#its bandaided and everything but i can still feel it if i move my hand wrong

[july-19th-club]

babygirl i can get cuts on my fingers in ways youve never even thought of

[holdinbacksecrets]

smitten

college soccer player!jeonghan part 3

part 1 part 2

“hey, i haven’t seen you all day.”

your roommate stands in the doorway to your bedroom, finding you at your desk drowning in assignments and the final draft of your midterm.

“i was at the library all morning trying to get this paper done. is everything ok?”

she’s wearing a blue bow identical to the one left on your dresser that morning. her skirt matches its deep shade, and you realize it’s quickly approaching 7pm.

“of course! it’s game day. i wanted to tell you you don’t have to come tonight if you don’t want to. hana—i think you know her… choppy bangs, green eyes—apparently she’s smitten, so she wants to join me or us if you’re still interested.”

lia’s eyebrows raise, and you can tell she’s hoping you’re still interested, but she’s worried about dragging you along while on pursuit of a boy as if that would ever bother you, as if your own footsteps and love-covered fingertips haven’t submerged into your own version of a boy pursuit.

“i am. i was going to take a shower within the next ten minutes. we still have an hour right?”

she smiles, nodding excitedly. “i’ll leave you to it, then.”

“before you go, who does hana like?”

lia’s smile widens, and she runs her fingertip along the length of your door, swiping vibrant blue polish across a striking white. “jeonghan.”

your heart sinks and melts into the acidic jealousy existing in the pit of your stomach. jeonghan? jeonghan… of course.

you feel deflated as you approach the bathroom, reaching for your towel before switching the light on.

the last thing you want is for this to get complicated. if hana makes a move, what are you supposed to do? for all you know, you’ll be standing beside the girl for two hours, listening to whatever smitten sounds like and pretending you didn’t dream about the same man the previous night or stare at his message about bandaids and lollipops… smitten.

shampoo stings your eyes while you contemplate sharing your own feelings for jeonghan with lia. she’s pushed you a little bit, knowing your history of having interest in athletes, but the years of your friendship have taught her a few things. those things include only sharing what you want to and keeping things close to your chest. your heart is as far from your sleeve as it can get, tucked away safely in the dark warmth within your chest. of course jeonghan has started to shine rays of light, creating beautiful sunbeams and beginning to swell what’s been hibernating in its safety zone.

lia is perched at the bar stool eating a bowl of cereal when you leave your bedroom. she quickly takes a look at your outfit, happy to see a bow of your own pinned to your jacket. your denim shorts have blue ruffles stitched along the curve of each pocket, and you can feel the familiar rush of anticipation. nothing beats an october night, with it’s comforting chill and the scene of a game only a short walk away. you look forward to these evenings all year. jeonghan is the best part, unexpectedly so.

“i didn’t touch the honey bunches of oats. there’s only enough for one more bowl if you’re hungry.”

“thanks, lee.”

you top the cereal off with milk and eye your roommate nervously, hoping she’ll pick up on your desire to say something. you’ve never been good at sharing feelings, especially when you’re afraid of stepping on another’s toes.

“i can feel you staring me down. is there something on my face or on your mind?”

lia palms her bowl, bringing the ceramic to her lips to savor the perfectly sweetened milk before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“this season, i’ve never felt like your tag along. you like seokmin, but i’d still go even if you didn’t. even if i didn’t like someone else on the team, i would still go.” members of your family have played the sport for as long as you can remember. in your life, fall doesn’t exist without a soccer ball.

lia doesn’t jump in. you hoped she would push you just a little further, but this is all on you.

“yoon jeonghan is in my environmental ethics course, and we’ve established some kind of unexpected friendship, but my feelings are stronger than that. about hana… i don’t know if there’s anything going on between them. the last thing i want to do is make anyone uncomfortable or embarrass myself.”

lia smiles, but you miss the softness in her expression, watching your cereal float instead.

“you don’t need to worry about hana. she picks a new guy every week, and she’d certainly turn her focus to someone else tonight if you tell her about jeonghan.”

lia taps the counter, earning your gaze. “thank you for telling me. i’m trying to keep my composure, but please know i’m internally squealing and running around the counter to hug you. now, finish your cereal. i’m sure someone is excited to see you.”

the sun begins to set as you walk through campus. you can see the lights from the field come into view, and lia squeezes your hand. she’s always been a cherished friend and supporter, and relief has embraced you knowing the feelings you’ve kept quiet are now a secret shared.

hana is standing beside the ticket counter and waves when she notices the two of you. not a single speck of blue is found on her outfit, but lia quickly pulls a bow from her purse, securing it in her friend’s hair.

after the three of you have paid, hana asks where you two usually sit.

“this one likes to sit at the top so she can see the entire field.” guilty.

“the boys can see you better from the front.”

lia bites her lip but guides the three of you to the middle row, keeping the viewing peace.

both teams are warming up, and your eyes settle on the field while hana and lia chat beside you. you catch bits of the conversation, amused by your roommate’s monologue about how much seokmin’s hair has grown since their last home game.

then, you see him, and your lips part. you lean forward and zero in.

he’s mesmerizing. watching him feels like the sweetest treat.

his dribbling matches the rhythm of your heartbeat, and your lips spread into something consumed by pride, admiration, and hopeful desire.

his confidence has never gone unnoticed, even in its subtly, but it radiates when he’s wearing cleats, his uniform and is existing on the forest green turf.

you’re silent for the first quarter, clapping when it’s appropriate to do so, mouthing calls as the referees blow their whistles, nodding along to the ones you deem just.

the second quarter is smooth. your team is taking the lead: 1-0, and the reaction from lia at the sight of seokmin’s assist is something worth remembering.

she kissed your cheek, asking twice: “did you see that?!”, before heading down the stairs for popcorn.

hana slides across the bench to close the space between you as half time starts. her voice is just above a whisper, “lia told me about jeonghan, so any cheering i do tonight is for choi seungcheol.” she sends you a wink and you nod, feeling a weight leave your shoulders.

during the final quarter, the blue hawks are sailing, and you nearly miss it. your eyes were fixed on the bag of popcorn only seconds prior, but you see him when you’re pleased with the amount of the salty snack in your cupped palm.

it’s jeonghan’s corner kick, in the corner closest to you, and you see him search the stands before landing on your figure. he smiles, and brushes his fingers across his shirt, mirroring where your bow is clipped to your jacket. cute, he mouths before turning to face the field again.

