#transcript below the cut

[faegents]

📫

From Henry to Bekah?

Dear Rebekah,

If you are reading this, you can assume I'm dead. Maybe (if you're lucky, you're the one that did it) I'm not, and simply going back into hiding.

But regardless of circumstance, I want to apologize for the role I played in everything that happened.

I understand if you never read this. This is entirely for my own peace of mind.

I hope that your life has gotten better, and that I haven't ruined your chances entirely. I hope that someday you have a family and a house to call your own. I hope you pick up all your old hobbies and find that you haven't actually forgotten a thing. I hope your kids look like you. I hope you love them the way you were never loved because of what I took from you. I hope you find your happiness. I hope your freedom is everything you hoped it would be.

I hope you are unafraid. Don't be afraid.

Best wishes,

Henry Winslow

[eastgaysian]

I mean, we did it several ways, there was one where I threw a bottle of water at the glass window, not hard enough to do anything. There was one where I said, "Oh, oh, okay, you wanna fire me? Let's go ahead. Get started. Did you forget your password? Do you want me to help you sign in?" We did these different ad-libs, you know. It got uglier and uglier. They didn't use any of that, but I felt like what they did use was all the really... It felt really dangerous, like I wasn't sure whether I was gonna slap him, or he was gonna slap me. Because we're friends, our own feelings of whatever, it was mixed up into that, and so it felt like a really new level of acting without a net. It being Succession, you do have this elbow room, of like, do you remember in season 1, when Shiv and Roman have that scrappy fight, where they fall down in like, fisticuffs.

So there could be fisticuffs here.

Yeah! I mean yes, I could see like, slapping him, or throwing something at him. But it felt that dangerous, dangerous thing in the air. Even though we memorized the lines, I wasn't sure what was gonna happen.

j smith cameron saying there was one take of the firing scene where she threw a water bottle at the window :?&;!3$??!?

[egginfroggin]

"5. Those odd little moth-winged folk of dimension 12 would probably succeed in instating her as their matriarch if she ever wound up in there again, genuinely what in the multiverse was it with small creatures wanting her to be their queen"

These critters are completely harmless and are generally just. nice to be around. They keep trying to carry Mabel off. Ford isn't sure what to make of that. She can escape easily enough so? it's fine??? I guess?????

Transcriptions below; please let me know if I should put in a read-more, and thanks for stopping by!

2-3 feet tall Utterly benign 4 antennae hair? (long fuzz)? not a thought in there, man big, dark eyes biggest threats 1. tripping over them 2. scales from wings (can irritate eyes/lungs) sharp fingers/toes for gripping/climbing bipedal - 2 legs, 2 arms big wings!

a. Mabel: "They love me, Grunkle Ford!" arrow: (Absolutely delighted) (also covered in glitter) Moth people: various "lamp" "bright" sparkle?" "queen?" murmurs b. Ford: "May -- may I have my niece back? please? May I -- Mabel?" Mabel: "Wheeee!" Moth people: several "queen" murmurs, and "sparkle" "bright" Moth person beside Ford: "No sparkle?" Ford: "Mabel, please"

a. Mabel: "Oh, hey, it's you guys! Moth people: various murmurs of "tall?" "tall" "bright" Mabel: "Sorry, I can't stay --" b. Mabel, being picked up: "-- eh?" Moth people: "queen" "queen" "long wing" "queen" etc.

(program: krita; time: about 1 hour)

[glampacked]

obsessed with these letters (source) 

Russell: “Hello Reader! Well here I am in my hotel coffee shop writing to you while on tour with my buddy Rick Springfield. The tour is going fantastic. Lots of girls, lots of traveling, lots of shows (90 in all!) Thank you for your great response to Sparks - all of you make the work that much easier for us. I’ll be looking forward to seeing you when we come to your town - and with 90 cities on this tour, we’ll undoubtedly somewhere fairly close to you! Until then - thanks for your amazing support! See you soon - Lots of love, Russell xxx Sparks” 

Ron: Dear Reader: I hope you’re enjoying yourself as much as I am. Me and my moustache are on tour of the US. I’m collecting the little plastic snowballs from every city and now travel with about 20 suitcases of souvenirs. I’ve also had to decline all the marriage proposals I’ve received on the road because, to be honest, a married man should not be in a rock band. That’s my opinion, anyway. Bye for now, Ron M”

[martyrbat]

hm....

[todays-xkcd]

We were going to try swordfighting, but all my compiling is on hold.

Crowdstrike [Explained]

Transcript Under the Cut

[White Hat is addressing Ponytail, who is crouched on a moving office chair, holding onto a rope tied to Cueball, who is riding an electric scooter.] White Hat: Hey, aren't you supposed to be working on the— Ponytail: Sorry, that's all on hold today because of the CrowdStrike thing.

[Caption below the panel:] Protip: as long as you're not actually in charge of fixing the CrowdStrike thing, you can use this excuse for pretty much anything you want to do today.

[crispycreambacon]

Cut Through The Noise

Even as the strike ends, the Palestinian genocide has not.

Now more than ever, there are so many conflicting voices. People with their own self-serving, hateful motivations speak over us, and sometimes our own voices can turn against us. We may feel like our voice isn't enough or we aren't doing enough.

This is why it's so important to learn to shut down that noise. No matter how much people scream that what we're doing is useless or a waste of time, keep talking. Keep talking about Palestine. Keep talking about Palestine for as long as this goes on, both online and in real life. If Israel won't end their genocide, we won't end our protest.

Below is a list of what you can do and the poem transcript.

Check and spread this post which contains a comprehensive list on how to help Palestine.

