#I should be sleeping but I’m in the middle of some breakdown

[korvessa]

So much touching

[trippinsorrows]

with me + part four

authors note: the love and response to this story continues to absolutely floor me. you guys are all so sweet! i was nervous about posting, but everyone has made me feel so happy that i did, so thank you!

couple of hints about things sprinkled through this one. the more i write, the more things are getting fleshed out, so idk how many parts this will be atp, nothing too crazy though!!!

also, some tags don't seem to work for some reason, like when i type it, the hyperlink doesn't appear so super sorry to those impacted by that!!!

warnings: angst, fluff, language, suggestive content

song inspo: with me by destiny’s child

word count: 5.8k

taglist: @pixiedust4000 @southerngirl41 @yolobloggers @msbigredmachine @wonderingfashion @shayaaaaaaa @usoholic @brokenglassslippers @gators-aid @dersha89 @southerngirl41 @empressdede

You couldn't eat. 

Couldn't sleep.

Could barely think straight.

All that consumed you, ate at you, gnawed at your sanity was one thought and one thought alone.

He wanted to take her from you. 

Joe wanted to take your daughter from you, your four year old daughter who still couldn't even go to sleep at night unless she got to see or speak to you.

The daughter who he'd only known existed just recently but was seemingly set on ripping away from you.

That thought destroyed you, made you raw from blistering agony at just the idea of not having Callie with you full time. It destroyed you to the point that you decided to throw some clothes on, hop in your car, and set your google maps for the hotel you knew he’d be staying at. Damn the fact that it was the middle of the night or that you were stupid as hell for being in that situation in the first place. None of that mattered. 

You needed to talk to him, and you needed to talk to him now. 

Joe opens the door with a forceful swing, looking as irritated and disheveled as you’d expect one to look at nearly 1am in the morning. However, when his eyes land on you, confusion meshes with irritation. “Y/N?”

“Hi.” It’s said in a breathy tone. You're struggling to remember the script you rehearsed the whole drive there. “I’m sorry. I know it’s late—”

“What the..….” He sighs heavily and steps aside, motioning for you to come in. “Get in here.”

You don’t need to be told twice, looking around the hotel room that looks so plain and undeserving of someone with Joe’s stature. But, you also know this area isn’t exactly saturated with 5 star hotels, far from it. This is probably the most elite one he could find with such short notice, and it’s not bad at all, just….basic.

He clears his throat, and you return your attention to the man who you just realized is also shirtless. If not for the pending mental breakdown you’re fighting to keep at bay, it would be extremely distracting. Joe is a lot of things, and fine as hell is at the top of that list.

“What are you doing here, Y/N?” He sounds exhausted, and you can’t tell if it’s from the argument earlier that day or being woken up in the middle of the night. Probably both. 

“I just—I need to talk to you.”

“Now?” 

Nodding, you continue. “I know….I know I messed up, okay? I should have told you, but I just—I need you to look at it from my perspective. I need you to just hear me out, and if—if you still feel the same way, then–then I’ll have to deal with that….but please.” 

He’s leaning back against the dresser, arms crossed, taking time to answer as he weighs your offer. Finally, he concedes, “you came all the way over here. I’m not just gonna send you away.”

You’re thankful for him being willing to at least hear some of what you have to say. “Callie.....she was conceived the last time we were together.” Not sure if that part was necessary or the best way to start out, you quickly move on to the next point. “I didn’t find out I was pregnant until two months later. And on top of not knowing what the fuck to feel, I barely knew what to do. I was pregnant by a married man that I’d been sleeping with for three years. A married, famous man at that. Who I finally decided I needed to move on from.” 

Revisiting this is harder than you expected, harder than when you rehearsed it on your drive here. “I was scared, Joe, okay? I was scared, so I—I did what I thought was best at that time, and clearly it was wrong. I 100% own up to that, and you get to be angry with me, but you don’t get to let that anger influence your decision making, because it is.” 

This is the part you debated so deeply on whether to say or not say, to potentially poke the already irate bear. But, you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t speak up for yourself and your daughter. “You want a legal custody arrangement, and I understand why, but—Joe, your name isn’t even on her birth certificate, but to tell you the truth…..I wanted it to be. I did.” Whether he believes you or not is on him, but it’s true. Because while he wasn't present in her life, he was still her father. Nothing would change that. “They wouldn’t do it without you present and without a paternity test—”

“I could have been there,” he interrupts, sounding more hurt than anything. “I should have been there.” 

“You’re right, but you weren’t, and I’m sorry for that too. I’m not trying to make any excuses here, just lay out facts. And the fact is that you can get a paternity test, you can establish paternity, and you can try to secure joint custody, but we both know there’s no way you can take her on. You work nonstop, Joe, and she can’t be on the road like that. She’s four for fucks sake. Calista needs stability, and she has that with me. You know I’m right.”

And you can see that he sees you’re right, the wheels turning in his head as he takes in your sound predictions.

“And I know you don’t right now, and that’s okay, but I am asking you to please trust me enough to know that I will not get in the way of you getting to know Calista. Trust that I only want what’s best for her, I’ve only ever wanted what was best for her.”

“Why should I?” Despite his words, you can see and hear the crumbling of his defenses, of the brick and mortar wall he'd erected earlier during the first round of this conversation. “What’s different now?”

“Because she asked about you.” This is the part that crushes you the most, that makes you wonder if you’ll ever be able to forgive yourself for even putting her in that situation. “Because she thinks you’re not in her life because she’s not a good girl, and I will not have my child grow up thinking she wasn’t good enough for her father to want to be in her life.”

You won’t let her grow up like you.

Period.

Having this discussion, saying these things aloud, you’re slowly starting to recognize how some of your own unaddressed issues have contributed to this situation. How your refusal to confront buried trauma has bled into another generation. It’s…..uncomfortable, to say the least.

And something you definitely need to revisit, probably sooner rather than later. Just…not right now. 

You’ve got to sort this through first.

It’s after a few minutes of silence that he finally speaks, voice surprisingly calm. “You’re right.” You let out a deep breath, nearly falling back at his words. You knew he was wavering but not to the point where he would yield. “I know….I know our situation is complicated, and I’m sorry for being so cold with you. I just—fuck, I don’t know how to process all of this.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “Neither do I, but we can figure it out, because we can’t…..we can’t put her through a custody battle. I won’t do that.” Despite your very valid facts, you also recognize that while he probably wouldn’t win, he has access to the best legal team money can buy and would outlast you in court by miles. 

You won’t say it aloud, not even sure if you can, but you’d soon rather concede than put her through that. You’d give him whatever he asked for if it meant sparing her from that trauma. 

It’s a far cry from your stance hours earlier, but time and actually thinking things through made you realize the pain you’d experience at having Callie taken from you would be nothing compared to what that experience would do to her. You know custody disputes can be long and nasty, and though she was still young, you didn’t want to find out if they would question her. 

You’d sacrifice your soul and surrender. 

You loved her enough to let her go.

“You’re right.” He repeats himself, even and calm. It’s such a stark difference for both of you compared to the blowup from earlier. There’s actual communication occurring, talking with each other, instead of at each other. Listening to hear, not to react. “I—I couldn’t do that to you. I spoke out of anger. My schedule is crazy and she needs stability. You give her that.”

There’s an insurmountable amount of relief that washes over you at his words. It’s night and day from the angry—though rightfully—man that stood before you earlier today. And you couldn’t be more grateful. 

“Thank you.” There aren’t enough words to adequately express the depth of your gratitude. Joe is well within his right to be upset, and like you said, you’ll take whatever that is, so long as the both of you can agree that Callie being with you is for the best. For her, but for you too. You won’t deny that. Your daughter is your life, and the thought of being without her, even for a period of time makes you sick to your stomach. “I–” You wipe your eyes, completely unaware that you’d been crying at one point, the tears starting to dry up. “I’m taking off work tomorrow and keeping her home. You…you can come over once I pick her up from Mariah's."

His eyes light up with appreciation that matches your own for his willingness to look past his feelings to do what’s best for your child. “Yeah?”

You offer a small smile. “I’ll probably get her around 10 and text you when you can head over.”

He nods, and the excitement in his expression warms you. It’s so strange how you can go through so many emotions in such a short time regarding the man in front of you. He always has been able to evoke things out of you that no one else could.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

The way he takes you in, assessing you, it makes you shift your weight from one foot to another. Your hoodie suddenly feels too heavy, warmth climbing up to your cheeks. “I—” You gesture to the door with your thumb. “I should head out.” 

It’s when you turn to leave that he grabs your wrist to stop you. 

“Where are you going?”

Your brow lifts at his tone and words, confused by the quick change and his hand on your arm. “Umm, home?” 

“Like hell you are.” His dismissal is firm and final as he informs, “you'll crash here tonight.” Your face must be painted in defiance, because he explains, “it's almost 2 in the morning, and you look exhausted. I'm not letting you get on the road. Anything could happen.”

“Joe—”

He lifts his hand, silencing you as he points to the middle of the room. “You can take the bed. It's uncomfortable anyway.”

Ironically, a small yawn escapes, further proving his point. You are exhausted, in several different ways. The idea of driving back home right now is not nearly as appealing as sleeping off the day's events. “Okay.” Remembering his comment, you add, “you could have picked one of those fancy hotels ya'll stay in, you know.”

“I don't think there's anything ‘fancy’ within 30 miles of here.” He's not entirely wrong, the town's local steakhouse is considered the definition of fine dining and hotspot for special occasions. 

“There were once rumors of a Hilton being built.”

He looks almost hopeful. “When was that?”

You bite down on your lip. “When I was in middle school.” A small laugh escapes at his look of exasperation. 

“You should take the bed. It's gotta be more comfortable than the alternative.” Truly, because the idea of Joe's big ass trying to sleep on a damn fold out sofa is both hilarious and tragic. “I just need a shirt.”

He looks at you. “A shirt?”

“Yeah.”

“Because…..”

Rolling your eyes, you tug at your old college hoodie. “I can't sleep in this. It's uncomfortable as hell. I dress light at night. You know—” And you stop yourself, because he shouldn’t remember that you always sleep in either a big shirt or thin top and shorts, never more, oftentimes nothing at all when he was in town.

For obvious reasons.

You’re grateful when he turns away and digs through his bag, probably the only one he took with him. He always traveled lightly. He comes back, reaching you one of his black t-shirts. 

“Thanks.” Accepting the item, you walk over to the bathroom, closing the door behind you. Standing in the mirror, you take in your appearance. Joe was being nice by saying you look exhausted, cause you look like shit, every bit of the days events, loud and blaring. Blowing out a breath, you start removing your clothes but pause when you go to remove your bra.

Is that….is that too much? You haven’t slept in a bra in years. Not since puberty randomly hit you over the summer between freshman and sophomore year, where you went from a modest A cup to a whopping D. And post Callie body definitely wasn’t a D anymore. It just seems….it seems indecorous. 

Deciding to go with safe instead of sorry, you swallow your discomfort and keep your bra on. With the hair tie on your wrist, you do your best to pineapple your hair, knowing good and well it’ll be frizzfest when you wake up but not really caring. 

Another yawn leaves your mouth as you walk out the bathroom only to turn into a scowl as you find Joe sitting on the sofa on his phone.

If it wasn’t so late and you weren’t so tired, you’d argue with him why it’s stupid of you to take the bed. He’s at least a foot taller than you. But, you don’t have it in you so just mutter “stubborn asshole,” place your folded clothes on the dresser, and climb into the bed. 

You double check your alarm is still set for the right time and lean across the bed to place it on the nightstand. There’s a comfortable silence between the two of you for a couple of minutes, your eyes closing as you try to sleep, even if for a couple of hours before you have to get back on the road. 

“What is she like?”

Your eyes open at his question, unexpected but understood. You think about it, wondering how to answer, how to explain all of the wonderful things that is your child. Finally, you settle on an answer, soft and honest. 

“You'll find out for yourself tomorrow.” And turning on your side, you murmur, “goodnight, Joe.”

He doesn’t say anything after that.

But while you sleep with the hope of believing that this can be worked out between the two of you, Joe lies awake, taking his turn with mind running a mile a minute.

He knew this would be difficult, knew it was going to get ugly to some extent, but what he didn’t expect was how impacted he'd be by seeing you again.

There was a stark difference between seeing you in photos and seeing you in person. His anger at the situation helped him to not react as strongly, but not as much as he liked or needed it to.

Because regardless of all his outrage, he’d missed you.

Even with your deception, with your deceit and all of his confusing emotions toward you in this whole situation, he missed you. 

Joe might not be ready to admit it aloud, but he’s never gotten over you. And not for lack of trying. He’d had a period where he tried to fuck away his feelings, tried to busy himself in between the legs of other women, his favorite distraction when he was in his twenties. Tried to remind himself that it was never meant to turn into anything anyway, that it wasn’t a big deal. But his efforts were fruitless and a waste of time.

He cared about you, he cared about you, arguably, more than he’d ever cared about a woman. Even….even Jadah.

The night you ended things was still a sore spot for him, still something he plays over in his head trying to make sense of. On the surface level, it’s pretty plain and simple. You wanted more, he couldn’t give it to you, so you moved on. 1+1. He was legally married for fucks sake. He couldn’t blame you for wanting more, but there was also a part of him that wondered why you didn’t just ask him for more.

Then again, that went both ways. Why didn’t he ask you for more?

It’s easy to say it was because of Jadah, because of his marriage, and that was both true and untrue. On his part, anyway. Divorce was easy in name but far from it in every other area. And for him, meant being forced to confront demons he tried his best to keep at bay. Up until two months ago, at least

Joe closes his eyes. This is all too much. 

He came here ready to confront you, and he had, in fucked up way, even if partially deserved. He came here to meet his daughter, to begin to form a bond with her, and he will do that. He just has to push the complicated feelings for you to the side and place them on the backburner until he can sort through that mess.

Calista is his priority right now. Whatever this is between you and him can be figured out later.

Hopefully. 

________

“She can be shy until she gets to know you.”

The day seems to have escaped you, getting on the road early in the morning to drive back and prepare to pick up Callie. She’s thrilled to see you, and vice versa. The two of you spend the beginning of the morning together, stopping at a local diner to share a breakfast before heading back to your apartment. You spend a little more time together, one on one, before texting Joe to head over, staying true to your word. 

Especially since he informed you that he had to fly out tomorrow morning. You expected as such, knowing he’d probably already been gone longer than higher ups liked. He could only push the limits so much. 

You don’t even have to be looking at him to know he’s nervous, an understandable but strange thing. Weird almost. Joe’s a lot of things, but nervous has never been one of them. “But once she gets comfortable, she won’t shut up.” That makes him smile, and you’re grateful for that.  Sure enough, you find Callie in her playroom, which used to be your office space, but the more spoiled she became from your mom, the more you realized her room was too small for all of her stuff. “Hey, Callie Bear.”

Callie looks up, smile bright as she runs over to you. You lean down to meet her hug. She gives the best, loving hugs. “I’m making you something, mommy.”

You gasp. “You are? Well, I can’t wait to see it.”

“It’s a surprise, so no peeking!” She lifts her little finger, wagging it in your face. Laughing, you nod and push back some of her curls. Callie’s eyes then land on Joe’s massive frame standing near the doorway, silently observing. You can see the emotions so clearly on his face: surprise, shock, happiness.

Callie’s smile dims as she moves closer to you, holding you close, her stranger danger kicking in. A small part of you is grateful that even at almost five, she knows to be cautious. Then there’s the other part of you that’s saddened at the fact that the “stranger” she’s cautious of is her own father. “Baby, this is….this is….”

“I’m Joe,” he finishes for you, and you’re both grateful and annoyed. Conflicted because a small part of you wanted to be the one to tell her, but also grateful he ironically took that responsibility off of you. “I’m an old friend of your mom’s.”

