#i am so exhaused

[orangechickenpillow]

Jesus, double jaw survery recovery sucks

[sofoulandfairaday]

i can't decide which i like more:

the idea - very much canonical and in the author's original concept and view of magic - of the dark arts taking a toll on one's exterior and looks. tom riddle sacrificing his beauty willingly in the name of eternal life, black magic as something that innately corrupts. bellatrix escaping from azkaban with the barest vestiges of her ancient beauty. going from one of the most beautiful women in england to a shell of her former self and no amount of dark magic being able to fix it. and she just. doesn't care. goes from pretty, proud and vain in her youth, to the feverish, fanatical glow harry sees in the department if mysteries. finally she sheds the petal of the rose - look like the innocent flower, her master had once said - and only the thorns remain. the parallel with voldemort himself. the idea that they like each other better now, the only ones to like their respective new appearances better. bellatrix because she can taste the power radiating off him, because she knows how resentful he was of his old face. (oh, he's never said anything explicitly, he would rather be flayed alive than speak of his filthy muggle father to her, but she knew he didn't like himself, took no pride in his aesthetics, it was most unusual, really.) the dark lord because he's reminded of her sacrifice - she was the only one who didn't denounce him, who tried to find him - every time he looks at her. she gave up everything for him: her reputation, her family, her freedom, her health, her beauty, her youth.

or.

the horcruxes are an isolated case. not all prices to pay for power are physical. some dark magic sucks at your humanity, your emotional regulation, your empathy and gives back superficial little gifts. its roots are far from the deep anger, desperation to cling to life of an horcrux. these are ancient witches' remedies to be the most envied in the village. the idea that rotten cores hide behind the prettiest faces. and bellatrix was always vain, always took immense pride in her beauty, her black, pure features. when she escapes from azkaban she tries everything in her power to be herself once again. she still drips with obsession but gradually regains all of her beauty too. cruel people can still be beautiful. gorgeous people can still be inhuman. and yet there is something so human about a woman making her way through the ranks of a very militarised group and still caring so much about what she looks like, still having insecurities, being preoccupied with mundane things like age and decay - and hating it because he would hate it, he hates weakness, and still not being able to help herself. the dark lord was always a collector of shiny things, was he not?

[doodlboy]

I think being dissected would fix me tbh

[mylasttwobraincellsandi]

Being in college means only getting serotonin from Grammarly sending me an email every week telling me how productive I was and getting less than 10% plagiarism on fucking Turnitin.

[harrylovesspaezle]

..

[naturesreject]

…

[knifebucket]

I'm so tired that I'm nauseous dude that "healing from trauma makes you exhausted" bit is no fucking joke

[confused-queer-talks]

.

[mncxbe]

bsd men and what they do for christmas

𝑫𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒊, 𝑪𝒉𝒖𝒖𝒚𝒂, 𝑭𝒖𝒌𝒖𝒄𝒉𝒊, 𝑺𝒊𝒈𝒎𝒂 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: sfw/nsfw/ severe brainrot♡

𝑫𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒊 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

can I just start by saying that this man has never celebrated Christmas properly so he's so excited to spend time with you

Dazai prefers to keep things simple: homemade dinner and then watching a movie

you're supposed to open the presents in the morning but he isn't patient enough. the moment he sees them under the tree you so kindly decorated a few days ago he has the biggest smile on his face

"come on bella you don't seriously want to wait until morning. how could you do this to me? you know how curious I am"

you end up opening the gifts that night. he's gonna loves whatever you get him really but his heart literally melts if you knit him a scarf or write him a letter. dazai's a sucker for self-made gifts

the only appropriate way to show his gratitude is to bend you over and fuck you nice and slow, your face mushed in the cushy pillows on your shared bed as he takes you from behind

