#i wrote this when i was in the middle of my own late night depression spiral

[the-cookie-of-doom]

Pregnant Kim anon here again, please know that after I sent that I decided to “warm up” by outlining an entire fic and didn’t get any novel writing done lol. I would love a snippet full of ANGST because I think Kim deserves it right now for what he’s done to my brain

asdfjhagsdjfh VALID! ALL OF THAT IS VALID!

Here is your angst, my darling. I realized I actually don't have a ton of the pregnancy itself written yet, so here's a little bit (lol. it's over 1k, I got carried away) that happens soon after the birth. Kim has horrible post-partum depression thanks to everything that happens in this fic. TW for graphic description of depression and implied suicidal ideation

Chay entered the bedroom to find Kim beneath the covers still, at nearly three in the afternoon. Curled up on his side, tears steadily leaking from the corner of his eye every time he blinked, making a wet spot on the pillow beneath his cheek. He wasn’t even really crying. His eyes were just wet, and that wetness was dripping, and Kim had long since given up on trying to stop it. 

Chay didn’t ask, are you okay? Because he already knew what the answer would be. Instead he climbed onto the bed and spooned up behind Kim, and asked him, “What are you thinking about?”

“It’s not real.”

“What isn’t?”

“This. The depression. All of it. It feels real. It feels awful. But it isn’t. It’s just hormones and chemicals. It’s not me.” Kim didn’t sniffle, or sob, or sigh. His voice didn’t change from the even, monotonous quality it always had when he was trying not to feel. He just breathed. Closed his eyes against a fresh wave of tears, not that it did anything to halt their fall. “I thought once it was over, everything would be okay. I would be free. But it’s never going to stop, is it? There’s no normal for me to go back to. Just this.”

“P’Kim—” Chay’s voice cracked. He swallowed back what sounded like the beginnings of a sob and buried his face in the back of Kim’s neck. Weeks of exposure to Kim’s moods hasn’t made them any easy to handle, not least of all because he knew there’s nothing for him to do. He couldn’t take away this pain. “Please don’t talk like that. It is going to be okay. This isn’t forever. The doctor said it would take at least a month for your medicine to start working—it has to build up in your system, remember? Then everything will be okay.”

Kim didn’t say that the antidepressants only made him feel worse. Blunted him. Blurred any scrap of goodness he could cling too, until it was part of the same empty haze as everything else. He didn’t say that there was no drug strong enough to mask the bone-deep repulsion he felt every time he cradled his daughter to his breast to nurse. Nothing that could make him forget her conception when the pain of her birth was a constant reminder. He didn’t say anything at all. 

Chay squeezed his arm around Kim’s middle, between his aching, swollen breasts, and his aching, swollen incision. Squeezed tight enough that it should have hurt if Kim were capable of feeling anything at all. 

“You’re scaring me, P’Kim,” Chay whispered, holding Kim so tight he could hardly breathe. That was alright. He didn’t need to breathe. 

“I love you, Chay. Thank you for staying with me. I… I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner. Or that I did, I shouldn’t have—right before—” Before he nearly died. He shouldn’t have said it then. In what he thought were his last moments, he needed Chay to know. But it was selfish to let those be his last words to the boy. 

“Thank you for telling me. I’m glad you did. And I love you, too, P’Kim, so much. You are so, so loved, and someday soon, all of this is going to be better, okay? You just have to hold on until then.” Chay’s voice turned near-manic as it fully dawned on him just what he was bargaining for. “Promise me, Kim. Promise me you won’t leave again.”

“I promise.” A mechanical admission in that dull voice, but no less true. Kim found Chay’s hand where it was pressed over his beating heart and laced their fingers together. 

Kim knew Chay would no doubt tell their brothers about his alarming mood, and they would no doubt take him back to the doctor. He knew about the lists Chay had printed out and hidden away in his desk, spread across three pages and outlining the symptoms of baby blues, postpartum depression, and psychosis, with little checked boxes to track him. He’d filled out nearly half the page for depression before ever leaving the hospital. 

Kim wondered how many ticks he got on the last page before they took him away for good. Before they took his daughter away. Maybe they should; she would no doubt be better off without him. He hadn’t even wanted to keep her. Had nearly bled out moments after meeting her. Maybe it was a sign he wasn’t meant to have her at all. 

“Make sure Kiah’s taken care of,” Kim said softly, his face half-buried in the pillows. “I can’t—I’m not good for her. If I can’t take care of her, you’ll find someone who will, won’t you?” Kim went through too much to bring her into this world, he wouldn’t let her suffer for his own unwillingness to give her up, if that’s what it took to offer a better life. 

Behind him, Chay swallowed thickly. 

“Of course, P’Kim. I’ll make sure she’s always safe and loved.” 

The weight that’s been hung around Kim’s shoulders since he made the decision to bring Kiah home finally lifted, a relief he didn’t know he needed. He sighed and sank back into Chay’s warm embrace, the tension finally melting out of his body, and squeezed the hand still lying over his heart. 

“You’re safe and loved, too,” Chay said. “You have me, and Porsche, and your brothers, and P’Pol, and P’Arm, and P’Big. We’re all going to make sure both of you are safe and loved and taken care of. I won’t leave you alone again, P’Kim. Not ever.”

Kim didn’t doubt it. He never had. All this time, Chay’s love—the love of his family—has been an unwavering presence, cutting through the misery that’s cloaked him these last nine months. Kim didn’t know how to express that to Chay. That there was nothing to worry about. Kim wouldn’t hurt himself, with or without their constant supervision. He didn’t want to. He was only acknowledging the unrelenting misery he felt every waking moment, and accepting that it would likely follow him for the rest of his life. He didn’t prefer it, but he knew it was inevitable that these feelings would continue to be his constant companions. 

However he may feel, Kim knew he owed it to his daughter to be the best father he could be for her. And if his best wasn’t good enough, he would find someone that could give her what she deserved. Even still, Kim appreciated the reassurance. Appreciated Chay, for the way the younger boy has stayed at his side for so long, seen him through so much horror and heartbreak, and would show that appreciation however he could. Even if the most he could do was hold his hand and promise not to leave.

[pookie-stay-wookie]

strong for too long (san x platonic!reader)

a/n: hii, this is my first fic, (id written it some time back but it somehow got deleted so i wrote it again)

warnings: death of a family member (just two lines), mentions of being tired, being in a depressive episode (in the past)

genre: hurt/comfort, angst (a little)

word count: 1.4k

being the oldest of her three siblings, and all of the cousins yn had naturally always felt a sense of responsibility growing up, no one had asked her to do it, it was just ingrained in her bones. one might see this as a good thing, and it was, she was always there for people always had a shoulder for anyone to lean on, but this faltered when it came to herself.

she never meant it to be like this, but in the midst of her helping her siblings she had forgotten to take care of herself and now here she was, not willing to lean on anyone and figuring out things on her own.

she and san had been friends since before he debuted and had always been close with the rest of the boys as well. 

usually yn was able to hold herself up through the darkest periods of her life, like when her grandmother died, she had played a huge role in all of her siblings' lives, she helped her siblings through the grief and pain of losing her. 

somehow she didn't seem to realize that her family was taking advantage of her kindness, her support. once she moved out, hardly any of them kept in contact with her, only coming to her if they needed help. she didn't know how or why it happened but they just grew apart

she knew that her family wanted nothing to do with her, her mother calling just to tell her how ungrateful she was to move away from them though she never said it to any of her other siblings when they did the same, she knew that her mother just didn't like her she knew all this, she just didn't want to accept it

It hurt to accept it, to know that the people who you were there for ignoring you completely, maybe she expected it from her mother, but not her siblings but she had brainwashed as well, she had convinced them to think that they had nothing to do with yn.

since it had been a long time since she had talked to any of her family, most days she had forgotten about the dispute going on with them. 

she held herself up when she was losing herself, trying to go day by day, fighting the demons inher head, she pulled herself up from the darkness. not because she wanted to, but because she knew that no one else would do it for her so she somehow willed herself to do so and she did it, she proved to herself that she didn’t need anyone and closed herself off completely, 

most days she was able to handle whatever was thrown at her, 

today was not most days

today just kept on kicking her down, not one thing was going good for her 

she woke up late, bumped her head on the bedside table as she woke up, when she got to work, the boss yelled at her for what seemed like hours because of her being late and in the hurry forgetting her laptop which had a presentation she needed to show today to some clients which in turn getting yelled at even more, her so called ‘friends’ from work seemed extra rude, her phone died in the middle of the day, and she just wanted to go home and have a quiet night to herself to recover from today's events 

but no, the universe decided to throw another curveball at her just as she was a few minutes away from her drive home, she got a call from her youngest sister

she picked it up, expecting her sister to want something from her, what she didn't expect her to be doing was sobbing her eyes out while trying to tell her something that she could understand nothing. 

yn pulled up on the side of the road, calming her sister down, panicking a little herself for wanting to know what was going on

that's when she heard it, oh how she wished she didn't, how she wished it was something else that she could her but the two words that came out of her sister's mouth were all that haunt d her all the way home 

'mom died' was all she heard and then just the wailing of her little sister, she didn't even realize when but she hung up the phone and started driving again 

even if her mom was terrible to her after she had moved out, she still loved her to death, she didn’t want to believe it. 

she couldn't believe it, didn't want to believe it, the entire ride back to her house was a mixture of shock and numbness.

------

san was in yns living room, sitting on the couch, waiting for her to come home.

he had made some ramen for himself an hour ago and was sitting with his hand on his stomach, satisfied with the meal.

This is how it was like some days, san just showing up to her house, letting himself in with the spare keys he had, that's what happens when you've been friends for so long. he would always inform yn that he was coming over before he left from his own house, shooting her a text

it was around 9 when he heard the rustling of keys from the other side of the door signaling that yn was home. around the time he had expected her to come, what he didn't expect was her walking in like a zombie and go straight to her room, not even acknowledging the man in her living room, a distant look in her eyes.

knowing yn for so many years, he has never seen her like this, she's always been the rock between them, always there whenever san needed a pick me up, he had not once seen her this down, so he knew that there must be something going on. 

he slowly went towards her room and heard sniffles coming from across the closed door and his heart broke. he knew yn was strong, but she was closed off and she didn't like to show her emotions but it broke him to think that she was battling demons on her own. 

he knocked softly on the door in front of him "yn? honey can I come in?' he asked and heard the sniffles stop for a few seconds, but nothing more. he sighed thinking of what to do next 

so he quickly ran to the kitchen, making some ramen plus some add-ins, similar to what he had had earlier to give to yn since he was sure she hadn't had anything since she had come straight from work.

----

after I came home, i just went straight to my room, the words my sister told me haunting my brain. 

i heard a soft knock on my bedroom door, and realized it was san. in the midst of all this, i didn't even realize that he was here. he asked if I was fine but I didn't have the energy to say anything, so I didn't. some time later he knocked again and entered with some ramen, multiple side dishes and a glass of water. 

"i don't need to know what happened but I do need to make sure that you eat, so here you go." he said, placing the tray on my nightstand.

"but just so you know, if you need to talk, I'm here for you." he said with a smile as he sat on the bed.

before he could say anything else, i hugged him, my head finding the crook of his neck, he wrapped his arms around me, engulfing me under his huge frame.

Every fiber of my body yelled at me to not show my vulnerability but i didn’t have it in me anymore, to hide from people who wanted to help, especially san.

when I felt the warmth radiating off him, i couldn't help but burst into tears, the stress of it all coming all out at once, being neglected, work stress, being strong for all those years and finally, finding out about mom

"you've been strong for too long, it's okay to break, cause I'll be there to pick up the pieces." he said into my hair as we stayed there however long i needed to.

----

[armentas]

WIP Questionnaire

Thanks so much to @orphanheirs for tagging me; this looks so fun and I loved your answers. I'll be responding for my main WIP, Haven!

What's the first part of your WIP that you created?

Easily my characters. Heather has existed since I was 12 years old, and Beau and Erin have more or less existed since I was 6! I would just daydream about them getting into random situations to pass the time, really. I'd tried putting them in badly written middle school fantasy stories before realizing that coming of age was the most natural thing for them.

If your story was a TV show, what would the theme song/intro be?

Oh, I have a whole playlist for songs I'd want to be used! I honestly haven't decided on an intro song, but I definitely know the theme song and end credits song. I'd consider the theme to be Last Chance by CHPTRS, both the vibe and the lyrics are just too perfect. "This could be my last chance" is pretty much the whole thing behind Haven, AND the line of "hold me in the grip of your arms" becoming more and more desperate because of how much Heather misses her brother and wants to cherish this miracle of being with him again... I would be lying if I said that hadn't made me cry a few times. Though the lyrics are more depressing than I'd want for the end credits, for that category, I would still easily choose i have no sense of what home is by ativansocial. It feels like a childhood hug on a warm, dark summer night where things aren't okay, but they will be, which is exactly how I'd want the end to feel.

What are your favorite characters that you made? Why?

Oh, can I answer for multiples WIPs? Because Heather is definitely one, but I could easily go on about Celio and Charity too lol. For Heather, the top thing is she's just a really raw person who's easy to relate to, to the point it may even be uncomfortable for the reader sometimes. I think a good example of me trying to utilize this would be an excerpt I wrote where she's reliving the time she was 13ish, Beau was still in the hospital for his car accident, and no one was letting her go see him yet. There's a paragraph or two describing how she's jealous of him for his accident, thinking how she wishes she'd end up in the hospital so people would get her flowers, too. This is the kind of thing where we know it's not great to feel that way, but most of us have probably experienced something similar. We want our own traumas to be louder so they're "heard", and we may especially lack that understanding of other people's issues as children. And that's a big part of Heather's journey: gaining understanding. She doesn't always think or do or say good things, but you get what place she's coming from.

I've decided since that was a big paragraph, I won't get into my other characters, but anyone's free to lmk and I'll drop some info!

What other pieces of media do you think your fanbase would share?

My first thought is Omori since that was a big inspiration when this project was still new. This is also an obscure movie, but if anyone's watched the movie As You Are, I think they'd like both Haven and my other story, The Day You Left. Honestly, I don't consume enough media to say in too much detail. If you like your heart being ripped out, you'll probably like Haven.

What has been your biggest struggle with your WIP?

The plotting!! I always know character arcs first and then weave a plot around where I want people heading, but I've been out of inspo lately, I guess? Or just lazy about brainstorming. That's most likely. I know the most major story beat of Beau's accident but that's practically it, though there's probably potential behind giving Heather some extra new childhood experiences, and being decisive on stuff (aka trauma) for Erin. Not too much is going on with Erin at this moment.

Are there any animals in your story? Talk about them!

Unfortunately not! For some reason, despite being a mega animal lover irl, I've rarely been good at giving my characters pets. If they aren't directly relevant to plot or theme, I usually end up forgetting about them over and over until I decide to just scrap them. It wouldn't work for Heather and Beau anyways; I know for sure Heather's probably tried to bring an animal home, and Beau would've told her it's too much responsibility.

How do your characters travel/get around?

Heather does have her learner's permit, but she doesn't get that much use out of it before she's sent to her child self's body and can't reach the pedals lol. One of her big hobbies is rollerskating, so she mainly relies on that to get around during the story's events. Meanwhile, for Beau, he avoids driving himself anywhere since his accident, so he usually hitches a ride from Erin or someone else.

What part of your WIP are you working on right now?

That's a good question, actually. Kind of just anything and everything, but like I said for the other question, extra plot beats and fleshing out Erin are my main priorities. I know who Erin is, but I only have vague ideas of why she is the way she is. I also get really indecisive with how I want her to be influencing the story exactly (sometimes she's a Heather antagonist, sometimes she's a helper, sometimes she's both), so nailing down core stuff for her would also automatically nail down her role and make that easier.

