#Thank you for letting me nerd out :)

[panbhonpan]

CANDY CULPRITS CANDY CULPRITS CANDY CULPRITS CANDY CULPRITS CANDY CULPRITS CANDY CULPRITS CANDY CULPRITS CANDY CULPRITS CANDY CULPRITS CANDY CULPRITS CANDY CULPRITS CANDY CULPRITS CANDY CULPRITS CANDY CULPRITS CANDY CULPRITS CANDY CULPRITS CANDY CULPRITS CANDY CULPRITS CANDY CULPRITS CANDY CULPRITS CAN-

Wait hold up - who's that?- Guys I think there's something wrong with my screenshot

[ladamedusoif]

Permission to be a nerdy expert and deeply thirsty for two minutes.

I am begging - begging - fashion writers et al to realise that “Victorian” is a specific time period and place, not an entire century. And if you must insist on the Darcy comparison (about which more anon), then recognise that Pride and Prejudice was published in 1813, aka the Georgian/Regency period. (Victoria wouldn’t become queen for almost two decades.)

And that being said: I stand by my read of the whole look being far more 1830s European Romantic.

Now that I’ve got my nerdy twitching out of the way: I would like to hear more about the whole “making a shirt that’s nicely oversized and designed to be opened like that” design process please and thank you. 😘

[goldensunset]

I <3 COMPETITIVE POKEMON!!! YAY VGC!!

stealing this image from my good friend @moonlit-ripples

[brotherscain]

happy wincest wednesday! <3 <3 what are your thoughts on dean and his relationship with school? is he good at it but just wants to focus on other things? does he help sam with homework (or the other way around)? (:

a week later but happy wincest wednesday! :))

dean is a very capable, smart, and outside-of-the-box student and i’ll always die on that hill!

i do think, unlike sam, school isn’t as much of a getaway for him. he’s antsy and feels like learning the minutiae of linear and quadratic equations is pointless in the face of monsters existing. (i like to imagine there’s conversations going on between little him and john, dean begging him to just pull him out and john saying he has to wait for that, it’s not that simple.)

dean is really into history. has a conversation with one of his teachers that if he pulls his other grades up, he could be set to take APUSH. i also think dean’s not the best at writing essays that aren’t sort of all over the place in his thoughts, but only because he has a lot of them and enjoys reading the classics.

it’s really important to dean that he shows sam he basically gives no fucks about school or education or anything! at least, for himself. sure he’ll poke fun about how studious his little brother is, and if they’re mad at each other he’ll start projecting how pointless it all is anyway. but i think he likes when sam reads out to him, sits with him a lot while sam takes notes. sometimes he’ll peer over while he’s doing homework and ask sam what it’s about. then dean might tell him he remembers learning that from this one teacher in whatever state it was, who dressed up and everything just to teach them about it. the moment of peace is nice, but sam learns to stop asking dean why he’s dropping out.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

okay...as much as I hate it...its certainly something that Magneto decides to do a bunch of meth to get back in shape almost immediately after Charles leaves the planet to be with his newly resurrected bird wife. both on a character level and a 'editorial is doing everything possible to keep them apart' level

Dude you cannot say this to me after i spend all night drinking i cant tell if youre fuckin with me or not

[fogerist]

Not me being a whole ass nerd and making cultural flavor profiles for my homebrewed D&D world

[butterfilledpockets]

So, what precisely was the technique you used for the shoulders of your cape?

I AM SO GLAD YOU ASKED

(gonna try and explain this in shitty doodles)

So, originally I thought "hey! Why not just one big circle and then cut to shape? like this:

this didn't work because It rode up teh fabric and was very awkward to wear, it also did not hold the shape or pattern of Casey Jr's cloak and comepltely changed depending on how you stood

the cloak also kept slidding off the shoudlers and the neckline would constantly choke as it slipped

So instead I thought to rework the pattern to work like a suit jacket, using panels on the shoulders to better fit it!

(illustrated bellow)

it stopped the slipping and also allowed so much more movement with shoudlers and arm

meaning the fabric did't ride up and choke and also jsut looked a lot better and made cutting the fabric into the casey cape shape a LOT easier and the result was far better

[eybefioro]

KNIGHTS!

THANK YOU AUGUST

On opposite sides. That's how it always had been, and that's how they were now facing each other.

(Even if "sides" didn't exist anymore.)

The only sounds on their cottage was the birds chirping outside, the grandfather clock tick-tacking and the focused breathing of the two beings.

Clack! The black knight landed on f4, putting the white king in check, the sound echoing in the still air.

Aziraphale’s lips trembled and a chuckle emerged.

"My dear boy!" He wiggled a bit on the armchair, reclining comfortably, his smile smug. "This is how I always told you; evil always contains the seeds of its own destruction."

Crowley only shrugged, sipping his scotch not to comment, hiding himself behind the glass. Aziraphale only raised his bitchy eyebrow, and still smiling, moved his bright white knight over Crowley's, capturing it with a little satisfied sigh.

There was no way for him to win with only the king and a knight, after all.

Aziraphale reclined again, ready to offer Crowley the choice of stopping now or to watch his king fall – but when he looked up, he only saw Crowley's wicked smirk.

A mischievous, demonic aura almost oozed from him.

"Aziraphale..." the drawl itself – teasing, mocking – on his name told everything he needed to know.

He looked at the board again, and felt himself getting pale, cold sweat running down his spine.

"Do you know how bloody annoying it is to pull off a two knights checkmate?"

He was slouching in his chair, gesturing broadly with the glass, the smug demon.

"You... weren't trying to win..."

A snort.

"Not with two knights, noooooo. But there was no way that I'd let you win, you know?"

Crowley leaned, capturing Aziraphale’s bishop with his knight.

