others filter out what might squick or trigger them, you're helping keep minors from viewing content they shouldn't be seeing/interacting with in the first place.

It's a win win situation either way.

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So Bee, how do I use content labels?

It's easy! On desktop, you just click this little box here:

Change it to the content label you want that's relevant to your post, add your favorite #tags, and boom you're done! It's that easy.

(I think it's the same for mobile? I'm not sure. I don't use the app.)

I think the content label help post also says you can mass label your posts too? But I'm not 100% sure.

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Q: But.. Won't this flag my blog as NSFW???

A: -sighs- No. That's a myth. And who told you that...?

Adding content labels to your posts will not mark/flag your blog as having sexual content, nor will it 'shadow ban' you and make you not able to interact with people.

You can however, have your blog flagged if you post/share NSFW/adult content like porn gifs, videos, art, ect, and you don't put a label on it, and then you get reported for it. (all the more reason to use the labels, right?)

Again, all content labels do is make it so that if someone's under 18, they can't see the posts with content labels, and those who are adults can avoid posts with specific labels they have turned on to hide.

It's more than just a courtesy feature. It is important.

It's just like tumblr's tag/post filtering system already is, but more advanced with the bonus of keeping mature content out of the hands of children.

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So... why does this post have a mature label...?

So minors can't see it, obviously. :)

Yes yes, I know, there will be some who can see it. I know there's probably more than enough who have lied about their age.

But when those who can't see it figure out that we (adults) start putting our foot down and labeling our content properly because it makes us, adults, uncomfortable that they, minors, are interacting with our works that are clearly meant for other adults, they'll probably end up sending hate anons about it to the creators of those in the fandom(s) for 'taking their favorite <thing> away from them.'

I'll probably get my fair bit of anon hate for this post anyway. But I've dealt enough with angry scammers going on anon in the past 5 months to honestly not care if a child throws a temper tantrum.

----------

To finish this post off:

If you are an adult, write smut, post spicy or even suggestive art, write yummy spicy headcanons with your favorite blorbos from your favorite movie/anime/show that contain any sort of drugs, alcohol, violence, and especially 18+/NSFW themes...

Please use content labels.

Not just to help protect yourself, but to help protect others.

Especially if you post mature works and it bothers you that minors interact with it.

Feel free to share this post with any and all other content creators, even those in other fandoms and communities who make 18+ works who might not know about content labels and how they work.

The more people who know, the better.

I hope you all had a great Holiday, and have a happy new year. :)

Stay hydrated, remember to eat, drink, and take your meds. Have a warm shower and be kind to yourself. 💖

-Bee

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rogueddie · 1 year ago

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NSFW Steddie Fic Rec, Part 2: Bottom / Sub Eddie

Important: READ THE TAGS! Also, leave a comment and kudos! These fics are amazing and I love them and I hope y'all do too 💦

And for this one too, heavy emphasis on 'read the tags'. 🔞

Screw Todd, Steve's Her (His) Daddy Now

ArtaxLivs

Steve keeps calling himself Daddy "unintentionally" and Eddie...well, Eddie's about to lose it and do something he might (probably won't) regret.

Words : 5,087 Chapters : 1/1 ❗ : Light BDSM

AO3 : x

When You Sweat That Toxic Haze, I Love Your Smell

astromirage

“I’m sorry, shit ‘m sorry,” he whines, desperately needing to rabidly thrust into Steve’s cunt, to hold him down, fuck him until he’s cock stupid, drooling, only being able to beg for release, and Eddie’s dick.

“You better fucking be, don’t do it again,” he begins moving, propping himself up, just to work back onto his dick, doing this a few times, each drawing delicious noises from both of them.

Steve settles in, rocking against Eddie, the most pornographic sounds tumbling from his lips as he arches his back, burying Eddie’s cock in him deeper. His thighs burn as he fucks himself on Eddie, clenching around him, causing Eddie to groan, faltering in the stance he had sitting up. Their sweaty skin slaps together softly as Steve methodically uses Eddie, slowly working Eddie up.

Words : 3,661 Chapters : 1/1 ❗ : FTM Steve

AO3 : x

In My Boxers, Half Stoned

Eddywow

"You can," Eddie said, almost sounding like he was nodding along to his words. The image was too pure for Steve. "You could say anything you want to me and I'd- I think I'd be into it. Because I saw your pics and like, I know your face isn't in them but- but I really like them. Is it okay that I liked them?"

Words : 12,338 Chapters : 2/2 ❗

AO3 : x

Melt Me On Your Tongue

indelicate

“This okay?”

“Yeah it’s— shit, it’s more than okay, Steve.”

“… you’re crying, Eds.”

Eddie can’t hold back a choked off noise then, somewhere between an overwhelmed laugh and a sob.

“No one’s ever done this to me before.”

He doesn’t know if he means no one’s ever given him a bath, or braided his hair, or just any of the things Steve does for him, really.

Eddie's never had a Steve before.

Words : 5,879 Chapters : 1/1 ❗ : Mild Painplay

AO3 : x

Done Deal

morningberries

“I’m sorry, your royal highness, but I don’t accept trades, or favours, or IOUs, or promises, or anything relating. I accept cash. That’s it. End of story.”

“Are you sure?” Steve stepped forward into Eddie’s personal space and was pleased to see the other man’s round eyes grow impossibly larger. “I feel like I could offer you something that you want, that isn’t cash.”

Words : 3,644 Chapters : 1/1 ❗ : D/S

AO3 : x

The Bartender Was A Trap

MixAddams

Wouldn’t it be hilarious if Steve was just naturally amazing at DND?

Like he can see the strategy clear as day and can’t understand why the other players are taking so long to decide on their next move. He’s never caught by surprise by the story. He built his nearly flawless absolute weapon of a character in less than twenty minutes.

Eddie fucking hates it but oh boy does it turn him on

Words : 2,889 Chapters : 1/1 ❗

AO3 : x

Ozzy sucks

dirtyvalentine

And the pièce de résistance comes when Eddie tells him, "You could cover my mouth."

That one scares him most.

Because, well, "How are you going to use your safeword?"

"I'm not."

"What if you need to?"

"I won't."

"How do you know?"

"I'll never need to. Just trust me."

Words : 14,465 Chapters : 1/1 ❗ : Non-Con

AO3 : x

Emphasis: Major Trigger Warning for Rape Obviously I'm recommending this fic, but I do want to be clear; the content, what actually happens, in this fic? It's tagged Dead Dove for a reason. Heed the tags!

Open Up Baby

murdertrashbabyrat

Eddie calls him mommy one time, one fucking time, as a joke, he swears just a joke but then Steve looks at him, expression stern, hands on his fucking hips of course, and says, “Behave,” before snapping at Robin that she wasn’t putting this album on again and if she puts it on again he’s gonna destroy her and then she puts it on and he’s chasing her across the house and it’s funny and he should be laughing but instead he’s a little bit stricken over the fact that he’s fucking hard.

Words : 5,008 Chapters : 1/1 ❗ : Mommy Kink

AO3 : x

Whatever you want, Birthday Boy.

FluffyChicken

The club is fucking crowded when they arrive. Robin announces to the security man at the door that it's his best friend's birthday, and to Steve's dismay, she starts telling everyone who's listening that it's actually Steve's twentieth five birthday.

Fuck. Steve wishes to have twenty five years again.

"There you are, birthday boy!" He announces with a pretty smile that makes Steve go hot all over. Maybe he should take off his jacket.

Steve looks at his drink, the glass decorated with a silly pink umbrella, and smiles, reaching for his wallet and opening over the bar to pay.

“This one it’s on the house, handsome!” The bartender yells at him, putting his hand over Steve’s, stopping him. "Happy birthday!"

Words : 15,783 Chapters : 4/4 ❗

AO3 : x

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #fic rec #ficrec

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crush3dmary · 6 months ago

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A public explanation of why I will not be tagging Philosophy with dead dove, do not eat:

So this has been on my radar for a while now, between me debating whether to add the tag, especially with the increase in violence in the last few chapters, and someone outright suggesting it to me recently. I've given it a lot of thought, and here is where those thoughts have ended up.

So, anyone well versed in fandom is well aware that dead dove: do not eat is just a way to say "heed the tags, because I mean it". I know this, and most avid writers know this, but unfortunately there are certain connotations to that term that I don't feel comfortable applying to my fic. Because, by its strictest defition, yes, it IS a dead dove fic. I am very serious when I say it contains violence, sexual content with occasionally dubious consent, and other content that people might find disturbing. I do want people to understand that when they see my tags and the warnings in my author's notes.