What aspects (tropes, maybe?) do you think will draw your audience in?

Coming of age is usually pretty grounded in reality and maintains a fairly casual/upbeat vibe even when some not-so-great events happen (at least in my experience with it), so I think people will be curious about the more intense subject matter, how I personally answer difficult questions, and the surreal twist on the genre. I use the word surreal a lot because I wouldn't personally call Heather suddenly waking up in the past "fantasy"'? The narrative isn't about explaining how it works in the first place, it's just supposed to be...weird lol. I also always lean a lot on complex character development, so I'm hoping that, from the blurb, people will think "there should be interesting characters in a story like this" and read it for that.

What are your hopes for your WIP?

My biggest goal is to make it a fully operational interactive fiction game! The reader would be playing as Heather, putting both her and Beau's fates in their hands for that extra stress. The game could even include some art, too, but I'd have to see what feels right once I actually got started.

I could probably write more on that last paragraph but my sleep meds are kicking in lol! Tagging: @themboty @sidhewrites @lavender-laney @nrivanwrites and everyone that's interested!

[moth-feeet]

lately i’ve been seeing lots of posts on here saying things like “how to be a better person”, or “how to be a classy woman” and while i think they have the right ideas at heart, they’re just being very obtuse with the words they choose.

to be a better person you don’t have to speak 7 languages, or only eat raw vegan, or even let everyone tell you their problems.

to be classy you don’t have to have perfectly flat, fly-away-free glossy hair.

the people i see saying these things aren’t thinking about actually being better;

to be good isn’t to be perfect, to be classy doesn’t mean you have to be a white woman with straight blonde hair.

what made me a much better person was realizing i wasn’t a good person.

most of the people giving this advice don’t realize it’s not going to change your life, it won’t make you smart or kind to wear the colors that match your skin tone best. though you might look great, that doesn’t solve the pain.

i think you all deserve some advice from someone with mental illness, who isn’t vegan, who isn’t perfectly tidy, or even popular.

ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ̀ˋ

i became a softer, kinder, person when i sat down and saw who i really was, a self centered, mean, sad, bully.

i am fortunate enough to has access to therapy, which absolutely helped me but i did a lot more growth on my own. i’m not gonna say journal, or do shadow work because that meant nothing to me at the time, not to say i don’t journal but whatever, what actually helped me was spending time outside.

i called it “outside time”, original i know, but genuinely everyday for months straight i would go out on the porch in the mornings (i started in winter and through spring - cooler months are best) and i would sit. alone. with nothing but my mind, a piece of paper and a pencil, and the sound of birds and the breeze. it became integral for my day, i had to do it or i didn’t have a good day. these moments were the times i wrote my best poems, or saw myself as who i truly was. i got back into reading and ate through book after book.

spending time outside with nothing but the universe and classical music playing gave me time to ask the universe some questions. i asked her how i got here, what i need to change, why she lead me to this realization, and i got my answer every time.

no, god didn’t come down and speak to me, the stars didn’t write it out, and no one actually said anything. the universe told me through memories, late night conversations with myself, and daydreams of better lives.

i picked up some things through this healing process that i think had a hand in my softening.

baking, cooking in general. though it started as a new year resolution, i learned it’s my love language. sharing my recipes and taking requests, it makes me feel wanted.

i started sleeping better, which was a breakthrough for me. i was prescribed a sleeping medication for chronic insomnia, and it’s helped a lot.

i started spending more time on self care.

now this is what i saw a lot of in the posts i was talking about. i saw lots of, “start a keto diet, start doing face masks, shower twice a week, always go on a run or workout!”

but that’s not what i mean. i started washing my makeup off at night, a revelation for someone with such awful depression at the time. i started brushing my teeth which certainly wasn’t a priority when i was rotting in bed everyday. i learned how to properly care for my curls. i even just left dr.pepper for tea. don’t get me wrong i have a dr.pepper sat next to me right now. i never cut it out i just laid off it.

one of the far more controversial aspects i changed was, not letting everybody dump their trials and tribulations onto me. i have always been very empathetic and therefore seen as a person to talk to about your troubles. and while i tried my best, i don’t have the advice a 50 year old woman in the middle of a divorce is looking for (and i was asked for it). i didn’t just let people tell me what they were going through. it seems cruel but it really helped me let go. i always described my mental health as those statues in dispicable me that slowly get crushed. and most of that came from listening to everyone’s thoughts and also carrying my own.

inevitably i had to stop. i had to let people know i wasn’t the person who could help them, and when i would listen my advice was, “i suggest you talk to someone better equipped for these issues”. i lead a lot of people to school counseling, or even social services at times. but i never forced them to take the steps to get better, because they were never my responsibility.

of course i wanted to help, sometimes i understood more than you could imagine, i never said it, because when someone reached out for help i chose to grab their hand and lead them to the real recuse team. because you and i are not trained therapists, we aren’t cps, we aren’t letting ourselves be crushed.

growing for me meant guiding people to the people who helped me. i wasn’t mentally prepared for someone to share a trauma or a struggle, i had and still have my own to work through.

.

all this is to say; no one grows the same way. maybe for some, reading classic literature changed their mentality in life, but i find books from the 1800s boring; and maybe some people feel classiest in all gold jewelry, maybe i don’t get it.

that’s just not what i think would save me. so, if you’re trying to carry yourself with more kindness, if you want to be the ‘it girl’, if you plan to be your best. before you jump to a new wardrobe or a drastic diet change, try spending time with your head. no stimulation, no music or books or anything. sit and color in a coloring book by an open window. ask the universe how you got here, and wait.

frighting with your head won’t get you where you dream to be, sometimes work has to stop for you to start again.

i really hope that the people who truly do want to change, find the right ways to.

with all my love, i am rooting for you.

love, K

[exhalcdvibes]

official  name  :   winona  cupcake  sterling  -  blume  .   meaning  of  name  :   winona  of  indigenous  (  sioux  )  origin  meaning  first  born  daughter  ;  cupcake  a  type  of  sweet  bread   ;  sterling  of  english  origin  meaning  little  star  ;  blume  of  german  origin  meaning flower   .  nicknames  :  wen  ,  winnie  /  cuppy  (   family   only   )   .  date  of  birth  :  november  22  ,  1996   .  age  :  twenty  six   .  birthplace  :   cinicinnati  ,   ohio   .  nationality  :  american   .  gender  :  cis  woman   .  pronouns  :  she/her   .  orientation  :  bisexual   &  biromantic   (   usually  dates  women  )  .  religion  :  agnostic   .  languages  :   english   ,   korean   ,   spanish   &   asl   .  education  :   degree  in  visual  art  from  california  school  of  the  arts .

｡*    ❪       📂   ›  BASICS

(—) ★ spotted!! winona “ wen ” sterling - blume on the cover of this week’s most recent tabloid! many say that the twenty six year old looks like greta onieogou , but i don’t really see it. while the personal assistant is known for being focused my inside sources say that they have a tendency to be merciless i swear, every time i think of them, i hear the song still your best by giveon   .

｡*    ❪       📂   ›  BACKSTORY

she  was  named  cupcake  ,  kind  of  accidentally  ,  her  mom  had  cupcake  cravings  her  entire  pregnancy  when  the  nurse  came  in  and  asked  what  the  baby's  name  was  she  responded  cupcake  because  she  was  asking  for  a  cupcake  to  eat  but    they  wrote  that  name  down  on  the  birth  certificate  .  when  she  was  adopted  her  name  was  eventually  changed  though  they  kept  cupcake  as  her  middle  name  .

(  cancer  tw  )  wen  was  born  to  a  single  mother  ,  she  was  in  her  late  thirties  when  she  finally  gave  birth  to  the  child  she'd  always  wanted  ,  the  only  issue ?  she  had  cancer  .  they  were  only  together  for  two  short  years  but  in  that  time  wen's  mother  wrote  her  daughter  tons  of  letters  ,  recorded  audio  stories  about  herself  and  her  life  and  put  together  a  photo  album  of  their  time  together  before  she  died  .  despite  being  adopted  at  a  very  early  age  wen  has  always  felt  as  if  she  has  two  mothers  .  

she  does  sometimes  wonder  about  her  bio  father  but  hasn’t  made  any  efforts  to  find  him  or  any  other  members  of  her  bio  family  .

she's  done  a  bit  of  everything  ,  she  voiced  jackie  from  cyberchase  ,  played  akeelah  in  the  film  akeelah  and  the  bee  she ��even  put  out  a  hit  single  ,  whip  my  hair  and  performed  half  a  tour  before  she  decided  that  she  didn't  like  music  or  acting  and  she  just  wanted  to  be  normal  .

by  the  time  she  was  eleven  she'd  all  but  stepped  away  from  fame  ,  she  found  the  whole  thing  overwhelming  and  scary  ,  the  constant  pressure  to  live  up  to  the  expectations  of  her  managers  ,  directors  ,  etc  left  her  feeling  suffocated  .

as  the  middle  child  she  tries  her  best  to  be  the  peace  keeper  ,  she's  trying  not  to  get  in  the  middle  of  her  parents  divorce  or  pick  a  side  ,  honestly  she's  really  not  sure  whose  side  she'd  pick  anyways  .  she  has  a  deep  admiration  for  her  father  but  a  high  level  of  respect  and  unyielding  love  for  her  mother  and  choosing  either  one  feels  like  a  betrayal  to  the  other  .

she  went  to  a  performing  arts  school  where  she  studied  painting  and  sculpting  she  absolutely  adores  art  and  followed  that  passion  all  the  way  through  college  .  she  is  currently  an  assistant  to  a  painter  .  mostly  she  just  gets  their  coffee  and  gets  yelled  at  but  she's  doing  her  best  to  be  grateful  for  the  experience  .

honestly  her  boss  is  a  giant  dick  ,  they  call  her  at  all  hours  of  the  night  ,  sold  one  of  her  paintings  as  their  own  and  are  always  pushing  her  buttons  to  see  if  she'll  crack  and  use  her  families  connections  to  get  her  a  better  job  but  wen  is  determined  to  make  a  name  for  herself  not  because  she's  a  sterling  -  blume  but  because  she's  a  talented  artist  .

｡*    ❪       📂   › EMOTIONAL STATE

the  version  of  wen  you're  going  to  get  really  varies  .  she  can  be  up  beat  and  confident  ,  downtrodden  and  extremely  depressing  or  simply  indifferent  to  everything  .  her  most  common  state  is  indifference  ,  if  you're  not  in  her  family  or  a  very  close  friend  it's  rare  that  you'll  see  the  happy  go  lucky  side  of  her  often  .

she's  got  a  quick  temper  and  had  to  be  put  in  anger  management  because  she  kept  getting  into  fights  ,  now  she's  more  likely  to  read  you  down  than  fight  ,  but  she  does  still  have  to  resist  the  urge  to  hit  first  question  second  .

super  clingy  with  her  family  ,  she  prefers  to  stay  the  night  with  one  of  her  sisters  or  her  mom  then  go  back  to  her  own  apartment  .

very  distant  with  most  people  ,  she  has  a  small  circle  of  friends  that  she's  close  to  and  beyond  that  people  are  just  ...  people  .  she's  really  indifferent  to  the  presence  of  99.999%  of  the  population  .

loves food and seeing cooking as a love language , she might not be great at apologizing for yelling at you or saying that she loves you but she will make you all your favorite foods just because or as a quasi apology .

very  anti  love  ,  mostly  because  she's  deeply  insecure  and  the  only  time  that  tends  to  show  is  when  she's  in  a  relationship  .

one  of  her  gfs  cheated  and  it  left  her  with  major  trust  issues  so  now  she’s  an  extremely  jealous  girlfriend  ...  it's  bad  she'll  check  your  phone  and  everything  .

｡*    ❪       📂   › QUICK FACTS

she  is  the  middle  child  of  [  unknown  ]  sterling  and  donna  blume  ;  arden  is  her  younger  sister  and  hana  is  her  older  sister  .  like  all  siblings  they  fight  at  times  but  those  three  women  are  the  most  important  ladies  in  her  life  and  she  would  absolutely  wreak  havoc  on  the  world  for  them  .

she  became  an  accidental  art  collector  at  age  seven  when  she  asked  her  mom  to  buy  her  a  painting  at  an  auction  they  were  at  ,  she  later  found  out  that  she'd  asked  for  a  basquiat  .  currently  she  has  a  massive  collection  and  often  times  thinks  about  opening  a  gallery  of  her  own  .

in  high  school  she  was  constantly  in  the  news  for  being  a  giant  party  girl  ,  she  still  parties  pretty  hard  but  it's  less  of  a  story  since  she's  not  sixteen  and  getting  let  into  clubs  .

she  still  makes  music  but  she  doesn't  put  it  out  ,  very  few  people  have  heard  anything  she's  made  .

loves  rollerskating  ,  she  has  an  insta  that's  dedicated  specifically  to  skating  .  hosting  meetups  ,  posting  tricks  she's  learned  and  of  course  those  sweet  sweet  sponsorships  .

always  blasting  music  usually  trap  because  in  the  words  of  my  man  2  chainz  pretty  girls  like  trap  music  ,  basically  you'll  hear  her  coming  before  you  see  her  pull  up  .

she  never  really  "  came  out  "  she  just  showed  up  with  a  girlfriend  one  day .

[moonlightchess]

Bruh????? I have been so fucking depressed lately that last night I just said fuck it and ate an entire edible chocolate bar and cracked open some wine and started writing for some reason, and I only wrote a page and a half in docs BUT???? THE FUCK IS THIS???? Is this the single most tightly constructed, intense and concise character study that I have ever written in my motherfucking LIFE???? Gofundme to stay fucked up 24/7 and I might accidentally write the next great American novel???? I mean definitely not but what the FUCK?????

Taran.

The sleepwalking was my first hint. I’d never been prone to somnambulism before, but at some point between the late-September death of the world and the yawning approach of winter’s torpor, I started waking up curled up on the floor of the bathroom I shared with my brother in the mornings. Or in the narrow hallway maybe, pressed back-flat to the wooden-paneled wall with cramped legs and sticky eyelids. Devon, whose name meant “poet” in an ironic little twist considering his proclivity for hard logic and numbers, told me that sometimes he could hear me, rustling around in the middle of the night. “It’s creepy,” he told me. “You stand there with your eyes at half-mast, just kind of swaying back and forth a little. You sort of...plod around in a trance, I guess. I read somewhere that you’re not supposed to walk someone up when they’re sleepwalking, you could have a heart attack or something.”

“Unlikely,” I pointed out, but the sleepwalking was a concern. I made an appointment with Dr. Root and forgot about it, as it was only happening once or twice a week and I had more pressing demands on my time lately. The semester had just begun for us, and I was pretty sure that at least one of my professors hated me, unsurprising as my personality tended to be grating for most. Not for my brother, as patient and warm as he always was, he’d laugh and shake his head and say, “you’re a pretentious dick, T. But I’m kind of stuck with you, so whatever.” Not for Hanna, whose blonde hair was as soft and pale as cornsilk, who had deep dimples and an unfortunate crush on me. We shared a class on differential equations together, and she had a habit of waving at me and bringing me an extra coffee from the campus bookstore that I really needed to shut down soon.

Dr. Root wanted to know if I’d told my parents about the sleepwalking. “I don’t see how their opinion would be relevant,” I pointed out in what Devon described as my “weirdly stiff, formal way” of speaking to people. “Neither of them is a doctor.”