Learn about the history of Palestine and how the displacement and eventual genocide of Palestinians started in 1948.

Learn more about Palestine, the myths surrounding it and the arguments debunking it.

Boycott companies who are either directly or indirectly supporting and finding Palestine's genocide.

Click a button to raise funds for UNRWA – an organisation aiding Palestinian refugees.

Attend a protest.

Help Gazans stay connected by purchasing eSims for them.

Donate to the following organizations – any amount, no matter how small, goes a long way:

UNWRA

Care for Gaza

Medical Aid for Palestinians

Palestine Children's Relief Fund

Islamic Relief

Here's another post detailing more charities you can donate to

And most importantly of all: Don't Stop Talking About Palestine! However you interpret it as – creating art, talking to the people in your life, emailing and calling your representatives, even reblogging and making posts – make your voice loud and clear!

— Poem Transcript —

There's a lot of noise right now

Screams dehumanizing poor souls

Groans from those in willful ignorance

People digging deeper and deeper holes

And it's overwhelming, it really is

I do not blame you

Sometimes you feel that your voice is too small

I feel that way too

But despite that, I urge you to keep going

And demand for what's right

Even it sounds like a whimper

You're still joining in the fight

And soon the rest of us will join

We can stand together here

We can cut through the white noise

And make our message clear

[rainbowbutterfrosting]

I was playing ace attorney last night and had a realization of my true power. So here's some of the dream situation in ace attorney format lmao

PLEASE DON'T LET THIS FLOP I SPENT SOOOO LONG ON IT

Note:

This isn't meant to be a proper summary, I'm just having fun sldfkj

If there's errors in the video then oopsie. I'm not gonna fix them just bc it would be too much effort. (Also, some things are worded weirdly bc I took them directly from videos. Primarily with stuff Dream's saying)

If there's errors in the transcript below, then let me know!! Though I haven't captioned everything in the video, just all the dialogue and some relevant sound effects.

In case anyone's curious, I used objection.lol

Transcription under cut, though I'd recommend watching the video for music and sound effects :]]]]] I just put it as an option for those who use screen readers, have bad connection, etc.

The second week of January 2025.

Chat, as the Gallery in Ace Attorney: GET HIS ASS. SLAY (LITERALLY) hi youtube

[Gavel slams]

Tubbo, as the Judge: Trial is now in Session for Dreamwastaken.

Tubbo: Dream, your opening statement, please.

Dream, as Cody Hackins: Tommyinnit posted a video yesterday that was titled "Dream" where he said a lot of stuff about me that isn't true.

[Hold it!]

Tommyinnit, as Phoenix Wright: Is it not true that you called my fanbase a slur?

Dream: Okay yeah, I did do that. I'm sorry. Genuinely.

Tommyinnit: Good. That was the absolute bare minimum.

Tommyinnit: But what about the misogyny? And how you and your friends treat women?

Dream: You have no examples.

[clever sound]

Dream: What if I just said you're racist and called it a day!

Tubbo: You called two different women "whores." Please amend your testimony.

Dream: Ah. Yeah, but it was to my friend. She wasn't upset at all!

[Objection!]

Ludwig, as older Phoenix Wright: Lmao

Dream: Okay but I meant it in the affectionate way!!! Like in the way I've called my cat a whore.

[Loud chatter from the Gallery]

Chat: SHANE DAWSON???? HE WHAT!!!!!!! [shuttering camera] I'm lost. Are they still fighting over discs?

Dream: Whatever, that's long enough ago. I did what I could about the situation.

Tommyinnit: My video wasn't just about that. It was also how you've been awful to me. It started with early Dream SMP when-

[Objection!]

Dream: Tommy, there's no way that you actually believe this. Saying I was terrible to you with no examples or anything- like- if you don't think that my intention was to help you, then what was my intention? Why did I do all of that?

[Loud chatter from the Gallery]

Chat: BRO THAT'S WHAT WE'RE WONDERING TEXTBOOK MANIPULATION POGCHAMP Is this new lore for c!Dream?

[Hold it!]

Tommyinnit: You thrived off of holding my success over my head! You didn't treat me like an equal!

Dream: [Desk slam] I saw potential in you!

Tommyinnit: Yet you called me a promoter for saying I was working on my podcast, book, and comedy tour?

Dream: [Critical hit sound] So why is my content worth less value?! I'm sorry that I like coding and hanging out with my friends??

[Gavel slams]

Tubbo: No one was saying that?

Tubbo: You keep taking Tommy's clips out of context. Shouldn't you be more responsible with the clips you take since you're aware of the gravity of some of these claims?

Dream: [Surprised Sound] Because-

Dream: You're saying-

Dream: Uh-

Chat: [lots of periods and question marks]

[Disappointed sound]

Dream: That's a good point, Tubbo.

Dream: That's actually a really good point.

Tubbo: Thanks. :/

Jack Manifold, as Winston Payne: [while applause plays] !! Shut Up I'm Talking Patreon ONLY $7 !!

[sandeewithtwoe]

Error’s tier list

Error belongs to loverofpiggies

Ink belongs to comyet/myebi

(Rest of the credit below the cut +transcript)

Classic - Toby Fox

Fell - Underfell

Outer - 2mi27

Killer - rahafwabas

Bird - Greyscales (ao3)

Abyss - metakazkzk

Alter - friisans

Bill - hwamyong

Color - superyoumna

Cross - jakei95

Dream - Jokublog

Dance - dancetale

Dust - ask-dusttale

Insanity - u-t-f

Epic - yugogeer012

404 - vibeless15

Fatal - xedramon

Fresh - loverofpiggies

Geno - loverofpiggies

Hard - CedDrawsNear (YouTube)

Horror - sour-apple-studios (deviantart)

Lust - NSFWShameCave

Mafia - mafiatalevn

Nightmare -Jokublog

Passive - Jokublog

Reaper - renrink

Saness - Sr Pelo (YouTube)

Sanstrocity - help-tale

Trainer - friisans

Crossbones - tsunderswapofficial

Tone - shirokappa

Delta - animated Zorox (YouTube)

Wiki - Paintedhen

Transcript:

Ink: Heyyyy, Error! Whatchu doing?