Welp.

That’s not….that’s not what you expected him to say, not what you two discussed. It wasn’t explicitly stated, but you were under the impression that they would tell her the truth. His statement isn’t exactly a lie, you did once consider Joe to be a friend, much more than that, but still. Joe’s role in Callie’s life is significantly more than that. 

This seems to ebb away some of Callie’s caution as she asks, “really?” Her eyes fall on you, almost looking for approval. With a tight smile, you nod, giving her the relief she needs to loosen her hold on you. “Do you like Disney?” That causes you to genuinely laugh, something your sweet child definitely inherited from both you and your mom was a love of Disney. 

“I do,” he answers, and you pause. Does he really? Perhaps. Regardless, it’s a smart answer for your Disney loving child. “Do you?”

Callie nods happily, grabbing your arm and twisting it to show the ‘remember who you are’ tattoo on your wrist. “Mommy and grandma have Disney tattoos, and mommy’s gonna get a Moana one for me!”

“Really?” Joe, now crouched down to be at her eye level, sounds genuinely interested, and maybe he is. Callie is impressively charismatic at only four. She’s also his daughter who he’s wanting to develop a relationship with, so it’s not far-fetched that she could be talking to him about the rate at which grass grows, and he would entertain it like he was watching a 49ers game. “You like Moana?”

Is water wet? “She’s the bestest! Right, mommy?” 

You chuckle, fixing her shirt. “She watches it almost every day.” You always found it interesting, ironic even, that your daughter instantly gravitated to Moana, unaware that the voice of freaking Maui is her cousin, that she too had pacific islander ancestry. Through her dad. The dad you kept from her. 

“You know I don’t know if I’ve seen that one—”

Callie’s mouth drops open as she looks at you, “mommy, can we watch it? Please? Please? Pleeeeaaassseeee?”

“Okay, okay, okay,” you relent after pretending to think about it. You like to limit her screentime to two hours, and even though she already watched The Princess and the Frog earlier for the 97th time this month, there was no way you were not gonna allow this bonding opportunity. 

Squealing, Callie surprises you by breaking away and moving over to Joe, reaching for his hand. “Let’s go, Joe!” She pulls on the sleeve of his hoodie, probably to lead him into the living room where Disney Plus is signed in. 

Alone in her playroom, you run over what just happened. You thought you would tell her the truth, tell her that this is the father she was asking about, the one she thought didn’t want her when in actuality, he wanted to know everything there was to know about her.

And for a second, you get pissed off. Why wasn’t Joe honest with her? Isn’t this what he wanted? To be in her life. It’s confusing. He is confusing. But….you try to give him the benefit of the doubt, certain that he must have some reason behind his actions. You just hope they’re damn good reasons.

“Mommy!” You know that tone of hers, the tone that tells you a request is to follow. 

You shout back, “yes?”

“Joe likes popcorn too! Can we have some?”

You laugh and shake your head, shouting out an ‘okay’. Walking out of the room and into the living room, you find Callie near the TV, arm outstretched as she explains every detail of Moana, even the most obvious ones. But, Joe is sitting on the sofa, watching and listening intently. His smile is stapled. 

He looks…..he looks so happy.

Moving into the kitchen, you move around quietly to not interrupt and to get their popcorn made.

Waiting for the popcorn to finish, you hear Callie ‘whisper’ to Joe, “Mommy can’t cook, but she makes good snacks.”

Amid his laughter, you walk near the living room, hands on her hips. “I heard that, little ms. ma’am.”

“That’s what Grandma says,” Callie defends with a shrug of her little shoulders. “She says mommy is pretty and smart and funny, but she burns water.” She looks off, confused, as if it’s finally registering to her that that doesn’t make sense. “Mommy, how do you burn water?”

Joe is on the sofa, hand over his mouth, fighting for his life. You also can’t help but laugh at the absolutely serious look on her face. “Finish your movie.” 

The microwave dings, so you grab two bowls and fill them up equally. Delivering them to both, you place hers on the coffee table as she’s back to narrating. “Popcorn, as requested.”

“Thank you.” Her eyes go wide with excitement as she suddenly asks, “will you watch it with us?”

Damn. You had a feeling she would ask but was hoping she wouldn’t. Disappointing her twice in one weekend felt criminal. “Callie, I'm super behind with work.”

“Pleeeeasssseeee.” She starts with the begging again and then looks at Joe to inform him, “mommy’s a teacher. Do you have a job?”

Joe chuckles. “I do.”

“What do you do?” She asks in a sing-song tone. You give him that ‘I told you she never shuts up’ look. 

“I’m a professional wrestler.”

She’s clearly intrigued, asking, “are you actually good?”

“Callie!” This little girl and her lack of filter sometimes never ceases to amaze you. Your mom swears up and down it’s your payback from how blunt you were as a child. 

You’re starting to believe it.

Joe gives a shrug, clearly loving every bit of this. You can tell he wants her to keep the questions coming. He’ll answer em’ all if it means getting to spend time with her. “I’m alright.”

At that, you give him a look and crouch down to her level. “He’s very good.” You take the remote and quickly pause the TV, adding on, “matter of fact, he’s the universal undisputed champion.” Joe gives you a look, and you can tell he’s surprised by you knowing this piece of information.

You don’t watch wrestling as much as you used to, partially due to what happened between the two of you, mostly because you don’t have the time, but even non-wrestling people know about Roman Reigns and his current, historic title reign. You’re not sure if you’d feel entirely comfortable saying it to him, but you’re massively proud of Joe and all he’s accomplished. You always knew he could do it.

Her eyes widen with excitement and curiosity as she looks at Joe for clarification. “Really?”

“That is true.” 

Head tilted, she moves away from you and climbs on the sofa to sit next to him. Her little legs crossed over as she continues with the questions. “What does undis—undis—”

He helps her out, also angling his body more toward her. “Undisputed?” 

“Yeah! What does that mean?”

You can see he’s taking a minute to decide how to answer. “It means I don’t lose. Ever.”

“Whoooaaaa,” she breathes, obviously impressed. “You must eat a lot of veggies. I don’t like them, but mommy says they make you big and strong.”

“Your mom is right,” he agrees and looks her over. “You’re a very smart little girl. How old are you again? Like 15?”

“No, I’m four!” She giggles and lifts up four fingers. “But, I’ll be five on May 19th!”

His gaze softens. “Your birthday is in May?” She nods, happily. His smile is warm, emotional. “So is mine.”

You still for a moment. You hadn’t even thought about that, that her birthday was just days away from his. There’s something strangely sweet and moving about this fact, both to you and definitely to him.

“Really?” 

And that’s how it plays out for the rest of the day, a combination of Callie’s incessant questions, intermittent viewing of Moana and parts of Encanto. Lunch and dinner sprinkled somewhere in between. You’re even able to sneak off to do your lesson planning, Callie more than fine with just Joe to entertain her.

It warms your heart to see them connect almost instantaneously.

It’s why you wait as long as you can to interrupt, never wanting to do so, to invade their moment. But, you also know your daughter, know that she needs a certain amount of sleep to function the next day. And when you check in on them and catch her yawning, you know it’s unfortunately that time.

Sighing, you enter the living room with your arms crossed. “Callie Bear, it’s time to start getting ready for bed, mamas.”

“Nooo.” She whines. “I’m not tired.” Her groggy voice and scowl would indicate otherwise. 

“Of course, you’re not.” You bend down in front of her and reach for her hand. “Come on, we gotta tell Joe bye. He’s gotta get back to his hotel.” Despite her obvious objections, she climbs off the sofa and accepts your hand but not before looking at him. 

“Will you come over again tomorrow?” She asks with hopeful eyes and a voice of excitement, both things that make being honest with her that much harder.

He obviously doesn’t want to give her the truth, but it’s better than the alternative. With a frown, he answers, “I wish….but I’ve gotta get back to work tomorrow, Callie.”

Her smile drops, and sadness arises. “Why? Do you have to go?” Her quiet voice is comprised of disappointment and despondency. You can tell it hurts him. Her hope is dashed, replaced with sadness. “When will you come back?”

“As soon as he can.” You jump in to assist, hating the way he looks so devastated not having a specific date for her. Truth be told, you wouldn’t be surprised if he won’t be able to get away for another few weeks, if not more. “And you know what, you can use my iPad to Facetime him when he’s available anytime you want.”

Her eyes light up. “Really?” 

“Of course,” he assures. He reaches to push some hair out of her face. “I’ll call you whenever I can.”

She gives him a small smile. “You promise?” 

Joe swallows. “I promise, sweetheart.” 

Pleased and obviously ecstatic at this information, she surprises the both of you by tearing her hand from you to throw her little arms around him for an unexpected hug. You’re not sure why, but the sight makes your eyes water. His eyes close as he gently wraps his arms around her as well. You look away, almost uncomfortable interrupting this moment between the two of them.

When she pulls away, you swear you see disappointment reappear in his eyes. “Bye, Joe.” 

She returns to your side, and you gently direct her, “go put on your jammies and pick out a book. I’ll be right there in a few minutes, okay?” 

“Okay, mommy.” Without protest, she turns and heads back to her room. When it’s just the two of you, you turn to him, “she really likes you.” It feels silly saying such a thing. He’s her father. She should like him. She should love him.

But you also know better than anyone that being someone’s biological parent doesn’t automatically make them a parent. 

“That’s why you didn’t tell her, isn’t it? You want to gain her friendship first.” In watching and participating in the interaction between them, it dawned on you just why he didn’t tell her right away. Joe wanted to first establish a baseline with Callie, wanted her to get to know him just for him, to bond with him not because he was her dad, but because she wanted to. 

And clearly….clearly it worked. 

“She’s amazing,” he whispers. You see he’s still caught up in the emotion of it all, meeting his daughter for the first time, connecting with her as quickly and easily as he has.

“She is,” you agree, suddenly remembering why you’d dismissed Callie. “I–I uhh, I have something for you.” Standing back up—your knees were gonna hate you tomorrow—you pull the thumbdrive out of the back pocket of your jeans. He also stands with you. “I was that new mom who was intent on documenting every single thing my kid did, and I’m kinda glad I did now.” You reach and drop it in his open palm. “I got everything on video. Her first word, first time crawling, first time walking….all of it.” Suddenly uncomfortable with his silence, you add on, “I know it’s not the same as being there, but—”

“Thank you.” he interrupts in a quiet voice, immensely grateful to you at this moment. “Thank you, Y/N.” 

Emotion seems to be the keyword of the day, because yours are also all over the place, for a variety of reasons. It’s an experience that’s both overwhelming and confusing, but also….nice? You can’t necessarily describe it, but there’s something comforting about Joe having a role in Callie’s life.

But that doesn’t equate with your decision to not tell him about her in the first place, hence why you’re a hot ass, confused mess.

He’s making you feel things again, and you don’t like it. 

“I know getting back here won’t be easy, especially with the holidays rolling around. But, whenever you can come, you’re welcome. I mean it.” Thanksgiving is less than 3 weeks away. You’re highly doubtful he’ll be touching down before then. “Christmas is her favorite holiday. I know she’d love to have you here for that.”

“I’ll be back before Christmas and for Christmas.” You don’t know how, but you do know he’s convinced of it, and you don’t put it past him. He seems entirely determined. 

“Okay.” You walk him to the door, unsure why your bodies being so close to each other is an uncomfortable yet pleasing feeling. “Oh,” you suddenly remember something. “You need to make a Snapchat account.”

He scowls almost instantly. “A what?” A small laugh escapes you at his instant disgust. “I’m too old for that shit.”

“We both are, but it’s an easy way for me to share Callie and all her randomness with people. Make it and send me the username. I’ll add you.” It seems all it takes is for you to mention Callie, and he’s sold. He nods in agreement, all distaste washed away with the eagerness of receiving photos and videos of Callie on the regular. You keep your hand on the door, chewing on your lip, murmuring, “Goodnight, Joe.” 

He gives you a look, something unspoken in his eyes. “Goodnight, Y/N.” 

Closing the door behind you, you lock it and take a deep breath, unsure why your stomach is in knots. Not from anxiety or fear but happiness. 

You’re happy to have Joe back in your life, even with all of the bullshit that’s transpired in this single day. There’s something relieving about having him around, and you know it’s for Callie. It needs to be just for Callie, because what you can never do again is allow yourself to fall back into that situation. 

No matter how badly your heart and your head are clashing right now.

No matter how much you're starting to wonder if your heart ever really left that situation.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for having a mental breakdown over my extremely close friend (accidentally) posting (what I thought was) radfem propaganda?

(🧵🎤for finding later)

It’s a very long story and I’m gonna have so many mixed opinions on this, so buckle up broskies.

I(X, minor) had met 👑(F, at least 4 years older than me) 2 months ago after a close friend of her was exposed as a pedophile. Coincidentally, that same pedophile had spread lies about me being a sociopathic asshole a few months ago, so me and 👑 grew extremely close because of both the aforementioned pedo and also because we shared a favorite manga, and we quickly started talking everyday about our favorite characters from the manga.

Due to our close friendship, I educated 👑 about BPD (a disorder I myself have, this is important), genderfluidity, and radical feminism. And apparently, I should’ve educated 👑 a little more about radical feminism.

Also due to our close friendship, 👑 opened up to me about a traumatic experience she had with her stepdad. This triggered me slight flashbacks to an extremely nasty and messy fight I had with an ex last year, but I didn’t want to seem like I was victim blaming, so I kept my mouth shut.

2~ weeks ago, 👑 posted about the “Man or Bear” question, and chose bear. She also brought up the traumatic experience her stepdad inflicted on her in the tags.

(I personally believe the “Man or Bear” question is radfem propaganda because when women choose bear, they always bring up a traumatic experience a man inflicted on them in some way. To me this sounds like they are saying that all men are misogynists that want to see women suffer, which is obviously not the case.)

When I saw the post, I was quite pissed. Eventually, I saw it another time, and I started having a meltdown. I was actually crying, impulsively vagueposting about her and the post, and eventually when I had to go to sleep I angrily messaged 👑 telling her about the mental breakdown accompanied by a middle finger emoji.

When I woke up and checked my notifications, I saw that 👑 had messaged me 4 times saying she’s sorry, that she didn’t mean ill towards men and that she had deleted the post (which she did, but that did barely anything to comfort me). I, still extremely pissed at 👑, told her about how pissed I was, that I trusted her but now I can’t, and that she should fuck off. 👑 replied by asking if there was anything she could do to regain my trust, so I, in the mood to just make it known that I was extremely pissed, told 👑 to go harass a radfem. And she did.

Later that day, me and 👑 had an important conversation about what had happened. I explained to her that I was holding a grudge against her since she told me about her trauma because it reminded me of the fight between me and my ex, and that I thought she was slowly making her trauma her personality. She understood, and she apologized.

Me and 👑 are now in much better terms, but I am extremely scared that I ruined her opinion on me and that she dislikes me now because she’s an extremely close friend of mine and I had opened up to her about everything bad in my life, and I threw it all away because I didn’t want to be reminded over something that happened a year ago.

TLDR; I held a grudge against my therapist friend for opening up to me about her trauma because I got flashbacks to a fight with an ex, then had a meltdown when she posted about the Man or Bear question, and now I don’t know what to do about our friendship.

[whump-and-other-misfortunes]

Whumpuary 2024 Day 14

14. (Jan 27-28) Flinching / Breakdown / Sleep Deprivation 

cw past trauma, implied noncon/torture, hurt/comfort, aftermath of whump

“You’re slower than usual,” Hero teased when they pinned Villain to the wall. “Lost your edge after that little vacation you took?” 