“holy shit.”

“he’s all yours, babe.”

after the game has ended, students start to leave while others who know players stick around, creating small packs around the fence. the three of you stay in the stands until the team exits their huddle.

hana waves quickly, sending you a knowing wink before running down the bleachers. lia pats your knee. she practiced words of admiration for seokmin that morning in the bathroom mirror. you give her a final good luck before she sets off down the metal stairs.

time ticks by and it’s just you now. the soccer fans have left, and jeonghan is one of the last players on the field. you watched him take the bag of soccer balls to the shed behind the field, finding yourself admiring the stars while you waited.

the sound of your name shifts your stare, and you find him leaning against the railing.

“i should’ve given you my practice jersey.”

you stand and descend the bleachers, approaching the man with reddened cheeks and messy hair.

“what would that’ve made me?”

he smiles, and you want him to say it.

“i imagine you’re going to be much more than a good luck charm.”

“you don’t need one.”

“i have my superstitions.”

“oh really? do you have a couple marbles in your pockets?”

jeonghan’s cleats meet the pavement, and he waits for you before heading toward the main campus.

“i didn’t think about that.”

“i guess all the marbles are in your schedule…. probably wouldn’t do you any good to keep more in your pocket.”

“mmm, i think you’re on to something.”

“and i guess if i keep coming…”

“if you keep coming, we’ll keep winning, and eventually i’ll ask you to go on a date with me.”

“but you’re going to keep it open— unknown and leave me with anticipation.”

jeonghan laughs— no, it’s more like a giggle that penetrates your skin and finds the shelter where your heart lives, shining the most light it’s seen since you experienced the ocean three years ago.

“i’m not going to leave it open.”

he stops beneath the streetlamp. you’re in front of snow hall, where this all started.

“saturday night, can i take you on a date?”

his eyes are sparkling, and this man has far more than sunbeams. he has stars too.

“yes, of course you can.”

“as long as you’re alright with comedy shows.”

“i’ve never been.”

the look in his eyes is intriguing, and you have no doubt you’re about to be introduced to something magical.

“boo seungkwan knows how to put on a show, and i cannot wait to take you.”

his gaze shifts to the bow on your jacket, and you swear his expression melts. sore muscles are easy to ignore when you’re in front of him with exciting possibilities existing in your eyes and smile.

he’ll certainly fall in love with you.

[twistedwonderlandshenanigans]

Wisdom Teeth Removal

Your girl is getting her wisdom teeth yanked today so here's how I think the cast reacts on anesthesia

Heartslaybul

Riddle: He's so so sleepy, and starts crying when he's told he can't sleep yet. He's very emotional, just wants cuddles, BUT he gets really excited when he can still eat like the custard part of a tart.

Trey: He's just Not Present whatsoever, he's in a different dimension. Just leave him to his thoughts and make sure he eats he's fine.

Cater: Does a tiktok with a before and after audio. However when he sees himself in the camera he starts crying and calling himself ugly, he needs cuddles and reassurance. In relationships where it is appropriate, he will try to kiss his partner and get So Sad when they won't kiss him

Deuce: Also pretty spacey, starts crying when he hears/sees his mom, but is also convinced he's spiderman.

Ace: Flirts with the nurse on the way to the car, is convinced he's being kidnapped like....

"Y'all are kidnappin me?"

"no we'r-"

"Its cuz I'm hot ahaha" *fuckboy face*

when he notices his bandaid he gets mad "I ain't a fuckin pussy, take it off"

Savanaclaw

Leona: He doesn't have wisdom teeth this son of a bitch. and although I really want to imagine Leona on anesthesia, chances are hes still just sleepy and gets mad when he cant have burger

Ruggie: Is convinced his gauze falling out is his tongue and panics, "I cant afford that" and while crying tries to stuff it back into his mouth

Jack: my poor baby is bullied so much by his upperclassmen that he's convinced that they took his legs too and just starts crying. They let himvideocall with his siblings and he starts crying and telling them how much he loves them.

Octavinelle

Azul: wough baby boy is so out of it, he doesnt even notice when smoothie starts dripping down his chin bc he can't feel it. He starts crying if you tell him he's making a mess, but is fine the moment he's shown he's clean.

Jade + Floyd: Wakes up during surgery around the same time as Floyd and both of them are trying to talk to each other and laughing because they cant with peoples hands in their mouths. Also this links to a tiktok thats like them. After.

Scarabia

Kalim: I can't find the video, but when he's sitting in the chair after surgery he notices a nurse leave the room and starts crying. "They should be here. Everyone should be here to see me"

Jamil: He and Najma get them done at the same time, he's emotional, she's making fun of him, gets confused in a funny way when he cries and tells him to stop being a baby

Pomefiore

Vil: He gets mad if you record him, he's still coherent enough to know he doesnt want a phone in his face, but the audio clips are immaculate. Compares himself to god more than once.

Rook: Son of a bitch doesnt have wisdom teeth >:(

Epel: Pulls his shirt away from his chest to look down and gets sad "they didn't gimme my muscles" and is absolutely miserable

Ignihyde

Idia: Ortho fucks around with him some, puts pringles cans on his arms and convinces him he's ironman/some equivalent from an anime or something. Mans is hyper in attitude but wont get up from his chair. Yes Ortho livestreams it to the rest of Ignihyde.