Error: Making a tier list of every Sans I know

Ink: Oh! Can I see?

Ink: Woah…

Ink: Wait a sec…

Ink: Why is Killer in F tier?

Error: The Classic Sans that doesn’t even act like a Classic Sans? Do you take me for a joke?

Ink: But… He’s like a sad wet cat! I thought you like characters like that

Error: … I think you’re mistaking me for Nightmare

[mumblesplash]

alright here's the rundown. more detailed version coming soon probably. the things i do for you guys

(transcript of prologue below the cut)

It's a lavender sky this time, this world. A lavender sky deepening to aubergine over a city of neon and brass. It's beautiful in it's way, just like any other city on any other world.

I-prime hasn't bothered to learn its name.

He stands in the hotel window, watching the burnished streets below gleam with fading light. The rhythmic thrum beneath his feet signals the rousing of the club below. They're playing a song that I has never heard in his life, yet part of him remembers it all the same.

The blank-faced watch on his wrist chimes a single long tone. I-piece taps its face without taking his eyes off the path into the nightclub.

"Hello, T."

"You're not in position," T says through the speaker. Their voice betrays none of the frustration that I knows he must feel.

"I'm where I need to be," I-prime says.

"We talked about this—"

"Yes, you talked, that's what you do. I make decisions."

T-piece's response is cut off by further chimes from the watch. Short, long, short, short—then the voice of L comes through.

"There's no time," she says. "The Boss just Held onto J. It's on, it's now."

"As expected," says I.

With a snap of his fingers the air before him splits. I-prime reaches into the crack between two universes and retrieves his sniper rifle. He looks down its sights, out the window, down the gleaming street.

Someone approaches the door to the club. A tall, svelt man with a face that I-prime is so sick of seeing other people wear.

I wonder what this one's named, I-prime muses as he lines up the shot.

Izaak? Ignacius? Indigo?

As he pulls the trigger on himself from another life, I-prime knows it doesn't matter what this alternate is called.

He lost track of their names a long time ago.

[tibllec]

Ranboo: Gay highschool fucking changed you

-> Full transcript below the cut

Sneeg: Bro you snuck into gay highschool, I'm pretty sure you're up to something Ranboo: Gay highschool fucking changed you, dog Charlie: I did not sneak in, the way the district lines were drawn I had to- Listen, alright? Sneeg: I just don't believe you man Ranboo: Alright yeah, keep on speaking of the district lines, but I saw- Charlie: I'm just really good at playing a straight man, what can I say dude? I got in there, I did what I had to do Ranboo: Alright man Charlie: I did what I had to do bro, to get through, ok I needed that fucking diploma. I needed that piece of paper. Ranboo: [sigh] What did you major in? ...men? Charlie: What- Only one, dude! They only had one and you know it's men! Sneeg: [laughs] I majored in DICK! Charlie: COCK, HUH? With a specialization in BALLS! Is that what you want to hear?

[jhezenkoss]

So at some point in the development of Veilguard, the Shadow Dragons were apparently still around in Minrathous even if you saved Treviso, so here is a compilation of dialogue that I'm fairly certain is not in the final game but still exists in the files, featuring the Viper, Tarquin, Dorian, and Maevaris.

Huge shout out to @sydneystarlights for pointing out all the cut Shadow Dragon dialogue in this post! I figured out how to export audio for the files that Frosty crashes on so here they are.

Transcript below the cut:

Viper: There are more darkspawn in the city. Tarquin: I hate that you just know that. Viper: I can scout out the darkspawn. They can't do anything to me now. Tarquin: You are insufferable.

Tarquin: What's the matter? You're hearing things again, aren't you? Viper: I'm— Tarquin: If you say you're fine one more time, I will kill you myself. Viper: (Chuckles) I'd like to see that. Tarquin: Shut up. Go home. Viper: But everyone's here.

Viper: Supplies are low. People will come to us for help, and we won't be able to. Tarquin: The funds aren't the problem. The merchants just aren't coming. They're afraid of blight. And dragons. Tarquin: But the magisters aren't starving. Viper: It's been a while since we robbed a magister. Tarquin: I'll go. Or I'll send Marisa. You need to slow down. Viper: Sitting around doesn't keep me alive longer. I need to make these days count.

Viper: Minrathous can't take any more chaos. The Shadow Dragons will need to step up. Viper: The people need to know we're still fighting. Tarquin: We're short on hands. Barely holding together. Everyone's exhausted. Viper: The city needs us. Tarquin: You're exhausted. Viper: And the Shadows need a new leader. Tarquin: Don't look at me like that.

Maevaris: How are you feeling? Are the remedies working? Viper: As well as can be expected. Maevaris: (Sighs) If there's anything I can do… Viper: You could stop mothering me? Maevaris: Someone has to.

Rook: How are things? How's the Viper doing? Tarquin: He's started to feel and hear… things. Tarquin: He seems tired. And far away. Like his mind's somewhere else. Tarquin: But he won't stop working, of course. And I don't know how to stop him.

Rook: Spotted any more darkspawn? Viper: I haven't seen them, but I know they're there. Like a buzzing in my head.