Villain was breathing heavily. Their hands grasped at Hero’s, which were fisted in the front of their suit, but Villain lacked their typical strength. “Wasn’t a vacation, you jerk,” they huffed. “And I’m doing my best here.” 

Hero pulled one of their hands back, and their heart jumped when Villain flinched away from them; they’d never reacted like that before. The instinctual fear was clearly visible in their eyes.  

“Whoa, hey,” Hero said softly. “I was just gonna—your mask is slipping.” 

Villain looked down, frowning. “Sorry. I just...go ahead.” 

Hero raised their hands slowly and adjusted Villain’s mask, noting the sharp intake of breath when Hero’s fingers grazed their cheek. As they put it back in place, Hero could see a dark bruise hiding under the mask. The slightest bit of purple spread up their cheekbone. 

Villain was trembling when Hero stepped back. 

“Are you okay?” Hero asked. Logically, they knew they should take advantage of Villain’s weakness and bring them in. But they just couldn’t bring themself to be that cruel. 

“When I was gone this week,” Villain whispered, “I was...Supervillain took me hostage. I’ll spare you the details but...they did some shit to me I wouldn’t even do to my enemies.” 

Hero felt their heart ache at the admission and the pained expression in Villain’s eyes when they looked back up. “I’m sorry, I—I had no idea.” 

“Not your fault,” Villain said with a shrug. They tried to force a smile as well, but it didn’t quite work. “But it messed me up pretty good. I can’t sleep. I can’t move without remembering their hands on me.” 

A sick feeling curled in Hero’s stomach as they imagined what the normally collected Villain must have been through to have them on the verge of tears at the memory. They slowly reached out, giving Villain enough time to stop them—but when they didn’t, Hero pulled them into an embrace. “It’s over,” they muttered into Villain’s hair. “You're safe now.” 

Their words seemed to open the floodgates, and suddenly Villain broke down. Hero didn’t know what to do, so they just held their nemesis as they cried. The fact that they’d been in the middle of a fight passed through Hero’s mind, but it didn’t matter now. They were a hero—their job was to help people. Even if those people regularly made their life hell. 

“I’m sorry,” Villain choked out. “This is pathetic. And I—I deserved it.” 

“No one deserves to be hurt like that,” Hero said, rubbing their back in soothing circles. 

Villain tried to steady their breathing as they looked up at Hero, eyes glistening with tears. “Thank you. Just—give me a minute, and we can get back to it.” 

“What do you say we get a rain check,” Hero asked with a small smile, “and you let me buy you a coffee instead?” 

Villain sniffled and rolled their eyes. “As long as you promise to reschedule. Because I was looking forward to kicking your ass.” 

Hero laughed. “Okay, deal.” 

Although the coffee may not have truly fixed anything, it was a welcomed comfort. 

taglist: @morning-star-whump

[babydollmarauders]

VANCOUVER — QUINN HUGHES

quinn hughes x fem! platonic! reader

pt 2 to Babe

summary: in which Quinn comforts y/n after she and Jack break up.

warnings: mentions of cheating, ex boyfriend Jack, light profanity

notes: if you like this, you should check out @jackhues Mockingbird AU! Naqia has an entire AU (that you can send requests for) based around being Jack’s girlfriend that has Quinn as a big brother figure and it’s AMAZING!

the eight hour flight to Vancouver felt like a lifetime, but when i felt the plane land on the runway, i feel more relieved than ever. i didn’t want look like the crazy person, crying on the plane, so i held it all in while i was in the air. mostly. there were a few times that i had some lone tears escape, but for the most part, i was just glad i didn’t have anyone sat next to me.

i follow the single file line off the plane, and make my way to baggage claim, where i caught sight of Quinn waiting for me. he spots me and sends me a pitiful smile, meeting me halfway, and that’s all it takes for me to breakdown, finally letting my tears fall. i fall into his open arms, letting him hold me in the middle of the airport.

“shhh. that’s it, let it out, y/n/n.” he shushes me, whispering comforting words in my ear. “it’ll be okay. you’re gonna be okay. i promise.”

we stand there for a few minutes, him holding me as i cry into his shirt. in Jack and i’s three year relationship, i grew quite close to Quinn. having never had any siblings of my own, and having parents who were more strict than comforting and protective, the Hughes became almost like a replacement family for me. but Quinn is who i’ve been closest with, him taking me under his wing and giving me advice when i need it. so it’s reassuring to know that i’ll still have him to lean on even though jack and i are no longer together.

once the baggage carousel starts moving, i’m easily able to spot my suitcase as one of the first few and Quinn grabs it for me. slinging an arm over my shoulder protectively, he leads me out to the parking garage. finding his car quickly, he puts my suitcase in his trunk and opens the passenger door for me before jogging around the vehicle to his drivers seat.

“let’s go back to mine and i’ll show you to your room. then you can talk to me if you want, but i’m not gonna push you to open up to me if you aren’t ready.” he says, switching the car into reverse and looking over his shoulder to back out of the parking space. i just nod in response.

the drive to Quinn’s isn’t too long, but my tired state makes it feel longer than the twenty minutes that it actually is. i wasn’t able to sleep on the plane, too busy thinking, and the fact that i left abruptly at night means it’s been way too long since i’ve actually slept. Quinn walks me into his apartment, leading straight to his guest bedroom.

“thank you, Quinn. you don’t understand how much this means to me. i don’t have anyone else in Jersey and i- i didn’t know where else to go.” my voice breaks and i stutter over my words as i turn to look at him in the doorway.

“i’m always here for you, you don’t need to thank me. you can stay here for as long as you want, y/n/n.” he pushes off from his spot leaned against the door jamb. “i’ll let you unpack and get settled.”

he closes his door on the way out and i turn back to my suitcase that sits on the bed, unzipping it and pulling out clothes and various other things i packed in my rush away from Jack. once i finish unpacking, i lay on my side on the bed, on top of the covers. i’ll just close my eyes for a second, then i’ll go talk to Quinn.

**

i wake up with a startle, my face wet with tears and my mouth dry. i don’t even remember falling asleep. my dream was a montage of fictional moments, imagery of Jack sleeping with faceless women and then coming home to me, cuddling up to me and telling me he loves me, all while i was aware it was happening but unable to leave him. i guess not all of it was fictional, because the last part did happen, i just wasn’t aware of his secret rendezvous.

i drag myself up from the bed, looking around for a moment in confusion before i remember where i am. Quinn. i leave the room, padding down the hallway to the living room, finding Quinn sprawled across his couch, watching tv. at the sound of my footsteps, he looks towards me and sits up.

“hey. i checked on you a few hours ago but you were asleep. i figured i’d let you get some rest.” he tells me.

“thanks.” my voice is raspy from my sleep and my eyes are still adjusting to the light shining in from his open windows.

“how ya feelin’?” he asks, getting up from the couch and walking over to the kitchen. i follow him and watch as he gets a cup down from a cabinet and fills it with water from a brita pitcher in the fridge.

“like i just found out my boyfriend cheated on me multiple times throughout our relationship and then took an eight hour plane ride to another country.” i shrug. Quinn looks over at me with wide eyes, and in the absence of his sight, the water overfills and spills over the side of the cup, running over his hand.

“shit.” he puts the pitcher down, pouring a little bit of the water from the cup down the sink and using a dish towel to dry the outside of the cup before handing it to me and then drying off the counter. “multiple times? i thought it was just the once? which, obviously is still bad but… multiple times?”

“i thought so too. but he confessed before i left. he said it wasn’t the first time he’s gotten with someone else.” i take a sip of the water and then sigh as fresh tears cling to my lashes. “god, what is wrong with me, Q? why has every guy i’ve ever been with, cheated on me? am i not good enough? do i not satisfy them? am i not pretty? i don’t understand.”

Quinn sets the towel down and steps in front of me, placing my cup on the counter and taking a hold of my face, forcing me to look him in the eyes.

“there is nothing wrong with you, y/n. i don’t ever want you to think that this is your fault and not the man’s. he’s the one who fucked up. not you. you were loyal, you’re kind, you were supportive, Jack is the one who took advantage of you. and you’re gorgeous, so i don’t want to hear that you ever think that was the problem. the problem is him.” his tone is harsh and assertive, contradictory to his sweet words. “do you understand?”

i nod and he lets go of my face, pulling me into his chest for a tight hug. my tears wet his shirt as i sob into his chest for the second time in the past twenty-four hours.

“i know you’re hurting, and it doesn’t feel like it now but, you’ll be okay. i promise. and one day you’re gonna find someone who will treat you the way you deserve to be treated. do i wish that could’ve been my brother for you? yes. but, unfortunately it wasn’t. and i just want you to remember that just because he wasn’t your endgame, doesn’t mean i care about you any less. you’re my little sister now. blood, legally, or honorary, you’re my sister and i’m here for you.”

his kind words only serve to switch my tears from sad ones to grateful ones. when Jack and i started dating, i had no expectations to grow close with his family. it had never happened with any of my previous boyfriends families. but the Hughes family members have always been so kind and supportive; letting me stay with them when my own parents kicked me out the day after my eighteenth birthday, throwing me a birthday party each year, Ellen teaching me how to sew, Luke coming to me for girl advice. it makes me look at Jack and i’s relationship in a new light. instead of wishing i had never met him, i’m grateful i had, because if it weren’t for him, i wouldn’t have his family. and more importantly, i wouldn’t have Quinn. my honorary big brother.

“thank you.” i sniffle as my tears finally come to an end twenty minutes later. by now we’ve moved to the couch and Quinn holds a box of tissues in his hands.

“you don’t need to thank me. it’s what i’m here for.” he smiles softly. his phone starts buzzing on the side table next to me and i reach for it, meaning to hand it to him, but i freeze up when i see Jack’s name on the screen, his contact picture being on of the two of us at the lake house. Quinn gently takes the phone from my grasp and i watch as his face slowly morphs into one of anger when he sees who’s calling him. before i can ask him not to take the call right now, he taps his finger over the ‘accept’ button.

“what the fuck do you want?” he asks sharply, holding the phone up to his ear. i can’t hear what Jack says but Quinn quickly shakes his head. “no.”

i give him a confused look and he holds up a finger, signaling to give him a minute. i sink back into the couch and curl my legs up to my chest as i watch him speak to my ex.

“no. Jack, i said no. you’re not talking to her. i don’t even know how you know she’s here, but if she isn’t answering your calls then you should take that as a fucking sign: she doesn’t want to speak to you.”

calls? what calls?

i pat my pockets for my phone, but realize i must’ve left it in the guest room. i rise to my feet and Quinn looks at me with a raised brow.

“be right back.” i mouth. i walk to the guest room, finding my phone laying on the bedside table, still plugged in from before i laid down a few hours ago. i pick it up and the screen comes to life, showing multiple unread texts from Jack and several missed calls. i swipe the calls away and skim through the texts, all being some variation of ‘i’m sorry’ and ‘can we please just talk?’. opening the instagram app, i take a few moments to delete every picture i have of or with him from my profile, including the post from yesterday. unplugging my phone and slipping it into my pocket, i walk back out to the living room.

“you’re not fucking listening to me. i don’t care how sorry you are, i won’t even let her think about getting back together with you. you fucked up, Jack. i’m done talking about this.” Quinn hangs up the phone as i walk back in, taking my seat back on the couch.

“i know you keep telling me to stop saying thank you but seriously, thank you, Quinny. you didn’t have to do that.” i say my words quietly, and he remains quiet for a second before he finally speaks up.

“any time, y/n/n. i mean it.” he smiles softly and then nudges my shoulder. “how about we order some take out and watch John Tucker Must Die? what do ya say?”

“i say…” i leave him hanging for a second before smiling back. “chinese food or pizza?”

“that’s my girl.” he slings an arm around me, tugging me into his side. he grabs the remote, switching over to a streaming service, and i pull out my phone to send one quick text before powering it off.

—

To: Jack 🤍

we’re not getting back together. but i’m grateful for your family and i don’t want to lose them just because we’re no longer dating, so i’m willing to be civil with you, if you’ll accept that.

[rev-wrath]

Do It Myself (Or Not)

Batsis!Reader

Prompt: “You’re not going to lose me.”

Summary: Dick comforts his distressed sister.

Notes: Hurt/comfort. Reader is female and uses she/her pronouns. 0.9k words.

Warnings: mild self-depreciation

She doesn’t even know why Dick came into her room in the first place. All she knows is that he opened her door while she was in the middle of the breakdown, laptop open as she was surrounded by papers. At first he just stood there then she told him to get out but he didn’t. He walked into the room, shutting the door behind him. Now she’s crying in her chair as Dick is kneeling beside her.

He glances at everything on the desk. There’s papers that she’s printed, her own writing in the margins, sticky notes everywhere, and her laptop has several things open right now.

Her mumbling draws his attention back to her and as if she can feel it. “I told you to get out.”

“I’m not going to leave my sister here when she’s clearly upset.”

“I’m fine. It’s nothing—“ she cuts herself off, because she can’t handle this apparently and that’s why she’s like this right now. “I’m fine.” She repeats instead.

“No you’re not.”

“Well that’s nothing new here.” That’s something they talk about and don’t. Nothing more than the surface level about sleeping and eating, sometimes it’ll be about injuries. Most of the time that’s the case. Sometimes they’ll call it if the whole vigilante thing needs to be held off for a night or so.

Dick says her name softly, his hand twitches but he’s pretty sure she’d rather have just a bit of space now.

“What’s going on?”

“Just leave. I have to figure this out.” She wipes her face before straightening up to get back to work. But Dick can tell she’s not really eager to get back to it.

He stands and closes the laptop. She sternly says his name. Which doesn’t have the intended effect with the glossy eyes and snot remnants. “I have to figure this out so leave.”

“I could help.” He offers. She kind of hates how soft his voice is. Like she should be treated like something that’s fragile and delicate, like she’s weak.

“No! I can do this myself!” She’s too loud for her liking at the moment, glancing at the door, to see if someone would come in. That moment practically tells Dick everything.

“I’m not saying you can’t. I’m just saying it would be easier with some help.”

“I can do it myself.” She insists.

“But you don’t have to. It’s okay if you’re having trouble with something.”

“Well if I don’t figure it out myself what does that say about me?” She finally snaps, and the regret settles in immediately. ‘Stupid impulsive girl’, she thinks.

This just confirms Dick’s theory. Once again he says her name, calling her back to him. “No one is going to think any less of you if you need help. We all work together on cases, or even help with homework.” There’s other things too, like helping Cass’ learn how to read and write or teaching Tim a new stretch.

“If I can’t figure out my own stuff then what if something happens and I can’t help with someone else’s? And then I can’t do what I’m supposed to and I mess up out there.” Now that she’s started she can’t stop.“Then Bruce decides, you decide, you all just decide that I’m not worth it anymore and kick me out and leave me alone.” Tears pricking in the corner of her eyes.

Dick hugs her, pulling her into his arms. Despite this she keeps going, this time at a whisper. “Then I’m going to lose all of this. I’m going to lose the only family and home I’ve ever known. Because I was weak and stupid.”

“You’re not going to lose me. You’re not going to lose Bruce, or Jason, or Tim, or any of us. You’re not going to lose your home or your family. You’re family, okay? You’re family because we choose to be, because we are and we love each other.”

She cries in his arms, holding on tightly. “But, but why? Why do all of that when I’m,” she struggles with her breathing for a second. Dick doesn’t let her continue, talking again in that moment.

“You’re incredible, okay? You’re as every bit as smart and brave and amazing and strong as anyone else in this family. Sometimes even more, because we’re all idiots sometimes. But you’re you and that’s all you need to be. At least with us.” He needs to be a bit realistic to get through to her, to get her to believe him.