However, DDDNE has, objectively, also been sort of co-opted by the average fandomgoer to mean "this is a fucked up fic, it is extremely explicit and is meant to display gore and sex in ways that romanticize this kind of content". As much as I and anyone who has been around for a while knows that's not what the tag means, the reality is, that's what most laypeople think when they see it.

That is objectively the connotation a DDDNE tag carries, and I think looking at the optics of that is important. That's why I've decided I'm not going to use it. Philosophy, at the end of the day, is not a fic about gore and sex. It's a study of Ryou's declining mindset and descent into Zorc's corruption. It does contain sex and violence, but they are used as narrative tools to further the story. The story is not ABOUT the content warnings, it contains them to further the narrative, and that's where I think there's a discrepancy between the optics of a DDDNE tag and what the fic is actually about. The idea of people looking at my fic and thinking "guro porn that's shocking for the sake of being edgy" genuinely upsets me, regardless of what I think of that kind of content (I enjoy it, I do seek it out on occasion), and it upsets me because I feel like my story being seen through that lens is a huge disservice to what I'm trying to do with it.

Yes, my fic does contain questionable content, and I won't deny that, but it's absolutely not a fic that's specifically about sex and violence. Those are simply tools I am using to tell the story from the perspective of a teenage boy with debilitating OCD who is being strung along by yugioh Satan to essentially destroy the world. And yes, there are very disturbing scenes (some people didn't like the belt scene, though it's actually one of my favourites, and I'll admit the scene at the end of ch13-Bark like a God was intense on the violence even for me) but the disturbing scenes are meant to add to the character study rather than for the sake of shock value or anything of the like.

So, I've decided that based on those optics, it's not the right tag for this fic. However, in the interest of making sure nobody gets genuinely upset by the graphic content or feels like it's been sprung on them, I HAVE added the tag "exactly what it says on the tin" which has essentially the same intent as DDDNE without the connotations. I also a few months back added "the dove is not quite dead, but it sure isn't walking or flying" to the initial authors note in chapter 1, mostly because I saw that on twitter and thought it was funny, but it does help emphasize what you can expect when you start reading the fic. Just in general I might go back and assess my author's notes and skip lines on my next reread to make sure everything is accurate and there are no discrepancies. It's going to be impossible to tag for everything that could possibly trigger someone, and I've been trying to be very clear with the direction this fic is heading, but at least I can potentially stop people from being blindsided.

Anyways, that's my story and I'm sticking to it. Time for bed.

#philosophy

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dystopicjumpsuit · 1 year ago

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Martyrs and Kings AND ZOMBIES!!!

A/N: I'm so excited to share this spooky, sexy one-shot sequel to Martyrs and Kings! I've been planning this fic for months, and I hope y'all love it. Quick note: obviously, this fic contains spoilers for M&K; however, it was beta-read by my partner who has not (yet) read the original fic, and they said it worked as a stand-alone story, so if you haven't read M&K yet and don't mind spoilers, read on!

This fic is dedicated to the amazing @clonemedickix in gratitude for all the love and support that you've shown me and so many others in the fandom. Thank you so much for everything you do, and particularly thank you for your feedback on the field medicine. You are a rock star!

One final caveat: I am a horror wimp, but I did my best. Please don't expect Stephen King 💜

Pairing: Post-stasis Kix x OFC Dr. Maree Finnall

Rating: M (minors DNI)

Wordcount: 5k (this just made M&K 10% longer lol)

Warnings and tags: peril; suspense; violence; blood and injury; gore; medical procedures; adult language; SMUT; oral sex; face-sitting; Kix activating my competence kink like no other. IMPORTANT: an additional content warning is listed at the end of the fic due to spoilers. If you have triggers, please check the end of the fic for the BOLD PINK TEXT before reading.

Summary: The crew of the Meson Martinet goes after the score of a lifetime and discover that they may have bitten off more than they can chew.

Suggested listening:

Martyrs and Kings chapter 1 | Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list

“B1.5-series battle droids are a myth,” Kix said firmly. “You’re wasting your time.”

“The good doctor doesn’t share your opinion,” Quiggold argued.

Sidon Ithano, as usual, said nothing, his crimson helmet swiveling slowly toward Maree. Kix turned to her as well, his jaw set, his eyes full of confidence that she would back him up. Kriff it. She absolutely hated being caught in the middle of this argument.

She cleared her throat. “There’s… some debate in the academic community about their existence, actually. If they ever were created, they were never deployed at any recorded battle—and it’s a good thing, too.”

“Why is that, exactly?” Reeg Brosna asked.

He was sprawled on the bench of the dinette, his arm draped around Orys Brenko as the research assistant perked up immediately.

“Is it true that they used nanodroids to retrofit original B1-series droids?” Brenko asked, his face flushing dark green with excitement.

“That is one theory,” Maree said circumspectly, keenly aware of Kix’s scrutiny. “According to contemporary sources—and noting that those sources are unreliable at best—the B1.5s had significantly upgraded blaster resistance. There was another rumor as well, even less credible.”

“What rumor?” Reveth interrupted, leaning forward over the table, drawing Ithano’s attention subtly.

“They said the B1.5s could keep going even if you blasted their processors,” Kix cut in before Maree could reply. “It was a stupid story the commandos made up to scare the shinies.”

“But what if it wasn’t?” Brosna asked. “Indestructible battle droids? They’d be worth a fortune.”

“Even if they don’t exist, the haul from a Techno Union stronghold could set us up for life,” Reveth pointed out. “I say we go after it.”

Squeaky grunted his agreement, predictably. The Gamorrean was always guaranteed to follow the pretty Twi’lek’s lead. Reveth could have suggested a nude spacewalk, and Squeaky would have thought it was a grand idea. Brosna and Brenko voted in favor as well. Kix voted against, and Maree did as well, purely out of solidarity. Privately, she was consumed with curiosity about the B1.5s, and she couldn’t deny that the possibility of such a groundbreaking discovery was alluring in the extreme.

Quiggold voted in favor, and Ithano abstained, and so it was decided: the crew would send a team to scout the Techno Union stronghold, and if they found anything worthwhile, the rest of Ithano’s small fleet would join them.

“We’re gonna need your expertise, Doc,” Reveth said to Maree.

“Absolutely not,” Kix snapped.

Maree glanced at him in surprise. It was unlike him to try to overrule her choice, and she didn’t care for it. “Reveth is right, Kix. I’ll be able to identify the highest-value items, and I have a good idea of what’s in demand.”

Kix looked away, clearly unhappy, but recognizing that he’d overstepped. “Fine. But if you’re going, I’m going, too.”

“We’ll need you to stay and command the fleet from the Scorpion while the captain is away,” Quiggold interjected.

“Fuck that,” Kix growled. “Brosna is my first mate—he can take command from the Scorpion. When it comes to Maree’s safety, I outrank everyone on this ship.”

“Brosna doesn’t have the experience—” Quiggold began.

“Agreed,” Ithano said, his deep voice cutting through the buzz of conversation and debate in the Martinet’s galley. “Quiggold, command the fleet from the Martinet. Brosna, take the Scorpion. Reveth, Squeaky, you’re with us.”

The captain’s decision was final, and within a few hours, Kix, Maree, Reveth, Squeaky, and Ithano had boarded the Scorpion’s shuttle Stinger and departed for the desolate moon where the Techno Union base had sat untouched for over fifty years.

“Fifty credits says we find nothing,” Kix said.

“I’ll take that bet,” Reveth replied.

Squeaky grunted his agreement. Ithano said nothing.

“Maree, you want in on this action?” Reveth asked.

“Kix and I have a private bet on the side,” Maree said with a mischievous twinkle as Kix shot her an inscrutable look.

Reveth smirked. “Sounds like fun.”

“Oh, it will be,” Maree replied. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of crimson as Ithano moved through the shuttle. On impulse, she leaned in and whispered in Reveth’s ear cone.

Reveth’s eyes widened as her mechanical hand instinctively settled on Maree’s waist. “Damn. You and Kix want a third for that?”

Ithano’s helmet whipped to the side as he suddenly became very interested in the conversation. Maree suppressed a laugh.

“What do you think, Kix?” Maree asked with faux innocence. “Can Reveth play with us?”

Kix eyed her with a perfectly neutral expression that warned Maree he knew exactly what she was up to. “You gotta win that bet if you want to call the shots.”

“You’re on,” Maree replied immediately.

Ithano’s helmet swiveled from Maree, to Reveth, to Kix, and back to Reveth, but he said nothing. Kix merely turned back to the navigation controls and continued to pilot the shuttle toward their destination.

The old Techno Union stronghold was on a remote, swampy moon, and the dense vegetation had grown thickly over the past five decades. Kix was forced to set the shuttle down several klicks from the decrepit base. He didn’t like it. He didn’t kriffing like any of this. It was too far; they’d be too exposed; their progress would be too slow in the mud. He glanced at Maree and felt his anxiety spike.