Ortho: N/A

Diasomnia

Malleus: he's really weepy after getting his wisdom teeth out. Lilia convinces him that his horns have grown legs and walked away and Malleus proceeds to cry more until his favourite person shows up and all is right in the world again.

Lilia: He's a runner he's a track staaaar, someone put him on a leash because he will unlock and open the door of a moving vehicle to try to jump out (HC that medical practitioners can enforce magic restraints so that while a patient is incapable of making an informed decision they cannot use magic) also dances a lot. Looooves to talk on the phone,ven if theres nobody on the other end.

Silver: Sleepy baby stays a sleepy babyyyy

Sebek: He has the widest fucking eyes at everything, everything feels waaaaay too fast for him, but its the first time hes so quiet , hes like dead silent

Masterlist

[tearitar]

[destiny wip] the one where s14 plans to gambit

featuring one of my favorite combos: osiris/s14 + a very stressed drifter

unsure when i will finish the rest of it but i am extremely fond of the first section so here it is.

--

The weekend usually brings about the same crowds toward Saint’s ship in the hanger. Occasionally a new face shows up, eager to try their hand at Trials, and Saint is more than happy to let them in. Late nights tend to be the most popular times for full matches, which leaves his weekend mornings free to feed the resident hanger birds and clean up shop. 

The birds have been fewer this early morning, and the hanger remains quiet. The sun has barely risen, glowing its muted orange. Saint enjoys the view, sitting on one of his ammo crates and sprinkling some birdseed from time to time. Despite Osiris’ arguments, it’s just as good as a cup of coffee. Maybe even better.

Still, a cup of coffee would be nice. Saint is about to get up and procure himself one when he sees someone slinking over to his… general vicinity. Their eyes meet. Saint only feels a little shocked to see the Drifter some steps away.

For a moment, neither of them move. Saint gives a short wave, in case Drifter isn’t actually here to see him then at least he’s given a greeting. But, against all odds, Drifter starts approaching in earnest, giving off an incredible aura of nervousness and, strangely enough, determination.

“Good morning! Are you here for a Trials card?” Saint asks dubiously, but not totally devoid of hope.

“After what y’all put me through last time?” Drifter sniffs. “Hell no, brother.”

Saint deflates a little. Ah, well. Their last Trials outing had been fun, in Saint’s opinion. Drifter obviously doesn’t have the same sentiments, which is a shame. Drifter had done remarkably well despite all his protesting. A man who can complain and put up a decent fight at the same time isn’t one who’d been using all his faculties. Saint wonders what’ll put someone like the Drifter through his paces. 

“Hm.” Saint lets out a huff of static. “So how may I help you? A new scam?”  

Drifter doesn’t seem bothered by the comment. “No scam here.”

The pause that follows after doesn’t give Saint much confidence, but Drifter appears to be gearing himself up to say his next piece. Saint politely waits. The pigeons peck at his boots, trilling, so he sprinkles another handful on the ground.

“I’m just—ah. Look,” Drifter begins, eyeing the pigeons rather than Saint himself. “I have some information you might be interested in. As a fellow associate to the Vanguard.”

“You can send the information to my Ghost. I thought we were already contacts,” Saint says, apologetically, about to wave Geppetto in, but Drifter shakes his head.

“This is a little more sensitive. I’m trying to be tactful here,” Drifter says through gritted teeth. He blows out a sigh, sounding like he’s ripping off a bandaid. “So, just thought you’d like to know. Your man Osiris signed himself up for a Gambit match.”

Saint takes in this new information with what little grace he can manage. “He what?”

“You heard right. He paid for admission and everything.”

“Pull him out.”

Drifter looks almost as annoyed as he does. “He paid me extra for admission. It’s not in my interest to pull him out without his permission. He’ll think I scammed him.”

“Well, it won’t be in your interest if he gets killed playing one of your games,” Saint says, low.

Drifter shuffles his feet, like he wants to agree but instead he stands up a little straighter with a scowl. “Look. I’m only passing along an observation. The guy was a top notch Guardian back in the day when he had the Light. And for what it’s worth, I did tell him he might not do so well in Gambit without it. I told him multiple times, actually, and he just threw more Glimmer at me to shut up. What could I do, you know?”

Saint-14 puts his pouch of birdseed to the side. It leaves his hands free to clench them into fists, gloves creaking against the strain.

Drifter obviously notices. He throws his hands up in exasperation. “You think I’m a dummy? That’s why I’m here. I’m sayin’ you go get him. He sure as hell didn't listen to me.” 

The idea has some merit. Osiris is stubborn at best with Saint so it makes sense he’d be impossible with Drifter.

“Fine,” Saint says. “Put me in.”

Drifter flicks him a green coin. “It’s a thousand Glimmer for the entry fee.”

Saint catches it, turning the coin in his palm. The Vex symbol glints in the weak morning light. “You said no scam.”

Drifter doesn’t seem to be aware of which coin he’d given him. Judging from his careless shrug, the man truly seems to regard himself as blameless. “It ain’t. This is doing business. There’s a buy-in for everyone. Gambit needs a lot to keep running — running safely, if you catch my drift.”

Saint stands up. He drops his hand on Drifter’s shoulder. He gives it a reassuring squeeze. “Drifter. Your tenacity is admirable.”

He can feel Drifter’s muscles tense under his palm. The man starts to look a little paler. It’s a little mean, Saint-14 can admit, and it’s not like he’s short on Glimmer. But the principle of the matter still remains; he’d rather not be hoodwinked and he’s not above relaying that message.

“I can discount you fifty percent. Ex-Vanguard special,” Drifter says, sharp as a tact. Amazing how quick on the uptake some people can get with the right pressure. When Saint’s hold loosens, he steps back with a strained smile. “And I can sub you in as a Sentry. You’d make a good fit.”

“No.”

Drifter’s strained smile disappears. “No?”

“I’ve read up on your Gambit matches from Shin Malphur’s reports,” Saint says, ignoring how Drifter frowns at the name. “I will go as an Invader.”