“No, but modern medicine knows very little about sleepwalking, and it’s worth considering whether or not in your case it could be a hereditary issue.” Dr. Root knew how to handle my snottiness by now, countering it with a distinctly condescending tone of his own that I appreciated. It was always so much worse when people got offended or hurt by my default approach. I was compelled to remind them in those instances that they were not special in any way, and that I spoke to everyone exactly as I was speaking to them, with a blunt honesty and little regard for their feelings, something that inevitably only wounded them further. People, as I’d come to learn, were profoundly delicate and emotional in a way to which I would never be able to relate. They were as fascinating to observe from a distance as a tribe of silverbacks in some Jane Goodall nightmare, but interacting with them directly was usually an exercise in frustration for me.

“I’ll ask Mom,” I finally conceded, after a moment of silence. That was another habit of mine that seemed to make people uncomfortable, the way I would often go silent for long stretches during conversations to consider my words more carefully than most people seemed to. Not in the interest of being inoffensive of course, because I couldn’t have possibly cared less about that, but because it was always wise to avoid giving too much of yourself to anyone. They rarely deserved it, and why make yourself vulnerable to any one person if you didn’t need to, to get what you wanted from them? The ideal situation was to expose as little of yourself as possible to a person while inspiring them to give you all of themselves so that you could pick through the nonsense of their ethos and extract the useful bits later.

“It’s not your fault,” Devon sometimes said fondly, patting my shoulder. “You’re just a high-functioning sociopath, you can’t help it.” I wanted to resent that, but after doing some minor research into the characteristics of a textbook sociopathic patient, I had to concede that his conclusion may have had some merit. The nice thing about sociopaths though, was our penchant for high levels of efficiency. It’s so much easier to get shit done when you’re not encumbered by the weight of all those sticky, leaking feelings. As a result, I found myself hunched over my laptop at one AM that morning, researching the causes and effects of sleepwalking, when the tiniest movement caught my eye from the left.

Devon was fast asleep in his room, and so I made sure to keep my footsteps light as I crossed the living room of the apartment we shared, even as the miniscule thing - some black and gray bug with spindly legs and no wings, some kind of spider - scuttled in what seemed like a bizarrely aware sort of panic across the wall. It felt like it had noticed me noticing it, somehow, and I put my glasses on to get a better look at it. By the time I made it far enough to pull back the plum-colored curtain that Devon had chosen when we’d rented this place together, it was gone. There were no visible cracks in the wall, and the window was closed, so I couldn’t have imagined where it had gone, and the lack of logic in the whole situation grated me.

[returntosaturn271995]

Friday, July 28th: Breathing lessons

A theme lately for me has been if you can learn to control your breathing you can learn to control your life. 

And I’m someone who...like...breathes, obviously, but doesn’t super enjoy it, if that makes any sense. I hate being told how to breathe, when to breathe, or that I’m breathing wrong. 

How can a person be breathing wrong? I’m fucking alive, aren’t I? 

That was my attitude for a lot of things breathing-related growing up. It comes up quite a bit more than you’d think. 

There’s the controlling anger and anxiety, slow inhales:

“Don’t tell me to take a deep breath to calm down, you take a fucking deep breath to calm down. I’m upset, oxygen doesn’t fix that, you condescending carbon-emitter. I know everything there is to know about oxygen. How dare you make this about my lungs, my feelings are valid.”

There’s the singing-from-the-diaphragm-breathing from choir all those years:

“Why do I need to fill up my stomach? My lungs are in my chest. Also I don’t think I’m doing this right. I feel like I’m just pushing my stomach out. This is actually weird and uncomfortable when you aren’t working out.”

There’s the relaxed, nose-and-mouth breathing during work outs

“Holy shit, I can’t breath. Stitch in my side. Muscles are pissed. Ow-ow. STOP TELLING ME TO BREATHE I”M FUCKING TRYING THE AIR IS JUST BEING AN ASSHOLE RIGHT NOW. Ugh, what adult pants like a dog? This is fucked. *gasp* up.”

And finally, the focus-on-your-breaths during meditation breathing: 

“My nose feels itchy. This is boring. Okay, act like it’s your first breath ever. Nope. Still boring.”

But with running, all you’ve got is your breathing. And the major lesson I’ve learned is you’ve got to relax, sending inhales to your screaming calves and exhaling tension that adds to your resistance. Go slow even though it’s cardio. It’s a lesson in not being so fucking stubborn, just breathe in to it. Let it be on your side.

Breathe. 

Other things that happened today:

Woke up at 7 am, morning routine, wrote standup, and did early-morning yoga for the first time. Walked to grab a vanilla latte and interviewed with MSL at 11 am. Paid the electric bill. 

Meditated on the middle ground of focus and relaxation, letting them inform each other. Then I went on a 22 minute run using the Nike Running App and listening to Taylor Swift’s Reputation album. (Hate that I fucking love that music). As with most of my runs, I ended up at the beach where I again stuck my lower body in the warm, mint-green ocean and watched the waves roll in from the pier. 

On the way back I was inspired to write a letter in the form of an advice piece: A manic-depressive’s guide to forming a running habit. I even got to meet the neighbor who owns the boxer I always see in the window on my way back from the park. His name is Micky. The dog, that is, I forgot the dude’s name. 

Priorities. 

Put last night’s burger in the oven and now at 3 pm, I’m where I started being productive yesterday. Definitely an improvement and kind of wild how quickly the day flew by. I feel like I entered, “flow-state”, where work and focus feel good. I didn’t realize how much I missed it. 

Oh- and in world-wide news:

The United States Military still has a long way to go in the fight for justice for sexual assault survivors, but policy and practices are finally headed in the right direction. Commanders directly up the chain of command shouldn’t have total authority...duh?

As the world endures its hottest July ever recorded, conservative groups have already drafted a plan to gut any federal efforts to address climate change. Super tired of people saying both parties are too extreme. 

Rep. Tim Scott (R-SC), the only Black GOP presidential candidate in the field, publicly criticized Gov. Ron DeSantis (R-FL) for his support of Florida education standards requiring that students be instructed that slaves “developed skills” among other “benefits” of slavery. Because FUCK RON DeSantis and FUCK Florida.

[kylekozmikdeluxo]

Madagasqueer, Or My Weird History With a DreamWorks Franchise (Part 2)

Previous part here, for all the context...

CW: Queerphobia, sexuality, mental illness

Okay, so!

MADAGASCAR and MADAGASCAR 2 came out 3 1/2 years apart from one another, and my life went through a lot of turbulent changes... For a recap... I was 12 when MADAGASCAR came out, 16 when MADAGASCAR 2 was released, and in that stretch of time, the young autistic animation enthusiast and artist went through a lot of life-changing things that affected me in many areas. Largely my mental health... and MADAGASCAR 2 came out smack-dab in the middle of some of those ongoing changes...

When I was going through that aforementioned rough period that I went over in the last part, late 2007-early 2008, I was starting to get wind of my sexuality in ways that I hadn't in the past. I think for some autistic people, myself included, we take a little while to bloom in certain areas. And some of us may not know what's up, sexually, in some areas until it dawns on us. By early 2008, I was 15... Sophomore year of high school. This is during the Bush administration. Gay marriage isn't legalized everywhere, Bush revolved a lot of his 2004 re-election campaign on squashing that out, right-wingers saying gay marriage will lead people marrying their dogs getting legalized, etc. It seemed... Throughout the '90s and '00s, the worst thing you could be was gay or some kind of queer. The f-word was commonly used, "gay" was constantly used as a slur. I made my fair share of jokes, too, trying to fit in with everyone and me just projecting. I was a doodoohead back then.

Really, I had my own things going on. I had unconventional feelings, and one of those feelings was something I wrote off as a fetish. The desire to dress like a woman, or be like a woman. Being a "transvestite" back then, "that's weird, don't do that." Then, add being surrounded by a landscape that includes shows/movies constantly making fun of LGBTQIA+ people, while also showing lots of queer imagery too. A weird thing. At the same time, I have this desire bubbling, and then there were nights... Like, OH NO. Am I gonna turn out to be gay? These feelings I'm having about clothes and appearance, and anxiety ratcheting things up, having responses to the thought of being gay, naked with other men, etc. There were days, this is spring 2008 we're talking here, I couldn't go to school. I was like nauseous, it was like an apocalyptic feeling... Being gay. Would my loved ones kick me out? Would everyone hate me?

Right around this time, there was a teen that was a little younger than I was. Name was Larry King. An openly gay boy who wore girls' clothes, he was shot by a classmate. I remember my high school had a "Day of Silence", where students were allowed to not say a single word all day... I was afraid to participate, for fear of being called gay or found out. Such an uncomfortable time. I'd be with guys all the time at lunch and whatnot, and they'd say things like "if you look at your nails- (sticking their hands out, with the fingers spaced out) like this, you're gay." I'd often do that, but that was because it was just instinct. My straight-as-a-steel beam dad looks at his nails that way, too. Again, more fuel to the fire...

Another incident... I was collecting records, like I said before... When I started putting stuff like Elton John and Barry Manilow in my collection, I remember people I was around being all like "You don't want that in your collection, that's gay." I remember Manilow particularly, because I always liked his 1978 hit song 'Copacabana (At The Copa)' (the epitome of that meme with the black house and the bright house, poppy song, depressing lyrics)... and that was supposedly the GAY one. Nope, can't like that! Oh no, people will think I'm gay because I have Barry Manilow in my collection.

A couple months later, FAMILY GUY had that whole episode that began with Peter and the guys going to see Barry Manilow in concert... It was a long scene of them all grousing that Manilow was in town, and talked about seeing the concert as a joke... Begrudgingly admitting he had a few good songs, until they start naming more, and then are literally squeeing over seeing him... And then Manilow has Quagmire - the worst of the patriarchy exemplified - on stage and sings a song with his last name, and... It was strangely affirming in a way... A bunch of guys on a show that often made fun of gay people, being all enthusiastic about seeing a guy in concert who no straight guy should be seeing... Even if spent most of my life afterwards hiding and still not being sure of who I am...

So, enter MADAGASCAR 2...

In MADAGASCAR 2, for starters... The penguins, during the rescue mission at the dam, play 'Copacabana' on an 8-track player! And they praise the tune! These badass guy penguins who stole the show in each movie, being all positive about 'Copacabana'... And to get autistic-er here, I got into that song when MADAGASCAR 1 came to DVD in late 2005... So, that Manilow song and the first MADAGASCAR are pretty much linked to me. I associate things I was into in any given period of time together, even if none of them match. It's a weird autistic thing that I do- moving on!

Then you have Mason the chimp nonchalantly kissing Skipper. King Julien at the beginning crossdressing, "which one of you is attracted to me?" Then there's the scene where Makunga, the villain of the movie, this big buff lion... As a trick, he is given the badass granny's handbag, not knowing that it belongs to someone who is going to kick his ass. He wears it like a woman would wear a handbag, on his shoulder... or, supposedly, like a gay person would. Funny thing about that is, I remember being afraid to do that, myself. If I had to bring my mother's pocketbook or purse out to the car, I'd hold it, not wear it... and here's this male villain lion, who of course is already queercoded to begin with - a concept I was unfamiliar with at the time, wearing the handbag and being all like "Yeah, this makes me look good!" All about that adjustable strap, and ah- Like the FAMILY GUY scene, it was weirdly kind of affirming to see that... Those scenes stuck with me... MADAGASCAR just telling me, hey, maybe it's not so bad to be that.

Of course, many years later, I figured out who I was and it all made sense... And I look back on MADAGASCAR 2, and it's pretty much queer.

As many others have pointed out, it can be read as an allegory. A gay theatre kid from New York goes home to his brute father, who wants him to be a tough guy, a MAN... But the kid just likes dancing and performance. Good stuff...

I used to criticize that movie at one point. That was me going through my, what I like to call "heterosexual sorta passing" phase. I thought that being a good animation fan and critic meant judging these movies on hierarchy, like "You're inferior, because you're not the first five Disney animated movies or these Pixar films over here." I remember I was harsh on MADAGASCAR 2 in my early 20s, a movie I enjoyed when I was 16. My insufferable phase... I remember thinking the 3rd film, EUROPE'S MOST WANTED... Co-written by Noah Baumbach of all people... Was a lot better. Much more focused!

But now that I'm 30, I'm kinda like... Uh, the 2nd one might be my favorite? Even though the third one is a lot wackier and has some really good setpieces and great character moments/dialogue, I think I like the 2nd one better. As a sort of episodic movie where the characters go off in their own directions, it's something $100m-costing big CG sequel to a hit movie... it's this big animated movie sequel that's just going off on weird tangents. Like my autistic ass does! 2 is queerer, heck they give Alex a woman love interest in 3.

It's also, like, low-key. Okay, maybe high-key horny. Moto Moto? Need I say more? Also, like, the scene of Teetsi? His abs popping out, looking like something off of a Christian server that doesn't allow swearing? I mean c'mon. Also, "Maternity leave? You're all males!"

So today, I'm in tune with myself. I'm enby, I'm queer, I kinda rotate around some of the letters of the alphabet mafia. A little B, a little Q, a little A, maybe even some I? Still processing, believe it or not...

Anyways, I'll always treasure that movie. I saw it at a time in my life where things were getting better, the tides ever-changing in a wild and inconsistent autistic life. Now some 15 years after its release, yeah, it means a lot to me. I came out, somewhat, last year... and it all just starts to make sense, little by little...

[ginnyweasleymybeloved]

summer breezes / george weasley

hi crew :) idk why i wrote this but i was in a george mood so here we go ;)

summary: george acts like he hates you, he doesn’t really hate you. you act like you hate him, but you don’t really hate him. chaos ensues.

slight neville x reader for a second

word count: 6.9k

warnings: swearing, george being mean, lil angsty, fluffy at the end, reader’s house is not specified <3, mentions of food, kissing

let me know what you think ;)

“And what do you expect me to do? By the time I’d even realised I was falling I’d already landed face first on the proverbial concrete,” you groaned out in exasperation, while your best friend looked at you with so much distaste that anyone would’ve thought you’d murdered his family pet.

He shook his head, a scowl as clear as day splashed across his lips as he reprimanded you for your heart’s foolishness, “Of all people…” he scoffed in disgust, “Honestly, Y/n.”

“You know, you shouting at me isn’t going to fix anything,” he rolled his eyes at your statement and racked his eyes over your disheveled state. You’d obviously been battling with yourself over your—unfortunate—crush for some time. As your best friend, Ron Weasley knew he’d have to soften up on you eventually, but honestly, it was your own fault for falling for one of his disastrous siblings.

You were currently sprawled out on Harry’s bed, across from the red-headed boy you’d known since you were in nappies, your arms hanging off the edges of Harry’s four-poster. Neither you or Ron had a clue where Harry, or Hermione, had disappeared off to today. Harry was probably on the quidditch pitch practicing while Hermione haunted the library, you supposed as you listened to Ron’s rantings, wishing they’d been there to mediate.

“—of all of my siblings too! You couldn’t have picked, oh I don’t know, Charlie? Or Fred even? Merlin, even Ginny! But no! You just had to go and bloody fall for the only Weasley who actively cannot stand you.” You only caught that portion of his rave, having gotten lost in the idea of being coddled sympathetically by Harry or Hermione. You adore Ron, really, he’s your loyalist and longest friend, but Merlin was he a total drama queen.

“Charlie is five years older than me, Fred is my wingman and honestly, I snogged him on a dare last summer and I wasn’t that impressed and in case you’ve forgotten, Ronald, Ginny is dating Harry,” you lectured, ignoring how he rolled his eyes as you continued, “Also I’m well aware that he hates me. You don’t need to keep reminding me.”

His composure cracked after hearing your depressed mumble, and with a sigh he moved from his spot on his own bed and made the short trip over to Harry’s. Ron gently pulled you into a sitting position on the edge of the mattress and sat himself down next to you. He let out a heavy sigh, still slightly shaking his head—he couldn’t seem to stop—, then he dropped a heavy arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side, finally offering you the comfort you’d been seeking out in the first place.