How the kark am I supposed to protect her out there?

He double-checked her gear as she suited up, adjusting the fit of her holster for a quicker draw. He quickly inspected her blaster before handing it to her.

“What’s going on?” she asked quietly. “You’re on edge.”

He shook his head. “I don’t have a good feeling about this mission.”

“It’s not the first time we’ve gone into one of these old strongholds,” she pointed out. “We’ll be okay.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah. You’re right. Just… Keep your eyes open.”

“I will,” she promised. “And I know you’ll watch my back. Just like I’ll watch yours.”

He traced his fingertips along her jaw as he pulled her closer to himself. He couldn’t feel her soft warmth through his armor, but her nearness felt comforting regardless. He kissed her gently, threading his fingers through the hair that she wore in loose braids.

She looked so different now than she had the first time he’d met her two years earlier; her elegant wardrobe replaced with sturdy, practical clothing meant to withstand rough field work and the occasional blaster fight. But underneath, she still smelled like tea and honey and home. She was still the same—still his Maree.

“If you’re finished sucking the lips off her face, can we get going?” Reveth teased. “Droids aren’t gonna find themselves.”

Despite Kix’s misgivings, the trek to the derelict base was uneventful. Squeaky stayed with the shuttle in case they needed a quick extraction, while Ithano, Reveth, and Maree hacked their way through the underbrush along with Kix. It was slow going, and the swamp was creepy as hell, but eventually they made it to the plastcrete and durasteel structure.

There was no power to the base, so they cut their way through the sealed exterior blast doors. Once inside, the group fell silent as they made their way through the dusty, cobwebbed hallways. The base was pitch black inside, illuminated only by their own torches, and once again, Kix felt the simmering anxiety in his gut begin to roil.

“Something’s been living in here,” Reveth muttered, training the beam of her flashlight on a tangle of debris that was unmistakably a nest for something… large.

Kix didn’t respond, but he reached out and pulled Maree closer to himself, then drew one of his DC-17s. Ithano brought up the rear, his blaster rifle ready.

“Control center should be just ahead,” Maree whispered. “Reveth might be able to restore power from there.”

“We’ll be karked if she can’t,” Kix replied quietly.

“Happy thoughts, Kix,” Maree murmured.

Right. Happy thoughts. Spiced biscuits. Unlimited bacta. Maree’s tits. More credits than I’ve ever seen in my life. The Scorpion. Weapons caches. Maree’s thighs. Maree’s thighs on my shoulders. Maree’s thighs framing my face while she rides—uh, weapons caches.

“Control center,” Reveth called under her breath as she reached a sealed doorway.

They pried it open enough to squeeze through. Kix went first, sweeping his light across the room as he scanned for threats. Reveth followed, then Maree and Ithano. Reveth headed straight for the control console and plugged in her small power unit and began to fiddle with the controls.

“Happy thoughts,” Kix mumbled, returning to the doorway to keep watch over the pitch-dark corridor.

Within a few moments, Reveth let out a quiet, triumphant huff as the control console flickered to life, dimly illuminating the room. She went to work immediately, interfacing her datapad with the ancient console.

“Damn. Main power cells are depleted,” she said. “I’ll try to at least get emergency lighting turned on.”

“Why would the power be depleted if the base has been abandoned for decades?” Maree asked. “The Techno Union had extraordinarily advanced power cells that were capable of storing energy far longer.”

“Unless something used it,” Reveth said.

Kix swiveled his head to stare at the Twi’lek.

“Like what?” he bit out.

She shrugged. “Dunno. But we might find out as soon as I get the data decrypted.”

A distant, deep hum sounded, and red light flickered on throughout the base.

“Nicely done,” Maree told Reveth.

“Let’s get the data and get the kriff out of here,” Kix growled, hating every minute of their time in the farking spooky base.

“Working on it,” Reveth snapped. “Think you can do it faster?”

Ithano glanced between Kix and Reveth, then moved to join Kix at the doorway, blaster rifle raised. “What is it?”

“Not sure,” Kix replied quietly. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

Ever reticent, Ithano merely nodded and took up position across from him. Kix nodded in silent gratitude that the pirate captain didn’t question his instincts. Then again, the Crimson Corsair hadn’t survived this long by ignoring his gut.

Kix’s eyes darted to Maree again. She leaned over the console, scrolling rapidly through the data files, searching for any hint of the information they sought. He turned back toward the hallway, his eyes scanning it watchfully.

“No kriffin’ way,” Maree gasped.

“What?” Kix and Reveth demanded in unison.

“You just lost a bet, my love,” Maree told Kix.

“Wait, really?” Reveth asked. “It’s real?”

“‘Project Ophio,’” Maree read, her voice low and hurried. “Principal investigator Vamb Tebrem. Project number T327H1138X99. Primary focus of study is to develop experimental NM-K reconstitutors with the purpose of enhancing the durability and combat acumen of extant B-1 series assets…” Her voice trailed off as she leaned closer to the console, flicking through the data hurriedly. “Project director reported a 62% success rate in the initial efficacy trial; however the experimental reconstitutors were prohibitively expensive to manufacture, and the unpredictability observed in field tests was not adequately resolved—what field tests?”

“You catch any of that?” Reveth asked Kix.

He shrugged. Maree’s voice had dropped to an inaudible murmur as she scrolled through the data, then opened another data file. A quiet chime sounded from the console, drawing Reveth’s attention.

A glowing hologram appeared over the console: wave after wave of battle droids locked in combat a group of clone commandos who should have been able to easily defeat the B-1s. But the droids just kept going. Nothing could stop their advance as they overwhelmed the commandos’ positions and tore them to pieces. Kix swallowed hard, hearing the screams of the dying commandos, unable to take his eyes off the hologram. Maree slapped a button on the console and the sound paused abruptly as the holo froze.

“Holy kark,” she breathed.

“What?” Reveth asked. “Is that not normal?”

“No,” Kix said grimly. “We need to get out of here.”

“Uh, about that…” Reveth said.

Ithano swiveled his head toward the Twi’lek. “What?”

“Opening that holofile triggered an alert in the system,” Reveth said. “Hopefully it’s nothing?”

“Time to go,” Kix growled.

“Yeah,” Maree said, her voice shaky. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

“At least let me download the records,” Reveth argued, jamming a data spike into the console.

They all froze as a distant but unmistakable crash echoed through the base, followed by a rhythmic thumping.

“What is that?” Maree whispered.

“Clankers,” Kix said grimly, drawing his second blaster. “Seal the blast doors.”

“We’ll be trapped in here!” Reveth objected.

Maree stared at Kix. “Can’t we make it out before—”

A light flashed, and her body jerked as a blaster bolt smashed into her. She went down hard, and Kix barely had time to register what was happening before a firestorm of blaster bolts exploded into the room. He whirled back to the entrance and returned fire at the wave of battle droids that was advancing at high speed toward his position. Ithano was firing as fast as he could, but the droids weren’t dropping.

“Get those kriffing doors sealed!” Ithano bellowed.

Reveth had ducked down behind the console for cover as Maree scrambled to join her out of the line of fire. Reveth frantically worked the controls from her position on the floor, but she wasn’t fast enough. A single droid made it through before the doors slammed shut. The clanking and pounding of the army of droids battering against the blast doors was deafening. The lone battle droid charged across the command center.

“Kill it!” Kix shouted. “Fuckin’ kill it!”

Reveth, Ithano, and Kix unleashed a torrent of blaster bolts, but the karking thing wouldn’t go down, even as its components began to fail and fly off its body. It was headed for the console. It was headed toward Maree. Desperately, Kix launched himself at its mangled, skeletal form, tackling it as he locked his arms around and tore its head off with a sickening screech of twisting metal.

But the fucking thing kept moving, shambling toward the console. Kix growled and yanked out his vibroblade, slashing through the droid’s joints until nothing remained but a pile of scrap, and then he sprinted toward Maree, launching himself over the control console.

“Maree!” Kix yelled hoarsely.

Her face was sweaty and contorted with pain as she clutched her hand around her upper arm, but she gave him a tight smile. “I’m all right.”

The blaster hole in her jacket sleeve was still smoking, and Kix felt sick as he saw blood covering her hand, oozing from a wound that should have been cauterized by the plasma bolt.

“Let me see,” he ordered.

She moved her hand, and he cut the sleeve away quickly, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Oh, fuck, it’s bad. It’s bad, and I don’t have my kit.

“We have to get out of here,” Reveth rasped.

Kix dug frantically through his pouches, finding only a few small bacta patches and a vial of spray bandage. He didn’t have a choice. It would have to do, at least until they could make it back to the Stinger.