Drifter gets a gleam in his eye. A little bit of hunger, a lot more of greed. He flips one of his green coins. No doubt he has a bias for the more vicious role. “Ohoho, interesting. Done.”

Satisfied, Saint leans away. “Put me on the opposite team as well.”

Drifter’s coin goes flying from his fingers. It pings off the ground, scaring a couple of pigeons into the air. 

“Uh,” he starts. “I thought you’d want to get Osiris back.”

Saint shrugs. “And I will. Easily.”

Drifter’s mouth stays shut for an extended amount of time before he opens it again, his voice a little weaker. “Just so we’re clear, Saint, bein’ an Invader ain’t about protecting anything. You’d have to kill-”

“Extremely easily then.”

The good thing about having a longstanding reputation is the general lack of opposition when it comes down to doing things your way. Drifter looks like he understands the concept or, at the very least, resigned to it.

“Alrighty then,” Drifter says, braving Saint-14’s firm handshake. “See you in a couple of hours.”

[morganski-19]

I Don't Know Which Way's Home

Chapter 9: Fights

ao3 link, Part 1, Part 8

cw: grief

December 1984

Julie stares at the small journal in her hands. Carefully figuring out how to wrap it so it looks pretty like her mom’s. It’s not a perfect present either. Her mom always insisted that she didn’t need to get her anything for her birthday, it already being enough that Julie was here at all. But that felt cheap, wrong. Her mom provided so much for her, she didn’t even deserve the world if it could be given.

So, she did the only thing she could do, wrote a story. It’s been the same for the last few years, something quick and easy but meaningful. A picture of the two of them that she drew, was last years, and now a story to accompany it.

A story where the two of them were happy. Not that they weren’t now, just a different type of happy. In her story, they were living in a house, not a trailer. Three floors, each with its own secrets to unravel. Ghost stories come to life and pictures moving on their own. Journeys they two of them would undertake, just the two of them.

Because that’s how it always was. Julie and her mom, hand in hand and fighting through life together.

They didn’t need anyone else, didn’t want it half of the time. Every time a new person came into their life, it ruined it just a bit. Always disrupted the peace that Julie and her mom had made. And while it could be lonely sometimes, just the two of them, she wouldn’t change it one bit.

So, it felt wrong not to get her something on her birthday. Which was today and Julie can’t even figure out how to wrap it properly. Giving up, she just does it. Folds the paper and tapes it down. The corners are a bit wrinkled, and the paper is sideways, but it’s wrapped.

When she gives it to her mom over breakfast, it’s taken with a smile. The bad wrapping ignored for what’s inside. The hug her mother gives her with a thank you makes up for everything. It didn’t matter that the present wasn’t anything special, it was special to her mom, and to her. That’s all it needed to be.

. . .

Present Day, December 1986

“The place looks the same as when I came here before,” Sarah concludes, writing something in her folder. “Except for the new decorations in Julie’s room, of course.”

Steve stands next to Julie, patiently waiting for the inspection to be over. Even though it went fine, he made sure nothing incriminating was in the house, it still made him nervous. Sarah seemed to be on his side of this, but he was still unsure.

Julie leans against the railing, picking at the skin around her nails. It’s gotten worse in the past few days, bandaids starting to wrap around her thumbs these days. Her hair pulled back in loose braids to hide the fact that it isn’t washed.

There’s this feeling that something is up, and not like it has been before. That something, significant, is coming up. A date that she is now spending without her mom. And he wants to talk about it, but she keeps shutting him out before he can even try. He just doesn’t know what to do.

“I just have some questions to ask the two of you, and then I’ll be on my way. Steve, how about you first.”

Steve nods and leads Sarah to the kitchen table, sitting across from her. She opens a different folder from the one she used in the inspection, glancing at what is inside before looking up at him.

“I had a few more questions about you before I get to discussing the adjustment. You said that you started taking care of the financial aspects of the house since you were sixteen?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “That’s right.”

“Was that the first time your parents left you alone when they went on one of their trips?”

The urge to lie is strong. Just say that it was and get it over with, no one had to know the true extent of what his parents did. But she’s looking at him with the same concern she’d give Julie. That she’s looking out for him as well as her. And for the first time in his life, he feels the need to tell another adult the truth.

“Uh, no. They’ve been going on long trips since I was eight. Never as long as it was when I turned sixteen, but not that short either.”

A sourness turns in Sarah’s eyes with a slight twitch. He tenses, thinking it is geared toward him. But as she scribbles something in a file with his name, he can’t help but think it’s the same anger he’s been feeling for years.

“When you were eight, who was watching you?”

“Nannies mostly.”

“How many years did they hire nannies.”

Steve scratches at the back of his neck, trying to think. “Until I was twelve, thirteen maybe. At least the overnight ones, day to day ones stayed for another two or so years before there was none at all.”

A deep sigh escapes from her mouth as she continues to write. “How long were their trips then? Shorten than now.”

“Yeah. They were a month or two back then, getting longer as I got older. But when I turned sixteen, that’s when the longest one was.”

“And how long was that one?”

“Two years,” he says, for the first time letting it sink in how long it really was.

He knew that it was wrong that they left him alone, that much was obvious. When he was little, he used to cry and wish that they would come home. That they would want him. The hurt turned into anger with age, and now is just a distant memory.

The anger’s still there but trapped behind a veil of other people had it worse. At least he had a roof over his head and a never-ending cash flow to keep himself fed. A job that he went to every day and a car that he didn’t have to pay for. It was just how it was, and there was nothing Steve could do to change that.

But he’ll watch the Byers’, the Henderson’s, the Sinclair’s, and the Wheeler’s, Robin’s parents and Eddie’s uncle. All people who are there, for the most part, that want their kids. It’s hard to ignore the sting in his chest when he goes over for holiday dinners without his parents. Watching the other kids be loved by the people who created them. But it was fine because he made his own family with them. He had family because of them.