She sucks in a breath. “Okay. Okay.” Pressing against his chest, she still doesn’t feel okay, she doesn’t quite believe him but it’s much more tiring to argue, even with herself.

“And it’s okay to need help. If you’re struggling with something, with anything. We all need help sometimes. We’re a team, all of us. Always. Even if we don’t get along or agree all the time.” She simply nods, not feeling like properly responding.

“Do you want me to stay?” Dick asks softly.

“Please.” She whispers back.

He holds her close. “Sleep. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll all be here when you wake up tomorrow.”

“I love you.” She mumbles into his shirt before shutting her eyes.

“Love you too sis.”

Dick might have to talk about this to her again. She’ll probably have to talk about it with some of the others. But that’s okay, because that just means that they really aren’t going anywhere or leaving her.

[partiallyderived]

-ˋˏ pens, pop, and potential love interests ˎˊ (kjh)

Summary: You lend the cute guy in class a pen.

Pairing: Kum Junhyeon x GN!Reader

Word Count: 683 words

Warning(s): None.

A/N: My dudes, this is crack. I haven't published anything since 2021 and my writing skills need honing, but enjoy. Also, like many college students, I am sleep deprived. The Pop in the title refers to soda. I'm going to edit this when I'm less sleep deprived. There will be an extended cut.

It begins with Pepsi.

Or, rather, it begins with a pen — a good, well-used Maxwriter in blue, which everyone knows is the best type of pen for taking notes; cheap but not cheap.

When you first meet him, his hair is dyed brown. In the light, it doesn’t look like coffee or strong tea or oak or chestnut; it looks like the toffees of your childhood, the ones your grandparents pressed into your hands with each visit.

His name is Kum Junhyeon — nineteen years old, three months older than you and leagues apart in confidence and popularity; the apple of the seniors’ eyes — and he sits behind you in your nine a.m. Biomolecules lecture. He laughs like a thundercloud and makes jokes that make even the strictest of professors smile, and maybe, just maybe, you are a little infatuated with him.

Because it can’t be anything else when he taps you on the shoulder and you freeze.

Caught like a deer in headlights when all the poor boy wants is a pen because his ran out of ink.

What you remember of the exchange is that you thrust your pencil pouch at him — all six pens, four pencils and two highlighters worth of it. You fumble a little in the middle — the angle is awkward, and the next table is placed just a bit higher than the one in front of it — and he has to grab onto the pouch so it doesn’t spill onto the floor, which means he has to grab onto your hands, which means your hands jolt like a kick-started engine, which means —

“Oh my god I like him?!”

Esha from Psychology, first year like yourself, has no sympathy. She’s taken to your life as if it were a drama made specially for her, and even now, she lounges on her bed like a queen, popping jelly beans into her mouth while you have a fun little breakdown on your side of the room.

“But like,” she says once the jelly beans have run out, “he’s cute, right?”

“The cutest. I hate it. My heart goes all wonky when I’m around him, and he didn’t even give me my pen back.”

//

He’s there early in your next class, dressed in a hoodie and jeans pulled so low that you have to tell yourself to avert your eyes. He looks sheepish.

You slide into the seat beside him instead of the one in front of him. A test of courage, but also because you want your pen back.

He does not have the pen. He lost the pen. He is not sheepish because of the pants; he’s sheepish because he has to tell you he lost your pen.

But Junhyeon is quick to clarify, “But it’s not that I lost it, (Name). More like, I don’t know, someone stole it from me. I swear!”

The story goes that he went to submit his work to the teacher and left the pen in the Biochemistry lab. When he came back five minutes later, the pen was gone.

“It was a good pen! The best pen! I’ve never held a better pen in my life!” Junhyeon tells you, and you believe him, because Maxwriters are good pens. And it’s fine! You can always buy another one, but you really liked that pen.

Rest in Peace, Maxwriter. Sacrificed for some guy. You were a real one.

///

Honestly, you think it’s a forgotten thing. The Professor came in before you could respond, but you had flashed him a thumbs up and gone about your business, and he hadn’t really said anything else during class, so that was that.

And then, in the canteen, when you and Esha have finally managed to get a simultaneous free period, one of the guys from Physics sets a bottle of Pepsi in front of you. Taped to the condensation, barely holding on for dear life like your sanity, is a sticky note that says I’m sorry for losing your pen. :( We should totally go out to buy another pack together - Junhyeon.

Boys are so stupid. He didn’t even write his number down.

Taglist: @daintydongyoung @zerobaseonefics @urielphix @incorrectzbone @i520u

[detentiontrack]

alter intro???? ALTER INTRO??? (only if u want! /nf. signed, another system)

Sure! Why not. So I can’t make them front on command so this is all written by me (sage)

(Also I’m very early in awareness so there could be more I don’t know about yet. But these are the main ones.)

Cameron/Cam (do NOT call him Cam unless he says you can), 21, he/him, bisexual, protector/deals with triggers and self care, has probably been present since the trauma started.

- comes out if I’m making bad decisions or not taking care of myself (like if I don’t eat or drink water and have no motivation to make food)

- comes out if I’m extremely distressed and can’t use my coping skills, and then makes us do the coping skills himself

- frequently flirts with men and changes my tinder profile to show men

- hates taylor swift for some reason (is a weezer/the front bottoms fan. Also dabbles in boy genius and phoebe bridgers but will never admit it. Sorry Cam lol)

- other than me, he knows the most about psychology (our major) and in a pinch, can function at school (doesn’t like taking tests though so that’s MY responsibility)

- the only other part besides me that knows how to drive (he was the most present when I was learning how to drive because I was so anxious about it)

- yells at me for not eating or sleeping and leaves me nastygrams if I don’t take care of myself

-

Lily, 17-25 depending, she/her, no sexuality (not aromantic, she just hates everyone equally and thinks all people are inherently untrustworthy and bad and thinks we should not have ANY relationships. We’re working on that in therapy.) persecutor, been present since about age 9, deals with conflict, holds residual eating disorder symptoms (mostly body/appearance based symptoms) also can’t experience social anxiety or insecurity.

- is the only one who really meets the criteria for BPD (shocker /s)

- deals with interpersonal conflicts like relationship and family issues.

- literally hates everyone. Especially Cameron. It feels like trying to gentle parent kindergarteners when they’re both co conscious.

- hyper feminine. Will dress my body up with makeup and hairstyles and fancy clothes even if we’re just going to the grocery store.

- sometimes comes out or is co conscious when I’m feeling really insecure or socially anxious

- that annoying vegan + low carb + low sugar girlie. Yells at me if I eat bread twice in the same day.

- to be fair to her, used to be a LOT worse. Her role while living in an abusive household used to be to be super oppositional and stand up for us and our siblings so no one gets hurt. She has bitten someone before and would do it again. Literally isn’t afraid of anything. This can backfire though if someone hurts my feelings and she wants revenge.

- doesn’t like driving and doesn’t know how to drive but always wants to front while I’m driving

- doesn’t know anything about our education or the things we learned in school, and thinks our major is cringe.

- thinks literally everything is cringe and lame

- just told me this post is stupid and everyone should “mind their own goddamn fucking business” (I, Sage, don’t feel that way though!! Ask whatever you’d like /gen)

(???) I’ve been referring to him as Jared. Ageless (but I get middle aged man vibes) No pronouns or sexuality (I just go with he/him), present since the start of trauma, last resort alter

- by last resort, I mean his job is to completely shut off all emotions if it’s not safe to process them in the moment. During the abuse, it manifested in going completely “blank”, and now as I navigate triggers, he shuts off all emotions and makes me numb like a robot and fronts until I’m in a safe place.

(Like it happened a while back when I got triggered at a grocery store. He kept us together until I got to my car and could breakdown and allowed me + Cam to deal with it)

- Cam HATES him because he believes that we should be processing our emotions in the moment and not repressing things (which is fair, because I repressed all emotions and trauma for a long time, but sometimes I need to keep it together at work or in school or in public)

- rarely ever talks or is co conscious. It’s all or nothing with him.

(I don’t feel comfortable saying her name online for personal reasons so I’ll call her C) C, 8/9-11. She/her. No sexuality because she is a child. Child alter (the term “little” personally icks me out)

- rarely ever fully fronts but loves making her presence known

- my therapist and I’s best guess is that she’s basically me if I hadn’t gone through all of the trauma and lost my childhood innocence (I also was always expected to function like an adult in my actual childhood so I never really got to act like a kid)

- likes “childish” media like amphibia, toh, and inside out/io2

- likes to dance and be silly

- biggest fan of lily but lily HATES her and thinks she’s annoying

- comes out when listening to certain pop songs or when I’m being silly with my little siblings

- doesn’t have the ability to feel angry and doesn’t know what abuse or trauma is. Remembers absolutely nothing from our childhood. My therapist and I are working to understand if she even knows if she’s a part of a system

[synonymroll648]

no hummingbirds, no butterflies (just soft whirrs & peaceful daylight)

pairings/relationships: queerplatonic keefex, minor mentions of dex’s dynamics with his parents, + referenced dadwin (keefe & elwin as a parent-son duo of sorts)

tws: minor (autistic) overstimulation, anxiety, touch starvation, swearing, implied sexual humor (keefe’s here, what’d you expect), and i think that’s it - but please let me know if there’s more that should be added! 

summary: “I—okay, fine. You’re not patient with gadgets or alchemy or anything that’s a project,” Keefe laughs, and then his voice goes…gentle. Like midnight rain. “But you’re patient with people. You’re patient with me.”

You’re patient with me, Keefe says, and Dex thinks, What an interesting way to say ‘I love you’. 

-

OR: An exploration of what Keefe and Dex’s dynamic could’ve been if Keefe hadn’t run off to the forbidden cities.

additional notes: happy final day of @keefex-week 2023, even if this is for the day 1 prompt queerplatonic! i started this fic back in feburary as an ayyam-i-ha gift for the one and only wonderful @bookwyrminspiration​, but didn’t finish in time, and then i tried finishing it in time for its tumblr bday, and didn’t finish in time for that either. but at least i finished in time for this! i hope you enjoy the third draft of keefex being queerplatonic and neurodivergent (i wrote this with autistic!dex in the front of my mind. also, this entire fic was inspired by this keefex shitpost i made [and the really gay eckodon scene in book 4].) comments and constructive criticism are appreciated!

word count: 6.4k

ao3 link (recommended)

taglist: @gay-otlc @purplesoup-lad-le @when-wax-wings-melt @asexual-juliet @cowboypossume @xanadaus 

fic under the cut :)

Out of all the things that can surprise Dex Dizznee at 12:21am, getting hailed by Keefe Sencen isn’t one of them. 

The buzzing of his imparter laying on his bed cuts through the quiet ambiance of the noisemakers carefully placed in his room. The gadget Dex has mindlessly fidgeted with for minutes on end gets set down on his desk, and he carefully steps through the mess on his floor to pick up the hail. 

(After turning the volume down, because Keefe has accidentally woken up Dex’s parents from laughing too loud on more than one night like this.)

“Heeeey, Dexy,” Keefe deliriously croons across the line. 

Deliriously is the correct description, Dex knows, because Keefe only ever uses that tone when his guard is down—and after Loamnore, lowered guards only ever occur after a mental breakdown or from serious sleep deprivation. 

Or both.

“Hello to you too, at this totally reasonable hour for the two of us to be awake,” Dex sits down on the edge of his bed, tucking his feet up onto the mattress. 

A snicker. “Tooooootally.” 

Dex does a brief internal analysis of his face—he doesn’t have enough time to be thorough without being awkward, but no mental notes at all is bound to leave him floundering later on in the conversation. 

Dark circles → Keefe is probably at least halfway out of his mind.

Bedhead → Keefe is definitely at least halfway out of his mind.

Lots of blankets and pillows → Keefe is either content or in the middle of an existential crisis. 

Slightly more prominent freckles across the bridge of his nose than usual →  Congratulate Keefe on getting some sunshine. 

Keefe starts talking again, and Dex is glad that he doesn’t have to be the one to resume conversation. “What’d I interrupt?” 

“Me trying to get work done for the Black Swan or school but being too tired to think properly.” 

“I’m guessing you’re also too awake to go to sleep.” 

“Bingo,” Dull exasperation on Dex’s end. 

“Relatable.” Fatigue softens the ‘t’ so much that it’s only implied at best. Relatable is surrender wearing a humorous mask; Keefe’s favorite shield.

You need to say something. It’s the start to an all-too familiar chain reaction. He almost lists out all the ways You need to say something evolves into something much more panic-inducing, since lists usually help, but this is one of those few exceptions where listing it all out will screw him over. 

So Dex starts on the steps to prevent that, with an inhale quiet enough that Keefe hopefully doesn’t think he’s sighing. Next is grasping for something to contribute. Something silly, preferably. 

Dex is a second slower to reply than he’d like, but he finds something that works. His headspace relaxes once he asks, “Is the bingo card or the bingo pieces or the bingo itself relatable?” 

“Hmmmmm, good question…” Keefe tilts his gaze up to the ceiling of his starry bedroom at Splendor Plains. 

Dex takes his thoughtful pause as an opportunity to study Keefe further. He notes gulon pajamas, and eyelashes that are long and dark and confusingly nice to look at—which makes him think of the eckodon ride to Alluveterre, the first time he’d really noticed them—which makes heat begin to fester under his skin, because that was a lot of physical contact and—

—Keefe starts talking again, and it’s enough to get his brain to shut up. “Bingo pieces, probably. Sometimes I get put in situations where things work out, and sometimes I get put in situations where they don’t. Comes down to everyone else’s luck.” 

The Keefe is either content or in the middle of an existential crisis part of Dex’s mental notes from earlier resurfaces at the front of his mind, and he leans a little more towards preparing for helping Keefe through an existential crisis. 

Then Dex leans a few degrees back into the or part of the note, once Keefe cracks, “Kinda like all the backstories we came up with for Keebler elves.” 

Laughter, fast and loose and loud, threatens to explode out of Dex’s chest. He quickly covers his mouth, unable to help looking away and throwing his head back while he tries to not disturb the sleepy nighttime air that blankets Rimeshire. 

When Dex looks back down at Keefe, there’s a proud grin crinkling the corners of his eyes, smushed up against the cozy mess of his bedding. Keefe wrestles a hand out from under the blankets it was trapped under, and points directly at his imparter camera. “You thought it was funny, don’t deny it,” 

“I won’t,” Dex relents. A wistful sigh almost turns into snickers, since he’s apparently spent way too many nights talking with Keefe over the past few months. “That was probably the funnest reason for pulling an all-nighter.” 

A giggle. More than one giggle, actually. A whole stream of them, like a human song kids would get hooked on. (Giggles. Keefe is undoubtedly delirious, guaranteed to be more than halfway out of his mind. There’s no other explanation for him being so light and sunny at 12:26 in the morning.) “Best all-nighter eeee-ver! No school, just the silly.” 

Dex arcs an eyebrow like the sunrise that’s hours away. “The silly?” 

“The silly!” Beaming a childish grin, Keefe’s fist punches out of his heap of blankets and up into the air, almost as if he’s cheering for something. 

The force of it sends Keefe’s imparter—wherever it’s propped up on—toppling over. The view on Dex’s imparter shifts to close-up constellations behind glass. He hasn’t done well enough in his Universe class to be able to identify anything before Keefe cries, “Dex! Mrs. Stinkbottom! My dearest companions! Noooooooo!” 

This time, Dex has to gently bite down on his knuckles to keep himself from laughing too loud. 

(Dex has to stop himself from wondering too much about the depth behind My dearest companions too. Because he’s gone down far too many rabbit holes about whether or not he’s romantically attracted to Keefe and been left with a confusing answer of no, but also not being satisfied with the label platonic either. He just focuses on the joy of someone finding him valuable outside of his tech and alchemy skillsets.) 

