#FeelGood

[vimflam]

these are the loveliest cels in spongebob's whole production

[princess-lilura]

His pretty little doll looks so cute…

I made her a promise that I wouldn't hurt her

That was a lie.

I can see the desperation in her eyes as my hands open her stocking clad legs

My fingers glide up her already dripping pussy

You're already so wet for Daddy, who's my good girl?

Your eyes widen with delight and her cheeks blush a lovely shade of pink while she tries to look anywhere but at me, the way she blushes for me makes my dick so hard

The hunger crawls through my body as I look upon her spread wide for Daddy, wet, needy and desperate

I wasn't going to hurt her but how could I keep my promise when she looks like this

Pushing the head of my throbbing cock against her centre my lips hit her ear, this might hurt baby girl, her eyes widen

Be a good girl now and scream for Daddy

Pushing through her tight wet pussy it feels like my cock has been dipped into honey, the way her heat glazes across me sends me feral pushing deeper I feel her grip me tighter and I can no longer hold back as I sink into her tightness that is cutting off any thoughts I have

All I can think about is using her little body and making it mine…

[greytongue]

random prompt: massage

cw/themes: no smut. leon never stretches, so you help him with that. then you give him a massage. he’s touch starved. he falls asleep. slightly established relationship? y’all like each other and you know the feelings are mutual. ambiguous gender reader

-

leon took poor care of his body. sure, he’s an active guy and eats relatively healthy. but taking the time to focus on his aches and pains and flexibility is where he lacked.

you’d hear him let out the occasional grunt or groan anytime he had to kneel, bend over, anything really. especially after a mission is when he complained the most. so, you set it upon yourself to take care of his physical ailments after another gruff mission.

“i really don’t need this.” he sighed, begrudgingly removing his shirt at your command.

“you /think/ you don’t, but i’m starting to believe i know your body better than you do.” you grabbed the body oil from under the master bathroom sink, and headed back into the bedroom where leon was shifting awkwardly.

“okay, so,” you sat the bottle on the night stand, “go ahead and hop up on the bed, but don’t lay down yet. get on your knees, i’m gonna have you stretch real quick.”

he hummed out an affirmative and proceeded to kneel on the bed as you had instructed, you followed him also, settling behind him.

“alright…” your hands skimmed his broad, yet tense, shoulders, to get a feel for what you’d be dealing with. he sighed and hung his head at just being touched. you frowned slightly at this. you guided him through multiple upper body stretches to warm his body up before you’d be handling the muscles.

“feel alright so far?”

“yeah, this is fine.” he rolled out his shoulders a bit, already feeling a difference.

“great,” you flashed a smile. “go ahead and lay down, i’m gonna start working on your shoulders first and then making my way down.” you scooched off the bed to grab the oil, coming to a stand on the side leon laid at.

“this might feel a bit weird,” you poured the liquid in your hands. “but it’s just so it’ll make it easier for me to do this. ready?” he nodded and you got down to business.

leon shivered as the body oil made contact with his skin. “sorry if my hands are cold.” your eyebrows furrowed apologetically, thumbs circling out a knot in his shoulder blade.

“mm-mm, feels nice..” he groaned in delight as you worked out the muscles in his upper body, placing a small kiss on his pale skin before moving from the right shoulder to the left and massaging the knots out. you began working your way down, with some trouble however. you couldn’t leverage yourself right with how you were standing.

with some hesitation, you proceeded carefully, “hey, is it alright if i, uh.. straddle you? it’s just so i can get a better angle.”

“mm, do whatever you need to.” he slurred out. you didn’t realize that he was half asleep while you were doing all this. you smiled, swinging your leg to rest your knees on either side of him and gently placed your weight down, continuing your ministrations. you slowly work his muscles as you go down, placing chaste kisses once you’re finished with a certain section of his strong back. he’s letting out soft sighs and moans and it has you smiling. you’re happy that you can give this worn-out man some peace.

once you’re finished with the entirety of his back, you rub in the excess oil into his skin. slowly moving your hands back and forth along his back, making sure everything is fully moisturized. you hum contently, now finally finished.

you gently place your hands on his shoulders, signaling you’re done. “okay leon- oh.”

what do you know, he’s fallen asleep. he looks.. peaceful. his eyes are closed and you can see his pretty long lashes perfectly this way. his eyebrows are usually furrowed in concentration or stress, which you always comment he’s giving himself premature wrinkles, but they’re relaxed now. you can see his upper back falling up and down slowly from his breathing, his plump lips slightly agape.

you snicker to yourself and pat his back, climbing off the bed carefully and pulling the duvet onto him. once you’re finished tucking him in, you pet the strands of hair from his bangs out of his eyes and press a kiss to his temple.