He shoved the jacket sleeve and vibroblade toward Reveth. “Cut that into strips. Wide ones.”

He drenched the blaster wound with spray bandage, then grabbed the first strip Reveth cut from the jacket sleeve and quickly tied it around Maree’s arm near her shoulder. “Do you have a stylus on you?”

“Always,” Maree said, her voice tense with pain. She pulled the stylus out of her pocket and handed it to him, carefully avoiding looking at the charred, bloody wound. “Why is it bleeding so much?”

Kix tied the ends of the cloth strip around the stylus and twisted to tighten the makeshift tourniquet, securing it as he replied in an artificially calm tone. “Sometimes it happens. Move just wrong—the cauterized scab opens—blood.”

He ripped open the bacta patches and arranged them carefully over the injury, covering it as well as he could before wrapping the rest of the fabric strips around them to secure them in place. Finally, he looked up into her eyes, inadvertently smearing her own blood on her cheek as he cupped her face.

“I’m not losing you today.” His words were firm, but tremor in his hands was undeniable, and his pulse thundered in his ears.

She smiled at him through dry, ashen lips, and he kissed her forehead, then helped her carefully to her feet. Reveth had pulled up a schematic of the base, and Ithano joined them at the console, pausing to squeeze Kix’s shoulder briefly.

“We don’t die so easily,” the captain said in his deep, rasping voice.

“Not today, anyway,” Reveth cut in. “I found an escape route.”

“Please tell me it’s not the ventilation shaft,” Maree said unsteadily.

“It’s always the ventilation shaft,” Reveth replied.

Maree’s shoulder screamed with agony as she crawled through the ventilation shaft. She gritted her teeth to hold back the whimper of pain that hovered at the base of her throat. The ventilation shaft was filthy and cramped, and their progress was torturously slow as they navigated as silently as possible to their destination. The conduit wouldn’t take them all the way out of the base, so they would have to make a run for the main entrance when they got close. The only way they stood a chance of escaping was to not draw the attention of the battle droids.

She followed Kix through the labyrinthine ductwork, crawling laboriously on her knees and one hand. Her injured arm had burned like fire when Kix first applied the tourniquet, but now her arm was completely numb—and equally useless. At last, they found the access hatch to the main corridor. Kix dropped down first, and then Maree realized exactly how difficult this was going to be with only one functional arm.

“Just drop,” he whispered. “I’ll catch you.”

She took a deep breath and slid out of the maintenance hatch, feet first. Panic flashed in her mind briefly as she plummeted through the air, but Kix was true to his word, catching her before she could hit the ground. He set her down quickly and checked to make sure her bandage was still in place as first Reveth and then Ithano dropped down into the corridor.

They sprinted for the exit. Maree’s lungs burned and her vision blurred around the edges as she gasped for breath. Kix looked back at her sharply and reached for her hand, dragging her along behind him. By some miracle, the droids hadn’t detected them yet, and she could see the main entrance of the base. She forced herself to keep running, even as she stumbled and nearly went down, kept upright only by Kix’s strong grasp.

He tugged her arm over his shoulder and wrapped his arm around her waist to support her, but he didn’t slow his pace. “We have to keep going, love. We can’t stop now.”

“I know,” she wheezed. “So close…”

She could hear the clanking of droids behind them, and she pushed herself as hard as she ever had in her life to keep running. They cleared the entrance, and Reveth tossed a few magnetized thermal detonators onto the ceiling of the base.

Keep running, don’t stop, keep going.

The explosion knocked them off their feet, but the rubble of the collapsed ceiling blocked the main entrance. It wouldn’t hold back the droids for long, but it bought them time—so long as they kept moving. Kix was up first, pulling Maree with him as Reveth and Ithano scrambled to their feet.

They ran for the trees as Reveth commed Squeaky. “We need a pickup, now!”

“He can’t get to us in the jungle!” Kix said. “We have to find a clearing where the shuttle can land.”

They dodged through the trees, trying to avoid the worst of the swampy ground, but the dense underbrush slowed their progress and steered them on a circuitous route. Out of the corner of her eye, Maree saw movement in the earth. The ground shifted and began to swell.

“What the kriff is that?” she demanded.

“Keep running, don’t look back,” Kix urged.

“No, what is that?” she repeated.

She saw a flash of pale, bonelike metal alloy, and then a battle droid erupted from the earth.

“Fuck!” she screamed.

All around them, the skeletal forms of B1.5 droids began to emerge from the swampy ground, punching their way to the surface and dragging themselves up from the mud. Kix released Maree and drew both of his blasters, opening fire without hesitation. Maree, Reveth, and Ithano followed suit, for all the good it did them. The droids simply wouldn’t go down; even if they took so many hits that they started to fall apart, they still somehow shambled on in a grotesque parody of their normal precise movement.

They had no choice but to keep running and hope that they could at least slow some of the droids down. She could hear the roar of the shuttle overhead, but the vegetation was too dense for Squeaky to pick them up. The Gamorrean’s indistinct, frantic squealing sounded from Reveth’s comlink.

“He said there’s a clearing about a klick southwest!” Reveth yelled.

It might as well be on the other side of the planet, Maree thought hopelessly. There were simply too many droids; they were advancing relentlessly, and the terrain was too hostile to cross it with any speed. Holy shit, we’re all going to die here.

Her mind darted to the holorecord of the field test—a kriffing gruesome euphemism for such carnage. It had been a complete massacre. The terrified screams of the commandos as the droids tore them to pieces; the spray of blood and viscera: the images were branded irrevocably in her memory. It was a horrific way to die, and they were about to find out firsthand.

Panic clawed at her, closing her throat and making her shots go wild. Her legs felt sluggish, and her feet became unsteady, but Kix never let her fall, even as he fired ceaselessly at the pursuing droids.

“We’re almost there,” he grunted. “Keep running, sweetheart, you can do it.”

“Kix, go,” Ithano ordered. “Get her to the Stinger.”

“No!” Maree exclaimed. “We’re not leaving you!”

Kix ignored her protests, bending over and tossing her over his shoulder as he ran. His plastoid armor cut into her thighs and belly, and she squirmed to try to get away.

“Put me down! Go back!”

Kix ignored her and raced for the clearing where the shuttle hovered just above the ground, ready to take off as soon as the crew were safely aboard. He dropped Maree in the copilot seat and turned to Squeaky.

“Don’t let her follow me.”

He sprinted to the back of the shuttle and jumped out, making for the treeline.

“Kix!” she screamed, lurching out of her seat.

Squeaky didn’t hesitate. He thrust her back into the chair with a stern grunt, then secured the safety harness to make sure she didn’t try to run again. She could hear blaster fire and shouting outside the ship, and she tugged desperately at the harness. Squeaky grunted again to order her to take control of the ship, and he lumbered toward the rear hatch, blaster ready.

Her heart hammered as she took the controls. Please, please, please. The distraught prayer echoed in her mind, silently beseeching the Force. I can’t lose him. Not like this. She felt utterly helpless as the deafening roar of Squeaky’s blaster fire pounded through the ship. Mercifully, she soon heard the pounding of boots on durasteel, and then Ithano launched into the pilot’s seat and punched the controls, hurtling the shuttle away from the planet.

“Kix?” she asked frantically.

“I’m here,” he said, dropping to his knees next to Maree’s chair and wrapping his arms around her. “I’m here.”

“I’m here, too, thanks for askin’,” Reveth said as she flopped into her seat.

Kix stood and quickly released the safety harness, tugging Maree out of the chair and burying his face against her neck.

“Holy kark, I can’t believe we all made it out,” Reveth said. “I was sure Maree was toast.”

Maree laughed, and Kix glared at the Twi’lek. “Not kriffin’ funny.”

“It’s kinda funny,” Reveth insisted.

Kix shook his head and drew Maree out of the cockpit and back to the tiny med bay at the rear of the shuttle. “Med bay” was putting it generously; it was really just a bunk and a large emergency medkit, but it had everything he needed to treat her shoulder. He administered a stim shot, cleaned and redressed her wound, and removed the tourniquet. He worked efficiently, and she didn’t see any of the distress that had clouded his eyes back at the base—of course, they weren’t fending off a horde of unkillable zombie droids this time, either.

“What’s the verdict, doctor?” she asked with a tiny smile.

He stroked his fingers over her forearm gently. “You’ll live. Gonna have a kickass scar, too.”

“Will you kiss it better?” she asked, fluttering her eyelashes.

He smiled wryly as he leaned in and pressed his lips softly against hers. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

“I’ll do my best. At least I’m finally going to have an exciting story to tell Baba and Eema.”

His eyes widened. “Oh, kriff, your mothers are going to kill me!”