"there you go pretty girl. my, my I'm starting to think this pretty pussy of yours is my favourite gift so far"

you can bet he wears a santa hat

𝑪𝒉𝒖𝒖𝒚𝒂 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

he'd take you out to the most expensive restaurant in town for a proper meal

after that, if you find a rink that's open on Christmas eve he takes you ice skating (totally not an excuse for him to hold your hand)

once you get home you cuddle on the couch while watching a generic movie like Home Alone. it's always the classics I'm telling you

he has a fireplace!!! and insists on opening the gifts next to it

among other stuff, he gets you Christmas themed lingerie and makes you wear it in bed. cuz after all, you're the best gift he could ask for

forget about baking him sweets, the only dessert he wants is your pretty cunt. he's gonna eat you out for what seems like hours, making you cum on his tongue at least two or three times before he even thinks about fucking you

"shiit baby you look so pretty like this. you like it when I spoil you rotten don't ya? I bet you do- oh fuck yea cum f'me doll"

𝑭𝒖𝒌𝒖𝒄𝒉𝒊 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

hubby's busy even on holidays

he probably has to attend some obnoxious event and ofc you go as his plus one

he's gonna spend all evening sulking and complaining about how idiotic the whole party is

by the time you two get home he's too exhaused to do anything but you may be able to bribe him to stay awake for an hour or two with some gingerbread

can I just say he'd probably get you the nicest gifts? i'm 100% sure he has a good salary so he can afford whatever you want. expensive jewelery or skincare? sure, no problem. a stack of books with those pretty decorative covers? fine again

he probably gets a bit tipsy on mulled wine so be prepared to hear a silly yet lengthy love confession before bed

falls asleep before midnight but he's gonna make up for it in the morning if you catch my drift

𝑺𝒊𝒈𝒎𝒂 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

sweet baby's so anxious at first

he's never celebrated christmas before so he doesn't really know what to do. this whole idea is so new to him but he can't deny he loves spending time with you decorating the house

Sigma wants to try any tradition you may have; baking winter themed cookies, making crackers, watching a movie marathon

when it comes to gifts he doesn't really know what to get you so he ends up buying multiple things he thinks you'd like and he's so happy when you tell him you like them

cuddles cuddles cuddles all evening under a cushy blanket with a mug of hot chocolate in your hands

he'd look so cute wearing one of those reindeer headbands

if it's snowing, take him slow dancing in the snow or on a walk around town. he's gonna love the pretty christmas lights

[edgeray]

Hi there!

I just finish to read the rules for Arlecchino request, and I saw no specific illness/disease, so I will try to make my situation for everyone:

I have horrible knee pain to the point I'm close to faint because of it sometimes.

But to put it more accessible to everyone what about that:

Reader hurt themself during a mission but it was an intern injury, they hide it but Arlecchino noticed how they start walking weird and many other sign.. until Reader faint from the pain? How will Arlecchino react and what would she do?

Sorry if it disobey the rules and for any grammar mistake since English is not my first language ^^ (and I'm writing this while it's 12 am where I'm from ;/ )

Thank you if you are making this request, if not I still thank you for reading it until the end :)

I Am Fine in Your Arms

(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)

A/N - Hi, there anon! If you choose to request anon again, give yourself a name/emoji 🫶! I really appreciate you pertaining to my rules; not only do I want to make my x Reader's accessible to as many people, but I also don't want to misrepresent anyone or their experiences with that illness/condition especially since I myself most likely won't have them, so thanks for the consideration. I'm assuming by ‘intern injury’ you mean ‘internal injury,’ so that's what I'm writing based off. You're not breaking any of my rules but your concern is appreciated! Don't worry about it though. Your English is good, especially since it's not your first language :). Little bit rushed because I am tired and ti's 12AM. Thank you for your request! Content warnings / info - reader goes by ‘mother’ but gn! reader, semi-graphic details about injury, this weirdly had actual plot for some reason, 1.5k words

Although the vast majority of your duties was primarily serving the House of the Hearth and the Fourth Harbinger, as a member of the Fatui, it was mandatory for the Fatui to ensure you still held loyalties to the Tsaritsa. Typically, proof of your fidelity was through completing the occasional reconnaissance mission assigned to you every couple of months though this time you were given a different type of operation: direct action, specifically, assassination. 