“sleep well, kennedy.”

[hellyeahscarleteen]

"South Korea’s Supreme Court ruled this week that the country’s National Health Insurance Service (NHIS) must extend spousal insurance benefits to gay couples, a decision LGBTQ+ advocates in the region are hailing as a major step forward for legal marriage equality."

[interiordesignofthemind]

Sunday brunch and self care day!

Insta: aemilius_dubois

[toxicanonymity]

[vimbry-moved]

can you hear me, John?

JL: [beat] I can! [hosts whispering "yes!"] hear you just fine.

hellooo! / it worked again! / oh, that--

JL: it still works! [hosts laughing]

that is my Most nervous moments, because a-as you- I don't know if you remember, but, I have not been able to make the- this work on a couple of occasions with you guys, and I always feel horrible - had to ask you to call back, and then ask my station manager, "what am I doing wrong?" (laughs) [JL laughing] so! I always feel accomplished--

JL: y'know--

--once, uh, this part is over with. so, thank you! for- so much--

JL: --well, it is a - don't forget, it's a miracle. telephony is a Miracle. [hosts laughing]

[jokeringcutio]

helloo, hope this return means things are looking up <3

reader on a blind date with arthur fleck imagine ? it could happen by gary speaking to arthur during work and they'd get onto the topic of women and gary would suggest arthur going out with a female friend (reader) of his who is currently looking for someone. the reader then gets a bit concerned for arthur (his weight, illness, how little money he has and age gap between the two) and starts to stick around him to make sure he's alright. could end with smut or fluff, whichever you prefer. sorry if this is asking for a lot, you could take your time or ignore it if you think its too much! no pressure

Nothing's too much! ♥ Here's a little imagine I just wrote for you. Enjoy:

(Story under cut)

Reader's Gary's friend and Arthur's Blind Date Imagine

Fandom: Joker (2019)

Reader x Arthur Fleck

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mention of age difference, medicine, health issues, worries, smut.

When Gary comes to him to tell him he knows this sweet girl, Arthur thinks his colleague is just teasing him. Why would anyone try and set him up with a date? No one had cared about him being lonely before, least of all his day-to-day colleagues. But Gary was different, it seemed. He was the only one at work who didn’t seem eager to joke about all of Arthur’s shortcomings. So when he told Arthur that he had a friend and that the two of you should definitely meet, he accepted.

The little café where you are to meet is small and cheap. But it has a pleasant décor and atmosphere. Arthur’s leg jitters nervously, and then you come inside. At first, he thinks you made a mistake, and he says so.

“Excuse me, miss, but this seat is taken.”

“I know,” you say, looking intently at the man you knew had to be your blind date. He looks cute, your type, you realize. Where had Gary been hiding this man all this time, you wondered? You try to sit down but Arthur stops you again.

“No, I mean, I am waiting for someone.”

“Mind it if I were to be that someone?”

Arthur is left dumbfounded for quite a few minutes, merely capable of blabbering apologizes as you sit down, and staring at you as if he can’t believe his eyes. “So you are my blind date?” he eventually asks. “Gary-?”

“Yes,” you confirm, taking away all his doubt and fears. “Gary is a good friend of mine.”

Arthur had been scared to hope that you could be there for him. Scared that he would be disappointed to find out that you were here to meet someone else, afraid of getting his hopes up. But the moment you say Gary is a good friend of yours, his fears quiet down and his shoulders sag as his body starts to relax.

His whole demeanor changes. He becomes more confident, all smiles. He talks like a proper man on a date, moves the coaster around the table as he speaks. His leg still jitters somewhat, but it is no longer due to fear. It is excitement.

His attention is fully upon you. His green eyes follow your face all the time. He takes you in, the way you smile, the little crinkles near your eyes, the small lines, the imperfections. It is all perfect to him.

Nightmares come true. Not dreams. So how can you be real then?

It’s near the end of the date when it is time to pay that you ask Arthur if he really had enough. He hardly drank and didn’t eat at all. You figure he is just being polite, but wonder if he enjoyed the time he had spent with you. Had he just been sticking around so as not to offend you? Would there be a second date? You worry, internally, until the bill comes and Arthur insists he shall pay for you.