“S’alright, Y/n. Maybe he’ll get hit in the head with a bludger and forget he’s hated you since he was four.” Ron encouraged, very weakly.

You released a sigh of your own at that, “I feel like I’m betraying myself here. Like I’m letting that stupid git win.” Ron couldn’t stop the laugh he let out at your grumble.

“I’ll be honest, I thought he’d be the first to crack. You can be quite scary when you get going.” Ron divulged, shuddering at the memories of when he’d been on the receiving end of your rath.

Your family and the Weasley family had been extremely close since before you or Ron were even born, which meant you’d grown up alongside all of the Weasley children. Of course, because of your ages you and Ron had been attached at the hip as infants and remained that way even now, late into your fifth year of Hogwarts. Most of the Weasley children simply adored you, as you did them. However, there was one boy who, for whatever reason, hated you to your very core and as far as you could remember; he always had.

He is none other than the younger of the two twins; George Weasley. Despite the fact that Fred was actually quite fond of you, his twin refused to warm up to you in any way, shape or form. No, the tall and annoyingly attractive boy had made it his life’s mission not to get along with you, but instead, wage a war on you that spanned for the entirety of your childhood and adolescence.

“When did things change? When did it stop being a challenge? When did it start affecting me like this? I used to take his insults like a champ! I used to get him back worse!” You wondered out loud, letting your head flop onto Ron’s broad shoulder as he let out a puff of air through his nose.

“You still take it like a champ, numpty,” he chastised you gently, recoiling ever so slightly when you lurched forward in complete defeat. Your hands shot up to cover your face as you rested your forehead against your knees.

“No! I don’t,” you murmured dejectly, lifting your face from your hands to make eye contact with Ron. “Do you remember the other night in the Great Hall? When Neville told me he thought my hair looked pretty? And George, out of bloody nowhere, comes over and says and I quote, ‘I wouldn’t waste your time on this one, Longbottom. You’d have a better time kissing that toad of yours.’ Do you remember that?” Ron raised an eyebrow and nodded in confusion, your voice seemed to be steadily rising in octaves as you recalled the events of the other night. He had to admit, it had been an unusually unnecessary comment on George’s part, but the youngest Weasley boy wasn’t really sure where you were going with it.

“Well do you remember how I had said, ‘how’s that girlfriend of yours, Georgie? Figured out a way to make her stop being invisible yet?’ and then remember I rushed off? Do you wanna know where I rushed off to?” You pressed, watching intently as Ron nodded his head, unsure if he even wanted to know. “I went to the bathroom and I cried! I cried, Ron! Over something George bloody Weasley said to me!”

His eyes widened at that. Never once had George ever managed to properly upset you.

“And over something as small as that? I’ve heard him say a lot worse to your face.” Ron said in disbelief and you nodded, expression mimicking his as if you couldn’t believe it yourself.

“Right? And it’s like everytime he says something mean to me now my stomach drops and it actually hurts,” Ron regarded you softly, his eyes sad while he rubbed your back as you buried your face in your hands yet again, “Do you know what’s worse though?”

Ron opened his mouth to hazard a guess but no sound escaped as he drew nothing but blanks.

“I actually care what he thinks of me now. As if I actually value his idiotic opinions of me.”

It was at that moment that Harry entered the room sporting muddy quidditch gear and a confused expression, “May I ask why we’re having a heart to heart on my bed?”

Ron shrugged, continuing to rub soothing circles into your back as he told Harry mournfully, “Y/n likes George.”

“Merlin.” Harry whispered, as horrified to learn of your crush as Ron had been. “But, Y/n, he hates you! I mean he really hates you-“ the chosen one was cut off by a pillow making contact with his face. Ron had chucked it at him the second he felt your form begin to shake beneath his touch.

“Bloody hell, Harry! You’ve gone and upset her even more!” He whispered harshly. Harry quickly set his broom down and plopped himself down beside you, leaving you trapped between himself and Ron. The green-eyed boy rested his cheek against your lightly shaking back and managed to snake his arms around your torso.

“Sorry. Shouldn’t have said that.” He told you genuinely. “Should we go and find Hermione?”

You only shook your head. Embarrassment quickly overtook you as you realised your were crying in front of your two best friends over George fucking Weasley.

“No. No, I’m okay. It’s fine,” you sat up and hastily wiped your tears away.

“It’s okay to be upset, Y/n,” Harry spoke softly, squeezing your middle in a short hug, getting mud from his quidditch practice all over you.

With a resolute shake of your head you stood up and faced the boys, who each looked at you with pity filled eyes, then you spoke as steadily as you could, “I’m not upset. He hasn’t upset me,” you weren’t fooling anyone, really. Your eyes were bloodshot, your cheeks and nose were red and your voice was slightly hoarse when you spoke. The boys entertained you anyway, nodding in agreement.

“I’m telling you this as his brother and your best mate; you can do better.” Ron told you honestly, he wasn’t lying either, you were the type of girl who could get any boy she wanted without lifting a finger. Well, not any boy—obviously— but that wasn’t anything to do with you. Ron had his suspicions in regards to why his brother acted like such a knob towards you, however he’d been thrown off his scent recently when the older ginger stopped being mean to you teasingly in favour of being just plain mean.

You gave Ron the best smile you could muster at his words, “You are absolutely right, Ronald.”

Harry snorted before making his way over to Ron’s trunk, he rifled through it for a few seconds before pulling out one of Ron’s jumpers. He casually tossed, what you recognised to be Ron’s Christmas jumper from Molly, over to you with a grin, “Put that on. I got muck all over you.”

You had plenty of your own Christmas jumpers made by Molly Weasley but they were all the way over in your own dorm. Besides, you liked stealing the ones made for the boys as they were usually far too big for you which made them extremely comfortable to wear.

So you happily pulled the maroon jumper over your head, the wool effectively covering your dirtied t-shirt.

“Oh yes, by all means, you two just work away.” Ron grunted sarcastically. In all honesty, he didn’t care if you stole every piece of fabric he owned, if it made you feel better, he couldn’t care less.

“Right,” you said, making your way to the door of the dorm room, “I think I’ll go for a walk before the sunsets, calm myself down a bit.”

The boys nodded, “See you at dinner?” Ron asked and you gave him a smile and a small nod of confirmation before you set off out of the Gryffindor common room.

Thankfully, you didn’t run into George on your way out. You walked peacefully through the gardens and behind the greenhouses, it was around five in the evening and the sun was beginning to stoop low behind the tree line. The days were beginning to take on a chill as October approached quickly, you’d gone out without grabbing a jacket and you couldn’t deny that you were beginning to feel the cold nipping at your skin despite Ron’s jumper. Pulling the sleeves further down your wrists you carried on, trudging forward through the fallen leaves of the garden, you weren’t ready to go back inside yet. Going back to the castle meant you’d have to look your problem in the face, literally. You settled on the fact that you’d rather endure the physical cold rather than the emotional coldness you were sure to receive from George at dinner.

When you’d reached the back of the third greenhouse you could faintly hear someone humming to themselves and a soft smile found your lips when you saw who it was. Neville sat on a chair in the greenhouse, right by a plant that you hadn’t a clue what it was called, seemingly humming the little tune for the plant in question. Despite his undeniable clumsiness, there was something about Neville Longbottom that soothed you greatly. He has a good soul and his heart is usually in the right place, even if his head is sometimes screwed on slightly loose.

Gently, trying not to startle him you knocked on the closed door of the greenhouse before you opened it and walked in, “Hi, Neville. Mind if I join you?”

Neville blushed slightly but nodded his head, “Course! There’s a spare chair just there,” he pointed nervously to the chair. Once you settled yourself beside him, he let himself relax slightly.

“What sort of plant is this?” You asked him curiously. You really liked plants but you weren’t the best at keeping them alive, Neville though, seemed to be something of a green thumb.

He beamed at your question and quickly began to explain everything about the plant before you. You didn’t absorb a lot of it but listening to Neville speak so freely, something he rarely got to do amidst the other Gryffindor boys, filled you with a sense of serenity. Between his voice and the light wind that blew against the glass building, you’d completely forgotten about your red-headed problem.

“—sorry, I’m probably boring you. My nan says I have a tendency to ramble.” He cut himself off, cheeks heating up as he rubbed the back of his neck bashfully.

With a small giggle you only shook your head at the brown haired boy, “You’re not boring me at all! I quite like listening to you speak,” you admitted although you felt a bit silly after saying it out loud. Neville seemed to grow even more flustered after the words left your lips.

His eyes searched your face for any sign that you were teasing him, but all he saw was your kind eyes and comforting smile. Not exactly sure about what to say to you, Neville made an observation, “You’re cold.”

You gave him a nonchalant shrug, “I’m okay.”

Completely unsatisfied with your answer, Neville shook his head in protest and shrugged off his jacket. He was used to spending a lot of time in the garden so he was usually sporting far more layers than necessary, just in case. “Here, wear this. You’ll catch a cold otherwise,” he fretted and you didn’t have the heart to turn his offer down, you didn’t want to turn it down either, you were absolutely freezing. Gratefully you accepted the jacket and wasted no time in pulling it on.

“Thank you, Neville,” he looked you over for a moment, you could tell he was debating with himself on whether or not to speak, after a long few seconds of his eyes running over you he spoke.

“You look nice- I, uh, the jacket. You look nice in the jacket- I mean, the jacket looks nice on you-“ another giggle left your lips and effectively put the boy’s fumbled ramble to an end.

“Again, thank you, Neville. You are unbelievably kind.” You told him sincerely, quite enjoying the blush that adorned his cheeks.

“We should probably head back to the castle for dinner now. It’s gotten dark,” Neville said, standing up after giving his plant a loving pat.

The walk back to the castle with Neville was nice. The pair of you chatted idly about school subjects and house drama, but you had to admit, you weren’t paying a huge amount of attention to the conversation.

“Thanks again for lending me your jacket,” you said sweetly, shrugging the jacket off as you reached the main hall of the castle.

Neville, who seemed to be in a perpetual state of bashfulness, took the jacket back gently, a rosy blush painting his features, “It was no problem, really.”

Neville had always been incredibly kindhearted, sometimes to his own detriment. He treated people with respect and never turned anyone away if they needed help with anything at all. He is sweet, honest, loyal and, whether you liked him or not, he is indisputably adorable. And you found yourself thinking about how entirely better your life would be if your heart had chosen Neville to have a romantic fondness towards.

After separating from Neville, you made your way towards the Great Hall. On your way you bumped into Fred Weasley, who surprisingly, wasn’t accompanied by his twin. He greeted you with a wide smile and, as he always did, he ruffled your hair.

“So! I have a proposition for you,” the look on his face as he spoke was nothing short of wicked, a pit of nerves began to form in your stomach with the way his eyes were lit up excitedly.

“What are you proposing?” You encouraged exhaustedly. Whatever it was would probably end with you running from Filch.

Fred lopped his long arm around your shoulder, effectively pulling you along with him as he walked in the opposite direction of the Great Hall. Any chance of you getting fed this evening had gone out the window the second Fred clapped eyes on you, you’d made your peace with it. “I’m glad you asked, princess- “ at the sound of the pet name you let out a guttural groan.

“Freddie, please, I’m not in the mood to help you make some poor girl jealous just so you can get a snog,” you whined weakly only for the boy to ruffle your hair and tug you closer to his side.

“Let me finish! As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” he paused to glare at you jokingly and you smiled apologetically, “I have a plan to make George stop acting like a prat.”

A disbelieving scoff left your lips, “Yeah that’s likely,” Fred laughed and pinched your cheek lightly before carrying on.

“Angelina told me that she heard you crying in the girls toilets the other night,” he informed you. Your eyes widened in shock and confusion, you didn’t think anyone was in there with you and you also couldn’t piece together what your moment of weakness had to do with Fred’s master plan. “And before you start, I know it’s because of George.”

“That’s ridiculous, Fred.” You lied, unconvincingly.

Fred laughed again, it was a gentle laugh that let you know he hadn’t come here to tease you but to help you, “I know it’s ridiculous and that’s exactly why I know you’ve been so down in the dumps the last few days.”

“Besides,” he started again when you remained silent, “Why else would Ron be giving his brother the silent treatment?”

“What does any of this have to do with your plan?” You asked, eyes sad and heart heavy for the second time that day. You’d only just managed to get the whole thing out of your mind, and yet, here it was again.

“Well I happen to know why George acts the way he does,” you met him with a raised eyebrow and a bored expression.

“Because he hates me, I know.” Fred’s lips grew into a wicked grin and he shook his head, coming to a stop in the middle of the hallway.

“That’s where you’re wrong. He doesn’t hate you,” he lowered his lips to hover right by your ear before he whispered quietly, “He loves you.”

With a roll of your eyes, you pushed the boy away, fixing him with a hard stare, “Come on, Fred. That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking!” He exclaimed desperately, “We were in potions making amortentia, yeah? And Slughorn called George up to tell the class what he smelled and do you know what he said?” Fred retold madly, knowing full well that this was possibly the only opening he’d get to make the two of you realise your own feelings. Fred was well aware that you developed a crush on George, he picked up on it the second you began looking crestfallen when hit with a snide remark from his twin. He knew long before now that George had loving feelings towards you too, but their recent potions class was the only hard evidence he had to support his theory.

You shrugged helplessly in response, and Fred grabbed your shoulders and looked down at you urgently, “He said it smelled of cloudberries, daisies and-this is a direct quote-‘summer breezes’,” you stared at him numbly, not exactly sure what to say as the description did match the perfume you’d been wearing regularly since you were thirteen.

“That’s you, Y/n!” Fred confirmed and you pulled your lips between your teeth before shaking your head in complete denial.

“Lots of girls wear that perfume-“ Fred cut you off, ruthlessly.

“Name one.” You racked your brain but you genuinely couldn’t name another person who wore the same perfume as you. “You can’t, can you? Because it’s your smell!”

“Ok fine! So it’s my smell, what exactly do you expect me to do with this information?” Fred rolled his eyes in exhaustion at you.

“Blimey, you’re as daft as he is sometimes, do you know that?” Fred ran his hands down his face in exasperation before looking at you softly, “I except you to come with me so we can drive him mental for a bit and if he gets nasty I’ll embarrass him because I’m an incredible brother.”

You let him lead you towards Gryffindor Tower all while complaining about how you were starving only for Fred to hush you each time you let out a hungered whine, “We can raid the kitchen later on, love,” he promised and you sighed in defeat, “That’s the spirit.”

When the pair of you entered the Gryffindor common room, George was already there, probably waiting for Fred to return it. He sat one one of the sofas that faced the fire, completely relaxed and you hated the fact that you thought he looked amazingly ethereal with the way the flames from the fire lit his skin in an orange glow.

He hadn’t noticed you yet and Fred took notice of this. The older twin subtly slid his hand into yours and intertwined your fingers with his before turning his head and shooting you a mischievous wink. Fred Weasley was a nightmare, but when he was on your side, he never failed to make you smile.

Accepting that whatever Fred was about to drag you into would result in nothing but chaos you took a deep breath and followed Fred over to the sofa.

“What is she doing here?” George practically seethed, despite the intensity of his glare, you didn’t miss the nervous look he shot in Fred’s direction. What you had missed, though, was how harshly he’d clenched his jaw upon noticing your intertwined hands.

You decided that tonight you’d play the game slightly differently, if what Fred was saying was true, it would make things all the more entertaining. So, instead of your usual menacing glare and ego-shattering insult you met George with an innocent smile, “Was just hanging out with Freddie, thought I’d come say hello,” you said, sitting in the middle of the two twins.