Rook: If you need help, the Grey Wardens— Viper: I know. Thank you. Rook: You were badly injured, and you're also… Viper: You don't have to remind me. I know. I'll deal with it, as best I can. Viper: Right now, if you want to help, then help Minrathous.

Dorian: So I heard, um… Viper: Don't start. Dorian: Right, well. Dreadful situation, this.

Tarquin: It's chaos out there. And the Venatori are taking advantage. Maevaris: We'll handle it. Tarquin: How? We can barely keep the safe houses running. Maevaris: We'll find a way because we have to. Maevaris: Today. Then tomorrow. Then the day after. For as long as it takes.

[yesterdays-xkcd]

Friggin' modern tents don't have a single piece of rope.

Know Your Vines [Explained]

Transcript Under the Cut

[Picture of a green, five-leafed plant:] Virginia creeper: Vines useful as impromptu rope

[Picture of a green, 3-leafed plant:] Poison ivy: Grows in same habitat as Virginia creeper

[A woman with long hair standing:] Girlfriend: Into light bondage

[A dark image of a tree, the top of which extends above the panel, with light green vines near the base of the tree trunk:] Area around campsite: Too dark to see

[Caption below the panel:] Relationship after camping trip: Strained

[fordford]

responding to this reply on my post saying stan and fiddleford don't like each other - i was going to reblog and add it but i forgot you can't add videos in reblogs so i guess this is its own post now; anyway here's stan talking shit about mcgucket for almost a minute from the land before swine hidden commentary track. video description below the cut.

video description: a clip of the land before swine in-character grunkle stan hidden commentary. the episode is playing as normal, but the volume of the actual episode is turned down to an almost inaudible level and grunkle stan is commentating. the video transcript is as follows:

oh, gosh. this guy. yeah, so, uh… y'know, old man mcgucket… he's a bit of a - he's kind of a liability. i mean i guess he helped us save the world with that robot and whatever, um, but, y'know, prior to me realizing he was a genius, he was mainly just a nuisance. like i think i run - ran over him with my car a couple times. he's like a possum, he just runs out in the middle of the road. (laughing) i mean - y'know, everyone in gravity falls has run over old man mcgucket at least once. it's kinda - it's kind of a rite of passage when you're in that town. y'know, obviously i didn't want him on this mission, y'know, mcgucket-ing up the whole thing. he's a liability, i mean, let's face it! various tales that we didn't need to hear. that gold tooth glinting in my eye distracting me all the time. uh, y'know, i'm pretty sure he was responsible for getting us to fall off of this thing - wait, let's wait and see. yeah, there it is. called it! his fault. sometimes i remember things being someone else's fault but in this case i was right! all mcgucket.

end video description.

[todays-xkcd]

In my new scale, °X, 0 is Earths' record lowest surface temperature, 50 is the global average, and 100 is the record highest, with a linear scale between each point and adjustment every year as needed.

Temperature Scales [Explained]

Transcript Under the Cut

Temperature Scales

[A table with five columns, labelled: Unit, water freezing point, water boiling point, notes, cursedness. There are eleven rows below the labels.]

[Row 1:] Celsius, 0, 100, Used in most of the world, 2/10 [Row 2:] Kelvin, 273.15, 373.15, 0K is absolute zero, 2/10 [Row 3:] Fahrenheit, 32, 212, Outdoors in most places is between 0–100, 3/10 [Row 4:] Réaumur, 0, 80, Like Celsius, but with 80 instead of 100, 3/8 [Row 5:] Rømer, 7.5, 60, Fahrenheit precursor with similarly random design, 4/10, [Row 6:] Rankine, 491.7, 671.7, Fahrenheit, but with 0°F set to absolute zero, 6/10 [Row 7:] Newton, 0, 33-ish, Poorly defined, with reference points like "the hottest water you can hold your hand in", 7-ish/10 [Row 8:] Wedgewood, –8, –6.7, Intended for comparing the melting points of metals, all of which it was very wrong about, 9/10 [Row 9:] Galen, –4?, 4??, Runs from –4 (cold) to 4 (hot). 0 is "normal"(?), 4/–4 [Row 10:] ''Real'' Celsius, 100, 0, In Anders Celsius's original specification, bigger numbers are ''colder''; others later flipped it, 10/0 [Row 11:] Dalton, 0, 100, A nonlinear scale; 0°C and 100°C are 0 and 100 Dalton, but 50°C is 53.9 Dalton, 53.9/50

[welty4ng]

TEAR MY WORLD APART!

call transcript; “adapting is never easy. jiaoqiu supposes he only tolerates it because you’re with him”

cw; spoilers for the current quest !!! f!reader, NSFW (mdni) !! hurt/comfort, fingering (soft sex tbh), not proofread, ugh jiaoqiu i love you so much, fic below the cut, 4.7k words

When Jiaoqiu first returns home, there’s a heavy weight in his chest.

It felt horribly uncomfortable, having Moze walk him all the way from the docks to his house. It felt even worse to have his companion fish his keys from his pockets.

In his mind’s eye, he knows where everything is. He knows where you keep your plants and how to avoid running into them; still, he tips one over, the crunch of dirt beneath his feet ringing sickeningly in his ears. He knows where every corner of his house is; yet, he hits his shoulder when he rounds a corner a little too soon.

Shamefully, it takes him longer than he’d like to find someplace to sit. He’d never thought it to be so humiliating, to realize he spent so many years seeing the layout to his own home without memorizing it.