Both looked at the board, both with a knight and a king.

"We always balanced each other out after all, didn't we?"

There was no winning with this infuriating demon.

Aziraphale huffed in annoyance, but couldn't fight his own smile.

Send me a prompt in my ask box and receive a little something!

[tarashima]

The things I do late at night when I should've been in bed 1½ hours ago

[coldercreation]

I know many people have said this before but the way Nathan was characterized is so realistically good. I relate a lot to what Nathan goes through and honestly wish he was real so him and I can be friends. Thank you for writing CYE and the whole series in general. With the way you write Nathan, if you don't mind me asking, what is the reference you used for him because he was the first person that was accurate!

Aaa, thank you so much<3 I'm so glad you have found CYE and the series and Nathan relatable, it means a lot to me and makes me really happy!

I'm not sure what you mean by reference, but if you mean the mental health aspects I used to build his character, I do have some specific research points that could be helpful. I also just recently posted about my personal vitamin deficiencies that most definitely have affected the way I describe feelings in my writing. As in, no matter what the characters' circumstances are or what's happening to them in the story, I will use my personal experience with anxiety, depression, "how life feels" to describe their anxiety, depression, "how their life feels". So, like I said in that post; ignoring what is causing Nathan's anxiety etc. in the story, if you relate to how he FEELS and how I have described those feelings... feeling(?), I'd recommend checking your vitamins lol.

I wrote in the tags of that post: "The description of Nathan's experience could and would still be rather accurate, even if you don't have these physical health issues! Depression and anxiety etc from a deficiency is still depression and anxiety. + When I write Nathan I have a set of mental health “maps” or “guides” for his character (like C-PTSD and CEN and OCD). Yes I use my own feelings and experiences to describe his anxiety etc, but his character is built around these specific mental health markers / trauma research / symptoms etc (like C-PTSD and CEN and OCD). So I'm pretty sure Nathan's POV would still look very similar based on just that research and ignoring the stuff about deficiencies."

I mentioned some of those mental health/trauma/character marker 'reference' points for Nathan in those tags. I've done a lot of reading into these topics and refer to them time to time whenever I get more into a Nathan's POV chapter where these things get more relevant. There's a bunch of old posts about my research on this blog too if you scroll down... forever hahah! (Go to the Archive and scroll all the way down to November 2019, that way you should be able to skim over most of the text posts that have some of my research. There's more hidden behind a few of the photo posts so you'll have to scroll through a bit more if you want to find everything😅)

I haven't really identified or "diagnosed" Nathan with anything specific, as that didn't really feel necessary nor even right to me. I looked into what his type of childhood experiences etc. could lead up to in adulthood and how they could possibly present themselves, and started building his story around that, trying to 'match' the psychology with his experiences. Sometimes I've also flipped the script the other way; After learning about a 'symptom' described in the research, I've introduced it for Nathan's character, and after that also included the circumstances that would've/could've led to him exhibiting that symptom. Often I also just wing it lmao; my writing is not medical information even though I do try to research a lot. It's all fiction, but with a psychology / self-help like twist? Or something.

Here's some of the research points for Nathan's character building:

C-PTSD = Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

Emotional Flashbacks

CEN = Childhood Emotional Neglect | This was a big character source!

OCD = Obsessive Compulsive Disorder | Nathan has some tendencies

4Fs – Fight, Flight, Freeze, and Fawn Trauma/Stress responses | Nathan's character is built around the Freeze type (in his childhood situation, the other Fs weren't really an option for him; couldn't fight back, couldn't leave, couldn't change the situation by behaving 'well')

General Anxiety

Social Anxiety

(Self) Isolation | I also read about Hikikomori, and later about the effects of the pandemic Lockdowns and how those have been affecting us.

Chronic Shame

Mother Wound

etc.

Hope that's helpful if this was what you meant! Thank you again, I'm so glad you've liked my writing xx

[iattachtooeasilytocartoons]

You can't say "I could list my top 5 extinct animals" and then not list it

Hell list as many tops as you want I'm curious!

omg okay okay okay

extinct -

1. Quetzalcoatlus - they’re the size of giraffes and they FLEW.

2. any type of titanosaur - saw the one in the ANHM and maybe cried a little

3. dilophosaurus - even though the frills were probably not real, i still love them, also seen one of their skulls in person and it is beautiful

4. baryonyx - this is entirely because of camp cretaceous i will not lie

5. Quaggas - just found out about them today, they’re a subspecies of zebras that went extinct in 1878 and they’re currently trying to bring them back

i’m also gonna rank my cephalopods bc i can

5. Squid - love em, just kinda boring other than the giant squid

4. Nautilus - They’re beautiful, others just rank higher

3. Ammonites - Extinct, i have two ammonite fossils, one full and another split into two halves

2. Cuttlefish - They use their chromatophores (the color changing cells) to hypnotize their prey along with camouflage, i highly recommend searching it up it’s so interesting

1. OCTOPUS - boring, i know, but they’re INSANE. i mean, they can fit through any hole their beak can fit through because they’re the only cephalopod without a shell, they camouflage not just with color, but also with texture and movements! they can looks like rock, anemone, kelp floating by, and other animals. plus they’re so fucking smart, they learned patterns and after like two days of being exposed to it could mimick a checkerboard pattern, even though that doesn’t occur in nature. that shows that their camouflage isn’t innate, it’s LEARNED

[brown-little-robin]

get loved, nerd

hello.

commentary in the tags. it is slightly negative, so please feel free to simply scroll on if that's not for you!

[rocketonthemoon]

aquarius and 3h ??