You see the contents of his wallet. It is nearly empty.

With a gasp, you offer to pay for him, but he refuses no matter what you try, even gets offended for trying to take this away from him. So chivalry isn’t dead yet.

You tell him you admire him.

The date ends with the two of you walking down the promenade. Talking. Arthur smiles sweetly at you. He tells you not to worry about him, and the two of you set up another date.

You know he has been lying to you. That he doesn’t have the money he claims he has or a nice apartment of his own. Gary tells you all about him. A forty-year-something-old man still living with his deranged mom. Gary tells you about the medicines he saw Arthur take and of the card that describes his ailment. Of how he never eats during the job – too busy, he said. He always said that according to Gary. And Gary's worried about him. But also about you. Should you truly continue dating this man, he wonders?

Gary is worried, but you are even more so. Arthur is your dream man. It becomes quite clear to you rather quickly, and as such, you can’t let his situation go. You worry about him. You care about him.

During your second date, Arthur has fully emerged in a tale of his own devising when you suddenly interrupt him by placing a gentle hand on his wrist. He looks shaken, green eyes upon you questioningly.

All you do is whisper he doesn’t need to hide.

“Don’t pretend, sweetheart, I am here for you. The real you.”

A soft breath leaves his lips, stuttering, shaking.

Then he places his warm hand upon yours, hot palm lightly resting against your skin. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze. And then a smile tugs the corner of his lips. Just a tiny one, like a hidden gem.

He shows you his apartment after. You meet his mom and examine his empty fridge. Determination fills your being.

The next time you are invited to come over to his place, you take along some home-cooked meal which you share with Arthur and his mom. He is reluctant to eat, as he isn’t hungry, but under the scrutinizing eyes of his mom, he knows it is the only polite thing to do. And so he tastes it. That night. And the night after. And all the nights that follow when you visit him and bring another home-cooked meal. He can’t refuse them, so he won’t.

Now that you have gotten him to eat, you start helping him do some chores around his house. You help his mother dress, clean the rooms, get rid of some of the mess. You sort through his medicines and get rid of the ones that have passed their dates. You bring in flowers and different drinks for Arthur to taste. His life quickly becomes less bland.

He’s a different man at work. More confident. Less caring about what others think of him.

This lasts for several weeks until one of his colleagues remarks that you are too young for him. Then Arthur breaks down.

You meet Arthur at his house but find him a wreck. Things had been looking up lately, so to find him in a mood is a surprise to you. Even more so when you see how he is chain-smoking, and how he sent his mom to her chamber.

He then tries to send you away.

“They’re right. Why would you stick with an old man like me, anyway? I am no good, can’t do anything good. No money, not a stable mind. Did you come here only out of pity?”

When he says it, he looks up at you with watery green eyes and you can’t help it. Your hands are upon his cheeks within an instant, his lips pressed against yours. You taste the nicotine on his tongue and allow it to sweep through your mouth. He eats you, ravishes you, his lithe body presses firmly against you and you can feel how eager he is for you.

You take the initiative, show him the ropes. He is hot and hard and eager for it. Every taste is a reminder that it isn’t enough, and his lips hungrily seek out yours. You guide him inside but he sets the pace. You moan his name, but he paints you white and claims you as his.

In his arms you shudder with the last of your orgasm. Against his chest, you come down from your high.

And by his teasing nimble fingers, you are teased into another round until your body is clamping down on his cock, hard. He groans in your ear and bestows you with another round of his cum. His heavy sack empties for a second time after having been denied the release so often before. It is like heaven to him, and he can’t get enough.

And you let him. Because you enjoy it.

You love him.

Next time he appears at work and someone comments about you being too young or too pretty for him, he retreats into his mind and feels you there, around his shaft, pulsing. Too young, perhaps. Too pretty, definitely. But you’re willing and you want him.  

No one will be able to take you away from him.

~ FIN ~

AN: Hope you enjoyed it. I'm ready to receive more prompts again as you can see.

[great-health-stuff]

Gently Boost Your Lymphatic Flow at Home! lymphatic drainage massage 💧

Ever wonder about that system working silently behind the scenes to help clear out waste and support your immunity? That's your lymphatic system! Think of it as your body's internal cleansing network, moving fluid (lymph) that contains waste products and immune cells.