He’s unsure for how long he sits, the silence deafening and the darkness blinding. There’s a gnawing, ever-growing pit in his stomach at the realization that this might very well be the rest of his life. A shiver runs down his spine. He doesn’t think he’ll enjoy having his senses heightened any more than they already were.

Jiaoqiu jolts when he hears the front door open, his ears perking up. The sound of your footsteps reaches his ears before you call out his name, your voice gentler than he’s ever heard it.

“Hey,” you say, hushed. Jiaoqiu shudders when your hand finds his knee, trying to soothe him. His hands ball into fists on his lap.

“Hey,” he echoes, slightly strained. The weight in his chest grows heavier when you thumb at his knee. It’s horrifying, how he can practically picture the pity on your face — he’d never thought he’d be at the receiving end of it.

“General Feixaio told me what happened,” you whisper. Jiaoqiu’s ears twitch when you cup his face and he immediately nestles into your palm. Your thumb is gentle against his skin, caressing his cheek with the utmost of care. “I’m so sorry, love.”

There’s a lump in his throat, a million words on the tip of his tongue — ‘I’m okay. I’ll be fine. It’s nothing serious. I just need to adapt.’

All that he musters is a quiet, shaky, “I want to see you.”

Jiaoqiu wonders if you look as broken as he sounds.

Being molded into a homebody is not unideal, but Jiaoqiu has far too much to do.

He wonders if that’s why Feixiao sent Moze to inform him of the leave of absence he’d been granted.

It should be welcome. It is, to an extent, when guilt doesn’t chip away at his conscience; when he doesn’t feel like he’s a burden—

The clatter of pots makes him jump, his tail puffing up before matting back down. He exhales, low and unsteady as you call out a sheepish, “Sorry.”

Jiaoqiu doesn’t think he can complain. Not when you’ve carved out time from your schedule to look after him — to help him adjust, or whatever bullshit Moze claimed Feixiao had said. So he’ll endure the ringing in his ears when something is just a little too loud, endure the tangy, bitter smell of something burning, and offer a patient smile, followed by a soft, “It’s okay.”

Because he knows you’re trying.

Cooking was never your thing. He’d never let it be, because, why would he ever let you dirty your hands when he could do it instead?

Part of himself feels guilty that you’ve been forced into a myriad of things that fell under his attention. It’s an ever-growing sense of uselessness that weighs on his chest, burrowing deeper with every ‘tap’ of the knife on the cutting board.

He presses his back against the wall, trying to suppress the familiar urge to take over the cooking for you. A knot forms in his throat when he hears you softly hiss, his eyes yearning to open and treat whatever wound you must’ve gotten.

When a soft rush of water reaches his ears, he inches off the wall just enough, taking a step toward the noise. It feels slightly disorienting, trying to guide himself simply through hearing. Still, he tries, awkwardly stumbling in your direction with an outstretched hand.

A shaky exhale leaves his lips when he touches your shoulder, his tail awkwardly flicking to the side when you jolt at the contact.

“Let me help,” he whispers, his fingers instinctively squeezing your shoulder. There’s something so horrid about being able to hear your breaths before you even speak. He loathes how clear he can hear your breath falter as you hesitate.

“Jiaoqiu, you—”

“Please.” He’s tired of feeling useless. He has enough to deal with, now that his eyesight is gone indefinitely. He wants to help — to be of use, even if it’s just a little.

The weight in his stomach sinks deeper when you gingerly clutch his wrist. For a moment, he expects you to drop his hand and lead him back to the spot on the wall he’s claimed as his own. Instead, you bring his hand up to your face, letting his knuckles brush against your skin.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” you murmur, gentle as you press a kiss to the back of his hand. Jiaoqiu wonders what expression you’re making; wonders if it’s pity or sympathy.

He takes a step closer, his front bumping against yours before his free hand shoots out to hold onto the edge of the counter for balance. “Let me do something, at least,” he pleads, a vague hint of desperation lacing his words.

Your breaths fan his face, tickling his skin in a way that has his tail swaying.

“Please,” he whispers, trying to keep his voice from wavering.

There’s a brief moment of hesitance before you ask, “What do you want to do?”

Jiaoqiu’s heart hammers in his chest, a ticklish sort of hope flooding his being. His hand trembles against your face, softly squeezing your own when you grasp it.

“Anything,” he breathes out. “It doesn’t have to be cooking or cleaning or — just let me do anything.”

When your grip on his hand falters, he grasps it tighter, resting them on your cheek. The smell of something burnt fills his senses, but he can’t find it in himself to care; not when he can feel the faint warmth of your skin. “I want to be of use to you.”

His ears twitch when you sigh, his hand trembling lightly against your face. He can imagine the expression you’re making — pursed lips and furrowed brows, deep in thought. Still, he yearns to see it.

“You can help me stir the pot,” you offer, a hint of hesitance to your voice.

The weight in his chest lightens just a little, his fingers tightening around your own in a light squeeze. “Alright.”

It’s a shred of normalcy, he supposes; even if he’s just swirling a ladle. For a moment, it reminds him of a simpler time, back when he was younger and still learning to fend for himself. The soft ‘tap’ of the knife against the cutting board fills his ears, accompanied by your faint humming.

Will you let him keep helping you? Jiaoqiu can’t help but wonder. Would you let him stop being a burden? Do you even think of him as a burden? He hopes — prays — you don’t. He hopes you let him stay by your side, even if all he can do is rot.

It’s all he wants.

So, when you lead him to your dining table, trying to distract him from the scent of burnt meat, he’ll entertain you. He’ll keep his complaints to himself, even if the soup is far too salty; the noodles are a little too undercooked; and the cubed beef is a bit too charred.