There’s a smile on Dex’s face so wide it makes him feel dumb as he watches Keefe lean over his bed to try and grab at his imparter. Awkwardly angled footage goes a little fuzzy as Mrs. Stinkbottom gets pulled up before Dex. Well, not Dex, the imparter, since Dex is leaned back against his pillow and headboard and not collapsed on Keefe’s bedroom floor, but no one cares about technicalities like that other than Dex. 

Finally, Keefe’s hand presumably wraps around his imparter, and Dex’s screen is a blur as Keefe hauls ‘him’ up. “I got a little too silly for the world to handle,” he pouts. 

“The world? I don’t think me and Mrs. Stinkbottom count as the world. Pretty sure there’s a lot more to the world than that.” 

“Well, that’s the only part of the world I care about right now.” 

Don’t read into it, don’t read into it, don’t read into it— 

Dex doesn’t read into it. Because he’s a master at this seemingly mythical thing called self-restraint, if his friends are anything to go by. “I dunno, I’m pretty sure you care about your blankets and pillows right now,” 

Keefe’s lips thin into a disconcerted line. “...Yeah, I do. Caught me red-handed,” he mumbles, relaxing further into the comfortable disaster he’s wrapped himself in. “But that’s it.” 

You sure about that? he wants to ask, but takes the few seconds of silence to consider his options and turn the conversation towards something else instead. “How much have you slept?” 

Things That Would Replicate Keefe’s Hysterical Laughter at That Question When Mixed Together Properly:

Tea kettles when their contents are boiling. 

Monkeys screeching. 

Gasps from someone who almost drowned. Or ran a long distance at a high speed and finally got to stop. Or something like that. 

A recording of someone’s sobbing or laughing that could pass as both to unaware listeners.

It’s a little startling—startling enough that he jumps at the unexpected change in sound. Frantically, he turns down his imparter volume. And then Dex tries to climb under his covers as quietly as he can and curls up on his side, so he can fake being asleep if his mom pops in to check on him. (She’s a light sleeper, which she’s jokingly coined as her proof that she married into the Dizznee family instead of being born into it.) 

Keefe wipes at his eyes. “You gotta specify a time frame, Dex. Tonight? The last twenty four hours? The last week? Etcetera,” 

It takes a blip of time to remember what they’re talking about. “Last twenty four hours.” 

“I took a nap after lunch. Ro woke me up for dinner. After that, I painted until I spilled my water jar on accident. Cleaning up made me realize how tired I was, so I tried to sleep. Buuuuut…” Something about the way Keefe’s facial expression just barely shifts makes Dex suspect that he’s either gonna cough up a hard truth or lie to cover it up. “my brain wouldn’t shut off. And now we’re here.” 

Dex takes a shot in the dark—literally. The only thing lighting up his room is his open curtains. Moonlight washes the room in pale silvers and a whole scale of blues. “Was it that you couldn’t stop thinking period, or you couldn’t stop thinking about the wrong things?” 

The steady, easy rise and fall of Keefe’s form stills. It resumes when Keefe sighs and says, “Does anything get past you?” 

I’ve spent my whole life analyzing everything to the best of my ability, because I’ve spent my whole life out of the loop and fighting to get in it. It’s late at night, and your guard’s down. Of course nothing you do gets past me. Too serious, too blunt. Killjoy of a response. Dex condenses it into something lighter, but still truthful. “When it comes to you, no, not that I know of.” 

“I feel like that’s a sign that I’ve overshared on one too many nightly hails over the past few months,” Keefe tries to laugh it off, but Dex can sense the nervous undertone. 

“I mean, if it makes you uncomfortable, I can stop you next time you try to open up,” Dex offers. He hopes Keefe doesn’t take him up on it. 

Dread begins to stir in his stomach as Keefe pauses to consider. It dissipates when Keefe says, “Nahhh, I trust you to not take advantage of me being stupid. Also, like—actually, you know what? Can I ramble about something? The only way my brain can make points is through stories right now. But if you want me to shut up, that’s fine.” 

“Ramble away,” Dex says. It’s nice being your number one person to talk to, even if I’m sure it won’t last forever. 

“Okay, so, earlier today—well, technically yesterday now, but no one cares—anyways. Anyways.” Keefe clears his throat, fist in front of his mouth. Eyebrows downturn in a way that’s either ironically or unironically serious; Dex can’t tell. 

Dex poorly suppresses a smile. Turns up the volume again to hear him better, and resolves to just remind Keefe, No sudden noises please, if he gets too loud again. 

“So basically, after Ro woke me up, Elwin knocked on my doorway today and told me dinner was ready if I was hungry. It was in the usual spot he leaves it for me since being in the same room as people is hard and he’s cool about me eating alone, y’know? I feel like I told you about that already, but whatever.” (Keefe has indeed told Dex about this routine. On multiple occasions.) “I hear his footsteps walking away, and I open the door and I say ‘Elwin?’”

“Out loud, or using signs?”

“Out loud,” Keefe confirms.

It’s been a month or two since Keefe managed to start saying short phrases to people aloud again, but it’s still difficult enough—especially without preparation beforehand—that it’s always a surprise to hear him mention talking out loud face-to-face recently. Dex’s eyebrows nearly touch his hairline. He holds back the Wow, Keefe, incredible job—genuinely, ready to jump off the cliff’s edge of his tongue. Lets Keefe keep talking. 

“So he turns around and he tilts his head in this way that’s like, hey, keep going. My nerves started acting up, but I managed to ask if we could eat at the table together. I had to clear my throat and clarify—well, I was really just rambling, but whatever—that sitting, like, right next to him would be too much. And I’d probably have to sit on the opposite end of the table, but he told me that was totally fine. No disappointment or anything. And we—we actually had a conversation. Not just a few sentences. I could keep up with talking back and forth for longer than a few minutes. And there was this point where he said…” Keefe stops. “He said, um. Hang on.” 

Keefe flops his face into his pillow. Dex suppresses an instinctual smile at the unintelligible noises that come out of Keefe’s throat, because he doesn’t know if they’re positive or negative. Yet. 

So he asks. “Is this good or bad?” 

Keefe nods. Confusion forms in a crease between Dex’s eyebrows. Some absurd part of Dex suspects Keefe can sense it through the screen, because he turns his face towards his imparter and clarifies, “Good. I think. I’ve just forgotten how to handle affection in general. And I’ve never known how to handle it from parental figures.” 

Parental figures has delighted surprise lighting up Dex’s face for a split second before he smooths his expression out into something neutral again. Elwin’s always been a lot better than Cassius. Keefe maybe, just maybe, finding someone else to call ‘dad’ or something like it would be good for him. 

Dex hopes they get there. Eventually. 

Dex also doesn’t know if it’s too early to tell Keefe that, so he errs on the side of caution. “From what I’ve heard you tell me, I don’t think Elwin minds that you don’t really know what you’re doing. But what did Elwin say to you? You cut yourself off.”

Keefe blinks, a bit slow to respond. “Sorry, I was processing that first sentence. Uh. He said that he was really proud of me. For,” —Keefe’s laugh in between words is bittersweet— “being so brave about all of this. And I thought he was playing up how he felt to make me feel better, so I told him that he didn’t have to lie to me. Then he told me that he was being dead serious, and he was sorry he didn’t say it more often. And he tried complimenting me more, but, um, I—I told him to stop because I didn’t want to start crying, y’know? Especially since I couldn’t—can’t hug him. Or anything like that,” 

Dex doesn’t really know how this relates to whatever point(s?) Keefe was trying to make earlier about trusting Dex, but he’ll roll with the punches. “I’m not a professional on emotions or anything, but I think it’s okay to get overwhelmed by someone being nice to you when you’re used to literally nothing at best.” 

“That’s…” Keefe goes quiet. Dex wonders if he said the right or wrong thing. Hopefully it was right. It feels right, at least. “That’s good to hear. Thanks.” 

“No problem,” Dex says, and gives him a tired smile. Not because he’s tired of Keefe, but because it’s who knows what hour in the morning now and Dex has been on a losing streak with his sleep schedule for roughly a week now. 

Keefe sighs. “I wish I could hug you,” he whines. “You’re always so nice about putting up with my bullshit, and you’re cute when you’re tired, and I call you all the time but I still miss you because it’s not the same as when I could wrap my arm around you and say I’ve got you, Dexy, without physical consequences.” 

There are many, many things that Dex could think in response to that. There are many, many things that Dex does think in response to that. But the first thing that comes to mind is if this conversation had been a string of imparter texts, Keefe would have written something along the lines of “:(((“ at least once just now. 

Keefe bulldozes on. “Like, you’re so…patient,” 

And then Dex cuts him off with a snort. “You are the first person I have ever heard call me patient. Ever.” 

“I—okay, fine. You’re not patient with gadgets or alchemy or anything that’s a project,” Keefe laughs, and then his voice goes…gentle. Like midnight rain. “But you’re patient with people. You’re patient with me.”

You’re patient with me, Keefe says, and Dex thinks, What an interesting way to say ‘I love you’. 

It’s an observation. Not a revelation, because Dex has known for months now that his dynamic with Keefe is defined by oddities. They are misfits on the outskirts of everything they know. They are two boys that don’t fit neatly into any boxes—one with a genetically modified ability that’s drastically altered his life in ways no one knows how to fix, and the other the son of a bad match that’s become a regent at 15 and a Black Swan technopath even younger. They are more than that, too, and they see all of that more in each other. They see all the mundane more and the wild more and all the more in between that doesn’t fit into any box society likes. They’ve been seeing more of all the more in one another over these past few months, and scrapping their discoveries together like spare parts into something that’s probably confusing and worthless to the rest of the world, but it works for them.

Progressing without refining, coloring outside the lines—it’s not what mechanics or artists are supposed to do, but for this piece, for their style, for their invention, it works for them.

This weird version of love that they have, that seems to permanently float either between or outside platonic and romantic binaries (Dex is too sleepy to tell): it works for them.

It works for them.

“You make being patient worth it, Keefe. You always do, in the long run.”

Half-lidded eyes shoot wide, and Dex can’t tell if the glaze over icy irises is due to tears or lighting until Keefe’s turning away and whining, “Dex, what the fuck did I say about not wanting to cry?” 

Dex is glad that his words touched Keefe, since his hands can’t. Appreciation presents itself through amused exhales at the smile on Keefe’s face that won’t go away. “I thought you liked honesty, though?” he teases. 

Keefe rolls back over in his twist of bedding to glare at his imparter, but it looks more like a pout. “Yeah, but I also like not having a crisis over whether or not—I’m pretending I live in an ideal world that doesn’t hate me, by the way—I want to draw you a bajillion times or paint you a bajillion times or tickle fight you until you’re in hysterics because I like the way your laugh sounds or hug you for an eon normally or hug you for an eon the way we did on the eckodon or if I want to kiss you. And I know that last part’s probably overreacting, but also, I can’t tell if it’s wanting to, like, kiss you on the cheek? Or more than that? Or less? Which makes things harder and way more confusing,” 

Dex’s eyebrows aren’t practically touching his hairline, they are touching his hairline. (In spirit. Because eyebrow muscles don’t work like that in the real world. He thinks.) Dex adds You want a REPEAT of the eckodon ride? onto his mental list of conversation topics, then asks the slightly more pressing question he got from Keefe’s rambling: “You want to kiss me?” 

Because Keefe Sencen? Renowned heartthrob that had half the girls at Foxfire wrapped around his finger without even trying that hard? Wanting to kiss him? Him? Dex Dizznee? The sheer notion was fucking absurd. Bonkers. Ridiculous.

“I mean—like—listen—okay, just, just let me explain before your brain runs wild, I know how you are,” Keefe splutters.

Dex suppresses a grin at Keefe being the flustered one for once. “Oh, I’m definitely listening.” 

“Okay, so, first off, kissing was a brief idea that popped into my head when I thought, How do I show Dex how much I care about him? Kind of like an afterthought. And the original afterthought was, like, impulsively kissing your cheek. In a goofy way. Not full-on making out with you or anything.” Keefe pauses, and two things shift in the meantime: Keefe’s facial expression tipping off of panic into thoughtfulness, and Dex’s facial color gradually sliding from its pale base color to a blush that only gets more vivid as Keefe talks. “Though I probably wouldn’t complain if we made out, but it’s not something I’m yearning for every second of every day or anything. The possibility only just hit me, after all. I want it if you want it, I mean. But if you don’t, I’m all good. We’re all good.” 

Dex blinks. Throws all caution to the wind, and thinks about it. Thinks about whether or not he’d like that kind of kissing from Keefe. Keefe would most likely start slow, because that feels like a Keefe thing to do, so Dex imagines that. Imagines how he might feel if they were whispering to directly into each other’s ears instead of each other’s imparters, if Keefe pulled him in for a kiss instead of keeping his distance without compromising himself—

—and almost immediately thinks No thanks. Which is a little odd, since he likes the way Keefe looks and acts, but his stomach hollows out at the idea of another mouth moving over his, no matter how kind the intention. Mashing two mouths together is an overrated display of affection hyped up too much by mom’s romcoms and other romance enthusiasts is the explanation for it that pops up into Dex’s head. The lack of spark or pull that Dex feels towards kissing in general plus the weirdness of textures and germs interacting through mouth to mouth contact probably factors into his opinion too.

Overriding that kind of mind and body instinct feels wrong, so Dex offers up more honesty to Keefe. “I think I’ll pass on the kissing. Making-out kissing, at least. Kissing anyone makes me feel weird—a bad kind of weird, if you get what I mean.” 

“Sir yes sir!” Keefe barks out, giving him a cheesy salute, and Dex giggles. “Thank you for making it easier to make my brain shut up about kissing you. The identity crisis prevention is appreciated.” 

“Of course, of course,” Dex jests. “But for the record, I don’t think you potentially wanting to kiss boys in general is a bad thing. As long as they’re good for you, y’know?” 

Quiet overlays Keefe’s demeanor, and Dex can practically hear the gears in his brain turning. Processing. Then Keefe gives a small smile and says, “Thanks, Dex. I’ll keep it in mind. Buuuuuut,” Keefe claps his hands suddenly, and Dex nearly jumps out of his skin. “I’m not in the mood for heavy introspection right now! Soooo…maybe you could tell me about the things I said that you’d be okay and not okay with instead? For the sake of, like, boundaries and stuff.” 

“Ah, yes. Discussing boundaries when we’re both sleep deprived and not thinking straight. Incredibly intelligent move.” 

Dex apparently didn’t put enough lightheartedness into his deadpan, because Keefe scrambles to backtrack. “I mean, yeah, you have a point, we can do that sometime later in daylight, or later, or never. Whatever you feel like. No worries.” 

“I was joking. We can and probably should talk about it now, even if we’re not 100% functioning,” Dex reassures. 

“Okay. Um. Where do you want to start?” 

Dex references his mental conversation prep list, and plucks out a relevant item he hasn’t used yet. (He will use the sunshine comment before the end of this hail, or so help him.) “Can we talk about the whole ‘basically wanting a repeat of the eckodon ride’ thing? Because in the moment you seemed pretty eager to end that, and I’m simultaneously confused and curious at your…change of heart, so to speak.” 

A hypothesis Dex will never be able to test the accuracy of: If Keefe weren’t under the weak starlight of his bedroom walls and somewhere brighter in this moment, Dex would be able to see a flush crawling over Keefe’s ears. Perhaps even over his cheeks, too. The musing is based on evidence—the hand running through Keefe’s bedhead, the loaded exhale, the averted gaze, the upper teeth worrying his lower lip. 

Anxiously, Keefe chants strings of swears under his breath before composing himself a little. “First things first, just to know how much of my dignity I’m losing here at whatever time of night it is right now, can you tell me how often you think about the eckodon ride? And what you think of it, if you do think of it at all?” 