Unlike your circulatory system which has the heart as a pump, the lymphatic system relies on muscle movement, breathing, and gravity to keep things flowing smoothly. When this flow becomes stagnant (due to inactivity, dehydration, stress, etc.), you might experience things like puffiness, sluggishness, brain fog, or feel more susceptible to colds.

Supporting your lymphatic drainage is a gentle way to encourage your body's natural detox processes and feel more vibrant. Here are 4 simple ways to activate lymphatic flow at home:

Deep Diaphragmatic Breathing:

How it Helps: The pumping action of deep belly breaths acts like a powerful internal massage for lymphatic vessels, especially deep in the torso.

How to Do It: Lie down comfortably. Place one hand on your chest, one on your belly. Inhale slowly through your nose, letting your belly rise (chest stays relatively still). Exhale slowly through your mouth. Repeat for 5-10 minutes daily.

Gentle Dry Brushing:

How it Helps: The light brushing motion on the skin can stimulate surface lymphatic vessels, encouraging movement towards lymph nodes.

How to Do It: Using a natural bristle brush, start at your feet and use long, gentle strokes upwards towards your heart. Brush your arms upwards towards your armpits. Always brush towards the center of your body/heart. Use light pressure – you're stimulating the skin, not scrubbing it! Do this before showering.

Simple Self-Massage (Neck & Collarbone):

How it Helps: Gently massaging key areas where lymph nodes cluster can help move stagnant fluid.

How to Do It: Using light, gentle pressure with your fingertips:

Stroke downwards along the sides of your neck, from behind the ears towards the collarbone.

Gently pump/press in the soft hollows just above your collarbones.

Repeat several times. Can be done with a light oil or lotion if preferred.

Movement & Rebounding:

How it Helps: Muscle contraction is crucial for moving lymph! Any form of movement helps. Rebounding (gentle bouncing on a mini-trampoline) is particularly effective due to the vertical motion and gravitational pull.

How to Do It: Go for a walk, stretch, do yoga, dance! Or, gently bounce on a rebounder (or even just bounce lightly on the balls of your feet) for a few minutes daily.

🚑 Important Note: These are general wellness practices. If you have significant swelling (lymphedema) or serious health concerns, always consult with a qualified healthcare professional or certified lymphatic therapist.

[viralvisionscreating]

Let’s celebrate all the amazing moms out there – not just today, but every day! Happy Motchers Day to every loving, caring, and strong woman who makes the world a better place. 💐💖

[vimflam]

transcript:

JL: oh, well I have a lotta really ridiculous hobbies, and I have to say, like, I am very committed to this idea of being an amateur in all sorts of ways. in the sense of, like, do something that you really enjoy, even though you suck at it.

it's a long list of things, but, yeah, I like taking pictures; I have a little darkroom down here. I'm in the basement right now, this is where- this is where I do most of my work, and just down there is a bathroom that's- can be easily converted into a darkroom, so, uh. I do that! but I don't.. ever exhibit the photos, 'cause it's just kinda for me, and I feel like.. I don't know- I don't know whether any of the pictures would hold up to scrutiny.

PH: (laughs) what else do you suck at?

JL: I suck at ... I'm looking around the room here, um [PH laughing]. I have a telescope! and I like to look at the stars. but it's not very fancy, and I don't even know why I do it? and I'm not- I've never discovered any ... thing in the sky, I'm just, like, basically looking in the book and saying, "oh, you can see Saturn in this part of the sky," and then I- then you set up the telescope, and sure enough, there it is. and that's, that's fun.

PH: but maybe- maybe, one day, you'll discover the Linnell Universe or something [JL chuckles], and we'll all be talking about it?

JL: I'm not really trying to do that, though. I'm not aspiring to do anything of the sort, I'm just- I'm just doing this kind of.. yeah, I dunno! maybe it's a little on the spectrum or something, I just like to do this entirely pointless act!