Do you consider yourself an antisocial or social person: hmmm tricky! I'm very good at interacting with people and it comes very naturally to me but my anxiety often makes it so I don't have the energy or don't want to go out and meet people. But I guess I would say "social" because I do actually enjoy talking with people.

What are some of the topics you like to talk about most: Probably women's soccer and superheros? I like talking about them both in a "normal" setting and also in a setting where I allow myself to be nerdy lol

[classyrbf]

thinking about jerking off nerd!gojo with your tits in his dorm room. You couldn’t care less for the loser, forced to have him as a tutor because you were failing your chem classes and needed an easy way out of your parents bitching at you. Quite literally you’ve gotten tired of hearing him talk and talk about stupid elements, formulas and equations because you’d rather much see the look on his face when he’s about to cum and hear how he sounds when he’s begging.

So that’s how you ended up on your knees in front of him, shirt unbuttoned and your tits covered in his pre cum, his thick and veiny cock pulsing between the two mounds of flesh as you move it up and down his sensitive shaft. His breath hitches, cheeks flushed a bright red, hands shaking as he struggling to push his glasses back up only for them to slide back down. “F-fuck,” he so sweetly whimpers, licking his dry lips. He loves the way you’re looking up at him, like you’re staring into his soul while simultaneously taking it. His heart pounds against his chest, relishing in the feeling of your soft skin hugging his aching cock, your warm tits only giving him an idea of what your pussy might feel like.

“Nngh, oh f-fuck…we’re…supposed to be…studying,” he managers to croak out through his pathetic moans and whimpers. His sucks in a breath, eyes rolling back when you go even faster, the sound of wet flesh smacking against each other makes the perverted part of his brain go into overdrive. He’s so fucking close.

“Awe, but don’t you wanna cum, Toru?” You teasingly ask, watching the way his throbbing red tip leaks another bead of precum only adding to the lubrication. The nickname alone drives Gojo crazy. He fists the sheets below him, jaw slack, a dazed look in his eyes. “We’ll make a deal, yeah? I’ll let you cum and do this as many times as you want as long as you do my chem work for me.” You smile, holding your tits tighter. “Deal?”

“Ok, ok, ok.” He ferociously nodded, biting down on his bottom lip. “I wanna cum so badly, please.” He let out a ragged breath, falling back on the bed as his body began twitching, hips jolting upward to create more friction. Just in mere seconds, ropes of sticky, hot cum shot up, landing on your tits. “Shit, shit! Ah, ah, nngh!” Gojo’s eyes rolled back. This feels like the most he’s ever came in his life. His legs began to shake the longer his orgasm lasts, groans and whimpers escaping his throat, filling the small room. His raspy breaths fall short, finally coming down from his high. He can barely even think straight now.

“God, you made such a mess!” You huff, looking down at your coated tits.

“Oh, uh—I’m sorry!” Gojo quickly sits up, panicking as he searches around for something to help you clean up. He swiftly hands you one of his shirts, handing it to you. You snatch it from his hands, wiping up every last drop of cum before tossing his shirt to the side. “Are you…um—”

“I gotta go.” You stand up, buttoning your shirt. “Thanks for agreeing to the deal.” You lean over, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Gojo watches as you leave his dorm room without a care in the world, acting like you didn’t just milk him dry with your tits. At least he has something to look forward to every few days now.

[forhyune]

‧ ❆ ˚ everything has changed (besides myself)・l.f.

— you spend three years loving him, six months losing him, and four hours waiting for him to get the hell out of your house. but the human heart is more stubborn than you know.

words・5.4k

pairing・lee felix x gn!reader

genres・babysitter!au, girldad!lix, nobody look at me, toothrotting fluff, more angst than originally intended tbh, exes to lovers, hurt/comfort, happy ending yayyy, non-linear storyline

warnings・cousin has a korean name and experiences one (1) minor head bump, mc is temporarily heartbroken and experiences one (1) breakdown

playlist・house song by searows・glad by tori kelly・let's pretend by del water gap・you were good to me by jeremy zucker

a/n・hiiii my loves, i'm so unbelievably excited to bring u my first contribution to my and @astraystayyh's collaboration, "winter falls" ♡ every time i write for our ray of sunshine i'm reminded of how thankful i am to love him. this fic ruined me. hope it does the same to you (smile)

I. everything

“One day,” you muttered to the toddler sitting on your shoulders, “you’ll experience something deeply, irreversibly humbling, and I’ll be there to witness your downfall.”

Byeol responded to this with an unbothered babble. She then gathered two handfuls of your hair and yanked using far too much force to be biologically possible.

You folded like a lawn chair. “Mother—!”

Oh, that word was not suitable for button-sized ears.

“—oh, my dear mother, why? Why me?”

Technically speaking, your aunt should’ve been the target of your lamentations, but all she did was produce the child presently steering you around the kitchen like you were her own personal bumper car. Your own mother was the one who volunteered you to watch said child during the first weekend of your winter break. Only for an hour until the babysitter arrives, she’d said (raising her voice, so as to be heard over your groaning).

You adored Byeol. She made scarily accurate chipmunk sounds and possessed an immobilizing fear of grapes. She bust out a dance move before she took her first steps. The girl could have you floored with laughter without being able to say more than three words at a time. Still, this was far from how you imagined onsetting your desperately-needed few weeks off. Not to mention it was now half past three; your shift should’ve ended two minutes ago.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Byeol emitted an excited onomatopoeia like a golden retriever detecting the mailman. Your reaction wasn’t too far off; you swiveled your head in the sound’s direction, sang out “coming!” in a delighted vibrato, and twirled into the foyer, your hands around Byeol’s ankles anchoring her in place.