Oh god. Dex had not prepped for actually talking about that. At all. 

So much for not floundering later on in the conversation, he curses his past self. 

“Do you want me to start right now and then just pause and backtrack when I word things wrong, or do you want me to try and get things sorted out before I talk?” Clarification and a counterattack, a delay of the inevitable. 

“Take your time,” Keefe murmurs. 

Dex does. While Keefe breathes in a purposeful pattern he messes up every now and then, Dex rearranges the scramble of thoughts in his head until every piece is in the right place. And then he double checks to make sure it’s right. And when he thinks Maybe I should triple check, he forces the words out into a freefall and hopes that when they collide into the connection between him and Keefe, it won’t hurt. “Before I get into emotional vulnerability, I would like to say that I still stand by my opinion that your breath stunk. You need to invest in having carry-on breath mints at all times, dude.” 

Keefe bursts out laughing, and it’s everything from playful ocean waves curling and splashing at his lower legs on a shoreline walk to distant melodies whispered in the wind. “I’ll do that, next time I go out,” Keefe promises, and for now, only Dex will ever know how big it is to hear Keefe make plans for a more social future he said he’d given up on at the beginning of these nighttime hails. “But only if you do too. Because I swear, your breath rivaled gulon farts, my guy.” 

But only if you do too. My guy. It softens Dex like the glow of the stars outside his window. His smile is a crescent in the dark. “Fine, fine, I will. Maybe I’ll make my own and hail you so you can watch alchemy antics.” 

“Please do. But finish talking first.” 

Dex takes a deep breath. “Okay. Uh. Where was I?” 

“Emotional vulnerability, I think?” 

Exhale, trace back to which thought he left off on, and go. Hurtle out of comfort and into the brilliantly terrifying unknown. Speak before the end of the fall. “Right, emotional vulnerability time. I don’t think of the eckodon ride every second of every day or anything. But it pops up from time to time. More often when I’m talking to you, of course, but it’s not like I can hear whale songs or see Z-shaped objects without at least briefly thinking about it. As for what I think of the eckodon ride, I think…” Dex falters. Stumbles. His carefully constructed thoughts flutter just out of reach. 

What was I thinking earlier? What have I thought about it before? “I think it was nice. Confusingly nice, but nice. I felt—it felt—it was different. A lot more physical contact than I was used to. And I guess I liked looking at you close up more than I was willing to admit before. Noticing little details was interesting—like how long your eyelashes are, since I didn’t really have anywhere to look but your eyes and I usually try to look close to people’s eyes but not quite since I get distracted by their eyes when they talk if I make eye contact, but we weren’t talking, and I just got to look, and—ugh, I’m rambling. That sounds weird. My words aren’t, I dunno what the word is—wording? Right? That’s wrong, but whatever. My words aren’t wording. You get what I mean.” 

Dex drags his hands down his face, and grimaces at the light layer of sweat that’s built up there in such a small amount of time. Has the freefall ended yet? Will his stomach please stop hollowing out? 

The freefall crashes to an end, and Dex slips out of the wind into into safe waters when Keefe asks, “So you didn’t mind how close we were the whole time?” 

With only the moon as a witness, the timidness in Keefe’s voice is clear. With only the moon as a witness, all the air empties out of Dex’s lungs when he says “I didn’t really mind, but I thought you did,” into what feels like six feet underneath the sky. 

Thuds pulse loudly in his veins and ears in the real silence. Every gentle slide of fabric moving with the crests and troughs of Dex’s breathing feels like the edge of too much, but Dex doesn’t know which side of the edge it falls onto. Staring at his imparter is too much now, too, so he turns his face into his pillow and swipes his thumb back and forth across his sheets as a nearly futile distraction from his frazzled senses. 

Keefe reels him out of it, out of the increasingly weird stimulation levels and the imaginary water. “I didn’t really mind either, and I didn’t know what to do with that, so I shoved you away and jumped to something that I understood. And then I tried not to think about it. Which worked for a while, but then Loamnore happened, and now it’s really hard to not think about how much I miss being close to people, which makes it extra hard to not think about the eckodon ride when I’m around you, and now we’re here.”

A hum vibrates in Dex’s throat; it resonates with all the gadgets scattered around his room on sleep mode. “So originally, you didn’t want to fully process the eckodon ride, but now that you have, you miss that kind of proximity?” 

“Yes,” Keefe breathes out a syllable and longing. 

“That makes sense,” Dex nods to himself. 

Contemplation lulls talking from either end of the line to sleep for a little while, but not Dex. Yet. At some point, Dex’s imparter slipped so that he couldn’t see Keefe and Keefe couldn’t see him. Not focusing on the changes in his expressions and environment, when it’s so late and quiet and Dex woke up at 2am yesterday and hasn’t slept since, makes it a little difficult to stay awake. 

“So if I end up being able to handle touching people at some point in the future,” Keefe starts, and Dex starts at the sudden verbalism and the hope in his voice that they both thought he’d lost, “kissing you is a no, but hugs are a yes?” 

“Hugs are a yes,” Dex agrees. 

“What about, um—” Keefe stops short. 

Laziness compels Dex to flick his imparter upright with telekinesis instead of just reaching over and grabbing it. He raises an eyebrow at Keefe. “What about what?” 

Dex is the furthest thing the elvin world knows to an empath, and yet. And yet. He can feel Keefe’s embarrassment through the countless miles separating Rimeshire and Splendor Plains. Keefe’s almost completely buried beneath blankets, pressed deep enough into his pillow that only some messy blond tufts are visible. 

“This is so stupid,” Keefe grumbles into fabric. 

“I think this is rather funny, actually. Hilarious, even,” Keefe can’t see Dex’s shit-eating grin. “Share with the class, Keefe. How were you gonna finish that sentence? Be honest,” 

(Dex turns down his imparter volume to the lowest setting. Just in case a certain froster is wandering around the halls with those silent mom feet of hers and walks in at the worst time possible.) 

Dex thinks he hears Keefe mumble holding hands, but that seems far too innocent to be correct, so he asks, “What?” 

Keefe pops up out of his cocoon. He looks like he wants to shrivel up and disappear to somewhere that’s anywhere but near his imparter. “Holding hands. That’s how I was going to end the sentence.” 

Suspicion narrows Dex’s eyes. “Considering the kind of jokes you like to make, I feel like it takes more than the idea of holding hands to get you flustered,” 

“Not anymore,” 

Dex can’t tell if Keefe is whining or scraping the surface of loneliness that he’s shoved aside for tonight, and decides it’s a good idea to pull him away from that. He can lament his losses when the sun’s there to smatter more freckles along the bridge of his nose. “Getting back to the point—you wanted to know how I felt about you wanting to hold my hand?” 

Slowly, Keefe nods. 

“I don’t see why it’d be anything to get flustered about. We used to hold hands for light leaping all the time. Extending that doesn’t seem like a huge deal, in this hypothetical.” 

“How the fuck are you so chill about this but I’m not,” Keefe says, and yeah, he’s definitely whining now. 

Dex laughs. “My serious answer is because 1) I’m not touch starved and 2) we’re talking theoreticals, and my emotions kind of take a backseat during conversations like these so my critical thinking skills can take the wheel, since it feels like there’s no stakes since it’s all, as I said, theoretical. My joking answer, on the other hand, is because I’m cooler than you.” 

Keefe cracks a smile. “True, true,” 

“Anything else you wanted to talk about?” 

“Is there anything else I said earlier that you’re not cool with?” Keefe returns. 

“List it off again?” 

“Uhhhh…” What some humans would call Keefe’s ‘Adam’s apple’ bobs as he tips his head back and thinks. He raises one hand and flips up a finger for each item he rattles off. “Stuff we haven’t talked about yet: Me wanting to draw you a bajillion times, me wanting to paint you a bajillion times, me wanting to get into a tickle fight with you just because I like how your laugh sounds, and teeeechnically cuddling?” 

This is the kind of thing that Dex should probably have to mull over for a while, but answers come to him oddly easily. “All of those are fine, but I will warn you that I might kick you on instinct if you tickle me too much. Which isn’t that hard. My dad makes fun of me all the time for still being ticklish. He said that Dizznees usually have built up immunity to tickles by my age.” 

Keefe blinks. Numerous times. Exaggeratedly. “Normally I’d be losing my mind at you being cool with me using you as a pillow for no reason, but I’m way too stuck on tickle immunity being a thing you can build up.” 

Dex forgets to be quiet with his wheezing. “Dude, I have so many whack stories about things me and my family have done that have to do with tickling. Like, my dad said that when he was a level two he’d make elixirs specifically to give him vampire fangs so he could bite his siblings harder when they tried to tickle him,” 

The tea kettle monkey screeching hysterical laughter from before comes back with a vengeance, and Dex is very glad his imparter is as quiet as it can be without deafening Keefe out entirely. “I need the full story now,” he gasps out. 

“You’re in for a ride,” Dex says, settling into a more comfortable position on his bed. But then he remembers one thing he swore he’d say before this hail ended, and makes sure to look the camera head on when he comments, “Oh, by the way, before I don’t shut up for another three hours, good job getting some sunshine. The freckles look nice on you.” 

Horror rounds Keefe’s eyes comically. He frantically runs his fingers along his cheeks as if his aforementioned freckles were braille spelling out some awful message on his face. “You can see them?” 

“How else would I know they look nice on you?” 

Keefe groans and curls up like the roly poly bugs Dex loved to pick up as a kid. Keefe’s imparter falls forward, and the imparter screen thumps into fuzzy blackness. “I chase Bullhorn around the property so Elwin can have a break for a day one time, and this is how the world rewards me,” 

“As I basically told you already: I think it’s a great reward. Anyway. Wanna hear about just how petty my family gets or not?” 

“I’m 100% down, Dexy. Hit me with good old storytime.” 

Storytelling hasn’t ever really been Dex’s thing, but Keefe doesn’t seem to have high standards, which is nice. (The other explanation is that Dex is better at storytelling than he thinks, which he refuses to believe because he hates being wrong about anything ever.) He laughs more than Dex expected, and insists on getting his sketchbook at one point to draw out certain parts, and then they both giggle so hard they can’t breathe. They gesture and talk and talk and talk until Keefe says his throat and ribs hurt, and Dex agrees on that last part. 

Dex’s last thought before his breathing slows and evens out is some hazy musing of how nice it is that he can be Keefe’s person without having to feel hummingbirds or butterflies to get there. 

Both of their imparters are on when they fall asleep to soft whirrs and wake up to peaceful daylight.

[thechaoscryptid]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. spread the self-love ❤

Thanks for thinking of me, nonnie 🥰 This was actually a lot harder than I thought it was going to be, picking 5?? It was a good excercise in remembering I actually do like a lot of my past catalogue lmfao

The summaries got kinda long and I also wanted to do a little commentary on each so I'm gonna put the full post under a cut but the short list is:

Singularity (Shigadabi)

i've looked for love in every stranger (to get to you) (Sylvix)

Hello, My Name Is Human (Odazai)

Divinity (Matchablossom)

Blur (Sheith)

Singularity | ShigaDabi | General

Alpha Arietis dies in a brilliant storm, spraying billions of years’ worth of accumulated gas and matter through the cosmos as it collapses in on itself. Great fingers of dust reach toward the endless abyss, and cradled in the palm of the cooling nebula, a godling sleeps. His heart is white-hot and aching, all the pain of his progenitor’s end pulsing through him as he curls in on himself. The gazes of the other gods weigh heavily on him as the universe swims into focus. Their whispers ripple across galaxies to wash over his still-tender form, awakening in him an anger that beams into the darkness as his eyes open, twin crimson spheres cutting through the endless night.

This was such a fun style experiment!! I wrote it for a zine and it was by far the shortest fic bc I decided to go with the dialogue-less option; it felt better suited to the space vibe.

I looked up so many astronomy facts for this too, which was fun bc I'm a bit of a space bitch (even though I probably fucked it all up for the ~narrative~ lmao). Did you know! Beta Capricorni, one of the stars in Capricorn (Dabi's sign and mine - we share a birthday, and it is my favorite BNHA factoid), is commonly known as Dabih, derived from an Arabic legend saying Beta Capricorni and Alpha Capricorni, aka Algedi, were "the lucky stars of a slaughterer."

I really really want to dive further into the concept of gods being birthed from dying stars at some point - there's so much I didn't get to in this fic just bc of limits and themes and such, but I think it's fucking cool even if it's not popular.

i've looked for love in every stranger (to get to you) | Sylvix | Explicit

“Yeah. Listen, Fe, I’m sor—” “Don’t,” Felix says. When Sylvain opens his mouth to protest, Felix cuts him off. “Seriously, don’t. I don’t want your apologies.” Sylvain arches a brow. “I just want you—” (And oh, those words on their own are nearly enough to unwind that barbed wire, but somehow it hurts worse knowing it’s not what Felix really means.) “—to be better.” Felix takes a deep breath, turns to the kitchen counter, and fiddles for a second too long with the tabs on the pizza boxes. “I hate watching you hurt yourself.”

Man, where do I start with this one. I picked at this fic for over a year and a half before deciding to finish it for a bang, and I'm so happy about how it turned out. One theme that shows up a lot in my writing is "love is an action and a choice," and I think this fic showcases that beautifully.

Sylvain's so fucked up here and I love him so much. This timestamp from the middle of a breakdown and subsequent guilt about said breakdown just...really hits home. And Felix being there - CHOOSING to remain there - through that one and all previous ones? clenches fist They're in love, your honor.

I just think it's important to show that being kind of a shitty person doesn't preclude you from being loved, nor should it.

Hello, My Name Is Human | Odazai | Mature

“No need for sorry,” Oda says, the words automatic. “That’s not your place.” It’s the wrong thing to say, comes out nothing like he’d intended. Dazai flinches as though he’s been shot, curling up into himself and away from Oda before scrambling to his feet. There’s no easy grace in his movements today, only a quick, jerky retreat before Oda comes to his senses and darts after him. He wraps a hand around Dazai’s forearm to tug him back, and there’s nothing but rawness in Dazai’s eye when he turns around. “Let me go,” he says icily. “It’s not your place.”  “Dazai.” “Fuck off,” Dazai mutters, shrugging Oda’s hand away. “I’ll go die alone, then. In my place.” “Hey,” Oda says, soft as anything as Dazai’s turned half away. He holds his palms out, the same way he would for a stray or lost child. Dazai takes a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry,” he continues. “Your place-” “An executive doesn’t have a place,” Dazai says. “A weapon doesn’t need one.”

This was the spiritual precursor to in the morning i'll be with you, and upon rereading, I realized I wrote pretty much the same fic twice 😅 There's just something that hits EVERY time about softness in the face of bluntness about doing and wanting terrible things. I chose this one instead of in the morning because of one of the places the two fics diverge, actually.

In this fic, Oda actually says "I love you" to Dazai and Dazai does not take it well, and it feels important to me that not every I love you is received with an equally passionate "omg I love you too." But like I said for the Sylvix above, it's also important that it's expressed, even if it hurts or isn't received or reciprocated.

Divinity | MatchaBlossom | Explicit

“I don’t need anyone,” Kaoru whispers. He’s always been good at making bad decisions when it comes to Kojiro; this is another in a long line of failures and he’s not willing to admit yet that maybe Adam fucked him up past the point of no return. “It’s fine,” he mumbles when he hears Kojiro shifting. He’s too afraid to watch him walk away. “You can just go.” And instead of leaving, Kojiro shuffles forward and hugs him. Kaoru is surrounded by impossibly gentle arms and the scent of pine, and though he’s used to the latter, he hasn’t been touched like this in a long, long time. “I’m not going to go,” Kojiro says softly. His face is buried in Kaoru’s shoulder, lips warm where they brush across his skin. “I’d say sorry, but I’m not, Kaoru. I don’t want to.”