[consistentsquash]

I haven’t cared about fanfiction reception in more than a decade, but it had mattered very, very much to me fifteen years ago, and I’d found it difficult as someone outside the Anglosphere with English just about my fifth language. [ . . . ] And it’d seemed so very easy to quit then, since it’d seemed there was no place for you if you are not drawn to tell the stories in a manner familiar to or expected by an audience, if you were considered too young or too old or too pretentious or too terse or too wordy or too other by someone else, if you were from a culture or a language that’s a bit alien to what the majority audience finds familiar. [ . . . ] [ . . . ] when the story is told earnestly, in fullness or incompleteness, quickly or over many years, as unfamiliar it may be to a majority audience, as much as that unfamiliarity may cause them discomfort, each word of it leaves the tapestry of humanity a little bit richer, and someone else will one day read it in equal earnestness and be changed by it.

Source

[skzstoryvault]

Sunshine with A Side of Biscoff

Starring: Felix Summary: Despite his busy schedule, Felix clocked that you’ve been sick and slowly recovering. One day, he just shows up at your house with ingredients to cook and baked for you, so you heal faster. And because he misses the peace and unconditional acceptance he finds with you. Warnings: gross and overwhelming fluff, mild hints at disordered eating, talk of insecurities Tags: gender neutral reader, Felix is his sunshine self, insecurities, friendship, quiet support, acceptance, care, baking and cooking, cuddling Rating: 16+ Divider from: emojicombos.com/divider

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The knock on your apartment door is gentle, rhythmic—like a secret code shared only between close friends. You pause your show and drag yourself out of your cocoon of blankets, padding across the floor with a tissue clutched in one hand and a faint croak of a voice calling out, “Coming!”

You don’t even get a chance to ask who it is—when you open the door, the scent of ginger, lemons, and the faintest whiff of Felix’s citrusy perfume rolls in like a soft spring breeze.

He beams at you, golden as ever despite the black beanie pulled low over his brows and the oversized mask hooked under his chin. “Hey, sunshine!” he chirps, arms full of tote bags and a reusable shopping sack bulging with mysterious produce.

You blink. “You’re the sunshine.”

He laughs, stepping in and nudging the door shut with his foot. “I’m your sunshine today. I brought reinforcements.”

You try to protest, to insist that he’s too busy, that he shouldn’t be here fussing over your sniffling self when he’s got dance practices, shoots, and a face that needs to be asleep by 9 p.m. But Felix is already marching to your kitchen, looking way too comfortable as he begins unloading ingredients onto your counter: oats, silken tofu, Biscoff spread, lemons, berries, some kind of herbal tea blend in a mason jar labeled Feel-Better Potion, and—of course—a tin of tiny birthday candles.

“Felix,” you wheeze. “It’s not even my birthday.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he grins, tugging off his beanie and fluffing his hair. “We’re celebrating you not being dead. Close call, yeah?”

You snort so hard you start coughing again, and he immediately ushers you back to the couch with the urgency of a worried grandma. “Sit. Blanket. Minky one. Yes, that one. I’ll call you when the tea’s steeped.”

From the kitchen, there’s humming. Whisking sounds. A mild expletive in Australian-accented Korean when the tofu nearly tips off the counter. You peek over the couch and catch him carefully reading the recipe on his phone, brow furrowed like he’s solving a Biscoff-themed riddle.

“I was gonna do brownies,” he mumbles, poking the cheesecake base. “But then I remembered you don’t like chocolate. I gotchu. But let the record reflect that I believe only Diablo IV villains don’t like chocolate.”

Your heart does a little flip. You didn’t even think he’d remember that offhand comment from months ago.

“I’m touched,” you say, voice still raspy.

“I’m talented,” he replies dramatically, tossing a dishtowel over his shoulder. “And very humble.”

While the cheesecake sets in the fridge, he makes you a simple rice porridge with mushrooms and sesame oil, garnishing it with thin strips of pickled radish like he’s on a K-drama cooking competition. He sits beside you as you eat, sipping his tea but not touching the snacks you offer him.

You eye him.

He smiles.

You eye him harder.

“Lix,” you say gently, “when was the last time you ate a proper meal?”

“Eh…” He shrugs. “I had a banana in the car.”

“A banana is not a meal, man.”

He doesn’t look at you right away. He fiddles with the rim of your mug, lashes low. “Got fittings next week. You know the drill. I’m fine, I promise.”

You know that line too well. You’ve said it often enough yourself.

You nudge his thigh with your foot. “Does your back still hurt?”

He stiffens, just a bit. Then he exhales. “Only when I breathe. Or stand. Or sit.”

“That’s all the time, Felix.”

“I’m having to try harder to shine lately,” he says with a laugh, but it’s quieter this time.