Assassination wasn't necessarily your forte, but it was doable. In a few weeks, you'd stop scrubbing your hands incessantly in hopes of washing away the stained blood, and you would stop receiving dreams painted in red. At least, with reconnaissance, blood and violence could be avoided. Why you were assigned this particular assassination mission when there were much more suitable candidates, you could only assume. You had an inkling it had to do with some of the other Harbingers’ grudges and suspicions of your husband, and perhaps the chink in the Knave's impenetrable armor  would be you. Failure in this mission could quickly spiral into considerable consequences for you and Arlecchino, regardless if the designation was influenced by more untrustworthy Harbingers, so you couldn't afford to fail this anyways–not with how high profile this target was. 

You return to the House of the Hearth, splatters of blood still visible on your appearance despite your best attempts of cleaning up. At your arrival, some of the children rush to greet you, only to pause as they take in your exhausated form. You give them a weak smile, bending down and extending your arms to accept their eager embraces.

“M-mother!” the children exclaim as they swarm around you, their curious and anxious minds surely brimming with many questions. You hadn't told any of the children where you've gone to for the past few days, believing that there was no need to stir up such worries when the mission was going expectedly. You were wrong, however; no mission like the one they had given you should have been done alone, and yet the only one you could depend on was yourself and your vision. It was undeniably a test for you, and you had only scraped by with your life and the mission's success. Now, all you wanted to do was collapse in bed and hibernate for several weeks, your head filled with a dense fog and senses dulling.  

“Mother, there's blood on–” Barely able to hear the statement, you shake your head, dismissing the little girl's distress. “Don't worry, dear… it's not mine.”

With some effort, you pull away from the children and you hobble your way towards the living commons, your bruised ribs impelling pained grunts from you. 

“Someone…” you pant, placing your hand over your forehead. Leaning against the nearest wall, you shut your eyes, breathing in deeply as an attempt to relieve the ache. “Someone go get your Father.” 

Multiple feet scurry away after your command, but the remaining children around you overwhelm you with their burning questions of what they can do to help, what did you need, whether or not you needed medicine, and much more that you couldn't bother processing.  Gently, you push past them, making your way to you and Arlecchino's shared bedroom. 

“I'm sorry, children, I just need to lay down in private for a little bit, okay? Then I promise that I will be up soon, and we can make cookies. How does that sound?” You say to them in an effort to quell their anxiety and it works for the younger children. The older ones, however, you can tell they still carry some distress but they nod along for your sake.

Such good children. 

You enter your bedroom and shut the door, immediately peeling away your clothes caked in blood, not even bothering to go into your adjacent bathroom. After chucking the articles in the direction of the laundry basket, you dig through the wardrobe for your much more prefered uniform, the one you wore as ‘Mother.’ By that time, the door clicks, and your husband enters.

Arlecchino wastes no time in appearing by your side, her blackened hands wrapped around your hips, and guiding you to sit on the edge of the bed. You hoped that you were able to hide your wince in time when she touched you. You know your husband far too well to know that, despite her stoic expression, she is just as worried for you, if not more, than your children. There's that small knit in her brows, and her lips are curled the slightest bit more. She had always been fiercely protective of you. 

“My love, there's blood–” she starts, but you cut her off with a chuckle. “I know, one of the children already pointed it out.”

Then, your tone hardens. There's no need to wait to let her know. “I need to tell you something.”

“You should rest.”

You shake your head. “This comes first, Arlecchino.” 

“You just came back.” 

“Peruere,” you enunciate, quickly silencing the Knave. “I am fine,” you assure her with a stern tone but fond eyes. You let out a defeated huff, resorting to wrapping your arms around her and leaning your head against her shoulder to ease her and to conceal your pained expression as your body protested the movement. 

Remaining in that position, you brief her on your mission and every single detail to it. From the process of researching and finding the opportune time to, to the actual execution of the assassinatin, which proved to be much more complicated and difficult than you were able to account for. This was due to the lack of information given to you once you were assigned. With the absence of partners and the omittance of crucial details, it is, undoubtedly, an attempt to sabotage you and cause you to fail. The two of you discussed what to do, going forward in cases like this, as well as potential suspects, their motives, and wouldbe gains. With each growing minute, Arlecchino held you tighter and you leaned in closer. 