You cracked open the door and found yourself face-to-face with Byeol’s babysitter. The freckles scattered across his high cheekbones and sloping nose seemed to you like they were imprinted by the sun itself. His hair was dark, falling just shy of pitch black, and long, ending an inch or so below pierced ears. A few misbehaving strands rested over his forehead but did little to obstruct your view of his eyes: profoundly brown and pointed at either end, like poinsettia petals.

He was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. You felt your skin warm, your heart flip. You opened your mouth. 

Then Byeol hit her head against the vertical edge of the front door, loud enough for it to echo.

The panic that seized you in that moment was truly unlike anything you’d experienced before. You caught one glimpse of the stranger’s expression (as mortified as you expected), and then you were seeing your own epitaph on the inside of your eyelids, engraved with the four words “Death by Furious Aunt.”

“Was that—?” The man sputtered, and his voice was rich and full and accented and just as breathtaking as the rest of him and holy fucking shit now was not the time.

“My fucking god,” you whispered, completely forgetting to watch your mouth. In a hurry, you swung Byeol off your shoulders and dropped to a knee. You leaned in close to examine her reddening forehead and cradled the plush of her cheek; she blinked at you a few times, fascinated by the sudden sight of your face again.

“You okay, Byeollie? That hurt a lot, didn’t it? I’m so, so sorr—”

Byeol started to laugh.

Not laugh as in those little chuckles she let out randomly, like there was something inherently amusing about the kitchen cupboard, but laugh as in a boisterous, resounding guffaw, like a great-uncle at a family gathering off one too many martinis.

This rendered you speechless for the second time in under a minute. Then, you lifted your other hand to cradle her other cheek, her face now sandwiched between your palms, and squeezed.

“I broke my cousin,” you whispered, your voice was so deathly serious that the man in the doorway had to stifle a laugh of his own.

His knee brushed against your shin as he sat down to your left, folding his legs into a criss-cross. You could discern notes of lavender and orange blossoms in the delicate cologne that clung to him, perforated the air and your mind both.

“Can I?” He asked.

“Please.”

Carefully, you shifted Byeol’s small frame towards him; the manner in which he accepted her was so smooth and practiced that there was no doubt in your mind you were watching a professional at work. He settled her on his right knee, then dipped his head to look her in the eye.

“Hi, princess,” he cooed with a dulcet smile. He curved his pointer finger, dusted it beneath her chin. “Why are you laughing, silly girl?”

Oh.

Oh.

You might just continue your lineage after all.

“Y/N-ie,” she answered, still tittering.

He looked to you with a slight tilt to his head, and you nodded affirmatively. He murmured a quiet ah. “What about Y/N-ie?”

Somehow you sensed that she was about to embarrass you and pinched the bridge of your nose—in preparation.

“P-pretty.” I knew it!

The man let out the laugh he’d been holding back since earlier and tapped on her button nose, lowered his voice to a whisper that he knew you could hear.

“I agree.” His eye glinted playfully, matching his tone. “And so are you.” The bashful, high-pitched giggle she responded with sounded eerily similar to your inner monologue.

The two of you spent a little longer on the floor of the foyer making sure Byeol was okay, and then the girl upped and made a mad dash for the kitchen while yelling something about a horse, and if that didn’t confirm that she was completely fine (albeit incredibly strange) you didn’t know what would. You found her rolling around the carpet in the room adjacent to the kitchen and left her to her own devices while you and her babysitter fixed up a small fruit plate for her afternoon snack. No grapes, of course.

He told you he usually went by Felix, but that his Korean name was probably easier for Byeol to pronounce, with its easier consonants and whatnot. You asked which name he preferred, and he said either or. He was a recent college graduate, a year older than you, who was determined to spend at least the next two years doing nothing but working out his future. He accepted the part-time babysitting position to pick up some light cash in the process.

“And ‘cause I’m good with kids,” he added, splitting apart a tangerine. “So I’ve been told.”

“Oh, you definitely are,” you said, plating a couple blueberries. “You melted her earlier.”

“She melted me. She’s so cute. And you’re so cute with her—I didn’t realize I was robbing someone of their job.”

You turned your head to regard the tot and let out a helpless laugh. Byeol tired of being a human lint roller a few minutes ago and had since moved on to staring aimlessly out the window.

“She doesn’t take me seriously, and I can’t stay mad at her,” you mused. “I would be a nightmare as her babysitter, trust me. She’s all yours.”

Felix held out two overturned handfuls of tangerine slices, to which you quickly moved the platter across the counter. He didn’t respond to your comments as he placed them on the outermost edge so that they looked like rays of sun emanating from a multicolored core. Adorable.

“Will you be around much, then?”

You made eye contact with him across the counter. On his perfect face was a teasing smirk and a subtle blush. Ah, you’d been mistaken, writing off his silence as concentration—he’d been contemplating how to best flirt with you.

“Y’know. In case I need any help teaching her cuss words,” he appended.

It was then your turn to flush a couple shades darker. “Please don’t tell her mom.”

“I won’t, I won’t.” He walked around the perimeter of the counter until he was directly in front of you; the lavender and orange blossoms returned. “On one condition.”

Not even one hour on the job and he was already trying to blackmail you? You respected it. “Which is?”

As he shifted some of his weight onto the counter, something too shifted in his smile, giving it a quality that was every bit as hopeful as it was gentle.

It was then, while Lee Felix was looking at you like that, all dilated pupils and long lashes, when you predicted that he would one day break your heart. You predicted you’d let him.

“Be around,” he said simply.

It wasn’t a question or a demand. In hindsight, you think it was more akin to a birthday wish, ill-fated the moment it hit the air.

II. has changed

Felix pulled Byeol’s hood up and over her ears, and you realized he was right about the winter coat getting too small for her—she looked like a bowling pin. You muffled your snort into your scarf.