You shuffle over and lift the softest blanket you own—the one he bought you last winter when you got homesick and said you missed the weight of your family’s old comforter. You pat the space beside you.

“Get in.”

He blinks. “Wait, are you—are we cuddling?”

“Yeah, mate,” you mock his Aussie drawl. “We are cuddling.”

Felix chuckles and caves instantly, curling up beside you like a sleepy fox, warm and faintly lemon-scented. His hand finds yours beneath the blanket, and for a few minutes, the only sounds are your quiet breathing, the hum of the fridge, and the gentle clink of wind chimes from your open window.

You put on a silly cartoon. Something with talking animals and pastel backgrounds.

Felix lets out a long, slow sigh. His shoulders, usually so taut with choreography and perfectionism, slowly sink into your couch. You feel his fingers twitch slightly in yours before he fully relaxes, head tipped gently toward your shoulder.

“You take care of everyone else,” you whisper. “Let me take care of you today.”

He doesn’t say anything right away.

But his voice, when it comes, is soft and sleepy.

“…Thanks, sunshine.”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Later, you wake up to the smell of caramel and spices. Felix has moved—barefoot in your kitchen again, frosting the cheesecake with whipped oat cream and topping it with strawberries and kiwi slices cut into stars. There’s one birthday candle in the center, lit, flickering like a tiny beacon of warmth and friendship.

“For the strongest person I know,” he says, placing the plate in front of you with a dramatic bow. “Also the most stubborn. But I still like you.”

You grin, cheeks aching from smiling.

You make a wish.

You both eat cake for breakfast.

And for a little while, the world feels very soft. Very full. And very sweet.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The cheesecake is half-eaten, both of you wrapped in the blanket like two overcooked dumplings. The show on the screen has devolved into background noise—animated penguins doing slapstick comedy—while Felix rests his head in your lap, fiddling absently with the drawstring of his hoodie.

You're playing with his hair, gently combing it with your fingers, when you feel the shift in his energy.

Subtle. But palpable.

His leg curls a little tighter under him. His brows furrow, just slightly. And he sighs—not tired, but the kind of sigh that comes after reading one too many comments under a fancam.

You know the signs.

You don’t rush him. Just keep threading through his hair, patient.

“I wore shorts last week,” he says quietly. “For that radio schedule.”

You hum. “You looked cute. The socks were a serve.”

He laughs weakly, but it dies quickly. “Yeah, well… people noticed my legs.”

Ah. There it is.

“Noticed, or said something stupid?”

His silence answers that.

“They said it’s weird that I don’t wax. That I should, like—cover up. 'Cause idols are supposed to be... polished.”

You glance down at him, and he looks small in this moment, despite all the power and sunshine he usually radiates like a furnace. His legs—currently clad in cozy fleece joggers—tuck closer into himself.

“It's hair,” you say flatly. “Everyone has it. What, are they expecting Barbie dolls?”

“I guess,” he shrugs. “Hyunjin doesn’t have leg hair, you know? Or if he does, it’s invisible. And his hands—his fingers are so long. Chan-hyung too. They do that thing where they flex in photos, and it looks elegant. Mine look like paws next to theirs.”

You blink. “Okay, first of all? Your hands are adorable. Like, Studio Ghibli protagonist energy. I’d trust them to pluck a flower or punch a demon. Second, you give the best massages. Like, terrifyingly good. I still remember that neck massage after we went hiking. You could end lives with those hands. Or restart them, which is even neater.”

That earns a faint chuckle. “I guess they’re functional.”

“And fashionable. You’ve got amazing taste in rings.”

He finally looks up at you, expression torn between amusement and guilt. “Sometimes I feel like I’m just this collection of flaws people keep tallying up online. ‘Too short,’ ‘Too deep a voice,’ ‘Curses too much,’ ‘Hairy legs,’ ‘Weird hands’... I’m like six insecurities in a trench coat trying to look like an idol.”

You meet his eyes, warm and unwavering.

“You’re not six flaws in a trench coat, Felix. You’re a person. With a body. And thoughts. And a beautiful, complicated, hilarious soul that makes everyone’s life better just by showing up.”

His throat bobs as he swallows.

“And in this house,” you continue, nudging his chin, “you’re allowed to curse. You’re allowed to wear shorts. You’re allowed to call Chan the c-word and not have to apologize to the entire internet for being a human.”

Felix snorts. “That was so dumb. We literally say that all the time back home. It’s affectionate.”