After the conversation finished, your husband quietly held you, without uttering another sound, for around half-an-hour, the two of you indulging in one another's company. You pull away with a kiss to her forehead.

“I promised the kids I would make cookies with them. Would you like some?” 

Arlecchino knows better than to say no. She gives you a curt nod. You hum with acknowledgement to her answer, standing up from sitting on the bed. Almost instantaneously, the moment you stabilize yourself on your feet, your vision grows black and an abrupt throbbing comes to your head. You stumble forward, but catch yourself. 

“Love–”

“I'm fine. Just stood up too fast,” you gruff, staggering your way towards the door but the limp is far too obvious. You only make it a few steps before you stumble over again, nearly hitting the floor if it weren't for Arlecchino’s quick reflexes. Stabbing pain surrounds you, and paired with your fatigued state, you no longer have the energy to ignore the agony. She cradles you in her arms and you glance up at her. Your sight swims, and her appearance keeps distorting before you. Clinging onto consciousness seems to be a losing battle. 

“The cookies…”

“Forget about the cookies. You said you were fine,” Arlecchino scolded through gritted teeth, with some frustration and anger in her voice. Placing her arm underneath your back and underneath your legs, she carries you bridal-style, already rushing towards the medical bay. 

“Stay awake for me. Stay awake,” it is a harsh demand, but you know it is nothing more than a desperate plea. Your eyelids droop and you close your eyes.

Arlecchino lets out an expletive under her breath, quickening her pace as she barges into the room. The specialized doctor for the House of the Hearth is startled, but the Harbinger's intense glower tells the doctor all she needs to know. 

“Find out what is wrong with her, and fix it. Now,” the Harbinger orders, and the doctor goes into work immediately once your body is placed on the bed. 

The Knave soundlessly watches the doctor's each and every action, refusing to budge by your side. Although she knows that medical treatment is not her expertise, Arlecchino cannot help but critique her doctor in her thoughts. Not fast enough, not effective enough, not enough for her darling who could be experiencing unbearable pain now.

The doctor works until she assures the Harbinger that everything that could be done is, and that you will wake in the following morning. Arlecchino wordlessly thanks the doctor but her hand that clasps yours doesn't move for even one movement. Eventually, night falls. Climbing into the small bed, she tenderly wraps her arms around you, unable to be pulled apart from you until she knows your safety is guaranteed. Underneath her skin, seething rage boils for the coworkers who try to deprive her of her authority and power, but most of all, for causing you in this state.

The next morning, Arlecchino's eyes flutter open when she feels the warm body next to her stir. She awakens to your soft smile.

“I said I was fine, didn't I?” You greet her with a twinkle in your eyes. 

Arlecchino's heart swells.

[themagisterprotocol]

Good morning?… Um- how are you doing today?…

( @livingwiththedrums )

Oh, good morning... or whatever time it is right now, my dear, I'm... honestly I'm rather exhaused... didn't get a chance to take a shower last night, so I haven't been able to look in the mirror like I promised yet, but I want to get the medbay cleaned up before I do go for a shower... Might work on that lock too, I'd just be getting dirty again, and as much of a horrific sight I am right now, I'd rather be clean and stay clean...

The Master has been healed up to the best that we can do with the technology available in this TARDIS, the rest his body will have to do naturally, I had 'Lin give him a dose of some strong painkillers that will keep him out for at least a day... I don't know if she managed to make it to bed last night, but bless her, she was a great help in getting him sorted, I wouldn't have been able to do it without her...

So, yes, exhausted, but I have things to do before I can let myself relax...

... How are you doing, my dear? I do hope you're doing well, but... well, I wouldn't blame you if you werent.

[madrone33]

Some of my fav lines/melodies in EPIC The Musical.

(In no particular order. Also this is not a completely list, just the ones I'm thinking of currently. Also also it's 1:30 am so soz if there's spelling mistakes :D)

*gentle, concern* (Po-li-tes! Po-li-tes!) What keeps you up so late at night, myyy friend?

(Aphro-diii-te~) *disinterest, sneer* Your little high and miiighty~ Odysseus.