“And what was the last rule again?” He asked, his breath puffing into the frigid afternoon in tiny clouds. Byeol sighed like she knew anything of the world’s woes.

“No barking at other kids,” came the sad reply, but a toothy smile spread across her face anyways when Felix nudged the underside of her chin. She loved when he did that.

“That’s my girl,” he hummed. “I believe in you.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” you said, and the wounded look Felix shot you was like you’d just confessed to hating kittens. “Come on—she doesn’t have a good track record. I’m allowed to have my doubts.”

“I dunno what that means,” Byeol announced with admirable frankness, and then turned around and scurried down the porch stairs, scattering fun-sized footprints across the snowy streets.

As you braced yourself to follow her, Felix stopped you with a slip of his hand into the pocket of your puffer. His fingers first aligned with yours inside the insulated nylon, then chased the spaces in between. He leaned in close, placed a kiss on the apple of your cheek, another on the corner of your mouth. This brought a helpless smile to your face, too. He had a way of melting you and Byeol both.

“It’ll be fine,” he soothed. “A little barking never hurt anybody, baby.”

“Lix, last time somebody called animal control.”

“Ermm—a little barking never hurt most people.”

That winter, Byeol was four, and your relationship with Felix was about to turn two.

Funnily enough, you’d never figured out when your anniversary actually was. Felix wagered it was the day you met, as he knew he loved you the instant he saw you; you insisted it was months later, since it took both of you an entire winter break of open-ended flirting and informal dating to label yourselves for real. Imagine your horror when he showed up outside your college apartment on the last day of your fall semester, arms overflowing with flowers and gift bags brimming with your favorite things, the phrase “happy anniversary” on his lips three months before you perceived it to be. You’ve celebrated both days ever since.

You loved the ocean growing up. You didn’t get to visit it often, but when you did you would run up to the water’s very edge so that your toes dipped into the cold—and just stand there, observing, absorbing, until even the seam of your lips and the ends of your eyelashes were studded with crystals of seasalt. You found endless tranquility in its rhythmic whispers and unspeakable comfort in its oscillating waves, guaranteed to return after momentary departure.

Your fascination stemmed from the folktale your mother used to read to you before bed, about a sun goddess creating the earth. In the story, every component of nature was one of the sun’s beloved children. She allegedly loved them all, but you suspected the ocean was her favorite; it was obvious, the way she twinkled off its ebbing surface, the way every minuscule spot of light looked to you like a handprint of hers, left behind by eons of endless doting.

Felix reminded you of the ocean. Every day you grew more certain that you wanted to drown in him, to let his resonant voice and kind eyes sweep and keep you inside his depths. It was never salt that he pressed into your skin but warmth, stamped and sealed with caring hands and cautious lips. His deep whispers promised eternal love and temporary ecstasy and everything in between. You knew he would come back to you even if stranded in a different realm. And there was no questioning the goddess’ favoritism, either. The freckles on his face mirrored the sun’s very spots like an homage to his creator.

You didn’t love the ocean growing up, no. You had never loved before Felix.

The park was busy when the three of you arrived. Byeol and Felix recognized a few families as your aunt’s neighbors and hurried over to say hello. Your social butterflies. 

“I’ll be over there,” you called after them.

Felix stopped in his tracks, looked over his shoulder. It had started snowing lightly on your walk there, and snowflakes now sat atop his sable locks. He looked like a painting. “You okay?”

“Yes, yes.” You shooed them off. “Don’t worry about me. Go have fun.” 

With that, you withdrew to the sidelines, an unoccupied swingset adjacent to a baseball diamond covered in frost. 

Your baby cousin was brawny for her age, which you could’ve seen coming with how she was hauling at your hair two years ago, but even she couldn’t yet terrorize the playground without assistance. Who better to make her partner in crime than her favorite Bokkie? You couldn’t help but giggle as the two revolved around each other for the better part of an hour, Byeol’s smile colossal as she frolicked every which way, Felix’s smile worried but hopelessly endeared as he followed behind. He never let her leave his shadow. She never tried to.

It always did something to you, seeing how good Felix was with Byeol, how good he was to her. But it was there on those icy swings that you experienced a moment of strange clarity, like you’d broken the fourth wall of your own story. You could feel the winds of change blowing your hair across your shoulders. You were aware of time’s trickling from the gaps of your fingers like liquid mercury.

Your laughter dissipated to a bittersweet smile; your smile mellowed to dewy eyes. It seemed like just yesterday when Byeol was small enough to sit on your shoulders and Felix stepped into your kitchen for the first time. Now, she was scaling a rope ladder with the celerity of a crazed monkey while Felix hovered a wary hand by her waist. The muted sunlight caught on the silver rings he wore, particularly the thin, bright one on his middle finger. You had one just like it, adorning the same place. 

The last two years were the happiest of your life. Why couldn’t you remember where they went?

Lavender and orange blossoms announced your boyfriend’s arrival—that, and the sigh of fatigue that he expelled as he dropped into the swing next to you.

“I’m not cut out for this anymore.”

Byeol’s neighbor had temporarily relieved Felix of his post by taking her and his son to test out the seesaw, and you wouldn’t be surprised if the whole town could hear her enthusiastic shrieking.

“You know how people walk their dogs?” You mused. “Some dogs walk their people. She’s one of them.”

For a moment, he could only stare in disbelief at the grin creeping across your face; then, he groaned in a way that could only mean you were right on the money. You gave his thigh a sympathetic pat.

“You’re whipped, my love. It’s okay.”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, suddenly perking up. “Hey, no barking though.”

“Are we considering that a win nowadays?”

“Do you see animal control anywhere?”

“Good point.”