“I know. Chan knows. The rest of the world needs subtitles.”

You both burst into laughter then, and something eases in his shoulders.

“I’m tired of being palatable,” he admits. “Like, all the time. Even when I’m not on camera, I feel like someone’s watching.”

“Well,” you say, brushing a strand of blond hair from his eyes, “you’re safe here. You can be messy. You can say weird Aussie slang. You can even forget to moisturize. I won’t dock points.”

“Even if my hands are ugly?”

You grab his hand, hold it up to the light like you're inspecting fine art.

“Felix,” you say with mock solemnity, “these hands… are perfect for holding mine.”

He groans, face hot, trying to burrow into the blanket. “You are so cheesy.”

“And yet here you are, eating cheesecake I didn’t even ask for.”

“I slaved over that cheesecake.”

“Because you love me.”

“…Shut up.”

But his smile is brighter now. A little less forced. A little more him.

And as you sit there, limbs tangled, comfort settled between you like the softest blanket of all, you think—maybe this is all he ever needed. Not another compliment on his stage presence. Not a million likes. Just one friend who sees the boy underneath the spotlight.

Not perfect. Not polished. But real.

And deeply, deservedly loved.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The storm begins slow. Just a whisper of water against the windows and the occasional shiver of wind through your slightly cracked balcony door.

You're curled on the couch again, barely awake, a mug of tea going cold beside you. Sleep didn’t find you last night—not really. Two hours, maybe three, and the rest was just lying in bed feeling frayed, your thoughts stuck in some slow tumble cycle.

You’d texted Felix early, just a sleepy message: “It’s raining. I didn’t sleep. Feels like I’m made of soup.”

You didn’t expect him to reply. Not with his schedule. Not when his mornings are probably filled with back-to-back fittings or rehearsals.

But twenty minutes later, there’s a knock. Soft. Familiar.

You open the door and there he is. Again. Felix, your unofficial emotional support sunshine, holding a paper bag that smells like cinnamon and oat milk and rain.

“I got us toasties,” he says, stepping in. “And a lavender latte. Decaf. Don’t fight me on it.”

You don’t.

He slips off his shoes and his hoodie and moves like he knows the place by heart now. Which he does. He drops the toasties on the counter, then drifts back to you like a cat returning to its spot—his spot—beside you on the couch.

You barely say a word as he pulls the blanket over both your shoulders. You’re too tired to talk, and you know you don’t have to. That’s the best part with Felix. He doesn’t expect you to be chirpy or animated. He just… lets you be. As you do with him. 

“You okay if we just listen to the rain?” he asks softly.

You nod. Your throat’s too dry for much more.

So he pulls out his phone, opens a little lo-fi playlist, and lets it play at whisper-volume. You sip from the lavender latte, let the steam rise over your cheeks, and watch as Felix settles in beside you. His legs curl under him. He leans into your side like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

His voice comes after a while, drowsy and gentle.

“I had a dream last night that I was late to a showcase 'cause I couldn’t find my socks. Then when I got there, someone had turned my mic into a potato. A literal baked potato.”

You snort. “Was it... buttery?”

“So buttery. And somehow still worked. Chan was yelling at me in autotune.”

You let out a proper laugh this time, weak but real. Felix beams, satisfied.

“See? That’s my goal. Make you laugh before you dissolve into soup completely.”

“You’re helping. I’m now, like… halfway to risotto.”

“Progress.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, and he shifts just enough to rest his cheek on top of yours. The sound of the rain deepens, now steady against the window panes. It’s like the universe is humming lullabies just for the two of you.

Neither of you moves for a long time.

You both need this, you realize. The stillness. The safety. The quiet knowing that you don’t have to do anything to be loved. You can just be.

At some point, Felix’s breathing evens out, and you realize he’s fallen asleep, his hand still gently wrapped around yours beneath the blanket.

You close your eyes too.

Rain singing. Lofi humming. Your friend beside you.

And for the first time all day, your bones start to soften. The soup simmers down. You don’t feel quite so scrambled.

Not when sunshine sleeps beside you, even on a rainy day.

°°°end°°°

[interiordesignofthemind]

Insta: @aemilius_dubois

[toxicanonymity]

sunset over the yucatan, january 2024. no filter

[vimbry-moved]

so happy the youtube algorithm's sending this out to everyone bc this is the cutest little thing