You’re both trying, he reminds himself. Perhaps that’s why he can’t find it in himself to care much when he can hear the ‘snap’ of a noodle between his molars. There’s a slight tingle in his tongue by the time he’s done eating.

Still, Jiaoqiu doesn’t complain. Instead, he smiles, softening when your hand grasps his own beneath the table, squeezing twice in a comforting gesture.

“Thank you,” he whispers, hushed. When your breath hitches, a lump forms in his chest. Quickly, he adds, “For everything.”

For a moment, he supposes the only good thing about being blind is that he doesn’t have to see you cry. Though, he supposes it’s worse, hearing you hold back from it — hearing you struggle to remain composed.

When he opens his arms, you rush into him, leaving your chair behind and opting to perch in his lap — just like you’d always done. He holds you closer, instinctively; though, he rubs at your back with hesitance, almost trying to map out the length of your back.

He shudders when you wet the side of his neck. It feels more present, now that his world is shrouded in pitch black. Your cries sound louder, even when quiet and muffled by his skin.

“I’m sorry.” Jiaoqiu’s unsure if the apology is his or yours, the weight growing tenfold in his chest and ringing in his ears.

He can’t tell if the sobs are still yours, either.

Jiaoqiu learns to rise when you do. His routine morphs into your own, despite your insistence that he rest longer.

Staying in bed doesn’t feel the same without you, he’d argued. You were quick to relent after that.

His feet drag on the floor behind yours, his grip tight around the back of your nightshirt. There’s a dull ache in his head. He bumps into you when you stop, a quick apology tumbling from his lips before he can stop it.

When the sound of rushing water reaches his ears, they twitch, recognizing the familiarity. His hands perch on the edge of the counter, letting go of your clothes. It never takes long for him to hear the soft rustle of fabric falling onto the floor. It never takes long for him to fumble with his buttons, either, before you come to his aid.

“Will you help me wash my hair again?” he asks, quiet as you ease the fabric off his shoulders.

“If you want me to,” you reply, gentle as you help him out of his pants. When your fingers brush against his lower abdomen, he shivers, his tail puffing up as he sucks in a sharp inhale.

Jiaoqiu’s hand leaves the counter, moving to cup your cheek in a practiced (albeit clumsy) movement. Part of himself still feels like a fumbling fool when you move his hand just a little lower, correcting the placement. Still, you never mention it.

A voice in the back of his head tells him he should reject your offer for help — tells him he’s been more than enough of a burden by making you spend more time ensuring he’s clean than you do yourself. Then, a gentler, kinder voice reminds him you’d expressed your satisfaction at being able to aid him. Pride never stands a chance, when it comes to your delight; he realized this soon after meeting you.

So, he lets his finger brush against the apple of your cheek, his voice softening as he says, “I do.”

It’s become almost instinctive, following you. There’s always a certain gentleness with which you hold his hands, guiding him forward as you step into the shower. He hears the quiet scuff of a stool (your insistence, not his) being dragged across the tiles. Your hands remain gentle as you guide him to sit.

“Tell me if I scrub too hard, okay?” The statement is almost unnecessary, truly. You’ve never once treated him with something other than overwhelming delicateness — like he’s made of porcelain. Jiaoqiu considered himself tough, before losing his eyesight. He thinks that shell was stripped from him alongside his vision. He wonders if you know it, too — wonders if that’s why you touch him like he’s seconds away from breaking beneath your touch.

Still, all he says is, “Okay.” Then, after a moment, “Thank you.”

A lump forms in his throat at the beat of silence, his heart hammering in his chest. Aeons, he wants to see your expression — he needs it so desperately. It’s become hard to tell whether he says the right thing or not. Sometimes, he wonders if he oversteps. There are a million words at the tip of his tongue, all of them longing to spill out.

Something soft presses against his forehead, gentle and so, so soft. Two hands cup his jaw, holding him in place before drawing him in. His arms wrap around your middle almost instinctively, his face burrowing into your chest.

“I want to see you,” he whispers, his words muffled by your skin.

Your lips press against the top of his head, tender. Jiaoqiu melts when you cup the back of his head, holding him in place. He wonders if you realize how soothing your heartbeat is to him, currently. Your fingers weave through peachy strands, washing out the shampoo suds from his hair.

“I know,” you reply, your voice barely audible. “We’ll figure it out, love.”

A soft noise rumbles in the back of his throat, his ears twitching and tickling your skin. “Promise?”

“Promise,” you whisper, kissing the top of his head one last time.

For a moment, something akin to hope blossoms in his chest. It’s the first time he’s felt it, since losing his vision, Jiaoqiu notes.

Normal still feels out of place, though not as much anymore. It’s become a faint, lingering feeling in the back of his mind.

There’s still a vague sense of discomfort at being surrounded by darkness constantly. Jiaoqiu supposes it’s only through the habit of touching that he reminds himself he’s not alone.

He’s only grateful you indulge him, even if it must be a bother to have him hovering and pestering just to stick to you.

The streets of the Yaoqing — have they ever been this noisy? Jiaoqiu can’t tell. It’s uncomfortable, how loudly everything rings in his ears. He thinks he would rather trade the boisterous noise for the bright, vivid colors he used to complain about.

“We’ll head home soon,” you reassure, squeezing his hand as tight as you can. For a moment, he wonders if his distress is palpable (he concludes that, for you, it must be).

“You shouldn’t rush,” he replies, his words trailing off into a quick apology when someone bumps into his shoulder. His hand squeezes yours — the mere thought of separating from you makes his heartbeat spike in anxiety. Jiaoqiu softly clears his throat, quickly adding, “I’m fine, really.”