Felix monitored your expression during the quiet interval that ensued—saw through the melancholy curve of your lips, the pensive slant of your gaze. There was a red tinge to the whites of your eyes that hadn’t been there before.

You saw him reach for you in your periphery. His fingers brushed a lock of hair behind the shell of your ear, remained there for three slow heartbeats, and then lifted away.

“Angel,” he murmured. “Talk to me.”

You shook your head. “It’s silly.”

“It’s not.” Not even ten seconds after the last time, he reached for you again, now to take your hand and bring it to his lap. “You know it’s not.”

“It’s just that—”

Felix thumbed over the ridges of your knuckles, his touch so gentle that it could’ve unraveled a chrysalis; it certainly unraveled you. You took a stabilizing breath.

“I wish could recognize my own happiness in the moment,” you sighed, “not just in retrospect. That way, even when it comes to an end, I’d still be able to look back and say with confidence that I was happy once. I’d like that, I think.”

His brows knit together as he processed your words, and, the next thing you knew, he left his swing trembling in his sudden absence and his trenchcoat became a black blur in the cold air.

Felix rested his elbows atop your knees as he knelt in front of you, cradled your face in his hands. He was achingly beautiful always, but you truly felt your breath swiped from your lungs at the new proximity of his ethereal features: petal-shaped eyes, wind-bitten cheeks, coral cupid’s bow. A painting.

“That’s easy enough,” Felix hummed. “How do you feel right now?”

You had zero agency in the smile this brought to your face. You wrapped your hands around his wrists, your answer quick, thoughtless. “Happy.”

He pressed his lips to the space between your eyes. “And now?”

“Happier.”

He pressed his lips to the curve of your jaw. “What about now?” 

“Even happier.”

His gaze flickered to his final destination, but you beat him to it, sealing your mouth against his with urgency. The kiss that followed was so intensely loving that your head went fuzzy. How was it that you felt his adoration for you even in his pliant lips, his velvet tongue? You ran your fingers through the part of his hair. You loved when you could feel the locks flutter back into place afterwards.

“GET A ROOM!”

You and Felix pulled away from one another, wearing matching expressions of bewilderment. Byeol was approximately five Newtons away from soaring off into the stratosphere, her legs jostling around as she clung to her seat for dear life. It seemed your neighbor had a very aggressive way of seesaw-maneuvering. It seemed your cousin had a very aggressive vocabulary.

“Where did she learn—?” The two of you began in unison, then shot your heads back towards each other.

“It had to be you.”

“Outrageous—you’re the Australian here!”

“You cuss like one too!”

“Because of you!”

“So we’re just lying now?”

“Well, yes.”

Felix cracked a smile—and then the two of you were dying of laughter, his right eye squinting closed and your forehead thudding onto his shoulder. You hardly managed to get out your next words. “We have to do something about her vernacular, don’t we?”

“Oh, badly,” he replied. “Badly.”

After you expended your giggles, you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, blissful, glowing. “Thank you, baby.”

“What for?”

“Being my happiness.”

He angled your face back to his and kissed you once more, whispering I love you like it wasn’t enough that it graced your ears; he needed it embossed upon your flesh in permanent ink.

Your intermingled breaths floated up into the air like flare signals over a capsizing boat. Here marks the time we were happiest.

III. (besides myself)

He’s blonde.

That’s the first thing you notice when you see your ex-boyfriend on your aunt’s porch: the slightly off-white color of his silky tresses, grown out longer than you’ve ever seen, pushed off his forehead and tucked behind his ears.

It’s not the only thing you notice, of course. His face has thinned ever so slightly, the shadows thrown over his features by the streetlights behind him particularly opaque. His outfit is glorious, expensive, with the black blazer and white dress shirt, the top two buttons undone, the pendant of a silver necklace resting between toned collarbones. His hands are almost overflowing with what must be gifts for your family. It’s impossible to discern all of them from this distance, but you know the bouquet of white poinsettias is for your mom, the batch of brownies doused in sprinkles and icing for Byeol.

But the hair is where your gaze returns, because tucked among the platinum strands are black roots: millimeters of the color you grew to adore, peeking out as if trying to catch a glimpse of you, too.

You’re so occupied with this game of “I spy” that you don’t notice the rampant footsteps coming up behind you. Your six-year-old cousin collides with the back of your leg head-on and nearly topples you like a bowling pin.

“Is it him?” She asks breathlessly.

You come this close to berating her as you steady yourself against the wall—what did I say about treating human beings like couch cushions? But you look down to see her chin resting on the side of your thigh, her eager eyes shining so brightly that she puts her own namesake to shame. Your scolding tirade dissolves on your tongue like popping candy.

You simply sigh instead. “Yes, but—”

“BOKKIE!” She shrieks, and Felix’s head snap upwards at the sound of her voice. His tender smile melts some of the frost laminating your heart.

You crack open the door, making eye contact with Felix for the first time in six months.

“Put everything down. Quickly,” you whisper, and he obeys right away, alarmed by the urgency in your voice. A wise choice.

The last present has hardly touched down upon the wooden planks when Byeol wriggles through the doorway and charges towards Felix like an angered toro. He swivels at her bright holler of his name, lowers himself to a squat just barely in time to catch her in his embrace. The delighted laugh that leaves his mouth as he staggers backwards sounds like the sun itself; you feel lost in orbit hearing it again.

“Bokkie,” Byeol murmurs, her voice muffled in the dip of his shoulder, by the tightening of her arms around his neck.

“Hi, princess.” He kisses her temple, presses his nose against her hair. “Whoa, you’ve grown strong, haven’t you?”

“She takes taekwondo classes now,” you hum from above, and the shock in his face asks the very question that your poignant smile confirms. Yes, because of you.