George stared at you suspiciously, “Hello. That all?”

“Hi. No, actually, I think I’ll sit with you for a while. If that’s okay?” Fred was smirking from his spot beside you as he watched George’s face contort.

“You’ve never wanted to sit with me before.” He told you, squinting his eyes and trying to decipher what you were up to. He couldn’t lie to himself, he definitely wouldn’t mind you staying so close to him for a while, however he’d also sooner die then let you think you had the upper hand.

His and your composure cracked simultaneously at your next sentence, your truthful and somewhat vulnerable mumble of, “Well, you’ve never given me a chance to.” He knew you were right so he didn’t say anymore, opting to shift his gaze to the roaring fire, trying his best not to let his mind linger on the fact that you were wearing his brother’s jumper. His nose perked up at the scent that drifted from your spot, unusually close to him. There was no doubt in his mind that he’d fancied you for a long time, but, there was also no denying that he’d done a perfect job of making you hate him. Yet, as much as he wanted to just cut the crap, tell you that he thinks you’re the most insufferably beautiful girl he’d ever seen and kiss you and never ever stop, his pride would never allow him to cave. Especially not when you challenged him so effortlessly.

“So how come you were headed to dinner so late anyway?” Fred piqued up, growing tired of the lack of hostility between yourself and his twin.

“Oh. I was sort of worked up earlier so I decided to go for a walk ‘round the greenhouses. I bumped into Neville and I suppose I just lost track of time,” you explained halfheartedly.

Fred let yet another smirk overtake his face, “Longbottom, eh?” He wiggled his eyebrows and you let out a short giggle while shaking your head, sure, it would’ve been a good topic to tease George with, however, Neville was simply too sweet to be used as a pawn.

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s very sweet. But he’s just a friend,” George looked almost satisfied with that answer, his usual scowl making an appearance once again.

“He could do better.” It was a barefaced lie. Neville couldn’t do better than you. In fact, George was of the firm belief that nobody could do better than you.

“Of course he could, he’s quite the charmer,” you spoke wistfully, finally giving Fred the show he’d been hoping for, as you egged George on.

George pretended to think for a moment, “I’m sure he is. Personally I think you’d be more suited to Filch, although, I’ve heard his standards are quite high.”

You took the boy by surprise when you laughed, the airy giggle left your mouth had such a profound effect on George that he almost wished he’d kept his mouth shut. His heart was leaping and there were butterflies beginning to form in his stomach, he physically had to will himself not to stare at you in awe when your eyes turned to meet his. The glow of the fire only aided in showing him how gorgeous those stupid eyes of yours are. “Mmm, yeah I suppose I should lower my expectations,” you paused briefly and mimicked George’s earlier motion of pretending to mull over your options. Your next action had Fred practically howling with laughter.

“You’re available, aren’t you Georgie?” You’d asked in a mock sultry tone, leaning towards him and lightly brushing your hand down his arm. Loving the way he choked on air you got up from the sofa, not before shooting him a wink, and sauntered towards the portrait hole, “I’ll be in the kitchens. See ya later, sexy.” You directed the last part at George, who looked as though he’d been frozen in time as Fred’s laughter grew in volume.

Upon entering the kitchen, the house elves had fussed around you, handing you food at any given opportunity. You had finished eating a while ago, you were currently nursing a hot cup of tea while chatting away to one of the house elves, only to be interrupted by someone else entering the kitchen.

He set his sights on you and quickly moved to the seat across from you, a look of urgency on his face that reminded you of Fred, “Whatever he told you. It’s not true,” you raised an eyebrow, sipping your tea uncaringly.

“Mind elaborating?” You asked tiredly.

“Fred.”

“Thank you, George, very clear and helpful,” you grumbled sarcastically and the boy let out a huff.

“You were acting different. You know something. What did he tell you?” George demanded through gritted teeth and you only deflated against your chair. It always boggled your mind how everyone described George as the nicer of the twins.

Not answering, you decided to start asking your own questions, “Can I ask you something?”

“Seems like you’re going to no matter what I say,” he sighed out as an elf pottered up to him and handed him a cup full of hot tea. He took it gently and thanked the elf with such sincerity that you wished you hadn’t seen the exchange, simply because it stung to know he’d never treat you with that level of sincerity.

“Why do you hate me so much?” He sat frozen for a second. Your tone of voice took him by surprise. It was needy bordering on desperate, nothing like he’d ever heard you speak before, not to him anyway.

George took a sip of his tea and shrugged as if the question was a stupid one, “I don’t.” A cold, humourless laugh came from you in response, the kind of laugh that made his stomach drop.

“Bollox. I’m being serious, George. Tell me what it is about me that makes me so insufferable to you!” You exclaimed, heart rate increasing and tone raising in octaves as you felt yourself growing more upset by his reserved expression.

George let out a heavy sigh, the jig was about to be up. You were upset and merlin was he tired of pretending that he didn’t want you in every way, shape and form.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes.” There was no trace of hesitance or uncertainty in your voice, at this point you didn’t care what the answer was you just had to know.

“Fine,” he said all too casually and you knew by his tone that he, as per usual, wasn’t taking you seriously. “I don’t hate you. The only insufferable thing about you is how annoyingly gorgeous-“ you cut him off right then, with a scoff of pure disbelief.

Shaking your head rapidly, you stood from your chair and all but stormed out of the kitchen. His footsteps began to echoed behind you a few corridors later, he would’ve caught up to you sooner had your response to his would be confession not left him completely immobile. He called your name but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. Tears stung your eyes and you absolutely refused to let him know that he’d managed to bring you to the point of tears. Not that it was the first time.

“Bloody hell, Y/n! Hold on would you?” He called, finally getting close enough to reach out and grab your wrist. He spun you around to face him and quickly placed his hands on your upper arms to stop you from doing another runner. When he took you in he swore he’d never hate himself more than he did the moment he looked at you to see your eyes filled with tears, small drops escaping and carving a trail down your cheeks while you sniffed miserably.

“What?” You snapped, hostility the only thing you felt like offering the ginger in the moment. His brown eyes bored into yours with so much intensity but they held something you didn’t recognise. They looked sad, almost.

“I wasn’t making fun of you.” He stated honestly but you furrowed your eyebrows, your eyes set in a glare.

“Then what were you doing?” You croaked, letting your tears fall freely as the damage was already done. The sinking of your stomach and the tightening of your chest didn’t do a thing to ease your mind as George’s hands squeezed your arms.

He licked his lips quickly, he felt they’d become unbearably dry, and then slowly, he let his hands trail down your arms and took your smaller hands into his own. He hoped you were feeling the same electricity he was when he touched you.

“I’ve been a prick to you. You didn’t deserve it and I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere, but you second guessed him. For all you knew it was just some elaborate prank, Fred was probably in on it too.

When your gaze didn’t soften, he continued to speak, “So I understand why you wouldn’t believe me when I tell you that I don’t hate you. But I just-“ he cut himself off with a heavy sigh.

“You just what?” You squeaked when his eyes spent a moment too long observing your lips. You hardly had time to register the feeling of his hands leaving yours before they were cupping your cheeks instead. “What’re you doing?” You wondered, completely dazed by the way he stared at you. His warm hands holding your face causing your stomach to jolt in an entirely different sensation than before. As much as you wanted to push him away and tell him to shove his apology, you couldn’t help but take him in. His lips were parted ever so slightly and his cheeks were flushed, probably from chasing you through the castle, his hair was disheveled and merlin he looked like he wanted to kiss you.

Your question floated in the air, completely unanswered. Next thing you knew his lips were on yours. He kissed you as if you were oxygen and he’d just been drowning and you couldn’t help but move your lips harmonically against his too. Your hands clutched his wrists as he continued to cradle your cheeks. In all honesty you weren’t sure at what point he’d backed you against the wall, or at what point his tongue had entered your mouth or when exactly his hands had migrated to your hips, yours now tangled in his hair. His body was pressed flush against yours and the small groans he’d let out when you tugged at his hair or ran your tongue against his made you realise that you couldn’t care less if this was one big prank or joke. It was happening and that’s all you cared about.

Even as he reluctantly pulled away, he chased your lips with several shorter kisses before separating entirely. He rested his forehead against yours, his guard completely down now as he admired your swollen lips and heaving chest. The feeling of your fingers in his hair made it nearly impossible for him to keep his lips detached from yours, “You’ve no idea how many times I’ve thought about doing that.”

Your eyes searched his face for any sign that he was lying, when you found none you finally let yourself smile. A similar smile formed on George’s face, “I meant what I said earlier. I really do think you’re annoyingly gorgeous,” the boy silently praised himself when you let out a cute giggle.

“You’re quite cute too. When you’re not running that massive mouth of yours,” you teased although you weren’t really joking, to your surprise George let out a bellowing laugh before placing a fluttering kiss against your lips.

When he pulled away again he looked around the hallway, as if he only now realised where he was. Luckily nobody was wandering the halls since curfew was fast approaching and the unwelcoming cold that occupied the hallways left little reason for students or staff to be out and about. George slid his hand into yours again, this time intertwining your fingers with his. He gave you a hopeful glance and asked, “Do you wanna go somewhere?”

You nodded your head and let him tug you into one of the abandoned astronomy classrooms on the upper floor of the castle, Filch rarely ever patrolled up there which is why George decided on it. As well as that, since the classroom, which had been out of use for a good few years, had been used for astronomy the ceiling was bewitched to reflect the night sky.

George hadn’t come to this particular class in a while but thinking on his feet he remembered the cupboard at the back of the classroom used to hold blankets, he remembered when the classroom had been in use during his first year, students would be all but freezing during the winter, so they’d stocked the classroom with blankets to be brought out during the colder months.

He made his way over to the cupboard and grinned happily when his hand landed on a rather large woollen blanket. The material was scratchy but it would do for what he needed it for. He grabbed one more blanket from the dusty press before he made his way back over to you.

George suppressed a chuckle as he watched you, your face completely turned up, watching the stars on the ceiling with awe in your eyes. He busied himself with laying the wool blanket out on the bare floor, the room was devoid of tables and chairs so he didn’t have to worry about finding a space. Once he was finished, he plopped down on the blanket and expectantly patted the empty space beside him, “Come on then, sit down,” he urged and you finally tore your eyes away from the charmed ceiling.

A small laugh left your lips when you settled yourself down beside him, he wasted no time in covering the pair of you in the second blanket. With an exaggerated sigh he laid back and waited for you to do the same, he turned on his side to face you when you did. In contrast to earlier, George had an air of nervousness about him as he deftly took your hand and began playing with your fingers, not meeting your eyes. “Just out of curiosity,” he began quietly, making eye contact with you now, “What exactly did Fred tell you?”

His question forced a somewhat smug smirk to crawl onto your lips and you couldn’t help but take the opportunity to tease him. You leaned up on your elbows and twisted slightly so you could look down at him, trying not to waste too much time admiring the view, you answered him, “Oh, nothing really. Your lovely twin just happened to mention that you had a very eventful potions class the other day…” you trailed off, biting back a smile as he groaned.

“Mhm and what was it that he said you smelled from the amortentia?” You poked his cheek and he closed his eyes, a tiny smile growing on his face despite his blushing cheeks. “Cloudberries…oh! And daisies, now, what was the other thing? Let me think-“ you pretended to ponder before George cut you off by pulling you down on him and pressing his lips to yours in a kiss much softer than any of the others.

“Summer breezes,” he whispered against your lips before connecting them again, “It smelled like you,” and with that his hand snaked to the nape of your neck as he pressed his lips against yours, pouring all of his feelings into it, hoping it was enough. In all honesty, now that he’d felt what it was like to love you, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to go back to pretending to hate you.

Once he pulled away you were completely breathless, however, George seemed to have more to say. “I don’t want us to go back to the way we were,” absentmindedly you brushed his hair out of his eyes, stroking the red strands soothingly as he continued to confide in you, his voice, face and body completely vulnerable to you. Something about him trusting you with his feelings reassured you that his intentions were pure and banished any notion you possessed of the whole thing being a joke, “I didn’t like it, acting like that but you were always so unbothered that I felt like I had keep one upping you,” he confessed.

“You always gave me this feeling in my stomach whenever you’d come over to the Burrow with your parents when we were little and I didn’t understand it. I just thought that it must’ve meant I didn’t like you…” George seemed to get lost in his own mind as he gazed at you regretfully, his fingers trailed the length of your spine sofly, “By the time I realised, we were both older and I suppose I just thought you couldn’t feel the same ‘cause I made you hate me,” you hummed in acknowledgment, your fingers still working his hair, keeping it out of his eyes that looked at you so intently that you could’ve drowned in them and died happy.

“But then the other night after dinner Angie slapped me upside the head and talked my ear off about how out of order I’d been—obviously I agree with her! You weren’t even talking to me but Neville was complimenting you and I don’t know… just got possessive,” he muttered the last part, losing some confidence but regained it upon seeing the little smile on your lips. “Then Ron looked about ready to push me off the astronomy tower when I saw him this evening. Blimey, I knew it had to have something to do with you since Harry was snippy too.” You had to laugh at the exhausted look on his face when he recalled your two best friends.

Mockingly, you gave him a stern look and clicked your tongue, “Well, perhaps if you weren’t so mean to me all of this could’ve been avoided,” George groaned once again, feeling guilty he pulled you even closer and buried his face in your neck.

“M’sorry,” you carded your fingers through his hair, pressing a soft kiss to his head. Your lips against his head caused him to lift his face from the crook of your neck, “Forgive me?” He asked, a cute pout on his lips.

“I’ll think about it,” you teased, giggling at the offended look on his face. George let out a dissatisfied sigh, he pushed a strand of hair behind your ear before giving you a toothy smile.

“Don’t worry, love. I plan on making it up to you.”

[hangovercurse]

I’d Drop it All for You

Pictures of you and Pete are spread all over the internet, causing a whirlwind of hate to enter your social media.

Request: “Pete content please! anything !!! smut fluff whatever”

Pete x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, depictions of depression and anxiety

A/N: *Insert normal spiel about respecting A.G. and only using her for plot purposes. No harm intended.* Also I wrote most of this after a meeting with my therapist so... enjoy :) (He’s so cute in this gif I wanna kiss his face)

Word Count: 1820

You weren’t one of those people who loved being the center of attention. You knew that being in the spotlight also meant constantly living under a microscope, and you decided a long time ago that that was not for you.

But you were lucky enough to work as an assistant art director at just 24. You were hoping that The King of Staten Island, your newest project, would help get your name out into the professional world. But that wasn’t the only thing to come out of the film.

It happened unexpectedly, you showed up on set the first day, ready to do whatever the art director required of you. You couldn’t help but be slightly distracted by the lead actor and writer, Pete Davidson. He was so kind and funny, and he wasn’t uptight like everyone else.

After a few hours of filming, he came up to you, introducing himself. He said he “wanted to get to know everyone working on the project,” but you didn’t see him introducing himself to anyone else. You two started talking during breaks. Then he started sitting with you at lunch. Then he was asking for your number.

In a matter of weeks he was asking you out to dinner, taking you to a cozy restaurant that you absolutely adored. He walked you home, his hand grazing yours until you intertwined your fingers.

It was all very romantic, so when Pete asked if he could take you on another, you obviously said yes. Flash forward two weeks and he finally got the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend, even though you were both exclusively seeing each other already.

After filming ended 2 months later, you were still working on the film in post, which meant you had an excuse to stay  in Staten Island with Pete. After about 2 weeks in post, you spent more nights in his bed than your hotel’s.

Nearly 6 months later and you were happier than ever. You were splitting your time between your small apartment in the Bronx and Pete’s basement apartment. Pete introduced you to most of his friends, and you introduced him to yours.