The Stinger docked with the Meson Martinet first, and Squeaky, Reveth, and Ithano disembarked, then Kix piloted the shuttle to his own ship, the Scorpion. Brenko and Brosna were waiting next to the airlock when Kix and Maree emerged from the shuttle.

“Well, did you find the B1.5s?” Brosna asked.

“Yeah,” Kix replied grimly.

“Ha!” Brosna laughed triumphantly. “Pay up, Captain!”

“You’re still acting captain,” Kix retorted. “Now get your ass back up to the bridge until I relieve you.”

“Wait, you’re not taking command right now?” Brosna asked.

“Nope,” Kix replied, dragging Maree to their quarters.

The door hissed shut behind them, and Kix slapped the control panel to lock it. He was on Maree instantly, devouring her in a searing kiss as he unzipped and pulled off her jacket, carefully avoiding the large bandage on her shoulder. Once he had her top removed, he dropped his mouth to her throat and kissed a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down her body as he knelt in front of her.

His hands roved over her urgently, clutching her body close to him. She tangled her fingers in his hair as he tugged down her trousers, and then he plunged his tongue into her ravenously. Her body jerked, and she cried out, losing her balance. He caught her with ease, then pulled her toward the bed.

“Kix,” she panted. “Don’t you at least want to get naked?”

“I can’t wait,” he groaned. “Sit on my face.”

“Oh, fuck,” she gasped.

“I’m planning to,” he said, lying on his back. “On my face. Now.”

She knelt, hovering over his mouth, staring down into his eyes. He gazed back up at her, sliding his hands up her waist to cup her breasts, before dropping them to her thighs and yanking her body downward.

“Kriff!” she exclaimed as his tongue slid deeply into her cunt, then his lips closed around her clit.

He held her in place as he feasted on her, his groans vibrating against her sensitive flesh. The sensation was overwhelming. She writhed, nearly toppling over, then leaned back to brace her hands on his ribcage. He ate her like he was starving, like she was the last thing he would ever taste, and he fully intended to savor every drop.

“Kix—fuck—gods—” she moaned, her hips finding a subtle rhythm even as his strong hands gripped her, preventing her from moving more than a few centimeters.

He murmured quietly against her in between the kisses and licks and nibbles—soft, nearly inaudible whispers of fear and adoration and lust. “... taste so fucking good… love you so much… thought I was going to lose you… never letting go… so kriffin’ scared… want you so bad…”

He released her thigh and reached his hand around to massage her clit. All the muscles in her core began to tense as pleasure spooled tightly in her body, but her orgasm remained tantalizingly just out of reach. She leaned back, groping blindly for his cock. She fumbled with his belt and eventually just slid her hand beneath the waistband until she wrapped her fingers around his rigid shaft.

He grunted at the contact, his hips thrusting up off the mattress. His hand strayed away from her clit to press his palm flat against her lower belly, and pressure was exactly what she needed. She convulsed with a sob, and he redoubled his efforts, tongue-fucking her through her orgasm. Distantly, she felt the thrusting of his cock against her hand, and then a rush of hot, sticky cum on her fingers.

She crumpled to the bed, and he pulled her tightly against him, kissing the backs of her thighs as she slowly came back to herself. After a few moments, he shifted, curling up behind her, tucking his thighs behind her legs as he drew her body close to his and buried his face in her hair.

“I love you,” she murmured.

He kissed the side of her neck, just behind her ear, dragging his tongue slowly across her skin as he slid his hand up to play with her breast. “Love you. Never scare me like that again.”

She laughed quietly. “Aye, aye, Cap’n. What’s gotten into you, anyway? You were acting protective before we even left the Martinet.”

He lay silently for a moment, breathing in the scent of her hair, before he replied. “You’re late.”

She blinked. “What?”

“You’re… your cycle, it’s like clockwork. And—you’re late,” he said hoarsely.

She swallowed. “Oh.”

The original comic panel that inspired this story! This was from Star Wars Adventures Ashcan. Alas, this comic was never published, so I am once again filling in the gaps in canon.

ADDITIONAL CONTENT WARNING: mention of possible pregnancy.

#clone medic kix #post stasis kix #pirate kix #meson martinet #sidon ithano #reveth #oc: maree finnall #star wars #clone wars #star wars fanfiction #clone wars fanfic #martyrs and kings #dystopicjumpsuit writes #Spotify

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5ummit · 2 years ago

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In Defense of Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

What's the point of a tag that tells you to read the tags? Isn't that redundant? Actually, no! "Dead dove: do not eat" does serve an important purpose because it's NOT just a generic "mind the tags" statement, there's more to it than that.

Because of all the misinformation surrounding DD:DNE and how muddied the waters have become with some people trying to claim that it's equivalent to "what it says on the tin" (or the like), there seems to be some confusion about its purpose. I recently explained the origins of DD:DNE and its inherent dark connotations, but I just encountered another misleading dead dove post and I want to provide more clarity on how it's supposed to be used and why it's genuinely helpful.

Many writers these days tend to be overly cautious and tag every little thing, particularly when it comes to potentially triggering or problematic content, regardless of how much or little that content is featured in the fic. While thorough tagging is greatly beneficial on the whole, it can sometimes be hard to tell the tone or intent of a fic and how much weight you should put on those warnings from just looking at a list of tags.

"Dead dove: do not eat" is a flashing warning sign that, not only will potentially triggering or problematic content feature heavily, it will also be presented and framed with little to no authorial commentary or judgment. It's saying: "I hope you're prepared to read something fucked up because that's what you'll find here and I'm not justifying, moralizing, or apologizing for it. You have been warned." This should be used in conjunction with specific content warnings to indicate the exact flavor of fucked up you're going to encounter, but even if someone chooses not to clarify in the tags for some reason (a controversial choice, to be sure), it's still a warning in and of itself. DD:DNE is not entirely meaningless without other tags, it's just more thorough and informative with them.

Consider two fics tagged with rape/noncon, one with the DD:DNE tag and one without.

The fic without the dead dove label may just include discussion of noncon that happened to a character in the past, the noncon may occur in the fic but be glossed over and not described in detail, or the noncon may be dubcon at worst. Everyone has different thresholds for certain types of content, so some people may still choose to warn for it in these cases. I'm not attempting to pass judgement on whether or not the noncon warning should be used in that way, but it happens regularly and it can make sorting through tags to find what you're looking for complicated.

The fic with the DD:DNE tag? That's a Rape Fic. You can pretty safely assume the noncon is going to be a major component of the fic, it will likely be explicit, you won't be spoon-fed any morals about it, and it probably won't have a conventionally happy ending.

Not having the DD:DNE tag obviously doesn't mean that a fic does NOT contain dark or problematic content, as not everyone chooses to use it, but including it essentially guarantees it (at least when used correctly). This can be very helpful for anyone specifically looking for something angsty and awful to wallow in, while allowing others who aren't interested in that to safely avoid it.

Because of its inherent connotations, "dead dove: do not eat" should NEVER be used as a generic call to "mind the tags." If you add it to your non-problematic, 100% consensual fic because you happen to include an unusual kink or whatever, you WILL scare away readers because they WILL assume you have a dark untagged twist in there somewhere.

DD:DNE is a convenient fandom-agnostic modifier that conveys to readers they are about to encounter something unapologetically fucked up and to make sure they're in the right headspace for it. Do not open the bag labeled "dead dove" if you are not prepared to see a dead dove.

#I'm sorry to keep making posts about this #but people keep being wrong on the internet #and I guess I'm in a feisty mood #fandom #psa #my words #wendy's help desk

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goblinbugthing · 1 year ago

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Bugthing’s brand-new Pinned Intro Post!!!!!!

Hi! I’m Bug, I’m a mentally ill emo artist and fic author. This is where I put my nonsense for you internet ppl to look at.

I’m transmasc, currently identifying as xenogender, and I use he/xey/it/they pronouns. Mutuals, and only mutuals, can use my other neos, blood/bleed and gore/gory. I’m solian/mspec veldian, fictoromantic, and fictosexual. Please respect that!!

Currently, I’m into Hollow Knight, the Kirby series, A Hat in Time, Bug Fables, Cult of the Lamb, Rain World, and Fate/Zero. Do be warned, though, I can fall out of these fandoms at any time — my interests are almost always fluctuating.

This blog is safe for minorities! (e.g. disabled ppl, LGBTQ+ ppl, BIPOC, Palestinians, etc.)

I am a minor. Don’t be weird.

Other stuff under the cut!

(divider gif via @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more)

My asks are closed. When they’re open again, feel free to ask me stuff about my hyperfixations, or whatever you wanna know about me, as long as it’s not too personal.