It was enough, until it wasn’t. Enough until his father called to berate him, and all that was left was the question of what he could do to earn his father’s love. His father’s respect, admiration. The answer was always nothing, and it was a simple fact that Steve accepted long ago.

“So, I’m going to hand you something, and it’s up to you to decide what you want to do with it, ok.” Sarah closes the folder she was writing in and slides it across the table.

“Ok,” he takes the folder and opens it. Inside is a list of evidence, with notes of how to gather materials to prove it, as well as a pamphlet on how to sue your parents for neglect, and the business card of a lawyer. “What is this?”

“Things I’ve started to write down since our last talk. It’s clear, from the way you talk about them, that they have neglected you. Which is why I asked you more questions about it today and given you this folder. If you would like to, you can sue them for neglect and, if there’s a paper trail of what you’ve said, probably win.”

Thoughts cloud his mind, making it impossible to fully grasp at what she’s saying. Sue his parents, clear neglect. Ruin the little relationship he has with his parents, for what, money. Proving in front of a court the exact type of people they were. Ruin their reputation among the public, and his among their friends because he stood up. Does he really want that?

“Of course, you don’t have to do it, not if you’re not comfortable with it. But, if you were to ever want reparations for the way they treated you, the evidence is there. And it’s damning.”

Steve opens his mouth a few times, but the words don’t come out. “I-I’ll think about it,” is all he can figure out what to say. Not a yes, but also not a no.

“Ok, let’s move on to something else, alright.”

“Ok.”

. . .

Julie is sitting at her lunch table, half falling asleep over her uncompleted math homework. She couldn’t get it done after the check in yesterday. Stress about what was going to come of it, that she might be moved again, had filled most of her day yesterday. Then she was too empty to think of doing anything other than lying in her bed. So, no homework got done.

Not like that was an uncommon occurrence these days. Homework seemed so trivial to the rest of her life. Moving houses, adjusting to new places. Grieving. All of it’s too much already, she doesn’t need to have homework piled on top of it.

Last night was bad, worst than normal. Which is to be expected of this week, but it still hurt. All the questions Sarah asked her to make sure she was adjusting, that she liked it there.

“Do you like it here, Julie?” she asked across the kitchen table.

“Yes,” Julie answered because it was the truth. But only half of it. “I do.”

Sarah had seemed satisfied with her answers, ending the meeting with a promise to be there if she should ever need it. If she would need to move again. Julie didn’t want to move again, she did really like it at Steve’s. There was just something missing, and that was the sad fact of Julie’s existence.

The worst part of it all is that his house started to feel like hers too. Her room was actually her room, with it’s painted walls and posters found at the thrift store. Clothes in the overflowing laundry bin, schoolwork scattered across all the surfaces. It’s her dishes in the sink and her tv program on pause in the living room.

Julie was finally starting to feel at home. Which was the problem.

“Can I ask you a question,” Max asks, breaking Julie out of her thoughts. “You totally don’t have to answer it, and I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. But I’ve been thinking about it and Steve mentioned that you two are living together now, and I just. Are you ok? Like really ok?”

“I’m fine,” Julie responds coldly, packing up her math homework.

“Yeah, no, I get that. It’s just, when Billy died, I was really going through it, and I didn’t really want to talk about it that much. But it helps, to talk about it, sometimes. And I’m here for you, we’re here for you, me and Jane. We’ve both dealt with this kind of stuff, so if you wanted to talk about it, you could. With us, I mean.”

They’re looking at her like they understand, and they might. But this isn’t the run of the mill thing here. Loosing a brother sucks, Julie’s sure, but she knows they weren’t as close as losing her mom. And Jane, well she didn’t know a lot about Jane so she can’t really speak on that.

This pain was hers and hers alone, and no one can really know what she’s going through. Not the counselors pulling her out of classes to talk to her, not her teachers asking to talk to her after class. Not even then, her only friends she’s had in a long time.

“I told you, I’m fine,” she spits.

She tries not to feel angry when people ask about it. Tries not to feel angry when they try to connect with her. Show that they care. Because she should be grateful that people still care about her. That there are other people who give a shit other than her mom. And a part of her is, but the rest of her stings with the knowledge that they’re only here because her mom is gone.

Max readjusts herself, pressing her lips together. “I get it, I do. Just know that we’re here.”

“Steve was just worried about you,” Jane adds, innocently.

“Jane,” Max exclaims, “We weren’t supposed to tell her that part.”

The only reason she ever met Steve in the first place was because she really had nothing else. And while she was always going to tell him about her existence, of his father’s affair, she’s not so sure she would have done it in the way she did. Meeting him was the last lifeline she had after everything, so she had to take it. It worked out, and she’s grateful.

And now he’s there and he cares, and it should be great, but it hurts. Every time he gives her the look of “I care about you, just know that I’m here” her heart burns because it will never be the same. He’s opened his home to her, worked to take her in, changed his life to accommodate her. She wouldn’t change it, wouldn’t take it all back. It’s nice to have somebody. But he’s not her mom and never will be.

Every time he does something remotely close to what her mom did, she gets a burst of rage. It shows her exactly what she has lost, and what it has meant for her, and she hates it.

“I’ll see you guys later,” Julie says while slinging her bag over her shoulder. She takes her full lunch bag and dumps it into the trash on her way out of the lunchroom, heading straight to the bathroom.

Slamming the door behind her, she heads for an empty stall. She sits on the toilet, pulling the long chain of her locket from underneath her shirt. Opening it to find what’s always been there, a picture of her and her mom. Small and cut off weird, but it didn’t matter.

Tears stream down her face as quiet sobs rip through her chest. She grips the small charm close to her heart and stares at the ceiling.

“Why?” she whispers in the empty bathroom. “Just why?”

. . .

The phone rings on Steve’s nightstand, pulling him out of his sleep. He rolls over to reach the phone, dragging Eddie with him, arms gripped around Steve’s waist.