Felix pulls away, cocoons her cheeks with cherishing hands. “Is that true?”

She bobs her head. “I want to be like Bokkie.”

And his eyes go impossibly, terribly soft, like he’s gazing at the horizon itself. The sight twists the knife in your gut and yanks on your tangled heartstrings. It’s all because of you.

“And kick some ass!” Byeol adds, knocking you out of your sentimental spiral. You clap a defeated hand to your forehead. Felix falls over himself. So much for fixing her vernacular.

A few minutes later, Byeol is pirouetting towards the kitchen with a couple of Felix’s smaller presents in her arms, all too happy to be of help. You linger behind as Felix takes off his shoes, your cousin’s departure leaving the two of you alone in the dim foyer.

Felix straightens. The two of you come face to face. The air hangs so heavily with unspoken words that you half expect it to start dripping.

“Hi,” he says.

You nearly laugh at the cruelty of it. The man you were certain you’d grow old with greeting you like you’ve been forced to sit next to each other on the first day of school.

“Hi,” you answer. “You look—”

The two of you say this last part in unison; old habits die hard.

“—nice,” you finish.

“—beautiful,” Felix breathes, his eyes flicking off to the side abashedly.

Your throat constricts, pulse quickens. Says you. If he was a painting before, you think he’s a sculpture now, his perfection as tangible as if hand-chiseled by the greatest artists of old. As clear as the sun’s beloved sea. You can’t tell if it’s his stylist’s doing or simply a product of him growing into himself.

“Thank you,” you reply quietly. “And thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for inviting me. I didn’t think you would.”

“I didn’t do it for me.”

No part of you wants to see the subtle wince that crosses his face at your statement, so you turn your gaze to his jewelry-laden hands instead. 

For a split second, you swear you see the same promise ring settled in the same place on his middle finger. You realize what you’re really looking at only after blinking the phosphenes from your eyes: the thin tanline that it left behind. The realization fixes and destroys you all at once.

Then, Byeol starts wailing about Felix’s whereabouts like an actress hired to spare you from this very interaction.

“Her Highness beckons.” The smile you manage feels like drying cement. “Shall we?”

On your way to the kitchen, you notice the cologne emanating from his person smells only of citrus—no lavender. Its absence steadies you, deludes you into believing that it’s a stranger you’ve just let inside.

That illusion lasts for exactly three hours and forty-eight minutes.

It’s clear that the breakup has your family walking on eggshells, but it’s even clearer that their adoration for Felix has never wavered. You’ve never resigned yourself to the restroom so many times in one night, only to stand with your back against the door, unmoving, unfeeling, listening to the low thrum of his voice through the mahogany. Chatting comfortably with your aunt, bursting into laughter with Byeol, reminding you of the time you considered him family too. 

With every glance you toss your reflection, you discover new cracks in your composure. Has he noticed them yet?

After you come out of the restroom for the sixth time, you notice a light spilling from Byeol’s bedroom into the hallway. A low Australian accent graces your ears, followed closely by a tinkling giggle, and your body nudges you towards the sounds before your head can intervene.

You give your cousin’s door a feather-light nudge. It opens a few centimeters more and grants you vision of Byeol tucked into bed, Felix knelt at her side. Both of their faces are illuminated by the flaxen light of the nearby lamp.

Felix brushes her choppy bangs out of her eyes, a teasing smile on his lips. “Can I tell you a secret, princess?”

This wrests from her another fluttering laugh; you swear he’s the only person in the whole world who makes her shy. “Sure!”

“Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

“Promise.”

“Not even Snernard.”

“M’kay.”

“Or Bong.”

“M’kay.”

“Especially not Trash the chicken. I don’t trust him.”

“I know, I know, I won’t!” Byeol huffs, and Felix laughs at her outburst. You also snort into your sleeve, amused (and deeply perplexed) by your cousin’s plushie-naming conventions.

“Thank you,” he hums, and he lowers his voice enough that you don’t catch the next thing he says.

All you perceive is the way that Byeol reacts. She sits up straight in bed, resting her back against her pillow. Her features rearrange themselves slowly, awfully, like the spread of cherry-flavored cough syrup over one’s sore throat, into the furthest thing from her trademark too-big-for-her-face smile.

Your stomach plummets to your fucking ankle.

“Why?” Her voice sounds microscopic.

“Well, do you remember what Bokkie’s dream job is?”

Byeol considers for a moment. “Being a singer?”

“That’s right.” He runs a knuckle over the hill of her cheek, the action achingly familiar, immensely fond. “And I found a place where I can do that, but it’s very, very far away. I won’t be able to come home very often.”

The telltale signs appear as he speaks; the final word sets them into motion. A tear streaks down the side of Byeol’s face. It hardly leaves the corner of her eye before it’s being intercepted by a doting swipe of his thumb.

“No,” she replies.

“You've grown so much.” Another tear falls. He wipes away that one, too. “You’re growing so well.”

“No,” she repeats.

“You’ve stolen the light of every star in the sky already. The whole galaxy will be yours someday, sweetheart. I know it.”

“I don’t want it,” she whispers. “I want my Bokkie.”

His vision starts to blur also. “But you don’t need me anymore.”

“We do.”

You know the precise moment Felix’s heart pauses in his chest because it is when yours does too.

“We?” He repeats, and she nods.

“Your dream job is being a singer.” Now Byeol is the one to reach for Felix, her delicate hand cupping the curve of his cheek. Her fingers are too small to catch his tears, she tries anyways—

“But what is your dream?”

It becomes too much for you.

You turn around. A choked sob escapes from behind the hand you have sealed to your mouth, causing both heads inside Byeol’s room to whirl in your direction. You don’t care that you nearly break both of your ankles beelining up the stairs; you only care to get the fuck out of that hallway.