But other than your small circles of friends, you kept your relationship fairly quiet. Pete doesn’t have social media and yours is strictly professional, so there are no pictures of you two together. You weren’t hiding each other, you loved each other, you just had no reason to tell tabloids. And you were perfectly happy with that.

Which made it so much worse when various news sites had pictures of you two holding hands. Had they been anyone else you would’ve thought they were cute, walking along the South Beach oceanside at night.

Pete had been in the SNL studio all day when the pictures were released, while you were in his apartment, trying your best to focus on the photoset in front of you. The production team wanted the film to scream “teen romance,” which basically entails subtle pink undertones and a higher saturation. But you couldn’t quite get the coloring right, probably because you weren’t actually focusing on the colors.

You sighed, looking at the time and realizing that Pete won’t be back until sometime after 2am, which was a whole 5 hours away. You let out a huff, pushing away from the desk and making your way to Pete’s closet and searching for one of his hoodies. They always smelled like him (and weed), so it was a comfort to you.

You crashed onto the bed, finding the phone that you had tossed there a few hours earlier. Turning it on you were surprised by the number of notifications you were getting. You knew the photos had surfaced but you weren’t expecting this.

Your Instagram was blowing up with new follows, likes, and comments. It was kind of exciting at first until you started reading some of the comments.

I mean, we knew he would downgrade from Ari, but this is like… really far down.

This girl really thinks she’s special just bc Pete’s dating her. Hun he could do so much better

Who is she?!? Literally no one.

Someone needs to show her how to dress

That hairstyle is not it honey

Pete Davidson is dating YOU??? He could do sooo much better

Ari was prettier sorry not sorry

The entire comment section on your last post, a picture of you on the set of your latest film, was pretty much the same. There were some nice comments, but a lot of mean ones.

And you couldn’t help it, you couldn’t stop looking at them. It felt so cliché, but it was like all of your deepest insecurities about being with Pete were thrown out on the table.

You knew that Pete had a fairly large following, and that a lot of people had really strong feelings about him. You had expected that if and when your relationship went public you would have a lot of people watching you, scrutinizing you. But you didn’t care because Pete was worth it.

Now you weren’t so sure. It wasn’t that you couldn’t handle people talking bad about you, because you definitely could, even if it hurt. You just weren’t expecting the amount of people comparing you to Ariana or saying that Pete could do so much better.

And it only bothered you so much because you felt it too. Your inner demons loved to remind you that Pete had dated Ariana fucking Grande and now he’s dating you. Anyone could see an obvious downgrade.

You turned your phone off and threw it on the opposite side of the bed, trying to think positive thoughts. “I am in control of my own thoughts and emotions. I am catching my negative thoughts and fixing them.” You murmured your therapist’s mantra to yourself, but it was too late. The thoughts had already taken hold of your mind.

Your eyes started to water as you could feel the heavy feeling in your chest set in. You pulled the hood over your head, pulling the straps to hide as much of your face as possible, and pulling your knees to your chest. You laid like that for a while, tears falling as doubts ran through your head. Once you had effectively exhausted your thoughts, you went numb. Your tears had stopped, but you couldn’t move. This wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, but it sure wasn’t pleasurable.

There was a sort of buzzing throughout your body, almost like the feeling when your foot falls asleep, but everywhere. It seemed to block out your sound, as you didn’t hear the basement door open. You only knew that Pete was home when he sat beside you on the bed, pulling the hood off your face.

“There’s my beautiful girl.” He smiled at you. You tried your best to fake one back, but you honestly couldn’t find the energy. Pete pulled you so you were sitting up, back pressed against his front. His arms wrapped around your middle as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “What’s goin on?” He murmured against your skin.

“Did you see them?” You asked, your voice quiet and hoarse.

Pete let out a sigh, “Yeah, I saw them.” He paused, his hold on you getting tighter, like he was making sure you couldn’t leave. “I’m sorry baby. I know you didn’t want it to be a whole big thing.”

You turned your head to face him, “It’s not that. I really don’t mind that people know. We weren’t trying to hide anything.”

He smiled, “Yeah, I know I just- it was nice having this to ourselves.”

He wanted to hide you. He’s embarrassed of you.

Your inner dialogue never seemed to shut up.

You turned away from Pete, trying to hide the tears forming in your eyes. “Yeah.” You whispered.

“What’s wrong, you’re still upset.” He rocked you in his arms, kissing the top of your head. You shrugged in response, not trusting yourself to talk. “You can talk to me, y’know.”

You nodded, leaning further into Pete’s chest. “People found my Instagram.” You murmured, looking down and tracing the arrow tattoo on his hand.

“Whaddya mean? I thought it was public?” He furrowed his eyebrows.

You sighed, wishing you hadn’t said anything. “Yeah, it is. But after all the articles people started following me and shit.”

“I would ask how that’s a problem but I deleted my Instagram so I can’t really talk.” You could tell he was trying to make you feel better, but you couldn’t seem to get out of your haze.

You shook your head, deciding to drop the matter. “It’s not, I’m just being overdramatic.” You sighed, putting on a fake smile and facing him fully. “Wanna watch a movie?” You asked, trying to change the topic.

He gave you the I-know-you’re-bullshitting-me look, which made you look down. “Something’s bothering you, Y/N. And you’re trying to pretend it doesn’t because you think your feelings aren’t valid, but they are.” He tilted his head, trying to meet your eyes that were still trained on the bedsheets below you.

“Where’d you learn that one?” You chuckled half-heartedly.

“Rehab part 2” he smiled, hand coming to your jaw to tilt your head up. “C’mon, talk to me. I wanna help.”

You huffed, moving towards the opposite side of the bed where your phone laid. You opened it, finding your Instagram, and showing him the comments. His eyebrows furrowed as he scrolled through the comments. When he decided he’d had enough he put your phone down, grabbing your waist and lifting you onto his lap so you were essentially straddling him.

He leaned his forehead against your own, your noses touching. “That’s all bullshit, you know that, right?”

You looked down, biting your lip. “Y/N you’re the most amazing, most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, okay? I’m in love with you, not anyone else.” Pete’s eyes were searching yours, trying to figure out what was going on in your head.

“I know.” You sighed, “It’s just hard to be with you and not compare myself to her. And then all these people started to do it too, and they kept saying that you could do so much better and you can. So, I dunno I guess I just kind of spiraled.”

Pete captured your lips in a long, passionate kiss. “Y/N. There is literally no better than you. I can’t do better because you are the best woman I have ever loved. “

You pulled Pete in for another kiss. “Thank you, Pete. I love you.”

“I love you too. If this happens again, I want you to call me. I don’t care what I’m doing, I’d drop it all for you.” You smiled, sitting in the arms of the guy you loved. The thoughts didn’t just magically go away, but for a brief moment in time, you were happy.

[gravityups]

Gravity Falls and how it kind of saved me

Even thought it’s a little late, I felt like I should make a post about what Gravity Falls means to me. And how it kind of saved my life.

Last fall, I was in college. Halfway through the semester I got sick and had to drop out. It was kind of the final straw; I was struggling for two years, had low grades in half my classes, and had been so depressed and anxious I was having hallucinations. So, to put it lightly, I felt like nothing mattered anymore.

Now don’t get be wrong, this wasn’t a BOOM OMY GOSH GRAVITY FALLS SAVED MY LIFE kind of deal.

Not really. I put it on when I was bored on day and it just... comforted me.

Mable and Dipper felt like the loving banter I had with my sister. The humor between them was exactly like ours; the cheesy jokes, combining words, playing stupid made up games, arguing for hours and then going outside to find a fairy. God I could talk about them for hours. Grunkle Stan reminded me of my dad (do not take this out of context, I will explain). The tough guy persona, soft on the inside, lovable goofball. I remember being especially impacted by him wanting to ‘toughen dipper up.’ It was exactly what my dad had said to me a million times as a kid. He’s still proud of me like the way Stan is proud of Dipper.

And that’s only one part about the show that I love. The weird creatures, each character’s quirks and unique signature, the captivating mystery, and the childlike but exciting stories. It touched me in a way I haven’t felt since I was in middle school. I felt like I was waking up again. I wanted more. And that’s when I got into fanfiction.

At first it was only to kind of ‘sedate’ the thirst after the shows ending (I cried for a good long while on the final episode). But then after a few fantastic stories, some fanart, and a good amount of daydreaming I realized: holy crap I could do this too.

During my entire childhood I had wanted to be a writer. I had notebooks filled with ideas and years worth of stories on my laptop. Freshman year of high school the hard drive broke and I lost it all. I lost years worth of content that I would never see again. Before I knew it that accident and my depression had killed my love for writing. I hadn’t wrote a single story idea down in five years.

That night, I wrote six thousand words in one sitting. It was like I found a cure, finished a race, won a medal.

I found it easier to write stuff about characters I already understood instead of struggling to make my own. The words flowed like water under my hand. I felt like I could write anything I wanted whenever I wanted. I wasn’t terrified about running out of energy or interest and never coming to it again. I could just DO

Gravity Falls brought my passion back from the dead. It kickstarted what I’ve done ever since I could talk, and I’ve discovered that this is what I want to do for the rest of my life. I know it’s sappy but, it made me want to live again

So thank you, Gravity Falls, for a fantastic story that has touched so many people. But also...

Thank you you, community, for being the lifeblood of Gravity Falls. The show wouldn’t be what it is without you.

[lumifly]

→In The Middle Of The Night

→A short imagine where the reader is a devoted knight and Childe is devoted to the Fatui. Romance isn't allowed between the two leading them to desperate measures to see one another. →Slightly inspired by the song "Middle Of The Night" by Elley Duhé but I personally prefer the cover by Loveless. →Could be a little angsty but it's mostly fluff! →This def isn't my best buttt I wrote a while back so I’m posting now HAH

Even though you tended to wear a more covering uniform than the other knights, it always felt like the night air was nipping at your skin. Jean had asked you relentlessly why you took these late-night commissions, yet you couldn't help but lie to her face. You had known the blonde since childhood and these neverending lies had started to weigh on your mind. Just yesterday, Kaeya had asked you to join him on his routes and you had to decline, causing further questions.

You had been preparing yourself outside of your destination for a few moments now, rethinking these past few weeks wondering why you were so intoxicated by the thought of him. The fog in your mind was getting so thick that you almost walked away from the commission, knowing that doing so would be better for the both of you in the end.

Shaking these thoughts away, you forced your tired arms to pick up your claymore, the weapon of your choice. This commission wasn't the hardest, simply a few abyss mages and hilichurls that needed to be wiped out. As your sword cut cleanly through flesh, the vision that hung from your side glowed a steady, burning red.

As you ended the final hilichurl's suffering, you sheathed your now bloodied claymore and drew a weak breath as you looked over yourself.

"Damn," this wasn't something that you were happy about, much of your clothes had been sullied by fighting against your now deceased opponents, but your bigger problem was that you had to make the walk to Liyue in wet clothes.

Holding your vision in your hand as you walked, you relished in the heat, your wet shoes squeaking with each step. Were you making the right decisions? You doubted it. You hated lying to your friends and you especially hated what the Fatui stood for. So why were you falling for one of their highest ranked? Was it his smile or the way that if he knew you were in trouble he would kill his own men to save you?

Before you realized, you had arrived at the designated meeting spot, it wasn't much at all. If anything, it was secluded and provided little comfort, simply some conveniently shaped rocks to sit on and a tattered blanket that Childe had brought previously when you complained of the cold. Sitting down on the cold rock, you glanced around, a small frown making its way onto your features.

Sitting here alone was a bit depressing, normally you were the last to arrive so you had never been trapped with your thoughts like this before. As you glanced down at your vision in your hand, you couldn't help but wonder if the gods would approve of what you were doing now. The humiliation built inside you as you stared at the blinking red glow, causing you to hide it in your pocket as you stood up, pacing around the little camp the two of you had built.

Kneeling for a moment, you clumsily folded the blanket and set it in a patch of grass that seemed cleaner than some of the other areas. "This just isn't right..," it came out in a soft mumble but the words were picked up by the man behind you who quickly made his way to you, wrapping his arms behind you and nestling his head into your neck.

"What's not right, comrade? Is my decorating not up to standard?" He spoke in a light, teasing tone but it was obvious that he was out of breath and winded from whatever expedition he had been on.

Spinning around, you took a small step to make a little distance and for once, you felt a little awkward in front of the Harbinger. His clothes were tattered and ripped, blood-smeared and stained in some spots, but you couldn't really judge him on that whenever yours were the same but also wet. "Well, I'm not sure how to explain it other than I just don't feel right. I'm tired of the lying and the late nights," You paused for a moment, not really wanting to become upset, "Childe, I'm just tired."

It took a second for Childe to understand your words, it was clear that he was thinking about what he would say to you. Then, a metaphorical lightbulb appeared over his head and it looked like he almost smiled. "One second," he scampered over towards the sorry excuse for a blanket and awkwardly spread it into the ground.

He stood back for a second and admired his work before gesturing to it and giving you a soft smile, "Lay down!" he urged, causing you to let out an exaggerated sigh.

"I'm not tired like that," you muttered, yet you still made your way towards the blanket and settled onto it and laid down, Childe quickly making his way next to you and laying down beside you.

Both of you raised your eyes to look up at the sky, a soft smile forming on your features as the universe smiled down upon the two of you.

"Y/N?" Childe spoke almost nervously and you broke your gaze from the stars for a moment and looked at him, waiting for his next words, "I know that you're tired. I am too. But you can always call on me, I'll always be here for you. I don't know how to change the world to accommodate us, but I don't want the world to approve of me if I cannot be with you." As he finished speaking, his usual smile was back on his face, but it was clear that he had thought about his words and had meant them.

Instead of the chill that had frosted your skin all night, your cheeks now felt flushed and you swore that this man had somehow hypnotized you in a matter of minutes. Scooting a bit closer to him, you nestled yourself against his chest and spoke.

"Does that mean we can meet normally? No more meeting in the middle of the night?" Your words were soft, but it was obvious that you were over the long walks to Liyue and the abyss mages. Wrapping an arm around you as Childe looked back up to the stars, he chuckled and nodded.

"Of course, girlie."

And just like that, you weren't tired anymore.

[sinigangsta-ao3]

Thursday Thoughts: How fanfiction helped me to reconnect with my identity as a writer

A little under three months ago (and after nearly one year of consuming fanfiction late at night, when my kids were asleep, and on incognito tabs on my mobile Chrome browser), I decided to take the plunge and enter the world of fanfic as a (GASP!) writer.

First, a little storytime...

I've been writing for as long as I can remember. I viscerally remember receiving a Bugs Bunny diary when I was maybe five or six years old and faithfully recording my thoughts, observations, and daily happenings. Every. Single. Night.

I took special care to hide my diary key someplace safe so that my parents couldn't unlock that tiny journal and read my childish musings (which, when I think about it, were probably misspelled descriptions of my kindergarten crush or complaints about my siblings).

From there, I eventually graduated to managing blogs (specifically, and to date myself, a Xanga), scribbling poetry in the margins of my textbooks, and attempting to write my own stories — original fiction and, yes, fanfiction (Harry Potter and LOTR, to be exact).

Throughout my childhood and adolescence, writing was not just a hobby; it was the most useful tool at my disposal to process what was happening in my life. Especially since I was one of four children, growing up in a very religious household, and I didn't have many outlets or spaces outside of my family, my school, and my little hometown to explore. To question. To articulate the multitude of thoughts that plagued my mind.

I was very sheltered. And not always seen or heard because, simply put, there just wasn't enough quiet or space for my voice to cut through all the chaos. So writing was my outlet. Writing allowed me to condense really convoluted and complex thoughts into something discernible — and, finally, people heard me. They understood me.