Commissions are closed. You can still support me by donating/tipping! Ko-Fi linked below!

My other socials:

My YouTube channel (I don’t upload much)

My Wattpad I can’t link for some reason. My @ is goblinbugthing on there (I hardly ever touch this one)

My AO3 (All my fics live here now)

My TikTok (Why do I have this? I couldn’t tell you.)

My $$app (Consider supporting me and my reckless spending addiction)

My Ko-Fi (Commissions & tips!)

My other blogs:

@princes-creations-askblog — An askblog specifically for my OCs.

@ask-emporianroyals-au — My AHiT AU askblog.

@kirby-souljourney-au — My Kirby AU blog.

@hollowknightinsanity — My HK sideblog.

@kokothedrag0n — My RP blog, where I act as my sona.

Current works:

Kirby: Soul Journey — My Kirby AU fanfiction, taking place after Kirby and the Forgotten Land. (Read on Tumblr / Read on Wattpad / Read on AO3) (To be rewritten)

Kirby: Soul Journey oneshots collection — A set of oneshots created for K:SJ. (Read on Tumblr / Read on Wattpad / Read on AO3) (To be rewritten)

Hollow Knight: Empty Promises — A set of fics created for my base Hollow Knight AU, Empty Promises. (Read on AO3 / Wattpad link to be added)

My tag key:

#buggie’s rambles — Text posts

#buggie’s randoms — Nonsense stuff! In other words, my homemade memes

#buggie’s doodles — Doodles and sketches

#buggie’s characters — OC stuff

#buggie’s creations — Proper artwork

#buggie’s creations (in the making) — Work-in-progress artworks

#buggie’s building paradise — All my Minecraft build stuff :3 (here’s a list of all the mods i use if you want em)

#buggie’s stories — My original writing

#buggie’s answers — My answered asks

#buggie’s polls — Self-explanatory. My polls

#buggie’s queue — The Very Rare Queued Posts (the only one unaffected by the name change)

#buggie’s stims — Stuff I stim to

#buggie’s sluttery — A tag I made specifically for my ace friends to block so they don’t get suggestive content on their dash. Also known as my hornyposting. Please block this tag if you don’t wanna see suggestive stuff!

#buggie irl — IRL pics of me, mostly just my gender euphoria

#saved 4 serotonin production — My comfort tag

#quicksave — Stuff I want to look at later

#important — Self-explanatory. Important stuff

#semi-important — I’m honestly not sure, just scroll through the tag if you want an idea, because I can’t describe it myself

#besties doodles — Art from my mutuals

#besties rambles — Ramblings from my mutuals

#other’s art (it’s awesome) — Other people’s awesome art

#other’s rambles (sick af) — Other people’s sick af rambles (I tend to forget to use this one…)

#bbg tag — Posts both by me and by other people about my F/Os

#images that describe my gender — My gender envy tag. Don’t question the stuff that’s in there.

I tag triggers with #cw (trigger).

I tag OCs with #oc: (oc).

If I make any new tags (or remember any ones I forgot), this section will be updated!

Also, please keep in mind that tumblr is a bit fucky and sometimes doesn’t show posts under tags for some reason! Some posts might have my old tags on them.

DNI list:

If any of these fit you, do not interact with my blog.

Pro//shippers

NSFW blogs (I scroll through every blog that follows me. I don’t wanna see that.)

TERFs

Transphobes, homophobes, racists, ableists, sexists, misogynists, antisemites, etc.

H//arry P//otter enjoyers (I fucking hate J.K. Row//ling and all her works.)

D//anganronpa-specific blogs (Very sorry — this is just a big trigger for me.)

People who support Israel’s genocide of Palestinians (Stay FAR away from me.)

People who ship The Knight/Ghost and the Grimmchild (I mean, you do you, but I don’t wanna. See that. Feels weird.)

A//I “art” supporters (this includes A//I generated anything. Text, music, images, ANYTHING. Go away.)

H//azbin fans (😐)

And I believe that’s it! Enjoy your time here :)

#text #intro post #pinned post #buggie’s rambles #FINALLY. FUCKING FINALLY I REMAKE MY OLD ASS PINNED. FUCK #i spent like an hour making this hhhhgggggggghghghggghhgghghghhgghg

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cozza-frenzy · 2 years ago

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Fanfic: A Perfect Moment

Of all the places I could be, I just want to be here with you. Hello again, fandom! It’s been less than a week (apparently??) and @chronicsheepdrawing‘s amazing character designs are still keeping my creativity train rolling! This fic once again stars their Drinky Bird Narrator - so if you’re not familiar, go check out a silly bird! (He certainly needs more love, given how he thinks of himself... ) This is a sequel (of sorts) to Anything Not Saved. It happens some time afterwards, after more resets and endings have taken place. Expect a dark chocolate Angst Cake with plenty of Mutual Pining, layers of Fluffy Stannarrator between each layer, and a Meta cherry on top - trust me, you’ll see what I mean. And my apologies to any ASL users; I did at least try to do some research, but I can’t vouch for my accuracy! CONTENT WARNINGS: Isolation, Paranoia, Abandonment Issues, Self-Hatred, Body Dysphoria (Not Gender Related), Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, Emotional Breakdown, Memory Loss, Panic Attack, Touch Aversion, Autistic Sensory Overload/Over-Stimulation. I’m also adding a mild Unreality Warning to this one. If you’re looking at a reblog of this post, there are details in the tags of the original if you feel like you may be triggered by this. For everyone else, the tags are a minor spoiler, so maybe don’t look unless you’re really curious. Bon Appetit!