You topple into your room, close the door behind you, and crumble.

Your quivering hands find purchase around your folded legs; your eyes squeeze shut against your knees. Rivulets of tears cascade over your shuddering lips like ruptured barrels of wine, left in the cellars of your soul to age, to spoil.

You never wanted your grief to see the light of day. Pouring your regret over every sidewalk wouldn’t change the past. Splashing your heartache across every wall like the world’s most fucked-up mural wouldn’t alleviate the pain of losing him. He was the one who left, but you were the one who’d asked him to. Feeling, yearning, mourning. Those always seemed so futile.

But you’re not just crying in this moment, rocking back and forth on your bedroom floor; you’re bleeding, the wounds you never treated igniting all at once as if exposed to vinegar, leaving you writhing and gasping in their wake. How you wish they’d been able to heal sooner. Maybe then seeing Felix tonight wouldn’t have splintered your soul like dropped porcelain.

Your door clicks open. Your breath hitches in your throat with a quiet scratch. The gulp of oxygen you intake tastes of oranges.

Every night before you fall asleep, you still think of the last time you visited the sea. The cool sand chafing against your toes, the coarse winds slapping your hair against your face hard enough to sting. The weather was terrible (you neglected to check the forecast before making the drive), but when you stepped onto the embittered coastline, you took what felt like the first real breath of your young adulthood. The fog melded to your skin as if melting a blindfold away, showing you the world in its entirety.

You return to that beach when Felix pulls you into his chest, and there’s no fog this time. Just the faint smell of lavender and your ocean, guaranteed to return after momentary departure.

Feverishly, Felix presses his lips to your temple, the apple of your cheek, rests his forehead against yours. Brokenly, he utters, “it’s you.”

You can feel his shaking in every part of him: the tickling breath, the fluttering eyelashes, the unsteady hand that reaches into the pocket of his blazer. You graze your fingers over his jaw, an attempt to steady his careening heart, only to lose yours in the fray also when he produces a small red box of unmistakable dimensions.

“God, it’s you. It always has been, always will be. Anything can change except for this.” His voice disintegrates as he speaks. You disintegrate as you listen. “Everything has changed besides myself.”

Felix leans back in to pepper kisses across the expanse of your wet features, then brings himself to one fated knee. He flicks open the lid. You don’t even spare the ring a glance; you don’t doubt its perfection. All you care to look at is the love of your life, deliquesced to adoration and tearwater.

“Thank you for being around, my dream.” His soft smile tends to your scars like ambrosia. “Will you let me do the same?”

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[novaimperia]

★ popular girl!reader distracting nerd!nanami during a study session

“p-please don’t. you have to pay -ngh- attention,” nanami mutters, hands waving in the air frantically, unsure where to land. 

under the desk, you mouth at his cock – he’s being so boring, reading off the textbook and bossing you around. so, of course you had to take matters into your own hand, or rather, into your mouth, to liven things up. otherwise you would have lost your mind in boredom. “no, i want to have some fun.”

“but you promised me that after i -ah s-slow down- after i ate you out you’d work hard for an hour.” the nerd’s mouth is saying no but his cock is throbbing yes in morse code. he really ought to be more honest, especially when you can tell he showered right before you came; his hair is slightly wet, his skin supple and smooth, smelling of cocoa butter, and his cock of lavender soap. 

mouth full of his heavy balls, you tease, “i am working hard, kento. you think milking your pathetic cock is easy? hmm?”

nanami flushes a pretty pink, teeth biting into the plump of his bottom lip, desperate to stop the groans and moans from leaving his mouth. unable to help himself, his hand flies down to your hair and faces an internal battle: to push you away or to pull you down his long length until your nose is buried in the blond hair at his base. 

“this is -oh, f-fudge- unfair. ngh! i-if you fail the exam, you’ll -hah- get mad at me.”

that’s true. last time you failed, you didn’t speak to him for a week, choosing to ignore him on campus, and you certainly never let him touch you, not for quick hookups in the janitor’s closet or in the toilet stalls, not for a handjob in his car or some pussy eating behind a tree in the fields behind the science labs. honestly, you weren’t even planning on torturing him like that – you knew it was your fault to begin with – but he gets so needy and pitifully sensitive when you finally give him attention, almost as if he craved to be punished, to earn you and your pussy. 

nanami would rut his softening cock into your pussy well after he came, driving himself into oversensitivity until he’s shooting blanks and drooling all over your chest. he’d whimper your name over and over again, moaning about how he missed you, how he’s sorry and he’ll tutor you better so please don’t replace him. then, when you mercifully give him another chance as you push him back to sit on his face, he whines ‘thank you’ endlessly right against your clit.

in a lot of ways, it was actually a reward for him. 

you’re charitable like that. 

“ugh, shut up, nerd. hurry up and cum down my throat so you can eat me out again. if you do a good enough job, i’ll go through a practice paper with yo–mghm!.”

his hands shove your head down his cock, suffocating you and making you gag, eyes watering. hips thrusting up in unrhythmic pulses, nanami practically uses you like a fleshlight. when you give him these kinds of commands, it’s hard to tell whether he’s more pleased about you actually doing some studying or if he’s eager to have you sit on his face again. either way, you suppose, you’re both getting what you want. 

when he finally paints your throat white with his salty spend, you come to straddle him, pinching his chin. thoroughly pavlov’d, his jaw hangs wide enough for you to spit his own cum back into his mouth. he swallows. his eyes roll back. “hmm, you’ve been -hah- chewing cherry bubblegum again. you know what that does to me.”

“i don’t know what you mean, kenny baby.”

something begins to grow hard again beneath your ass. 

pathetic.