God this fic actually kickstarted my writing motor after being really burnt out and plateaued on skill for a while. While it's not my most technically skilled fic (I don't think any on this list are, tbh?), it was fun to write and it's still fun to read.

I loved being able to take a softer turn with Kaoru's anxiety as opposed to some of the harder mental health issues I'm used to expressing in my writing. And Matchablossom were really just out there on screen being Like That at all moments, huh? Their dynamic is just such a joy to play with, whether it's softer like this or harder like some of my other SK8 fics.

Blur | Sheith | Mature

“Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve made of myself, and it still isn’t enough. You know they always said shoot for the stars? I didn’t just shoot, Shiro, I helped save those stars. Where is there to go from there? There’s no coming back down to Earth after you’ve seen realities collapse around you. There’s no normal.” “It doesn’t need to be normal,” Shiro says. “I WANT normal!” Keith’s chest heaves, throat raw with the force of his insistence as his truth is birthed into the world. Twenty-five years’ worth of longing shake themselves loose from inside him and when they bleed out, so does his energy. He sinks to his knees, shaking as he repeats the words again and again. “I want normal. I want to be normal, Shiro, why can’t I be normal?”

This fic is just 9k of me bleeding my truth onto the screen, I'll be real (it should also be stated my self-destructive behaviors aren't physically harmful, that's artistic license). It hurt to write and it hurts to reread bc not much has changed in the years since I wrote it, but it's good, and I stand by the rawness of the narration. Dealing with a personality disorder and suicidal ideation (especially unmedicated and without therapy - bitches be rawdogging reality and I'm bitches) fucking blows. It's exhausting, and it makes you feel inhuman.

This scene especially knocked a few realizations loose for me, bc I don't remember writing it; my head just shut off, and then I looked at the page and went "ah. Oh dear. This feels like something I need to unpack, huh." And here we are, several years later, still unpacking lmao

[thefaiao]

    About two months ago my laptop’s HDD died. I couldn’t really recover anything in the moment, and just left it unplugged inside the case until I could take it somewhere to check if it the files were truly unsalvageable. I wasn’t that annoyed by it. I had backed up most important files relating to game work, and I didn’t care too much about drawings that I already posted. I wouldn’t mind backing them up, but I wouldn’t lose sleep over it since they are posted somewhere already.     This HDD actually had been on a long journey with me. It, together with the laptop, carried me through a whole year of living alone and isolated for everyone I knew. It had been having problems since forever but it soldiered through most of it. It’s actually impressive how long it lasted, to be fair. But any times it would show hints of death then, I’d have a nervous breakdown. My anxiety and isolation were at a critical level. Drinking some Monster sent me to the hospital for pure anxiety. So all the bad stuff blended together at the time, and I couldn’t bother to fix all of it. When you are living day by day and hanging on by a thread on all sides, every loss can feel very major.     It only died after I moved back home. The worst part about losing the HDD was having to reinstall all the programs, and relearn my routine. When working on long-term projects, routine is really the only thing that can carry you further. Games are composed of so many different pieces. The amount of programs you have to use really incentivise terrible habits, like leaving the computer on eternally, or having multiple programs open at all times.     When I got my first drawing tablet, my thought process was: “If I put this in front of me, eventually I’ll draw on it, even if out of boredom.” This actually worked. I think that by leaving all the different programs open, I am hoping to finish the game out of boredom. But it doesn’t work as well when you are on your mid-twenties and the weight of life starts creeping up your back. It just feels like you are stuck in some sort of hell, and if you aren’t using those programs or drawing, you aren’t really doing anything. I wasn’t a teen trying to teach myself how to draw like those cool internet artists; rather, I was an adult, with a faulty income source, alone, in the middle of nowhere.     I think moving out of my Mom’s apartment was a form of attempted suicide. I think I just wanted to leave the world, make the game or die. Games take longer than it’d take me to die. Maybe I didn’t know this consciously, but deep down I think I understood. It’s hard not to feel like a failure.     My parents always let me follow my whims. My Dad supports me, but I feel he sees me as more of a symbol. I don’t think he could describe my interests in detail, or the person I am. I am similarly distant to him, but I know he likes Blade Runner, and records, and running, and pretending to smoke big cigars. I like Blade Runner too. I wish he saw that I’m happy he likes Blade Runner, because I got to like Blade Runner because of that.     My Mom does understand me, and is able to describe who I am. But I don’t ever feel she is happy with my choices. She doesn’t mention it actively, perhaps out of tiredness, but she wishes I had a normal job, or had chosen another subject that not games. I don’t think the drawings or the commissions I’ve done mean anything to her. I don’t think they mean anything to anyone outside of my circles... I managed to support myself with them, but I wouldn’t say it was a completely successeful endeavour. I think she sees the game as a waste of time and energy, especially if it doesn’t make any money. It might not make any money.    It’s understandable. She won’t be here forever. I need a stable source of money, not just enough to pay some bills, sometimes. I feel I almost got tricked by the world into following my dream. I felt everything was telling me I should be honest with myself, and that I should chase after the things that mattered to me. So that’s what I did, and what I’ve been doing still. I’m not sure where I’m going in life. I think I just heard what I wanted to hear, and I always wanted to chase after a dream.    Two days ago, my new SSD died. I had used it to boot the laptop back up after the HDD died. I had already gotten into the routine again. It was brand new, and gifted by my friend to me. I didn’t ask for it, she just did it because she knew I needed it. I often complain about life, but thinking back now, this is truly something not everyone gets. It was brand new.    It died suddenly. I lost a good chunk of work on the game. We are getting closer to finishing the demo, so each part is major. I may have lost a model of the boss. This time I did have a nervous breakdown because of the loss of the laptop. The truth is that this past year has been setbacks after setbacks, and I feel my time ticking down.    Money worries from both my parents. Dog getting a tracheostomy, and all the medical care surrounding it. Having to live apart from my girlfriend, which I am dedicated to being with as long as I can. Having to constantly move to other places, without any certainty for the future, for reasons internal and external. And death, death everywhere.     I’ve gotten the habit of looking at my dog knowing he is living on borrowed time, getting sad, and petting him just a bit. I think that through all of this, I do a similar thing to the game. I look at it. Wonder how much time I have left to keep working and polishing it before moving on. Be happy about how far its come. Notice how much needs work on closer inspection. Get back to work.     When I spend a few weeks away from the game I noticed how much I care for it, and how much I like what it is. I don’t think everyone will notice why this matters to me, but maybe that is fine. And similarly, I feel like this about my dog. He may pass away soon, but he came so far, lived fifteen years and had many adventures. And I got to take care of him. So it’s not so bad. And he still barks everyday, and he still takes sunbaths. He still thinks, and decides.     The people who’ve been with me despite all of this puzzle me. My girlfriend has stuck with me through these decisions, and always says I am destined to make great things. The programmer, whom co-develops the game with me, has stuck with me and this game, and is willing to keep going as far as we need to make it complete. Things like this make me wonder if my dream is actually possible and real. And that I can brave through all these setbacks.    Is the game really that good? Is my work that good? Does it even matter if it is? I often show it to people and they don’t understand what’s good about it. All I know for now is that despite everything, I want to work on it still. I want to make this weird dream come true. I won’t get to play a game like the one I’m making, but maybe someone else out there will get to play it the way I wish I could.

[leejihoonownsmyheart]

WE ARE BONDED...I THINK YOU'RE A GRYFFINDOR?? RIGHT?? IF IM WRONG ILL BE SO ASHAMED

OH MY GOODNESS YEAH I TOTALLY AGREE. LIKE WHY DO ALL KDRAMAS NEED TO BE KTRAUMAS 😭😭?? COULD WE NOT GET SOME FLUFF FOR ONCE...

HELP THAT ANIME IS SO FUNNY?? he's so relatable for turning into dust btw that's actually mad funny 😂😂😂

HAVE YOU SEEN THE ANIME OF THE GUY WHO'S VA WAS LAUGHING AT THE DUDE'S NICKNAME BEING DICK?? I DON'T REMEMBER THE NAME BUT THE VA WAS ACTUALLY LAUGHING IN THE STUDIO

no because cheol/hao/wonwoo (and- hot take maybe- shua and jeonghan??) totally give off that 'passive dominance' vibe

YEAH I TOTALLY LOST FEELINGS FOR THAT GUY....LIKE I THINK I MESSED UP IN THE BEGINNING BECAUSE I TEXTED HIM TOO MUCH 🙃🙃 it is what it is tho because i think im much better off without him...........

OKAY I HAVE A THEORY ABOUT PULLING DOMINANT MEN....you either have to act SUPER independent/borderline "leader" like OR you have to act like someone that could be a sub little housewife (like its the 1970s oops).... IM TRYING THOSE 2 OUT RN SO LETS SEE HOW IT GOES LOL

so many meds?? that sounds so complicated (and borderline terrifying 🙁) it must be so bad to be given something that's supposed to help but somehow makes things worse

would a sleep study actually help? here's to hoping it will because not being able to sleep must be torture brie im so sorry i hope you get through this in one piece (ONE PIECE MENTIONED!??!?!?)

PRINCESS SWITCH IS SUCH A GUILTY PLEASURE?? IM GLAD SOMEONE ELSE MENTIONED IT BECAUSE IM SO EMBARASSED TO SAY ITS...KINDA GOOD......

true. imagine ignoring your child's pleas for mashed potatoes... those creamy garlic mashed potatoes are actually a god given right, you can't convince me otherwise 😒😒

NO BRIE YOU DON'T SUCK! YOU'RE A WONDERFUL BEING THAT DESERVES THEIR PLACE IN THE WORLD.... AND YOU ARE PRETTY?? I THINK YOUR VISUALS ARE REALLY FRESH 😭

i'm doing great (besides finals.)!! YOU GOT THIS BRIE I BELIEVE IN YOU

-finals week or 🫨 anon's final week? stay tuned

Hufflepuff 😨

NO SERIOUSLY they should make a website like does the dog die but for what episode of a drama you should stop watching at if you want to pretend there is a happy ending

NO HAHAHA I DONT THINK IVE SEEN THAT ANIME BEFORE BUT IT SOUNDS SO FUNNY IF YOU REMEMBER THE NAME PLEASE TELL ME???

I actually really heavily agree on that Joshua take that’s crazy but i feel that

NO I THINK I REALLY MESSED UP WITH ONE OF MY FRIENDS i’m so stressed about it too she’s taking a break from social media and i’m going crazy like i feel like part of it is just that i’m too much for her now and i’m so stressed, every day i want to spam her and i have literally been crying every single night because i’m so upset cause i think i really fucked up but like is it worse that i think that she would just abandon me? IDK but i’m so upset it’s been a week now. What if she hates me, and also i went literally crazy and i don’t think she knows how crazy but crying every single night cause i think she hates me and left me is CRAZY like every time i calm down i see reason but i was rereading our interactions so much and analyzing all the things i did wrong so much i had to delete the messages

I’m crazy. I’m crazy actually. I want to just forget everything and move on but imagine i put all this effort into forgetting her because i had a maniac anxious breakdown in the middle of a depressive episode and she comes back completely normal expecting me to be completely normal 😭😭 that would be crazy right

I’m crazy right. I’m crazy.

OKAY THATS IMPORTANT RESEARCH RIGHT THERE ACTUALLY CAUSE I HAVE NEVER EVER EVER MET A MAN WHO WANTS TO DOMINATE ME AND HONESTLY?? IM SICK OF THIS BULLSHIT I KEEP PURPOSELY ACTING UP IN FRONT OF GUYS TOO LIKE PURPOSELY I WILL ACT LIKE A BRAT WHO CANNOT BE CONTROLLED AND NOTHING. NOTHING! PLEASE TELL ME HOW YOUR RESEARCH PROJECT GOES TODAY I LITERALLY TOLD SOMEONE THAT A MAN I FRIENDZONED LIKED TO BE DOMINATED AND TOLD WHAT TO DO AND THE GUY I FRIENDZONED HAS LITERALLY SEEN MY FUCKING BDSM TEST RESULTS AND THERE WERE NO REPERCUSSIONS 😭

Meds are meds i guess i’m just really hoping these new ones work. The sleep study SHOULD be helpful like if it’s a serious health problem. And it will help them know if it’s not like sleep apthia? Or something like that

I WAS TRYING TO TALK TO SOMEONE ABOUT THE HEIST ONE?? AND THEY WERE LIKE but the first one is so bad and i was like oh my god… they haven’t even met the third twin LIKE ITS GOOD???

I don’t remember why i said i suck but oh god so annoying i give myself the ick. TODAY I WAS LIKE i was like when i serve food out to people sometimes i like can’t explain this well but i smile and pose? Like when i turn around i’ll like IDONTKNOW POSE? ITS LIKE SUBTLE BUT ITS LIKE IM IN A MOVIE AND IM THE MAIN CHARACTER AND ITS REALLY ANNOYING AND SUBCONCIOUS SO IM ONLY AWARE AFTER IVE DONE IT AND ITS SO ANNOYING AND IT GIVES ME THE ICK SO BAD i have A SERIOUS pick me problem that no one will EVER acknowledge even when i say it i’m surrounded by LIARS

HOW HAVE YOUR FINALS BEEN GOING ARE THEY GOING WELL?! YOURE GONNA DO AMAZING YOUVE GOT THIS

[bexstevie]

where the sea sleeps.

  < a starter w. @bejoomi >

there’s a skip in his step as him and joomi walk down the sidewalk, humming around a spoonful of ice cream. he’s both happy and pleased to have a treat in the beginnings of such warm weather, but also it’s been forever since he’s been able to hang out with joomi. it feels good, feels almost normal again-- and he can’t help the good mood it puts him him. it’s going to be a good day, he had told himself as a reminder in the morning. it will be a good day because he’ll make it a good day-- hopefully. as long as lady luck keeps giving him a break for once. she’s been rather kind to him lately; maybe pleased with all of the decisions stevie’s been making since his breakdown that he’s been now dubbing as the Lowest Point of My Life™.

it’s a streak of decent days though-- and he’s sure this is going to be another one added to the list. looking around for the arcade stevie knows is in the area, his eyes catch sight of some art in a passing window, the sea creatures catching his attention briefly like a moth to a flame. it airdrops a random memory in his head.

“did you know there’s a lobster ice cream flavor?” he asks suddenly, shoving his spoon back into the cold treat as he looks over at the taller. “well, it’s like, vanilla with butter and lobster chunks. which sounds kinda weird in theory, right? i’ve never heard it, but people say it’s not bad? honestly, i’m kinda curious about it.” stevie shoves another spoonful into his mouth, furrowing his brow. “i think i’ve heard of salmon too...which i guess you can make anything into an ice cream if you try hard enough.” there’s been some crazy flavor combinations and ideas he’s seen online. “peace and love, though. couldn’t be me, i don’t know what i would do if i--” in the middle of his rambling, he’s interrupted by a sudden tune that causes him to stop and blink in confusion. for a moment, he’s like wait, that isn’t my ringtone-- before stevie’s attention is pulled to joomi’s form. he lets out a little laugh, nodding towards him as he scoops up another bit of ice cream. “eheh, party hotline~” he sings in english, wiggling his brows. “you should take that. might be one of the companies changing their mind and trying to scoop you up.” 