*soft, longing, adoring* She's my everything... My... Pe-ne-lo-pe...

*absolutely done with this shit, passive agressive to the max* Everybody listen closely. See how this bag is closed: that's how it's supposed to be.

*so bored, plaintive* It's just me, myself and I. STUCK IN MY BEDROOM-

*disdain, pissed* You are the worst kind of good, 'cause you're NOT. EVEN. GREAT!

*mocking, amused* Tell me. Odysseus~

*smooth temptation, sly* Here in the root of this flower there lies such a power to take her onnnn... You must consume and digest it then you'll manifest a BEING of your cre-a-tion!

*scorn, dark rage, snarl* You don't think I know my own palace? I BUILT IT!

*mocking smile* En-lighten me... King of Ith-a-ca.

*grinning, excited, pshh* Nah! Don't be modest! I know you're a goddess! So let's be honest- You are ATHENA!! (Athena!) Badass in the arena! Unmatched, witty, and queen of the best stra-ta-gies we've seen!

*smooth, persuasive, cunning* Have a drink! One sip and you'll un-der-stand- the power that's in your hands! A wine so fresh, you'd never wanna eat hu-man flesh a-gain!

*grim, fierce* And if we're defeated they're good as dead! Straight ahead! That is who we're fighting. (PO-LY-PHE-MUS!)

*damning, cold* This-is-the-son-of-none-o-ther-than Troy's very own Prince. Hec-tor.

*rage, bitter, snarl* The next time that you dare choose not to spare, remember them. Re-member us! Re-member ME.

*proud, dark, spite* I'm the reigning King of Ithaca! (electric guitar goes hard!!!)

*tired, disappointed, cynical* That's what we'd get with o-pen arms.

*determined, upbeat* ... Lotus eaters~ [Dies Irae forshadowing RIP]

*aching, exhausted, longing* Who longs to see his wife. I long to see my fa-mi-ly! I long to see Peneeelope!

*exhaused, hopeful, adoring* and I'm getting closer to youuu! (Pene-lo-pe...) I can't wait to make some new me-mor-ies! (Tele-ma-chus...) Time for me to be the father I never was!

*dark promise, intent, soft* ... Or I'll raise the tide so high, all of Ithaca will die. Get in the water.

*awe, gentle, hopeful* Twenty years we've wandered, but today you're not alooone... MY SON I'M FINALLY HOME! [Crying]

*smirk, condescending, challenging* FIGHT, LITTLE WOLF, FIGHT! Wanna entertain me?

*bitter, spite, hurt* This way! You get what'chu waaanted. This way! You can save. Your. Time! Thiiis way. You close the door, and have your damn GOOD-BYE!

*impatient, clever, smug smirk* I-al-ready-know-your-tac- tics! When-you-swallow-you-a- ttack with.

*cold, malicious* Forty-three left, under your command.

*darkly amused smirk, sly* No I'm not a player, I'm a puppeteer. No I don't play, I puppeteer, yeah!

*smooth, charming, faux deferent* Lllady of the Paaalace! Sorry that I aaask this, but I hope that I've been mis-in-formed.

*pleading, tired, entreating* So I beg you, Circe. Graaant us mercy. And let us puppets, leaaave...

*triumphant?* Or maybe one day the world will need a puppeteer... MO-O-O-O-RE! (No she's not a player, she's a puppeteer! No she's not a player, she's a puppeteer, oh!)

*desperate, dark, dread* What if I'm the- (MON-STERRR!) Oh, ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves... (MON-STERRR!)

*depair, gritted teeth* When does the rea-son become the bl-ame?

*desperate, despair, begging* I'd rather bleed for ya! I'm on my knees for ya! I'm begging please! (Oh, this is the will of the GODS!) ... Please, don't make me do this! Don't make me do this!

*snarling roar, bitter fury* GIVE UP YOUR HONOUR AND FAIIITH!

*warm, light, earnest* And so I think mayyy-be! If liiife didn't go as planned. Mayyy-be! You miiight wanna lend a hand! I don't think he'll miiind! If not his friend, then miiine!