“Let it keep ringing,” Eddie mumbles into Steve’s shoulder. “Sleep.”

“Can’t, might be the school.” Steve swats Eddie away, finally able to sit up and reach the phone.

Eddie rolls onto his back in protest. “Right, you have responsibilities now. That’s not weird at all.”

“Shut up,” Steve says while picking up the phone. “Harrington residence.”

“Hi, is this Steve?” the woman on the line says.

“Yes, who is this?”

“I’m Mrs. Peters, Julie’s English teacher. You’re listed as her guardian, and I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Is she ok?” He’s half ready to jump out of bed and run out the door if he needs to. Well, after putting clothes on.

Mrs. Peters sighs through the line. “Truth is, I’m not sure. I’ve had Julie in class before, and she was such a good student. One of the brightest I had. Her essays were so thoughtful and her creative writing assignments, they were beautiful. It’s all changed this year. She’s barely turning assignments in, and half asleep most of the time. I know what happened with her mom earlier this year, such a tragedy. And it’s expected that students who go through such a loss will slip a little with grades. But she skipped my class today, so I wanted to give you a call. I’m worried about her.”

Steve leans back on his headboard with a sigh. “I am too. I’ve tried to talk to her about this, but it’s always shut down.”

“I’m sure it’s a hard topic for her to talk about it.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“That’s all I really called for, to see if she’s getting the support she needs at home. I remember you, had you a few years ago when I was teaching seniors. You were a good kid when you started trying, I know you’ll take good care of her.”

His heart warms with some sort of pride. “Thank you, that means a lot. I’m really trying here.”

“I’m sure she knows that. I hope things go better for you, and you’ll be able to talk to her about this. Thank you for stepping up and taking her in.”

“Wasn’t that hard of a decision once I got to know her.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t. I’ll let you go. Good luck, Steve.”

“Thanks for calling bye.” He hangs up the phone, sliding back down under his covers.

Eddie rolls over to look at him. “The school.”

“Yeah,” Steve says while staring at the ceiling. “Remember Mrs. Peters, she’s Julie’s English teacher. Said she missed class today, hasn’t been turning work in.”

Eddie hums. “You’re worried about her.”

How can he not be? When all he sees is the empty shell of a person some days. And he knows that’s not what she’s normally like. Because she’s bright and funny on the better days. And so, so caring.

It was there more in the middle, not the beginning, and not now. But if the night they first met was day one, and this is now day whatever it is. Right in the middle, he could see her, without the sadness that looms in her eyes. Just last week he saw it too, when they were picking up stuff for her room and painting it all. She was there. But the sadness came back again.

“It’s not like I’m expecting her to magically get better, for her grief to go away. I just,” he takes a deep breath. “I just want her to know that I’m here, that she can talk to me. Cause I might not know exactly what she’s going through, but I know enough about it. And even if I didn’t, I’m here to listen.”

He rolls on his side to face Eddie. Eddie takes his hand, encouraging him to continue.

“I just keep getting caught up in this loop of saying I want to help her. To let her know that I’m here. So she doesn’t have to go through this alone. But I never know how to say it, or show it, so I just don’t. And the days keep going on, and she’s still isolating herself. I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s hard, I know,” Eddie comforts. “And, as someone who lost a parent kinda like she did, it sucks, a lot. You think the world has ended and you’re left all alone. You’re angry, and sad, and so many emotions you just can’t name. But can I tell you something that you’re doing right?”

Steve shifts closer to Eddie. “What.”

“You’re showing her that you care. You take her out and change her room, despite the fears that you have. You ask her about her day, and make sure she has food to eat. You make her feel safe, Steve. That is more than any kid can ask for during this time. And while you’re still going to feel like you’re not doing enough. You’re doing the best that you can. If you want to ask her about her mom, you can, it just might not be met with the reaction you want it to.”

He lets out a long breath. “I think that’s why it’s taken me so long to say something. It’s already so weird knowing that we’re related. And knowing that the only reason I know that is because her mom died. It feels weird.”

Eddie presses a kiss to the back of Steve’s hand. “How are you doing with all of this? We haven’t really talked about it since when it first happened.”

Better, Steve thinks. He’s doing better. Even though he now wakes up in his painted room and almost goes into a panic attack. Even though he goes to a job he knows his dad hates. And now provides a home to the kid his dad never wanted.

It’s been hard accepting that he’s officially throwing away the role his parents expected him to play. That he’s finally breaking the last bit of relationship he has between them. He’s finally willing to leave. To have the life he wants, not what they want.

They want the wife and the kids with the picket fences and a good paying job. A respected, get a degree first kind of job. Where the anxieties and the nightmares never happen, and the trauma doesn’t exist. Where Steve’s hearing is normal, and his brain isn’t damaged. Where the scars aren’t there, and he won’t flinch every time the light flickers.

And while some of those things he still wants in his life. The kids, the house, a good paying job. Some aspects of his life are irreversible, unchanging. He didn’t ask for them, but that doesn’t mean they never happened. It’s a part of his life that they will never accept, or even know about.

“As good as I can be. I think a part of me will always hate him, for what he did. To me, and to Julie. And I’m tired of thinking that there will be a day where I’m not a disappointment to him. Especially when there are some parts of my life that I know would get me kicked out of the house. Out of his life. But” he takes a breath, “I don’t want to have a dad if that means I can’t be who I am.”

Eddie smiles, soft with a bit of pain. “It hurts to hear you say that, because I want you to have a family that will love you for all the amazing things that you are. But I am so proud of you for getting to a place where you can say that. I know it was hard.”

“It was,” Steve says, tears gathering in his eyes.

“C’mere,” Eddie pulls him into a hug, holding Steve close as everything lets go.

It was a lot of work getting to the place he is. Time and effort and tears. Years of built up, years of pain. But as the world came crumbling around him, he found more happiness in other people than he has in his entire life. Friends he never would have associated with, a family he never thought he would have.