[married-2-the-music]

K-pop Discography Deep Dives: Purple Kiss

A Disclaimer: I was planning, when I first started Tumblr, to be a lurker, but then I began an office job and needed something to listen to to keep myself occupied. And then, I started going through entire K-pop groups’ repertoires, album by album, and jotting down my thoughts. And then, I stumbled into K-pop tumblr and decided, you know what, there’s at least four people on this hell site who would read in depth rants about these discographies and at least five who wouldn’t read it and then get mad because it’s kind of our job as K-pop fans. My lukewarm takes should be taken with an entire silo of salt and the knowledge that this is completely for fun and occupying my very bored, very neurodivergent brain. All this to say, for the love of god, I’m a sleep-deprived student and I don’t have time for internet hate, so don’t kill me. With that being said, enjoy!

Here are my credentials: I’ve been what I’d consider a casual fan of Purple Kiss for a little while now, and I first found them through a cover of Seventeen’s Adore U. I know their singles, their names and a little about the members of the group, but I’m the first to admit that there’s far more that I don’t know, and far more that I’m open to learning. So, let’s get started!

Before Purple Kiss’ official 2021 debut with seven members (Goeun, Yuki, Chaein, Swan, Ireh, and Dosie; Jieun left earlier this year), they had two pre-releases in 2020. The first, Can We Talk Again, is a bit of an odd choice for a k-pop single. Its beginning is slower than a usual single, but it’s also a bit fast for a traditional ballad, which makes it difficult to classify. It’s pretty but also a little meandering, and though I think it needs a better build and climax, I appreciate that it immediately sets them apart from other groups of their time’s brasher girl crush. When I’m in the right mood, I enjoy this one (although the rap is unnecessary).

If Can We Talk Again is a gentle plea, My Heart Skip A Beat feels more like a declaration of war. From the second those guitars sound, I’m nodding my head. It’s very much a product of its girl-crush era, but the rock elements and the fullness of the chorus (no anti-drop here, folks) sets it apart. The rap works far better here than in Can We Talk Again, and the song never loses its momentum. I especially liked the two-part bridge: the sung-through section and the more odd EDM section, which feels more thought through and not like they’re rushing to the end. So when that last chorus does come, it feels earned.

After two wildly different beginnings, the middle path of Ponzona is their official debut. Its name is the Spanish word for poison, and they take that horror element and absolutely run with it. This song begins the trend of Purple Kiss’ title tracks, which often stay in the slowly creeping, oddball “witch-pop” style, which suits them well. It isn’t a style that’s for everyone, but I think that when it’s done well (as it is here and in a few of their other songs), it can really work. The song reminds me a little bit of Spider by Hoshi, albeit with a less tightly-wound arrangement than that one. I like this song; I could do without the breakdown in place of a bridge, though.

From Into Violet, the first album, I liked both Hello and Period. They’re similar, but Hello just edges it for me. It has that quietly twinkling guitar and piano in the background and such nice use of their voices, with a lovely mini-explosion of emotion at the beginning of the choruses (especially the last, which has some excellent harmonizing).

Zombie is the first Purple Kiss song I heard, and I liked it right away. It starts with the satirical tone and poppier beat, and the abject oddness won me over before the first chorus. Speaking of choruses, this one is a lot of fun: it’s anthemic, and while the post is a little repetitive, I appreciate that it isn’t as a whole. I even don’t mind the rap in this song, since it does a good job keeping the energy. Its off kilter humor reminds me of Sunmi’s You Can’t Sit With Us, right down to the zombies. I really like this one.

Though I think Zombie is their strongest single, I think Hide & Seek is their weakest EP. While I like parts of the songs (like the calmer jazz of 2am and the soothing mood of ZzZz), I don’t like any of them enough to feature as a hidden gem. Cast Pearls Before Swine comes close with that pre-chorus but something about the follow-up doesn’t work for me.

My My isn’t part of an album, but is instead a special Christmas track. I’m a bit of a hater, truth be told, and it takes a lot for me to enjoy a Christmas song, so I’m already biased against this. Look, I don’t really like this one, but I’m not going to judge it too harshly because I feel like that wouldn’t be fair. Their voices are pretty nice in this one, though, it just doesn’t feel at all like Purple Kiss.

MemeM, at first glance, seems like a return to form, and parts of it follow a usual Purple Kiss template. I like the pre-chorus, and especially the bridge, but I just can’t get past that repetitive anti-drop chorus; I find it utterly grating on the ears and had to resist the urge to turn the song off. Unlike with Ponzona, which somewhat has an anti-drop, there’s not enough drive in this and it leaves the song feeling…empty, and not in a way that feels intentional.

Fortunately, I like the album (also called MemeM) better than the title track. While I do agree with public opinion that Pretty Psycho would’ve made a better single for them (“maestro, maestro, I’m a pretty psycho” gets a good laugh from me every time), my hidden gem is Hate Me, Hurt Me, Love Me. Despite the quiet, almost mournful beginning, it quickly blooms into a very fun pop song, and I admit I went “aww” a few times at the cute special video they released with it.

Nerdy, like Zombie, follows more of a fun-creepy vibe, which I naturally prefer to the “I’m so cool” concept. It’s both a niche that sets them apart from their peers and a style that Purple Kiss pulls off well. I absolutely adore the completely unnecessary, over dramatic classical dance break during the bridge and the sarcastic tone of the verses, although I wish that the choruses had a bit more heft to them, as they’re around half vocalizing and repetition, but overall I like this one.

The Geekyland EP is really strong and probably my favorite of their works, and I loved the acoustic guitar in Summer Rain, the wispy instrumental of Can’t Stop Dreamin’, and the Latin-pop influence of Fireflower, but my hidden gem is Love Is Dead. From the start, the strong beat, the slinky (definitely not the right word, but *shrug*) vocals, and the rock influences had me tapping my foot. This was an instant standout for me, and not something I’m used to hearing from k-pop. The “love, love, love is dead” hook has been stuck in my head since.

Sweet Juice comes right out of the gate with that tense creepiness and a far-too-quick-for-my-liking classical sample, before spiraling into an equally tense chorus. I like the sparseness of the instrumental and especially the added atmosphere the voices have, but I wish that the classical instruments made a return and that the chorus had just a little more “oomph” to it, to make the building tension feel more genuine. Like with Nerdy, it’s a good song, but with just a few changes I feel like it could be great.

I liked the Cabin Fever EP too, although not as much as Geekyland, so I have a clear stand-out in Autopilot. I’m a lover of synth and citypop, and this song’s crying-on-the-dancefloor vibes immediately made it a favorite. Its quiet ending and emotional, acoustic plea add a little bit of heft to its hook of “I feel like a monster, oh, but I can’t stop”, and, given Purple Kiss’ affinity for telling stories of monsters, I choose to read it as a look at the other side of monsterhood: what happens when the kind of self-acceptance they so often sing about isn’t enough? I acknowledge that I’m probably reading way, way too much into it, but Swan’s voice makes me have emotions (lol).

7Heaven surprised me on first listen, because it sounds nothing like a Purple Kiss song. I have no idea what caused such a dramatic shift in concept, tone and vibe, but I was a bit confused. 7Heaven is a very catchy song and feels like somewhat of a spiritual successor to Autopilot, but without the interesting lyrics that made Autopilot still feel like a Purple Kiss song. While I do like the song itself, it’s fairly standard for k-pop and doesn’t distinguish itself like the rest of their catalogue (whether I like every song or not) does.

Festa is only a three-song single, and neither of the b-sides really stood out to me. Truth be told, I’m a little annoyed that they didn’t wait another month and a half or so and released another great full EP for Halloween, which would’ve fit their vibe so well and probably felt more complete, while this one feels a little more rushed and very not-them.

Groups having their own, very clear, identity is a topic I genuinely care about, and something that I feel is becoming less common, which is one of the reasons I mostly stan 2nd and 3rd generation bands. I’m not saying that I want groups (or the idols in them) to be pigeon-holed, but looking at, say Girls Generation, Dreamcatcher, or Stray Kids, their styles (inspiration from vintage pop, rock, and hip-hop respectively) are very evident while still managing to have variety and keep innovating. Anyway, this was a longer rant than I’d planned, so let’s get back to my final thoughts.

Overall, I’m glad I did this! I got to learn so much more about Purple Kiss and who they are as people, got to listen to some great b-sides that I’ve added to my study playlists, and learned that they write a lot of their own songs, which is super cool! I’m always looking out for more self-produced groups. (And always looking for more recommendations too). Special shout-out to Yuki for writing such well-flowing raps in her second language, because I can’t even write them in my first.

My top 5 songs are Zombie, Love Is Dead, My Heart Skip A Beat, Autopilot, and Nerdy. Special shoutout to Hello. Purple Kiss gets an 8.25/10 from me, because they’re incredibly consistent in tone, style, and quality (except for a few dips), and they’ve done a great job carving out a niche, but I don’t think that they have any songs I would consider classics or favorites. I think that they, like LOONA, often stay in a middle ground of good, not terrible, but also not excellent. Also like LOONA, they do a lot of experimenting with genre, albeit in their b-sides, not their titles, which I think works better. I didn’t become a Plory through this deep dive, but who knows? I’ll be keeping an eye on them, and maybe after the next comeback, I’ll change my mind.

I’ll see you next week for a boy group (well…soloist, technically). I’m super excited for this one, so prepare for a lot of discussion. Tschüss!

[cynicalone94]

Make It Stop

“I can’t take this I come unglued. I might breakdown in front of you. Necessary to medicate. I’m not sleeping, can’t stay awake.”

Jay jerks upright as the music blasts through the headphones taped over his ears. 

He shakes his head, trying to dislodge them. 

He just wants to sleep. 

How long has he been here? How long has he been awake?

He jerks his hands, pulling at the tape securing his wrists to the arms of the chair. 

He can’t help the whimper that breaks loose. 

Someone touches his arm and he jumps, twisting against the tape. 

The headphones are pulled away from his ears. 

“Jay, it’s me.” Hailey’s voice reaches his ears. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

He whines into the gag but stops struggling. 

He hears the flick of a knife opening and flinches. The tape is cut away from his wrists and then the blindfold and gag are removed. 

His wife strokes his cheek. 

“Hailey?” he gasps. 

“Yeah.” she says, a tear running down her face. “I’m here now.”

“So t’rd.” he whimpers. 

“They’ve really kept you awake this whole time?” she asks. 

He just nods and she presses forward to kiss his forehead. 

“We’ll get you some sleep soon, okay?” she promises and he nods again. 

The time that it takes to get checked out by paramedics and make his statement doesn’t match what he’d hoped for in soon but Hailey stays close, holding his hand the entire time. 

When he’s finally cleared, she helps him into her jeep. He falls asleep against the door while she drives to their apartment. 

Hailey looks over at her husband as she turns off the car. 

He’d passed out almost as soon as she’d pulled away from the scene. She was so relieved to find him in one piece but he’s so tired. 

Normally he would have stirred the moment she parked the car. 

She doesn’t want to take him up. He needs this sleep so badly after being awake for three and a half days. But she can’t just leave him sleeping in the car. 

“Jay.” she says, reaching out to rub the back of his neck. 

His eyes flicker open. 

“Huh?” he mumbles. 

“Let’s go upstairs, huh?” she says. “Get you settled into your own bed.”

He groans but lets her help him out of the car. They make their way up to the apartment. 

He sways as he tries to remove his shirt and she steps in, steadying him and helping him change into comfortable sweats. 

As he crawls onto the bed she hears a stereo click on next door. 

Their timing sucks but technically in the middle of the afternoon there isn’t much that she can do about it. 

“Pain I wallow, I cannot keep it down.”

“No, no, no, no, no.” Jay whimpers, hands pressing over his ears. 

“Down. Down. Down. Down.” 

“Make it stop.” Jay begs. “Please Hailey. Please Make it stop.”

“Jay.” she tries to soothe. “Honey, it’s okay, you’re safe now.”

“Make it stop.” he repeats. 

Hailey grabs her badge. 

The neighbors aren’t happy to be told they have to play something else and she might get an official complaint over it but they listen. 

She races back to her apartment, crawling onto the bed next to her husband who’s still curled in the fetal position with his hands pressed over his ears. 

“It’s gone now.” she promises him, curling up and wrapping him in her arms. “The music is gone. You’re okay.”

“Every time I started to drift they would play that stupid song.” he whispers, burrowing into her. “Or something else by those stupid jerks.”

“I know.” she tells him. “I’m so sorry, baby. I should have been there sooner.”

“Not yer fault.” he insists. 

“Get some sleep.” she tells him. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

[medusaveneno]

✨Trending things/topics on tik tok and my opinion on them✨ lol I’m bored at 1 am and I’m scrolling through tik tok

Hair oiling ( Mielle rosemary oil amla oil ) ~ Every hair texture and especially bleached / colored , chemically damage and heat damage can benefit to hair oiling now it depend of your hair type and the porosity on which or what kind of oil you should use. Mielle oil isn’t the only oil good for your hair and for ppl complaining about it , it’s simply not meant for you. Amla oil is great too but if you don’t like the smell don’t make it trendy and keep your comments to yourself.

Zote soap /dial soap- it’s soap 😐 not that serious to sell out soap

Henna on hair ~ great to use 👌 and very beneficial✅ of used right if you 1000% sure you are never going dye or bleach your hair ( well until it grow out and you cut it off)

Any food sold from a tik tok ( pink sauce sold in Walmart ) ~ STOP BUYING FOOD FROM TIK TOK and the pink sauce still has its inconsistent coloring 🤢 

Tj max , Burlington, Marshall, Ross , etc ~ Y’all are annoying stop shopping there if you can afford or you often buy from regular stores

Chrisean rock is preggors ~ 😳😭 buenoo , good luck

Yt ppl renaming ethnic foods~ 💀😂😭 Google is free bro

Oil pulling- I’ll try it one day 🤷‍♀️ idk tho do feel like holistic remedies can be beneficial

Jenna Ortega - great actress 🥰

Shea butter- love it 💕y’all should mango butter I personally mix it with lotion right out the shower

Shakira new song - love it 😘🤌

Miley’s new song ~ love it too 😘🤌

Bashing scar girl (iykyk)~ WHO GIVES A FUCK??? Like we know let her be

Grwm~ yo I use love grwm when I was younger still do but it use be so chill and relatable. recently out of nowhere some 13 young girl popped in my fyp doing a grwm and omg this younger generation either A) grew up rich or middle class B) being young and relatable has changed and now it’s being 13 about to afford expensive skincare and products / tools.

Soccer players ~ we all know they are attractive we get it

BFFR ~ BE FUCKING FOR REAL

Period (miss use of aave)~ it’s so cringe when ppl do this lmaoo funny how aave is trendy but looked in a negative connotation of a black person uses it.

Bad bunny throwing phones ~ Omg 😳 in my opinion he doesn’t like being treated at a celebrity and or wants to be respect don’t just go up ppl with your phone in their face ask first

Yt ppl learning how to bath properly~ BFFR

Nurses having mental breakdown ( I think that’s just my fyp tho) ~ the health care system in America suck ass and not only is it hard for patients but the workers

 gentrification in nyc ~ bro it’s called the city that don’t sleep for a reason you can’t just complain about every noise you hear move out it’s not as romanticize as you think it is

Gentrification in PR 🇵🇷 : GET OUT GRINGOS 🤬

Yt ppl taking random ethnic goods : it’s giving Christopher Columbus pt 2 

Realistic food candle wax : please stop I’m begging 🧎‍♀️

Benito with that Arizona girl ~ lmaooo good for her Irdc

Anything pregnant and newborn - I’m so scared … terrified even

Fear of aging ~ idk as 23 I’m stuck in between.

Ice spice ~ 🔥🔥 love her

Brad mondo/ butterfly cut ~ give okay tips there’s so many hairstylist better then him btw the butterfly cut is a lot similar to the unicorn cut that manes by Mel made

Cleaning tik tok ~ so satisfying

Cooking tiktok ~🥰😘🤌