*amused, mocking* To untie apprehensions, that were placed on that Greeeek?

*dry, tired, sceptical* If your plan's so great, then why'd you waiiit to say it? *pause, smirk* Well it's a li-ttle bit ✨DANGEROUS✨ my friend!

*delight, dark, snarl* There you are. Coward.

*desperate hope* Ohhh, could it be! Some kiiind of sign! That MY world IS all A-bout TO change?

*adoring, awe* Peneee-lo-peeee! Oh, how I missed you, my darling, my love!

*hurting, confused, scared* This re-sentment brims with pain! Someone tell me whyyy! Instead of strength, I've oceans in my eyes...

*fucking done, incredulous, distrusting* Is this some kind of trick? Pretending I can go? Because if so you're sick. My heart's already bro-ken. I'm tired of this! And I've run out of sym-pathy.

*intone, dismissive, harsh* If no-body hurts you, be SILENT! (Ody motif, he's deffo smirking here)

*smitten, adoring* 'Cause in my DAR-kest dayyys! Penelope's my driiive!

*tired, hesitant, quiet* ... Greet the world with o-pen arms...

*soft, warm* I only took the blow so you could live! WHOA!!

*bombastic* (HERA!!) Soooo many heroes! Soooo many taaales! Give me one good rea-son! Why yours should prevaaail!

*feral grin, challenge, declare* So ohhh BRING it on! I'm not dying here, I'm still fighting here!

*longing, loving, promise* Pe-ne-lopeee... Pe-ne-lopeee... And Tele-ma-chus! I fight for us! I fight for uuus!

*proud* And all he ever lived was the life of a legend! A life that was EPIC.

AHHHHHH I love it all so much!!!!

[akicult]

3:09 AM | g. suguru.

contains…fluff, established relationship. slight angst at the end. just a short drabble. not proofread.

getou likes to play a little game with himself.

he gets home from work late each night. the early hours of the morning tend to get to you too—being so used to hearing the dark haired man creep into your bedroom well past you’ve gone to sleep. so you’ve grown accustomed to following his sleep pattern.

so the game he likes to play is; “where’s my girlfriend sleeping this time?”

he knows you try to stay up to the point where you can greet him when he comes through the door properly, but you can’t push yourself to stay up as late as you’d like.

usually, he finds you on the couch, passed out with a half eaten bowl of popcorn in your lap and head hung over the armrest. only sometimes does he find that you’ve surrendered, and tucked yourself into bed. and a few times does he find that you fall asleep in the most absurd places—the kitchen table, bathtub, on the toilet, (he got a funny picture of that one.)

and this time, he was greeted with the rare sight of you sitting on the small island counter, your head hung low looking down at your phone, only to be quickly whipped upwards at the sight of your boyfriend.

“ha! i did it!” a grin spreads across your cheeks, and you triumphantly throw your arms in the air.

he’s only slightly startled, because yeah, you have stayed up late enough to see him before, but that was rare. so, he offers a smile of his own.

he’s quickly engulfed by your arms, your phone long gone and sitting atop the counter. you perch up on your toes, wrapping your arms around his nape, and happily bury your face in the crook of his neck. he smells faintly of cologne, and maybe some cigarettes if you payed closer attention, but for now, you were just happy to be in his arms.

“it’s so late, love. i’d rather find you passed out, to be honest.” he hums with a joking tilt, although he wasn’t joking very much at all.

“i know,” you whine, and pull away to plant a quick kiss to his soft and pillowy lips. “but don’t you like not needing to drag me into our room every night?”

he offers you a little exhale, looking down at you with love swirling deep in his irises. actually, he doesn’t mind it. he always finds himself feeling a sense of protectiveness, security, whenever he has to run his fingers over your soft skin, kissing your forehead and quietly needing to carry your slouched frame back to your shared bed. sometimes you’ll wake up, and others you’ll be so knocked out you won’t even budge.

“i guess so.” he lies, his fingertips reaching to brush some of your messy hair out of your face. he silently notes the small dark circles under your eyes, and guilt swells in his stomach.