Neither of you seem to believe it, though you don’t call him out on the lie. Instead, you slow your pace even more to loop your arm with his.

“I was thinking,” you start, pulling him just a little closer to you as you walk, “We could get the ingredients for those noodles you like.”

Jiaoqiu hums, trying to ignore the way the corners of his lips curl up. “That would be nice,” he says, trying to keep his steps matched to yours.

“You could help me make them,” you offer, gently tugging him closer before someone brushes against his arm.

His steps falter for a moment. When he takes a second too long to reply, you rush to add, “Only if you want to.”

A lump forms in his throat, agreement sitting on the tip of his tongue. All he does is exhale. His heart hammers in his chest, thundering loud in his ears. You’re looking at him — he doesn’t need his vision to tell. A hushed, barely audible whisper leaves his lips when you call his name.

“Is it still too soon?” you ask, a hint of worry in your voice. Your hold on him tightens just a little. “I-I figured, maybe it had been long enough to try and ease you back into things you used to do. We can just pretend I didn’t say any—”

“I want to,” Jiaoqiu says, his voice wavering. He isn’t sure when his breath picked up, but he can feel his chest heaving. His tail lightly sways when you place your hand above his own, thumbing at his knuckles.

“Okay.” Your voice feels as soft as your touch. It tickles his nerves, sending a flutter through the pit of his stomach and down to his core.

He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours (a jolt of satisfaction in his chest at the lack of clumsiness). His ears twitch when the pad of your thumb lightly presses into his knuckle. 

“Okay,” he echoes, trying to match your tone. Jiaoqiu softens, gently rubbing his forehead against your own.

Warmth blooms in his chest when you whisper. The market’s ruckus feels like white noise as your words ring in his ears. Like instinct, his lips part before replying in earnest. “I love you, too.”

He wonders if it’s your face that’s burning up, or if it’s his.

It pains him a little, just how long it’s taken him to ask this of you.

Jiaoqiu feels you shift beneath him, adjusting your position before wrapping your legs around his waist again. He softly exhales, tracing the slope of your cheek with the utmost of care. His heart hammers away in his chest, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Don’t move,” he whispers, breathless as he pokes at the fat of your cheek. When you sigh, he lets himself cup your face, the pad of his thumb lightly pressing into the hollow beneath your eye.

“How much longer are you going to do this for?” you ask, curiosity lacing your voice. Jiaoqiu softens, his tail swaying when you lean into his touch.

“Until I’m sure I’ve memorized everything.”

“I thought you already knew my face by heart?” you reply. The corners of his lips curl up into a smile when he hears yours. He gently pinches your cheek, drawing a soft chuckle from your lips.

“I do,” he says, loud enough so it’s meant for your ears only. “I just want to make sure I know it, deep in my soul.”

A soft hum leaves his lips when you squeeze his waist. His hand moves, his thumb tracing the shell of your ear.

“How smooth,” you mumble, brushing a few peachy strands away from his face.

“I want to make sure it’s all like I remember,” he murmurs, complying when you pull him up with your legs. Jiaoqiu’s ears twitch when his nose bumps against yours, a breathless chuckle slipping past his lips.

His hand trails down, his thumb brushing your lower lip. When you gently kiss the digit, his breath hitches. He cups your jaw, trying to find an angle. You simply follow his lead, letting him lead.

He thumbs at the corner of your lips, your breath fanning against his skin. His mouth presses against yours in the softest — faintest — of kisses. When you sigh, he lets himself mold against you. His tongue traces the seam of your lips, his tail swaying when you grant him access.

There’s a hint of desperation behind his actions. Jiaoqiu wonders if you can tell, by the way his tongue licks at your mouth — almost like he’s trying to memorize the way you taste.

He barely gives you any reprieve, breaking the kiss to catch the slightest of breaths before he’s attached to your lips once more. When his name leaves your lips between kisses, heat pools in his stomach. It’s a feeling he’d thought dormant since he’d lost his sight.

Jiaoqiu doesn’t think he’d mind its resurgence — not after the way you part with a whined gasp, struggling to catch your breath. His lips press against the corner of your mouth, then lower, until he’s kissing a trail down to the spot beneath your jaw.

When you struggle to hold back a moan, heat shoots through his veins. Your hands find the back of his head, your fingers tangling in peachy strands. He complies when you help him up, cupping his face before capturing his lips with your own.

For a moment, Jiaoqiu wonders if you taste sweeter than he remembers.

“Guide me.”

“Hm?”

A soft, huffed chuckle escapes Jiaoqiu’s lips. His hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb applying a delicate pressure beneath your eye. He feels you shift on the bed, your legs tangling with his own.

“Guide me,” he repeats, his ears twitching when you yawn. A gentle noise rumbles in his chest, his body pressing closer to yours and his hand moving lower to let his thumb press against the corner of your mouth. Then, he leans down, his lips replacing the digit.

Heat pools in his stomach at the sigh you let out. His tail lightly sways, the ends puffing out when he nips at your lower lip. “You’ve been patient for long enough,” he murmurs, gently ghosting a kiss over your lips.

“Jiaoqiu—”

“No excuses,” he says, “Please.”

After a light kiss, he adds, “Let me do this for you.”

For a moment, he wonders if it’s your heartbeat he hears, instead of his own. He lets his hand leave your face to rest on the underside of your breast, relishing how your breaths stutter.

“You’ve done more than enough for me,” Jiaoqiu reasons, his voice tender as he moves his face closer to the crook of your neck. “I ought to express my gratitude,” he whispers, noting how you shudder as his breath tickles your skin. He presses his lips against the underside of your jaw — right at the spot he knows makes your breath hitch and your thighs clench. “Shouldn’t I?”