Stanley? STANLEY!? Oh my god, Stanley! Stanley, thank goodness - something VERY peculiar is going on this morning… See, it all started when I booted up my computer this morning - and you’ll never believe it, but I wasn’t receiving any commands! NONE! So I asked one of the other Employees what was going on, and they must not have known, because they didn’t say anything! What do you think; should I perhaps try the meeting room? Do you think maybe I missed a memo? I mean I really don’t want to interrupt anything, not to mention the sheer embarrassment of walking into something like that, not only unannounced but LATE- Wait, I’m not done! Stanley, I’m not - oh, sorry, sorry, of course! It’s precisely 10:32 AM, of course you always get a drink of water from the cooler at this time in the morning… haha, typical silly old ▇▇▇▇▇▇, am I right? I swear, I’d lose my head if it wasn't permanently attached to my neck! But, ah, anyway, Stanley, I just feel like… like something’s wrong? I mean, have you noticed how some things are, eh, just… you know… ‘off’? Like did you know Employee [ERROR: DATABASE ENTRY INVALID]’s desk is empty? I mean, it looks like they haven’t touched their pencil sharpener in weeks! In fact, now that… now that I’ve thought about it… Stanley, did we ever HAVE an Employee [ERROR: DATABASE ENTRY INVALID]? I mean surely we wouldn’t have a desk without an employee! That’s ridiculous! But why can’t I seem to… ? Ah, yes, alright, I know work is important and I know I tend to ramble but- please, just hear me out?? Look, I know I must be trying your patience! I know my ‘little stories’ are utterly insufferable to literally EVERY other employee in this building! But you, you always stopped to listen and - waitwaitwait, I’m sorry, just - please! Please Stanley, I’m ALWAYS supposed to receive my instructions and now I can’t even access my bloody terminal! I mean, how ELSE am I supposed to make sure the other employees are doing their jobs correctly?? Didn’t the board hand down that notice just last week!? You know, the one reiterating how vital it is to the well-being of the company that all of us, together- Stanley? Stanley, where are you going-? Can… can you hear me? Can you even SEE me!? Wait! Stanley! Stanley, I’m right here! I’m right HERE! Why aren’t you looking at me? Why aren’t you LOOKING at me!? STANLEY! STANLEY, PLEASE!! DON’T LEAVE M- Oh… …Oh no… —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ah, memories… Wonderful, wonderful memories. So much exquisitely-crafted content to reminisce over. He’d worked so hard on crafting this place; he’d fashioned every detail with care and precision. Yes, there would be trees here, a nice little fence there… oh, perhaps a few flowers, for a little splash of color! Yes, yes! The sound of birds, the smell of grass, the sky just a little overcast... yes indeed, not too bright, nor too gloomy. The light would hit just perfect this way, painting everything in soft and muted shades. Wonderful. Those clouds would be the whipped cream on this lovely little slice of the world, so close to being served and savored. And like a nervous, fidgeting pastry chef, the anticipation of someone experiencing this delectable delicacy had him practically giddy! The Narrator took a deep breath through the nose he maybe didn’t have, filling absent lungs with fresh air; and heaved a heavy sigh as he closed his plastic eyes, calming himself down. Wouldn’t be long now, he thought, chuckling softly. Stanley had fallen for his little breadcrumb trail the very minute he’d opened that vent… and any minute now, he’d be marveling at the inexplicably out of place stone archway. Manifested as if in a dream, a glowing portal to another realm, right there in the office… He rocked back on his heels a little, humming merrily to himself as he waited. Ah, he was proud of that little room; so mysterious, so enticing. A beautiful fragment of memory that he’d dusted off and polished up, until it glittered in his mind’s eye like a priceless diamond. Not half bad for something he’d forcibly yanked from the tangled, mangled wreckage that had been left behind in his head, when he’d stopped being human and become something- The Narrator cleared his nonexistent throat, straightening his tie. No, no, not today, he scolded himself internally. That so-called ‘Ultra Deluxe’ content’ had been so unfathomably disappointing, he’d had no choice but to do better! To show them just how great The Stanley Parable used to be! And any minute now, the hero of their story would be walking through that door to the most wonderful surprise. “Just our little secret”, The Narrator said as he felt Stanley’s presence. He was right behind him now, and getting closer. “Take a look.” He turned around, eager to see his protagonist’s reaction. He watched as Stanley shielded his eyes; the fingertips on his other hand tracing the surface of the cool stone pillar, as he stepped out into the memory of warm daylight. And the Narrator’s heart swelled with pride as he heard the soft gasp of wonder - the exact reaction he’d been looking for. “I call it - the Memory Zone!” He said, turning towards the path before him. “It’s where I keep all of my favorite memories… ” Not too far away was a squat, triangular building, full of snippets he’d painstakingly selected and organized for display. He’d come here a few times himself while it was still under construction; just to re-live some of the moments he’d preserved. As soon as Stanley stepped through that door, he would… wait… The Narrator froze suddenly, glancing over his shoulder. He’s got that look again. He’s… looking at me! Damn it, he’d been so caught up in what he was doing, he’d forgotten to unload his model! Alright, alright, maybe if he acted quickly enough, Stanley would dismiss it as simply a brief glitch- >/console >/unload Narrator.mdl ERROR: NOT FOUND What?? Clenching his glove-fist in frustration, he reached into the code and tried again. >/unload Narrator.mdl ERROR: NOT FOUND >/locate Narrator.mdl ERROR: POSITION NOT VALID The Narrator closed the console. That warm, fuzzy feeling of pride was quickly disintegrating under the freezing grasp of fear. He’d built the Memory Zone in a place so well hidden it was only outside the bloody map!!! And now there were footsteps behind him! And like the absolute fool he was, he turned around! Stanley was approaching. Slowly drawing closer. Each step ticking away the seconds to his doom. It’s okay, he reassured himself. You can pass it off as the Easter Egg from last time - just using it as a puppet to welcome him and nothing more! His face flushed. Stanley was right in front of him. He tried not to think about what muscles he may or may not still have - but regardless of their supposed existence, they all tensed at once, leaving him stiff as a board, frozen in terror. But he could work with this, right? Yes, he could! He could work with this! He could improvise, he improvised all the time-! Just don’t move…. Stanley looked into The Narrator’s eyes, his hands held tightly to his chest. …And he’ll lose interest eventually… Stanley moved his hand. It trembled as he held it out in front of him, slowly reaching forwards. Stanley… ? Stanley bit his lip. Wait, Stanley, what are you doing-? And Stanley touched him. The boggled look on the Narrator’s face shattered any previously-held records in the history of boggling. Stanley was touching him. Stanley’s hand was touching him. Stanley’s… warm, gentle hand... the pads of his fingertips slightly rough, slightly calloused. Each one a scar from another life; from the only life he’d known before The Parable. Continuously, rhythmically pressing buttons, over and over. Day in, day out. Broken fragments of memory flashed before the Narrator’s eyes in a sudden flood of noise; a disjointed, jumbled mess, utterly out of context and out of order. The taste of coffee in a paper cup. Stanley’s eyes. The bubble of the water cooler. Conversation. Buttons marked “YES” and “NO”. His hands, his human hands, nails painted in an office-appropriate shade. A phone ringing. Stanley’s smile. A rising sense of panic. A snippet of a half-finished anecdote. Waking up. Blacking out. Laughter. Fire and pain and then nothing. A lunch break. An office-mandated birthday cake. A board meeting. An office-wide memo. Stanley’s hands. Stanley’s hands. He felt the tears welling up. He wrestled with the memories that hardly made sense, momentarily gaining the upper hand, only to find himself smacked senseless by the feeling of overwhelming grief that spiraled out of the current moment and skewered his heart. He twisted his head this way and that - desperately trying to get his stupid, stupid body to move! This was wrong! This was all wrong! “STOP!!!” The Narrator screamed, finally managing to pull away Stanley recoiled as if he’d been burned, and the Narrator turned from him, clutching the sides of his head as he struggled to get a grip, struggled to cram all of those horrible, horrible feelings back down inside himself where they belonged. NO NO NO NO NO NO-! The illusion is ruined! He definitely knows it’s me now! But ahead of him lay his last hope. His last chance at salvaging something, anything, from this horrendous mistake he’d made. The display area! If I can just get to it then I won’t have to face him! he thought to himself. He’d have to be quick, he’d have to take advantage of Stanley being distracted, but he could do this. He could make it! He could… he could just figure out the rest later, he had to GO! The Narrator started to run; and realized his fatal mistake too late. Inside his inhuman, transparent stomach, a sizable amount of liquid sloshed noisily back and forth. The more he ran, the more it sloshed. Back and forth, back and forth. Slish, slosh, slish, slosh… the momentum of each wave slowly building... and building... until-! “AH!!” One of his feet caught on an uneven memory of grass. All that heavy liquid, all that momentum, SLOSHED all the way to his front. And as these things tend to work with the laws of physics, the weight sent him tumbling forward onto his stupid idiot face, sliding across the ground a few feet before he finally came to a stop. The Narrator rocked gently back and forth from the still-sloshing liquid in the transparent globe of his belly, knowing exactly how he looked. It was a sight that would leave a professional circus clown weeping; hanging up his red nose and floppy shoes for the last time, his worldview in ruins. Witnessing such a sight, he’d know, deep in his heart, that no carefully coordinated pratfall or precisely timed nose honk - not a single artfully-placed whoopee cushion or expertly thrown custard pie - could ever come close to such breathtaking buffoonery. This is it. Stanley is never going to take me seriously ever again. The tears came thick and fast now, leaving the despairing Narrator gasping for breath between sobs. He’ll laugh at me. He’ll mock any sort of narrative I’ll try and create. Anything I try, no matter how wonderful, no matter how meaningful, it’ll be just a big joke. Like ME. Stanley stood over the Narrator, casting a shadow over him as he lay on the floor. The Narrator glanced over his shoulder, his fingers digging into the memories of grass and dirt beneath them and ripping them apart. Suddenly, hopelessness had given way to white-hot fury; Go on, he silently, bitterly urged his protagonist. Do it, you cretin. Finish me off. Put me out of my misery. Break my story! Break my heart! Break ME! Burn it all down, grind it all into the dirt where it belongs-! Stanley held out his hand. The Narrator looked up at him, tears still rolling down his cheeks. He was - for perhaps the first time in his life - speechless. —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Meanwhile; a man named Stanley had overstepped, and he knew it. <It’s you.