“are you hungry? do you need to shower? need me to do the laundry?”

despite all of your questions, getou can easily see through your act. you’re exhaused.

his smile never falters, however. his warm hand cups the side of your cheek, wordlessly leaning down to plant a much needed, deeper kiss to your lips. maybe to shut you up, maybe to keep you going. or maybe just because he felt like kissing you.

your hand clasps lightly onto his wrist, chin pointed upwards to kiss him better. his free hand wraps around the small of your waist, giving your skin a gentle squeeze before he decides to do what’s best—even if it means you’ll complain.

he slides both of his hands down to cup your ass, using little strength to pull you up, and his hands press against your bare thighs. you grin against his lips, allowing your legs to wrap around his waist that was still clad in his work uniform.

you feel a slight breeze as he whisks you across the hallway to your shared bedroom, still your lips mold against his needily, and the feel of his hair that was falling from a loose bun wraps around your fingers.

you smile when your body tips horizontally, feeling the comfortable pressure of your mattress and soft pillows press against your back, and your legs slowly unravel from his waist, keeping position faintly pressed against his hips.

“hah, sugu—“ you murmur between the kiss, “i’d still rather you eat something before we do that.”

“oh i will.” he only chuckles into your kiss, allowing it to deepen for only a second, before an arm that had previously scooped it’s way under your back slides out. it was only then you noticed he wasn’t on the bed himself.

he pulls away from you entirely. your eyebrows furrow, watching in confusion as he lifts the thick comforter up, and happily wraps it around your body.

“wait—wha—?” you question, attempting to sit up but he presses his hand against your chest and pushes you back down into the mattress. he tucks the blankets around your body, all the while carrying a shit-eating grin.

he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, ignoring your eyes that burn through his. “go to sleep, love. i’ll be with you in a little, okay?”

you gape as he flicks the bedside lamp off, the comfort and warmness of your blankets consuming you.

getou knows, however, that if you weren’t actually exhaused, you would’ve ripped the blankets off of your frame the minute he had put them there. but when he comes into the bedroom a mere twenty minutes later, stomach full of the delicious dinner you made, and body clean from the brisk shower, he finds that you didn’t put up a single fight.

your body was rolled to the side, mouth slightly ajar and getou couldn’t help but smile at the peaceful hum of snores parting your lips, and your body cocooned towards the middle of the bed.

he knew you were tired. he knew you were forcing yourself to stay awake just to satisfy him—thinking that’s exactly what he needs—when in reality, what he was looking at was exactly what he needs.

knowing you’re serene and safe in your shared home, able to fall asleep without the large dip in the bed next to you.

because one day, he fears you may never stop waiting by that door. waiting for a man in the deep hours of the night. waiting for a man that may never walk in to wake you up again.

sorry i’ve been gone for nearly three months. i’m in a rut rn i need writing inspo!!!!!!!!!!!

[jed-the-newspaperguy]

Part 3 part 2

Wrin realize that Roman means Jed in the brother joke. Damn of cause he means Jed. How stubit am I to think otherwise. I am such an idiot. ...wait thats how usely brothers are? Wierd. Wrin isnt that familiar with humans and relations. Why would they fight? That's normal? "So you find I and Jed have a brother vibe? So he is my little baby brother huh? Bet he would love to hear that." He chuckles.

"Hm?" Wrin perks up at the invitation. "Sure. We can hang out some time. Do you have any games to play? I sadly get bored real quick. You have no idea how exhausing boredom is." They both walk back to the room while talking. However they didn't found Jed where he should have been.

"Looks like he is doing mischief."