And here in the bed his father paid for is a man that Steve likes, might even be starting to love. It’s the biggest fuck you he could have ever sent his father’s way. Because in Eddie’s arms, everything starts to fit into place. Everything finally made sense. He is finally, truly, himself.

Steve built himself a home. With Eddie, with Robin, with the kids, with Julie. He had his family, and nothing was going to take that from him now.

. . .

Julie just wants to go home. Wants to crawl into her bed and pray for sleep to come so this awful day can be over. Screw the test she has tomorrow, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore. Not today, and not tomorrow. The sadness will keep coming back, no matter how hard she tries.

She’s just so tired of it being like this. Of having good days where it hurts a bit less, where she can smile and actually mean it. But then waking up the next day and feeling like everything is terrible and never going to get better. Where she can have good days like last weekend, just followed with terrible days like today.

And she knew this day was coming, and knew it was going to be hard. She knew that the day before, and the day after, hell the whole week would be rough. That the grief was going to hit its highest peak since that first week. But it was worse than she could have ever thought.

Steve has off from work today, which means when Julie walks out of the high school doors, his car is in its usual spot next to Eddie’s van. She’ll have to make conversation on the drive back, before being able to escape to her room.

It’s just twenty minutes, she tells herself. Twenty more minutes of an impossible day, before she can stop pretending.

“Hey,” Steve says when she walks up to his car.

She mumbles a small hello before shuffling into the passenger seat, shutting the door with a thud behind her. Steve says a goodbye to Eddie before climbing into the driver’s seat. Pulling out of the parking lot without a word.

“How was school?” he prompts, fishing for something. Like he knows.

Julie hates that. It’s just another thing that pangs in her chest. Something her mom would do countless times when she knew something was bothering Julie. Only another reminder that she isn’t here today. That Julie’s living with someone else.

Leaning her head against the window, watching the trees fly by as they drive, she tries to stay calm. Tries to find a normal way to respond so he’ll just stop.

“Like it always is,” she whispers, just audible enough that he’ll hear it, but quite enough so he knows she doesn’t want to talk about it.

He must understand because it’s the last thing he tries to talk about in the car. She just wraps her coat tighter around her, closing herself up as much as possible. Trying to convince her brain that just because she left the school, the tears aren’t allowed to break through again. She already cried in a bathroom today, she didn’t need to do it in his car either.

“Hey, could we talk for a minute?” Steve asks when they get home, stopping Julie from immediately locking herself away in her room.

She can’t help the eyeroll that comes, the visible slump in her shoulders as she turns to face him. Crossing her arms across her chest, coming off defensive to hide the range of emotions bubbling beneath the surface.

“What,” she says more bitter than she’d like to admit.

Steve flinches, not expecting the harshness in her voice. He takes a breath, trying to think of what to say, like it’s important. She can’t deal with another thing today.

“I got a call from one of your teachers today, Mrs. Peters. She said you missed class,” he says it with a level voice, face full of concern.

It does nothing but make her blood boil. He wasn’t supposed to know, wasn’t supposed to care. That wasn’t supposed to be his job. Steve was her brother, not her parent. Julie didn’t have one of those anymore. And the face he’s making is the one she would see all the time, practically lived on her mom’s face sometimes.

“So,” she rolls her eyes. Wishing he would just drop it.

It’s like the two images of them are morphing together in her mind. Her mom and Steve becoming one person. Like he’s replacing her, becoming the new person in her life to fill that role. He didn’t get to do that. She didn’t get to forget her mom. Even if she doesn’t live in the same house anymore, even if her life has changed. It was never supposed to.

“So. I’m worried about you. You’re missing class and skipping meals. You think I don’t notice when you go to school in the same clothes as the day before. I know that this all has to be a lot for you, believe me I know how life can just take everything and spit you out expecting you to recover like nothing happened. I know-.”

“You don’t know,” Julie bursts, tears starting to well up in her eyes. “You can’t possibly know what it’s like. It’s bad enough that you ask my friends to try to talk to me about it, at school even. You don’t get to say that you know what I’m going through.”

Steve takes a breath, looking up at the ceiling. “I didn’t ask them to talk to you about it.”

“But you mentioned it to them, isn’t that enough.” She’s yelling now. Anger that she knows is misplaced, hitting the only target it could find.

“And I’m not saying I know what you’re going through. I’m saying that I’ve been in a place like yours before and it sucks. It’s one of the worst things a person can go through.”

“I get that you had a sad childhood, and your parents were never around. But that doesn’t give you the right to compare your situation to mine.”

It’s a low blow and she knows it. An arrow perfectly aimed just to get him to shut up. To get him to hurt enough to leave her alone. Because she can be mad at him. He’s here to be mad at. Giving her every opportunity to.

Because she can’t be mad at her mom. Julie can’t be mad at her for leaving her alone. For leaving at all. How can she be mad at the dead for leaving. She can wish and pray and beg the universe for her mom to come back. Cry a river of tears caused by the unbelievable grief that it’s left her in. Be upset with all that’s happened to her. Wonder what went wrong that night to take it all away from her.

But angry. No, that wasn’t allowed. She’s not allowed to be angry at her mom, especially for this.

Her words hit their mark, making Steve stop for a second. For his eyes to glaze over just a bit before he blinks it away. She should be remorseful, should take back everything she said and get it over with. But for a small second, she thinks that this might be over. That she can just run away without saying another word and cry herself to sleep for the third night in a row.

But instead, he keeps talking.

“That’s not what I was talking about, but that doesn’t matter. The point of all of this, was to tell you that I’m here if you ever want to talk.” The levelness of his voice is gone, and all that is left is bitterness behind his words. Just like she wanted, but it still stings. For reasons that she can’t quite explain even if she wanted to. But she’s tired of talking, so she just explodes.

“Just stop ok,” she pleads through her raised voice. “You’re not my mom.”