“I didn’t do anything with the intention of getting something in return,” you say. He catches on to the quiver to your tone when his ears twitch. His teeth graze your jaw, soft and experimental as he thumbs at the lower part of your breast.

“Isn’t that reason enough to accept my gratitude with open arms, then?”

You shudder, your hand moving to perch on his shoulder when he trails kisses down to your collarbone. “We both know what your gratitude entails, Jiaoqiu.”

He softly clicks his tongue, letting his canines graze against your skin. The hand on your chest inches upward, moving until his thumb reaches your pert nipple. “Even more reason for you to accept, hm?”

His touch softens when you sigh.

“Isn’t it a little too soon—?”

“I think I should be the one to decide that,” Jiaoqiu mumbles. He presses a soft kiss to your collarbone. 

There’s a slight hesitance to your actions — how you seem to mull over his words. His tail sways, lightly rubbing against the bedsheets as your fingers run through his locks.

“Still, I—” your breath catches, your words interrupted by a wanton whine when delicately rolls your nipple between his fingers. 

Heat shoots through his nerves, fueling the fire in his stomach as he pictures your expression — your face all scrunched up, but your lips parted as you pant. Jiaoqiu slows the barrage of kisses on your skin, softy exhaling.

He wants to see it, so, so desperately.

He wants to feel and touch and see. His ears twitch when you sigh his name, breathless. A soft growl rumbles in his chest in response before he presses an open-mouthed kiss on your collarbone.

“Let me take care of you,” he quietly pleads. “You shouldn’t have to suppress your own needs for my own.”

“I’m not—”

Jiaoqiu nips at your collarbone to cut off your words, his tongue gently soothing the spot. “Don’t lie to me,” he murmurs, his words slightly muffled by your skin. “Not when I hear clearer than I ever could.”

Your grip on his hair falters, your breath hitching. He wonders what expression you wear — are you flustered or taken aback? Or is it something entirely different? 

“Just because I’m blind doesn’t mean I can’t touch you like I used to,” he breathes out, gently rolling your nipple between his fingers. You tug on his hair, your breaths uneven. His lips trail kisses along the expanse of your collarbone. “You just need to guide me.”

His fingers leave your nipple, drawing a soft whine from your lips as he trails them down to your hip.

“It’s about time you replace your fingers with my own, after all,” he rasps, kissing a path back up to your jaw, “Isn’t it?”

His ears twitch when a strained whimper slips past your lips. He nips at your skin before pressing a feather-light kiss on the spot. Heat floods the pit of his stomach when you nod against his head, your hand resting atop the one on your hip.

“You’ve been more than patient, love,” Jiaoqiu whispers, his tail twitching against the sheets as you help his hand down between your thighs. He shudders an exhale, his fingers inquisitive as they search for your clit. His breaths become heavy, fanning against your jaw in a way so ticklish that your thighs instinctively press together.

A choked whine leaves your lips, your fingers curling in his hair. “‘s n-nothing,” you murmur, your voice trembling.

He gently clicks his tongue, his thumb pressing against you once he finds your bud. “It’s not ‘nothing,’” he replies, rubbing his nose along your jaw as he begins to circle your clit. “It’s never easy to care for a patient.”

You mewl, lightly jolting when his index finger prods around in search of your entrance. “W-wait,” you stammer, your hand moving to aid his own. His tail thumps faintly against the bed when his fingertips ghost above your folds.

“Here we go,” he whispers, unable to keep the elation from his voice. For a moment, he wonders if you’ve realized the selfish intentions behind his idea to thank you.

Though, he’s sure that even if you have, you probably don’t mind. Jiaoqiu knows how tired you must be from fingering yourself in his stead. Your fingers were never as good as his at bringing you pleasure, after all.

The corners of his lips curl up into a small smirk, his finger pumping in and out of you with practiced ease. “That’s nice, isn’t it, love?” he asks, his voice a soft coo.

“M-mhm,” you shakily hum, slowly rocking your hips against his digit to match his pace.

“Your sweet cunt just needed my fingers, didn’t it?”

He can’t hold back the purr in the back of his throat when you nod, your fingers fisting his peachy strands when he pushes a second finger into your folds.

“N-needed them s-so bad—!” you cry, your voice cracking. Your free hand grasps at his forearm, your breath quick and uneven pants. “‘s never the same when t-they’re mine…”

Jiaoqiu gently shushes you, peppering kisses against the underside of your jaw. “I know, love,” he coos, his voice full of sympathy. “I’ll take care of it for you.”

You moan, your breath hitching as your walls flutter around his fingers. When they curl, you cry, your hips desperately rocking against his hand. “J-Jiaoqiu—”

“Close already?” he asks, though he fails to hide the smile from his voice. You huff and he chuckles, a sense of satisfaction settling in his gut. How long has it been since he’s felt that — felt anything other than a weight in his chest?

Jiaoqiu can’t be bothered to wonder. Not when your cunt spasms around his fingers, your broken cries and moans rising in volume the more he curls his digits against the spongy spot in your folds.

“That’s it, love,” he breathes out, his voice a heavy rasp. “Let go for me.”

When you cry, he can only picture the expression on your face — can only imagine you look just like you’ve always done when you cum. His chest aches for just a moment, then lightens when you mewl his name.

“T-thank you,” you whisper, your words slightly slurred. Jiaoqiu softens when you kiss the top of his head. 

“I should be the one thanking you,” he replies, hushed. He nuzzles into you, slowly pulling his fingers out of your cunt. His chest rises and falls, weightless for the first time in weeks. “For everything.”