@labcampkill

[bluexbrry]

WARNING: injured reader, a bit ooc, I was exhaused when i wrote this

It was as if time stopped and reset, just a second ago he saw you behind the hill hiding away due to your injured arm. Next thing he sees is you infront of him taking a blow to your shoulder for him. Arms wide open as if you were welcoming the incoming bullet. You step back hitting his broad chest as you sharply inhale. The guard stood still as he witnessed and took in what just happened himself. He was only supposed to hit Sampo as a scare, not anyone else. Those were his orders. Sampos face pales and his emeral eyes darken as he watched you fall into his shaking arms. Smiling up at him as if you didn't just sacrifice your life for him. He quickly kneels down dragging you below him to lay on his lap so he can apply pressure to the wound. His jacket was off as he pressed it into your shoulder, waiting for his back up to arrive. He's completely zoned out and doesn't realise it until he hears you weakly call you to him, your bandaged hand touching his right cheek as you wince in slight pain. He uses his right hand to grab onto it and gently squeezes in as a way to reassure himself and you that you'll be okay. "J-just hang on my dearest… The others should be here soon." Panic evident in his shaking tone, much unlike his usual playful persona he always wore. Your eyebrows furrowed as you noticed the clear tears well up in the corner of his eye. The blood on the side of his handsome face long forgotten as his main focus was keeping you awake. His mind was clouded by several thoughts, some good and reassuring, but some were dark and expected the worse. His breath quickened as you coughed up a bit of blood and spat it onto the sheet of white snow. "Sampo, I'll be okay… I promised you on the night we confessed I will never leave you and I am keeping that promise my love…" you weakly smile back up at him as his sapphire hair hangs around his pale face. You try and lean up to kiss him but it was as if he read your mind and beat you to it. His soft lips gently enveloping your one's in a gentle kiss. He refused to let go and it was clear as the skies above you guys. Eventually due to lack of oxygen he sets your lips free but as soon as he let go his lips lingered and refused to leave. He pecked your lips repeatedly completely disregarding the uncomfortable position you two were in. After about 2 minutes he backed away looking at you to see the faint silhouettes of his friends running up, March's pink hair standing out the most. He smiled as he looked back down at you, "They're here! Y/N they're here sweetie! I can see them approaching us, hang on just a little bit longer love!" He said, joy once again radiating in his voice as the others got closer. His eyes remained on you as Dan Heng picked you up and started heading to where Natasha was standing by ready to receive her next patient. March approaches him with bandages and a bottle of disinfectant as she cleared up his wounds, asking what happened to you guys whilst everyone was separated. As March took care of his head wound he explained the whole story causing March to look at him with so much sympathy. she reassured him that you'll be okay and that nothing was his fault. He thanked her as the two began heading towards the rest.

3 days later

Natasha put you on a bed rest until your shoulder wound closes up properly. Sampo refused to leave your side during this time, always ready to care for your needs and wants. You want a cup of water? He is already making his way to get it. You want food? He's in the kitchen cooking you anything you craved. You want to cuddle? Your head is already on his chest as he strokes your hair. You wondered if he was doing all of this due to guilt even though it wasn't his fault. But for the time being all you wanted was your sweet boyfriend by your side. Little did you know he was saving a suprise for you once you got out of the hospital. And the said present rested idly in his jacket pocket…

[intp-centred]

Why do I get fed up with people that want to get close to me so easily?

The truth is, I've never really asked myself this question. All I've known is this: people piss me off. And I assumed I had avoidant attachment style or something.

But I wouldn't be an INTP if I hadn't eventually started analyzing this problem (because it has been a problem to me), as I analyze everything in my life. And I've realized that what occurs in almost every single one of my relationships is – my need for space isn't respected.

It usually goes like this:

1. I meet a person.

2. Person decides they like me/are attracted to me.

3. They try to get to know me better via text messages.

4. They keep texting me.

5. I get annoyed with them.

The rest is history. The good thing is the problem isn't me, it's them. Over the years I've told multiple people that I need time for myself. That I get exhaused by constant texting. That I don’t need so much interaction. That it's not because I don’t like them, it's because I am this way. But it's like talking to a wall. If I have to explain myself so often to the same person, they always come to the conclusion that they know me better than I, that I am wrong, and that they aren't this way so neither am I.

I'm no contact with these people now.

I guess I've always felt weird with the description of INTPs as "misunderstood". I didn't believe it. It sounded like I was trying hard to be different. Now I see it's true.

Quite a lot of people can't even begin to comprehend the way I am, the way I act and think. This is why I think it's important to be very careful when it comes to picking friends. I've found a great friend who gets me and I wish all of luck to all of you out there struggling to find real connections.

Until next time,

INTP