And I loved it.

And I was good at it.

So good that, when the time came for me to go to college, I decided to enroll as an English Literature and Communications double major. And I decided to use my four years in university to study and hone my craft. I declared emphases in Creative Writing and Literary Journalism. I wrote stories for my campus literary journal. I served as editor for two sections of our campus newspaper. I was a teaching assistant for creative writing and journalism classes. I got internships for external publications. I had ambitions to work for a magazine after I graduated and/or write long-form, special interest pieces as a freelance journalist.

... But then I got really depressed. For a multitude of reasons. But some big ones were:

Feeling marginalized on a predominantly white and very affluent campus, while my family was dealing with very serious socioeconomic problems back at home (another topic for another Thursday Thoughts blog post, I think...); and

Approaching graduation in the middle of an economic recession — and questioning my decision to pursue a fucking English degree when I needed to think about how I was going to support myself.

Sadly, this led to my (conscious or subconscious, I'm not really sure) decision to abandon my ambitions of writing professionally. And I got a job in Human Resources once I entered the workforce.

And I did not seriously write again for over a decade.

Fast forward to today...

Amidst a multi-year, global pandemic and an ongoing global social justice movement, I experienced another serious depressive episode and a major case of burnout. It caused me to take medical leave for half a year. I started antidepressants to cope with the extreme emotions I experience daily.

And it also forced me to start to do a lot of self-reflection (with full support from my partner and a licensed therapist).

For the first time in over a decade, I had time to pause. To remove myself from the capitalist grind of producing and working and never resting. And I asked myself: Who am I as a person? What is important to me? As I continue to live my life — and particularly now that I'm a mother and someone whose professional life is so grounded in taking care of others — how can I continue to take care of myself? And model what it means to live unapologetically and authentically?

Now, I'm sure you're probably thinking: "What the hell does this have to do with writing porny stories about cartoons?"

And this is my whole point: when I started writing fanfiction a few months ago, it helped me remember that part of who I am — part of who I've always been — is a writer.

And I had lost sight of that part of me when I, unfortunately, abandoned my plans to pursue a writing career.

As a space, fanfiction was easily accessible to me. I didn't have to worry about any barriers to entry, like finding an editor, or a publisher, or a distributor to share my stories.

I could just write. And post it online, regardless of whether or not it was "good enough" or "perfect."

So that's what I did.

I started to write a little fic about a young woman who was mourning the loss of one of the most important relationships in her life (it was really my excuse to channel my own grief of lost relationships).

And people started reading what I wrote. And they started conversing with me. And they began to share how much my writing meant to them, how I was able to make them feel things.

And then they asked for more. So I wrote a sequel about a young man who was dealing with major depression — and who needed to reconcile the mistakes he made and learn how to make amends with those he had hurt (truly, an excuse for me to write about my own experiences with depression and feelings of inadequacy and regret and wasted potential).

And people kept responding. And then I eventually started connecting with other fic writers — who quickly became sources of inspiration and help and shared commiseration. Who, above all, became friends.

And it reminded me of why I loved writing in the first place: because it helped me to feel seen. And it helped me to show other people - I see you too.

Writing has been the best way for me to make sense of the world. Writing has been the easiest way for me to connect with others. Writing has always helped me to understand myself better.

And, in a really silly yet beautiful way, writing fanfiction helped me to rediscover that part of me — the part who is a writer. The part that I thought I had completely lost sight of when I, unfortunately, abandoned my plans to pursue a writing career. The part that I thought I would never be able to find again.

Now, I feel very inspired. I feel connected. I feel creative. And, most importantly, I'm having fun.

I feel like myself. And if continuing to write little stories about cartoon characters is going to continue to help me feel this way...

Then goddammit, I will keep writing little stories about cartoon characters.

[greengrayeyeswrites]

shit-faced in love (chapter five)

Title: shit-faced in love

Pairing: Corpse Husband x OC (fem!youtuber!reader)

Word Count: 1,158

Warnings: Mental Health/Mental Illnesses are a big topic in this story. Mentions of depression, bpd and other mental illnesses. Angst, Fluff.

Note: This may be a Corpse x OC story but feel free to insert yourself into the main girls role. If Corpse ever announces that he doesn’t like fanfics about him, I’ll delete this.

Prologue — Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6

Author’s Note: Hello guys! I am very, very sorry that I didn’t update this any sooner. I’ve had a lot of troubles with my mental health lately, especially my bpd acting up and making me feel so worthless I wanted to punch myself in the face with a chair... But I thought that I need to get my shit back together and post a new chapter. I am really sorry about the delay. All these likes I am getting on a story that I mainly write for myself is overwhelming... so a massive thank you!

Also HAPPY BIRTHDAY CORPSE!

— — —

Imogen ended up being MIA for two whole days. She didn’t update her Twitter after cancelling the stream and didn’t upload anything on her Instagram story and her feed. 

The day after her bad mood swing she stayed at home and Baylee came over. The two girls were spending the day on the couch watching silly old-school romcoms; Buddy sitting in between them in case Imogen needed him.

They were watching movie after movie, falling asleep in between and Imogen felt bad for Baylee. She apologized for being so unmotivated, boring and weird today but Baylee quickly shook her head and told her that it was okay. 

Imogen couldn’t believe how happy she was to have Baylee as her friend, but since she was shifting from black to white thinking and back to black, she couldn’t really feel the happiness she knew existed somewhere. 

All she felt was emptiness and sadness. The episode lasted four whole hours and Imogen fell asleep crying in the middle of it. 

On her final day in Houston, Imogen and Baylee decided to go shopping and Imogen wanted to spoil her best friend. She got her a new computer and a new phone—which Baylee couldn’t quite believe. But Imogen was persistent and wanted her to keep the things.

Imogen then rented a beautiful NCT green colored Jeep Wrangler; which the girls immediately tried out when they were driving to the Space Center Houston for their last day.

„You almost sounded like MrBeast, when you gave me the phone and Macbook“ Baylee chuckled, as the girls looked for a parking lot in front of the Space Center. „I mean I’m meeting him and the crew next week for the first time, so I have to practice“, Imogen grinned, feeling way happier then a few days back.

„D’you already know what you’re doing with them?“ Baylee asked, but Imogen shook her head, when her phone rang with a message notification.

„Would you mind?“ Imogen asked nodding towards her phone, that was peeking out of her totebag in front of Baylee’s feet. Buddy was lifting his head from the backseat, looking at his owner and her friend.

„You got a voice message from Corpse“ Baylee read the notification on the lock screen and Imogen gulped. „Would you mind playing it?“ The twenty-eight year old asked and Baylee nodded, unlocking Imogen’s phone and pressing play.

The first thing both girls could hear was shuffling in the background before Corpse’s deep voice rang in their ears. „Whaddup baby?“, he asked and a shiver went through Imogen’s body, while she maneuvered the car into a parking lot. 

Baylee slapped her hand over her mouth, staring at Imogen in shock. Hearing his go-to phrase so close to her ears and so intimate was kinda scary. Baylee felt like she was eavesdropping.

„How are you feeling?“ Corpse asked, „We were kinda worried when you didn’t respond to the group chat. I know I go MIA as well but you usually told us what was wrong. Rae was worried and I was as well. Please text us soon, so we don’t have to worry anymore.“ 

A quiet breath left his lips and Imogen looked over to Baylee, who was still covering her mouth. „I hope you finish your MrBeast stuff soon. I want to meet you real quick!“ Corpse finished the message and the phone screen turned black.

„Oh my god“ Baylee let out and stared at Imogen. „I felt so bad for listening, Mo!“ She cried out and Imogen gulped. „I feel so bad for not telling them what happened. I know how worried they get when I don't text!“ Imogen shook her head.

„Here, here!“ Baylee pressed the phone into Imogen’s hands. „Text them now! Tell them how you’re feeling and what you’re up to today!“ Baylee turned around to Buddy.

„Buddy, I can’t believe I heard Corpse speak like that! He was genuinely worried!“ Imogen watched her best friend and shook her head.

She had to be honest. Hearing Corpse’s voice like that made her heart jump a little bit. What was he doing with her? She didn’t even know what he looked like, yet he made her heart do weird dancy-dances. 

She knew Baylee was watching her, while she typed into her phone. She knew Baylee wanted to know what she wrote—and she would’ve told her, if she wouldn’t be so shy about it.

When the women came home this night, Baylee decided to crash over in Imogen’s AirBnB. They stayed up most of the night and talked about everything and nothing. They were talking about Baylee’s crush on her co-worker, that didn’t even notice her presence. They spoke about Imogen’s therapy and medication and how Buddy had helped her out of so many dark places already; and then, as the sun was about to rise again, they fell asleep.

— — —

They woke up to Buddy licking their faces, wagging with his tail only a few hours later. Baylee sat up and looked at Imogen, fighting her dog off her.

„You know what? I’m going to miss you.“ Imogen finally got Buddy off her and looked at Baylee. Tears filled her best friends eyes and Imogen looked at her. „Bay“, she whispered and crushed her best friend in a hug. „This week went by way too fast“ Baylee cried into Imogen’s shoulder. „I swear, before I go back to Ireland, I’ll take you on a vacy to Hawaii. So be prepared to take a few days off, once I’m done with my travel!“

Imogen started laughing and Baylee grinned. „Gotcha!“

After having a breakfast together, Baylee helped Imogen pack her stuff and load it into the Wrangler. Imogen was fastening Buddy in the backseat, when she closed the door behind her and hugged Baylee once more.

„Take care, Mo.“ Baylee said and squished Imogen’s cheeks. „I will.“ - „No, I’m serious. When you feel low or sad or empty , turn off the cameras and hold Buddy. Okay?“

Imogen smiled. „I will. Thank you, Bay.“ The girls hugged once more, Baylee clinging on to Imogen as if her life depends on it. „I just wish I could quit my retail job and follow you around, being your camera woman or something.“ Baylee sighed and Imogen looked at her.

Imogen’s brain buzzed. „Keep that in mind, Bay. Okay? I’d even pay you.“ Baylee looked at Imogen and the Irish lass grinned. „Whatever you say, big girl“ Baylee grinned and softly banged the side of the Wrangler.

„Go and take the NCTzen car through the states.“ Baylee grinned and stepped aside to her own car. Imogen grinned and climbed into the Wrangler.

„Good luck on these 1,270 miles!“ Balyee yelled, as Imogen turned on the engine. „Take breaks in between okay?“ Imogen nodded and started backing out of the driveway.

Baylee disappeared into the distance and a piece of Imogen’s heart broke, when she left Houston behind.  

to be continued...

Taglist: @wineandionysus​ @chanbaeol​ @rexit-mo

[anfie-in-the-box]

Dreamtale_Not_Found

Notes

Remember this thing I wrote out of the blue for Aftermare Week by @bluepalleteuniverse? Well, now the story truly begins!

Warnings: depression; a bit of manipulation, guilt-tripping, and an overall mean attitude of a random villager towards both Nightmare and Dream; not a panic attack, exactly, but definitely something similar.

Do tell me if there's anything I missed!

。。。

A negligible shift

Nightmare is done. He needs a change. Something. Anything. Please.

He sits between the roots of the Tree, hugging himself with both hands, chin on the knees. The position gets awkward, uncomfortable, but he doesn't have it in himself to move. He's drained.

He's fearful, uneasy with the deepest pain that never ends, but he's also empty. That's how it feels, at least. It's a void that nothing can fill, not even anxiety and doubts that have Nightmare in their cruel cold claws. The way misery blooms in the emptiness of his being is so alluring though, so mesmerising. Nightmare lets himself drown in the feeling. Nightmare never fights it, like he never fought the villagers, neither verbally nor physically. He's weak, isn't he?

But he isn’t evil. He's not. Can't be.

Right?

These thoughts break him more than any of the villagers ever could. Nightmare doesn’t know who he is anymore, and that makes it so much more frightening. He can't bear it. He's not brave, and he's not strong.

His hands are trembling. His whole body is trembling, Nightmare notices belatedly. His vision is blurred, too; he's crying again. He can't help it, useless even against his own tears.

Nightmare hugs himself tighter, so tight it almost hurts.

Can it be that the villagers are right? Were right all along?

No, no, no. Please, no. He doesn't want to be evil. He doesn't want to be a freak. It's supposed to count, right? He tries, he really does. It must count.

If only Nightmare could find a way to prove himself. Abruptly, he stops hugging himself, both hands limp by his sides. Does he even deserve this poor attempt of comfort? Is he really what the villagers say, a useless, stupid, good for nothing villain?

No!

The tears keep flowing down his cheekbones. He doesn't hiccup, doesn't sob, doesn't tremble anymore.

He's drained. Done.

He really, really needs to change something. Or something to change — and wouldn't that be perfect?

Too good to be true.

His fingers touch the grass beneath him, and the trunk of the Tree is solid as ever, always there to rely on.

Nightmare tilts his head back. Just then, he sees the apples. Black, but also some golden.

Maybe... Just maybe, but...

He'd need to stay alone for that though. Dream consistently declines any help requests from the villagers, seemingly determined to never leave, but he’s just too kind, there’s bound to be someone he can’t say no to. It’s a matter of time. And waiting is fine by Nightmare, now that he has a plan. He’s not wasting his time anymore; instead, he’s being patient, ready to take the first chance he gets. It’s a smart move. Besides, the reward will be worth it.

Tired, Nightmare wipes the tears with his sleeve and makes himself as comfortable as possible, resting beside the Tree’s rough trunk. If he’s lucky, he’ll even drowse and nap a little.

。。。

Ironically, an opportunity comes up later that day.

Nightmare doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he must have at some point since some noise wakes him up. When his head gets clearer, Nightmare realises it’s two voices, one his brother’s and the other only distantly familiar. A villager, then.

“Please, don’t talk so loudly,” Dream pleads in a small voice. “Nightmare is sleeping.”

How Dream always manages to be so caring and gentle is beyond Nightmare’s understanding. His little brother doesn’t deserve all that. Luckily, Nightmare knows what to do. Currently, he just has to keep listening intently, and it’ll be better if they think he’s still asleep. So no movement or sound. Nightmare’s good at that, he likes to think.

“Of course that useless garbage is sleeping in the middle of the day. But who cares!” the villager says, clearly irritated. They do lower their voice, though, if only to please Dream a little. “We need your help, and you can’t sit this one out!”

Dream sounds tired and somewhat hurt when he replies, “I’m so sorry if my brother upset you, but please, don’t talk about him that way.” Only when the villager mutters a “Yeah, whatever” that Nightmare barely hears from his position on the other side of the Tree, Dream continues. “Can you tell me what’s so important you think I need to leave the Tree?”

“Took you long enough to ask! Some guardian you are!” the villager huffs. “Just so you know, Ava is so sick she’s dying, it’s getting worse, and we’ve tried everything, but nothing helps! There’s no cure but the golden apples. It’s our last hope.” They insist, not giving Dream a moment to hesitate, “Come on! Do you really want us to lose Ava just because you decided to be stubborn?”

Nightmare tenses. He knows exactly how much of a bleeding heart his brother is. No chance he’s turning this one down; not when it’s a matter of life and death. He’s coming to the aid if only this one time. Meanwhile, Nightmare can set his plan in motion — prove himself worthy and good. Everything’s going to be fine. Everything’s going to get better. Finally.

Despite himself, Nightmare smiles. However, he keeps his sockets shut, just in case Dream decides to check on him before going to the village. He will go, without a doubt.

And indeed, Dream gasps, terrified, “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry to hear it! Of course, I’ll help poor Ava!” Then, there are steps and rustling, quiet huffs, and at last, this specific sound of a fruit being picked from the Tree. Nightmare knows that sound, although he’s never done it himself. Nobody asked for a black apple, after all. Nobody wanted it.