> He’d signed, mere moments ago. <It’s really you… > Oh of course that shrill, annoying little voice in his head known as Common Sense had screamed at him endlessly. It stomped its little feet, tore out its hair, hammered its little fists on the bars of the bespoke and utterly inescapable cage that situations like this always built to contain it. No, stop! It cried. You mustn’t! But Stanley’s hand had moved of its own accord. He just had to know. He had to know if what he was seeing in front of him was really, really real. He had to know if what seemed like a memory of a dream of a memory - of someone he’d once felt close to - actually meant something. And then he’d touched The Narrator. Stanley’s hand shook when it had first met that plastic cheek; but feeling the smooth surface, he couldn’t help but relax from its reassuring familiarity. It was almost like a button, if a button was surprisingly warm. And despite feeling almost exactly like plastic, there was something indescribable, something wonderfully and beautifully alive about it. This was plastic with a pulse, and it made his fingertips tingle... His gently questing fingers found hair next. If he’d been one for poetry, he might have compared its color to fresh-fallen snow, kissed by the morning sun, but such metaphors escaped a mind such as his. Stanley was a simple man; not stupid, at least not usually, but his world had been small before the Parable swallowed him up. His memories of his old life were limited mostly to what he’d done at the office. But he vaguely remembered seeing a color like that, at work, in some kind of context… by the water cooler, during some kind of talk… and he knew he’d wondered, more than once, if it was as soft and fluffy as it looked. And as he stroked it gently... yes, apparently, it was that soft. A little stiffer than he’d imagined, maybe, but at least it looked nice and fluffy. Stanley felt a blush spreading across his cheeks. He hadn’t been sure what to think at first, but one word was slowly coming to mind, and that word was- “STOP!!!” Suddenly, abruptly, Stanley half-remembered and half-realized that softness was attached to The Narrator, and the shock may as well have electrified his arm. He pulled away; and seeing The Narrator’s reaction, his poor, simple heart sunk all the way to his feet. He knew he’d pushed things too far, he knew he’d done something dangerously close to Workplace Inappropriate Physical Contact, but had he hurt him-?? The Narrator turned and tried to run. Stanley scrambled after him, longing to cry out; Wait, please! I’m sorry! Don’t despawn again! The Narrator tripped and fell. Stanley, overcome with worry, rushed to his side, extending his hand. The Narrator just… looked at him. He was breathing heavily, his eyes full of tears, his fingers covered in dirt and crushed bits of grass. <I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!> Stanley signed repeatedly; in his desperation, he couldn’t even remember the next part of the Workplace Apology Procedure. The Narrator was still silent; and Stanley’s heart sunk further and further as his frustration grew and grew. Half-formed signs spilled from his shaking hands as his own tears began to rally the troops, fat drops ready to march down his cheeks in double time as he bit his tongue - why was this so hard, why was this so hard?? Mustering every bit of bravery an office worker of his rank possibly could, Stanley fell back on his last resort. Extending his hand again, he crossed the fingers on his other hand, holding them up so The Narrator could see them clearly; <R> Next, he held two fingers up; <U> His fingers formed a circle; <O> And lastly, two fingers split, like a peace sign; <K> “Am I… okay??” The Narrator’s words were strangled with emotion; but just hearing him say something, say anything, was enough for a wave of relief to wash over our daring hero. Smiling, Stanley beckoned with his extended hand, and The Narrator finally grasped it. It was soft, like the tasteful suede they used for the chairs in the Boss’ Office, and Stanley found himself subconsciously running his thumb over a line of neat stitches as he helped the poor man off the ground. The Narrator teetered on his feet for a moment, seeming unsteady. Stanley tilted his head slightly; what was that strange sloshing noise… ? But The Narrator sniffled, bowing his head again, and Stanley immediately snapped to attention. Yes, he knew just what to do! Reaching into his shirt pocket, he pulled out a packet of Office-Issued Disposable Handkerchiefs - an employee’s best friend for any sneeze, sniffle, or non-fatal accident involving coffee - and handed one to The Narrator. “Oh, Stanley… ” The Narrator dabbed at his eyes, and blew his nose like a foghorn. Stanley looked at him with a mixture of sympathy and utterly helpless confusion. He could only ever recall hearing him so utterly distraught once before, and that was… not a memory he really wanted to dig into. Was this really his fault? Had he deviated too much? Had he ruined his story again… ? “I don’t understand… I just don’t understand… ” sobbed the Narrator; ”Why are you being so nice to me?” Stanley was utterly dumbfounded. He couldn’t even bring himself to start signing, but the What!? was so implicit that The Narrator looked up in surprise <BECAUSE! I’M! HAPPY! TO SEE YOU!> Stanley signed with undeniable emphasis, holding his hands right at the Narrator’s eye level. Unable to hold back his own tears for a fraction of a second longer, the armies came marching forth in torrents. Stanley was happy. Stanley was angry. Stanley was frustrated, overwhelmed, overstimulated, and so desperate he felt like he was drowning. His lip quivered, his whole body shaking from the effort, but he had to do this, he had to be brave. This was what he’d waited for. This was his hope. Somewhere, far far back in his memories, something stirred. Before the Parable. Before beginnings and endings. Before he’d ever known what a ‘Reset’ was, those memories were reaching out to him. Memories of a face half-remembered, and a name long forgotten. Memories of someone speaking his name, over and over, instead of addressing him simply as ‘427’. A kindly smile. Uproarious, mischievous laughter. Coffee with cream and a disproportionate amount of sugar. Passing a slice of store-bought birthday cake, and accidentally brushing hands under the paper plate. <STAY!> And stories. Every day, there were stories. The other employees called it rambling, called it irritating, called it inefficient and unproductive… but to him, they were little stories… <HERE!!> Stanley strained from the effort. <PLEASE!!!> And The Narrator touched him back. Stanley froze in place. He was hyperventilating, gasping for every breath between silent sobs, but his hands finally lay still. The Narrator’s hands were holding them; silencing them. But Stanley didn’t mind; in fact, he welcomed it. He was at his breaking point. His heart and his head were both full to bursting. So many feelings. So many words. This wasn’t what he was good at. This wasn’t what he was meant for. But now, standing right across from him, was someone who was. Standing there, gently holding Stanley’s hands, was me. His Narrator. Let’s shift the perspective again, shall we? —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Ahhh, there! That’s much better… feels like having a really good stretch after you’ve been sitting in the same place for a while, don’t you think? Let’s just take a moment to let the story settle… to take a deep breath, maybe have a sip of water…. to appreciate just how far we’ve come. …Now, uh, where was I… ? Oh, yes! Anyway; slowly but surely, I found my footing again. Our heads had been in the clouds long enough, and now I was pulling us both back to Earth, back into whatever passed for reality in this place. My thumbs gently stroked the back of Stanley’s hands; giving him something real to cling to. Giving my nervous hands something to do with themselves. And the moment I saw the tension leave his shoulders, I let go of the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. <You’re really here… > Stanley looked down at my hands and their irremovable gloves. Despite my fears, there was no rejection, no cruel mockery; just quiet fascination. Again, that same look, as his eyes moved up from there to my chest and to my face. And needless to say, it didn’t take an omniscient narrator to understand what his eyes were asking me. “Yes, Stanley. Go ahead.” Stanley reached out; I leaned my head into his hand this time, letting him know me through touch. And don’t you dare pass judgment - this is very hard for me to admit to - but it took everything I had not to burst into soppy tears all over again. We were old friends who’d just met. Two halves of the same soul, reunited at last. Surely a meeting like this was written on all the stars in the infinite cosmos, and upon every grain of sand in the- Stanley reached out a finger and ‘booped’ my nose. He laughed uproariously; not at me, but with me, as I somehow found a small chuckle growing into a full-on belly laugh. I just couldn’t help myself! This entire, bizarre situation we’d once again found ourselves in… the two of us so helpless, messy, and stupid... it felt so good to come so utterly undone. We were just a couple of total idiots, Stanley and I. Standing there and giggling like lunatics. And then… I found myself overcome by a strange impulse of my own. Seized by a brief moment of temporary insanity, perhaps. Taking a small step back, I opened my arms. Stanley didn’t hesitate for a single second. He fell into them like he was coming home; like he’d just had the longest work day in the universe, and someone had just presented him with the fluffiest feather bed in existence. Nearly bloody bowled me over again, with all his enthusiasm. But I looked down at Stanley - and he looked so happy, well... uh... you know what? I’ll give you the incomparable joy of picturing in your head just how happy he was. What?? No, I’m not lost for words! Me? Lost for words? Ugh, of all the… no, no, let’s not ruin this. This one right here is all yours. No, go ahead, take it. Don’t say I never do anything for you. But, ahem - to continue our scene, we were both sitting down now, right there on the ground. Stanley had his ear to my stomach, listening to whatever the hell liquid is in there slosh back and forth, as he rocked himself gently in place. There was no way he could realize how he was reminding me, with each slosh, of what I am. Of how I’ve changed. Of what I’ve lost. But for the first time since I could remember… I didn’t hate it. At least, not entirely. Perhaps I could get used to that, in enough time. Around us, the memory of birds sang, and the memory of a breeze gently rustled the memories of grass and flowers. Somewhere in the distance, a memory of a piano was playing itself - ah yes, I’d almost forgotten about that. Perhaps we’d see it later. Perhaps we’d sit on the bench I’d placed nearby, and look at the view. Perhaps talk to one another, instead of just at one another. Yes… that would be nice, wouldn’t it… But between Stanley and I; right here, and right now? There’s a glittering silence between us; one that outshines any other memory I’d care to rescue from the scrap heap. Things, I realize, are falling into place. As gentle as snow, as warm and welcome as the light of dawn. This, I can tell, is what I’ve been waiting for all this time; what I’ve been striving for, over and over, with each and every branching path. A perfect moment.

#The Stanley Parable #TSP #TSPUD #Stannarrator #Stanley/Narrator #Fanfic #NO BETA WE DIE LIKE THE END IS NEVER THE END #UNREALITY WARNING: The last section has The Narrator addressing the reader directly and talking in first person

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