Nobody wanted him.

But now, that’s alright. He’ll just show everyone that he can take care of the golden apples, too. Everyone loves them, and they will love him as well. It’s so easy, Nightmare just cannot fathom how he hadn’t come up with it before.

For a few seconds, there’s a pause.

“What are you waiting for? You got the apple, now let’s go!” the villager hurries. Suddenly, the steps sound much closer to Nightmare, and he’s been ready for that, it’s exactly the reason why he never opened his eyes, then why does he jerk?

Luckily, it doesn’t give his act away. Dream sighs and whispers, ever so softly, “I’ll be right back, brother. Sleep tight.” He goes away and says a bit louder, worry evident in his voice, “Let’s go. I really hope we’ll arrive in time...”

If the villager replies, Nightmare doesn’t hear it. He counts to a hundred five times, just to be sure, and gets up only after that.

This is his chance to make the tables turn.

。。。

For a minute, he simply stands there, looking at the Tree, his chest heavy with anticipation. His gaze is fixed on a single golden apple, the nearest to him. The one he’s going to pick and keep from harm all by himself.

While Nightmare stares at the apple, a strange feeling arises in his entire being. It’s light and unobtrusive, but also comprehensive. He’d try to identify it if he had more time, he thinks. As it is, he can’t quite put a finger on it right away and so just lets it be.

It’s getting late, Nightmare notices. The sky darkens steadily, the sun already gone. Pinks and purples linger on the horizon, and for the first time in a while, Nightmare finds himself appreciating the view. It’s been so long since he last enjoyed... anything, really. Everything except for misery and pain has become dull, faded. Being able to drink in the sight now, suddenly thrilled by that fleeting moment between day and night, relishing in the cool breeze...

Nightmare forces himself to look away. He has a plan to execute, and Dream might come back any minute. His brother is nice, but... he doesn’t understand. He wouldn’t even if Nightmare explained. So he has to do this alone.

Not like it’s the first time anyway.

Deepest sadness and utter hopelessness creep back into Nightmare’s mind and heart, but before they take hold of him, little guardian decisively comes closer to the Tree and reaches for a golden apple, the one he’d chosen before.

A moment stretches to what seems a tiny eternity. That’s what it feels like to Nightmare, who freezes, terrified. His hand trembles. The apple is so close, one slight movement and he’ll have it, feel its surface. Is it warm or cool? Nightmare wonders, distantly. Is it soft or hard?

After a long, long pause — one that lasts barely a minute, Nightmare’s mind knows, but his heart doesn’t believe it, — his hand withdraws. He holds it with his other hand against his chest, aching all of a sudden.

What’s wrong with him? Why can’t he do this? He’s a guardian just like Dream, who’s done this plenty of times! It’s so simple! It should be simple.

But his body refuses to cooperate. He’s shuddering, so anxious and afraid it’s suffocating. No wonder his chest hurts.

Tears prick the corners of Nightmare’s sockets.

Come on! Why can’t he move? Just why?

It’s not fair. This might be his only chance. Dream made an exception today, sure, but it’s not every day someone is on the verge of dying. He’s going to come back, and stay beside the Tree like a good guardian he is, and nothing’s going to change.

Filled with despair and fear, Nightmare tries one last time, putting all effort he can into stretching out his hand.

It doesn’t work. His body doesn’t work, not properly, anyway.

What’s even happening?

Just then, Nightmare hears familiar footsteps from behind. The sound makes something in him snap. The pain in his chest, the tension in his body, the feelings in his heart, and the thoughts in his mind — everything dissipates, leaving him tired and empty.

And — oh.

Nightmare sees now. That light feeling was hope. And it’s gone.

“Nightmare!” Dream calls out, not quite close yet but already explaining himself. “Sorry I left when you were sleeping, I hope you weren’t too worried when you woke up all alone... I didn’t mean to take so long or to take any time at all, but it was urgent and you don’t sleep much, so I...”

Utterly exhausted, Nightmare shrugs his brother off with a quiet “It’s fine” and, when Dream abruptly stops talking, goes away to the other side of the Tree.

Leave it up to him to not do a single thing right.

Of course, it’s all in vain. Pointless and futile.

He’ll just sleep.

。。。

Only that night, Nightmare tosses and turns restlessly.

As energy beings, they don’t exactly need sleep, so for Nightmare, it’s more of a way to escape than anything. Being awake means thinking and feeling, while sleep, although it seems to last just for a moment without dreams Nightmare’s only read about, gifts him a blessing of unconsciousness. When he sleeps, it’s almost like time and space cease to exist.

Almost like he ceases to exist.

It’s sweet and alluring. It’s also terrifying.

But none of this matters anymore, because, after that incident, even light sleep just won’t come. It’s called insomnia, Nightmare thinks.

Something did change after all. For the worse, that is.

It really could have been funny, but after a week of long, long days and nights Nightmare’s forced to spend wallowing in his misery, he can’t find it in himself to laugh.

Tired.

He’s so very tired.

。。。

Credits:

Undertale © Toby Fox

Dreamtale © jokublog

Read English version on ao3

Read Russian version on ficbook or fanficus (to be added)

。。。

Notes

This story is canon compliant, which means Nightmare is six years old at the moment of the (absence of the) Apple incident. But because he never got corrupted, he has a chance to grow up, and that he will do. His meeting with Geno will happen years later, when Nightmare is an adult.

It will become obvious as the story progresses, but I felt the need to clarify right now. Maybe I'll remove this part of the notes later.

Also, since we don't know about Dreamtale as much as I'd like, I'm trying to fill in the gaps. All places and characters mentioned are my version of Dreamtale, except for Dream, Nightmare, Nim/the Tree of Feelings, and Neil. That makes Ava just a random name to make the dialogue feel personal.

Feel free to let me know what you think if you'd like!

。。。

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[happyreid187]

Privilege - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

WC: 2.1 K

A/N: Sad Spencer post nightmare comfort. Discovering and sharing feelings about each other. Mild angst then fluff. I wrote this after my season 8 rewatch but it’s not explicitly situated in any particular season. 

Warnings: Brief mentions of Spence’s various trauma; case issues, mom issues, drug use, generalized dark and twistiness. Insecurity. Swearing. Single sentence implying reader grew up religious. References to sex but not actual smut. 

____

With both of us working insane hours, we agreed early on to be casual, and then completely and entirely ignored that agreement in every way except verbiage. Avoiding labels and verbal expressions of affection, I pretended that it wasn’t emotional self destruction to spend every waking hour with this man who was notably not my boyfriend. With the amount of affection between us, it was easy to pretend it was something more. When we weren’t working, I essentially lived in his bed.

____

I was deep asleep when I heard him whimpering, waking to find him tossing and turning, breathing quickly. It took me a second to get my bearings, but when I did, I woke him as gently as I could

“Spencer! Spence.” His eyes shot open, and he immediately jumped, looked to me with his eyes welling up, and started shaking.

“Hey,” my voice was desperate as I wrapped my arms around him, “Baby, what’s the matter?” The pet name was generally reserved for other activities in this bed, but it felt appropriate now. I ran my fingers through his hair, trying to calm him. “Was it about a case?”

“It was about...” he started. “No, I don’t want to freak you out!” He sort of tossed and turned again, now in my lap. “This isn’t your job, you shouldn’t have to deal with this.” He sounded angry; with himself, and the situation. I tried to ignore the feeling that’s he might be angry with me.

“Why would it freak me out? Your job is depressing as shit, Spence. This is kind of predictable. Talking through it with you? None of this is work for me. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but you can.” I said, waiting for him to decide how to proceed.

He fiddled with his hands in that nervous way of his. “It was about you. First, you were breaking? Like glass on a windshield? Cracking but not falling apart. And everything around us was breaking; the phones and then the walls and then your face,” his voice broke then, “and then my own chest.”

Where the tears were only threatening to overflow before, he was really crying now, in a way I’d never seen him do before. In a way grown men rarely do in our terrible society if they can avoid it. In a way that made it hard for either of us to breathe. “But then it sort of mixed with work, and there was an unsub and he had you, and I couldn’t get to you. I tried, but I couldn’t get to you, and then...” he paused there, and I inferred the rest by his pained silence.

“You don’t have to keep going, I get it. And I’m not freaked out. I’m right here, Spencer. You’ve got me, and I’ve got you too. You are okay. You’re okay.” he didn’t say anything for a minute, and I rethought my words. “I’m not trying to belittle or silence you. I know you don’t feel okay. But you’re here with me, and no one’s broken, and you’re breathing, and I’m breathing, and you’re okay.”

“I’m not worried about me...” he grumbled, like it was obvious. Like I was wasting our time, worrying about him.

“Well I’m fine. I’m good. I’m happy to be here for you.”

He looked up at me doubtfully. “How can you be happy to be woken up at 4:02 am?”

Too sleepy to veil my feelings entirely, with words like adoration and devotion drifting through my head, I settled on saying, “It’s a privilege to have the chance to be here for you, and support you, and help you feel better. I have you, and you have me; okay? I’m here.”

“I’ve got you...” he softly echoed my words from earlier.

“You’ve got me.” I answered easily. It was a simple, honest fact to share.

There was a shift in him then. He pushed himself up with one arm, leaning back and staring at me, looking exasperated and vaguely frantic, like he just realized something was wrong. He looked almost angry as he asked “What the fuck are we doing?

I didn’t even know how to begin to answer that question. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m having nightmares about losing you, you’re like, taking over my subconscious, and renting all this space in my head, and then I wake up to find you here, in my bed, drying my tears and calling it a privilege! Like do you have to be so... I don’t know. Warm?” Well, that was a new one. I had never known that to be a bad thing, particularly with him. He flocked to my sentimentality like a moth to a flame.

He wasn’t done though. “I never intended to care about someone this much. It’s confusing for me. I know you have your catholic guilt, but you don’t have to martyr yourself for me. Dealing with my shit is emphatically not a blessing.” He took a deep breath and braced himself. He half smiled, half sobbed, and to be frank, he was freaking me the fuck out. “Unless you..” he trailed off. IQ of 187; an epic communicator, this one. I gave him a look that begged him to continue, holding my tongue as if he would break, like the dream, if I spoke. He sighed heavily, trying to catch his breath. I reached over hesitantly, unsure if he wanted to be touched, terrified of making it worse. Slowly, I wiped away the tears on both cheeks, willing him to look at me. He didn’t, choosing his lap instead.

I waited for him to continue. “I don’t have a lot of experience with fuck buddies,” he spit the last two words like they repulsed him, like they didn’t fit right on his tongue. Foreign words with uncertain and unsettling definitions. “...but I don’t think it’s supposed to feel like this.”

“Feel like what?” Despite the tears and the heavy air that threatened to suffocate me, I felt a new feeling. Like I would maybe feel better soon. I silently begged him to speak faster, hoping he could somehow telepathically pick up on my anxiety as I hung on every word.

“A privilege. That’s just...” he paused again, shaking his head. I could feel my anxiety coursing through my veins in a bizarrely literal sense. I wasn’t entirely sure where he was going with this, and I waited in suspense as he chose every word carefully. He then looked with me with the warmth I’d come to know, to expect, and to crave. “I know you’re a really tender person but why would you do this if we're just sleeping together?”

IQ of 187, this one.

After his lengthy monologue with its intensely painful pauses I cut straight to the point. “Are we?”

The sadness vanished from his face, leaving nothing in its place but wheels turning. No more damned pauses; I have to be brave now. “I’m not.”

“What?” I couldn’t figure out what to make of his expression. It wasn’t relief. Concern, maybe? Or disbelief? “Just sleeping with you that is. Does that make you upset?”

“No, no, y/n/n, it doesn’t make me upset.” his eyes meeting my face. I could feel that he was about to ramble, finally, and I was intensely grateful. “It depends on what you really want. It’s hard for me to believe that you actually want this.” he points at himself, like that explained his insecure thinking. Honestly, how dare he speak about my person in such a way, but now wasn’t the time to critique his criticism.

“You want to be woken up by nightmares after cases? To sleep alone while I’m gone? and when I’m around deal with my neurosis and awkwardness and rambling? and family drama? and drug cravings?” He dropped his eyes and his voice, “You could do so much better.”

We didn’t have time to even begin to unpack all of that. Not in the middle of the night, on the edge of everything we both want. I could write a novel explaining how he is in fact the very best I can imagine, but that would take time to convince him of. Time like years. Time like marriage.

Again trying to move this conversation to the conclusion I ached for just a bit faster, I answered directly, “Yes. I want that. I want you.” Like it was the simplest thing in the world.

I searched his face for some sort of happiness or disgust but received a blank stare and a look of bewilderment.

“I just want you. I’ve wanted you this whole time. I thought you would figure it out.” I laughed, and he smiled, a real smile that touched his hazel eyes that somehow sparkled in the dimly lit room, finally. “With fuck buddies, I don’t typically snuggle and go on museum dates or stop seeing other people or stick around for months.”

“You want me?” he smiled, but doubt loomed, and his smile fell as his long fingers traced my jaw.

“You say that now, but I think you’re going to find that I am a difficult person to love.” He said, as if I didn’t already know him. As if I didn’t already see him in all of his brilliance and darkness, all of his complexity and baggage. As if knowing him hadn’t been a precursor to loving him.

“Spencer, everyone thinks that about themselves.” I replied, greeted with still more disbelief. I continued in spite of him. “Besides,” I shrugged with a small smile, like my conclusion was entirely self evident, “It’s too late now.”

“What, you think that about yourself? First of all, you are unbelievably easy to love. The easiest in the whole world, probably. I know that that sounds hyperbolic, but I really mean it - I sincerely think that you are the single most lovable woman on the planet.” he rambled, talking with his hands and earning a tearful chuckle from me. “In my world at least. You are in fact, despite my best efforts, impossible not to...” he paused to physically shove the thought away, moving forward with a grimace.

“Second of all, what do you mean too late? I have a feeling I might know what you’re going to say. Please say it, y/n,” he whispered like that would make it less scary. “Or do you want me to say it? I don’t want to spook you but... it’s too late for what?”

“Too late to stop myself from loving you.”

 Finally, finally a look of understanding graced his face. A look like he believed me. He smiled that stunning, whole face smile of his that was reserved for special occasions.

 “Can you say the whole thing?”

“I love you, Spencer.”

“I love you, too.”

He was only half sitting up anyways, so when I kissed him he fell to the bed, and protested immediately. “No! I’m so gross and snotty, stop.” I settled on peppering kisses on his neck and damp cheeks instead.

I laid my head on his chest, murmuring, “You can go back to sleep, and when you wake up, I’ll still be loving you, and I won’t be broken because of it, and I certainly won’t be gone.”

“Okay,” he responded, voice still broken, but no matter. He’ll heal. He’ll believe me more with time. Eyes heavy and stinging, my adrenaline eventually waned, and I was about to fall back asleep, when his voice pulled me back.

“Just to be completely clear, this is no longer a fuck buddy situation. Like, I'm your boyfriend. Right?”

“Was it ever really a fuck buddy situation?” I laughed “But if it was, it’s over. You are mine, Spencer Reid. If that wasn’t obvious.”

I could hear his smile in his voice “Sorry, it’s so late, and my brain isn’t really working and I just wanted to make absolutely sure.”

He paused for a few minutes.

“I’ll check back again in the morning.”

“I’ll still be here.”

~~~

In my half asleep state, his soft words barely registered. “Good morning, sweet girl. I’m so lucky to get to love you.”

“I love you too.” I mumbled, smiling without opening my eyes. There’s his confirmation. He’s always been one for collecting good data, I suppose.

“Please keep doing that.”