Her chest heaves with her words, the arrow coming back and hitting her instead. Tears well up in her eyes as she grabs her bag, running up the stairs before he can say anything else. And she’s pretty sure he does, but she can’t hear it. Doesn’t care that she didn’t.

Instead, she slams her door and falls into her bed. Not her bed, actually. Because her bed is back in the trailer park with her mom in the other room. Now it’s empty with nothing but her mother’s ghost, and Julie’s not even there to try and say hello.

. . .

“I’m not trying to be,” Steve says as Julie’s running up the stairs. She slams her bedroom door, isolating herself and blocking him out.

It could have gone better. A lot better. It actually went to shit. He didn’t know how else to do it. And he should have just waited, he saw what she was like in the car. That far off distant look as she just gazed out the window and didn’t talk. Not like he would ever force her to, but he wanted her to.

There was a day a few weeks ago where he picked her up, and she was so talkative. Told him about this book that she was reading for a book report and how much she liked it. How she saw herself in the main character, and loved how the world was crafted. Went on a on about it for the whole ride, and even past that. It was great, it was her.

That day, he saw past the grief that’s been encapsulating her. To the girl she was before the accident, before her mom passed. He just wanted to be able to see it more often sometimes.

It’s not like he was trying to speed run her grief, he never would. It just hurt to see her come home every day and shove all her feelings away just to keep a neutral face. To hide the fact that she was hurting from him. He didn’t have the right to see how she really felt, but he wanted to offer the key if she ever wanted to open the door.

So, he tried to, but look where that ended.

He runs a hand through his hair, keeping his hand and the back of his neck with a long exhale. Thoughts rushing through his head on how he can fix this. How he can apologize for pushing, and just take back everything that happened.

It’s an impossible task, he knows. Time, she just needs a little time to cool down. And Steve does too. The focus is on her, but he can’t ignore what she said either. Even if it wasn’t the worst this in the world, it was just enough to make him falter. To make him a little angry. Upset. He knew the technique well. Hurt someone else just because you’re hurting. Doesn’t make it right, but he knows.

Steve’s not angry at Julie, not for what she said. If anything, he’s just sad. Hurts for her and what she is going through. How even though he knows grief, he doesn’t know this. Losing a parent is something he never experienced, not like this. But he still wants to reach out.

He gives it an hour, lets her have her space. For her to cool down, and for him to as well. Let’s what happened settle in, so it’s not rushed.

Standing in front of Julie’s door, he knocks gently. She doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t hear music coming through the room, but that doesn’t mean she’s listening. He still talks anyway.

“Julie. I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring it up like that, and I didn’t mean to make you upset. I could have been gentler, could have said it differently. And probably could have waited for a better time. But I’ve been worried about you for a while now. And while you probably don’t want me to be, it’s true. You’re my sister, and while we haven’t known each other for a long time, I still care about you.”

He pauses, thinking about what to say, and how to say it. To tread lightly. Deciding it’s best just to take a step back, just a bit.

“I’m going to be honest, I have,” he takes a deep breath, “no idea what I’m doing. When you showed up at my door that night, I didn’t know what was going to happen past that. What I did know, is that I wanted to help you. I wanted to get to know the sister that I never knew, that I was never given the chance to know. And you let me, you let me give you a space in my house, you let me into your life. Sure, there were a lot of other factors in there that I’m sure influenced that decision, but I hope at least part of it was that you wanted to get to know me too.”

Steve rests his head on the door, willing himself to just find a point to this. “You’re right, I have no clue what you’re going through. The other things in my life that I’ve gone through, they might be similar, but they’re not the same. And I would never say that they are. But I’m here for you, whether you want me to or not. You’re the only blood related family I got, too. I’m not going away that easy. But I can never know how you’re feeling if you don’t let me in.”

He waits a minute, seeing if she would open the door. But the hall clock’s second hand the only sound filling the space, so he steps back and turns to walk away. Until the door lock clicks.

“What about your parents?” Julie asks, door open.

A sigh of relief escapes his lungs, He might have done something a little right.

“I was sixteen when they left for two years straight with barely a phone call from them every few months. The only time they came back was to reprimand me for not getting into college the day of my high school graduation. They didn’t even go to the ceremony. I might be related to them, but they’re no family.”

Julie stares at him with tears still painting her eyes. Hair falling out of her ponytail and sweatshirt sleeve cuffs still a little damp. “You were left alone, here, all by yourself at sixteen?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “I know a little what it’s like to be left behind at this age. Not the same, but not entirely different.”

She opens the door a little more, motioning with her head for him to come in. He walks into the room, sitting down next to her at the foot of the bed.

“I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t really mean it.”

“Don’t worry about it. I know you didn’t. I’m sorry for pushing.”

Wiping a fresh tear off her cheek, she pulls something from underneath the bed and holds it in her lap. A small journal. “Don’t be. I think I needed you too, just a little bit.”

“Can I ask what that is?”

Julie presses her lips together, blinking away a lingering tear. She hands him the journal, letting him take it. He doesn’t look in it though, it doesn’t feel right.

“I pretty much have a journal a year, sometimes two.” She points to the tall stack of journals on her desk. “Every year since I was seven. I wrote stories in them, journal entries, and drew pictures with them. A few years ago, I got an empty journal to write a story in for my mom. And every year, I would ask for it back and write a new story in it. It was her birthday present every year.”

He looks at the journal in his hand, already knowing where this is going. “I’m sure she loved it.”

“She did,” Julie whispered. “I never got to finish the one for this year. After everything that happened, just couldn’t bring myself to look at it. Let alone finish it.’

“I’m sure she would understand, you’ve had a rough couple of months.”

“Yeah,” she lets out a shaky breath. Leaning her head back on the foot of the bed and looking up towards the ceiling. “Today’s her birthday,” she chokes out. “And I just feel so guilty for not finishing it.”

Steve doesn’t quite know what to do, but he’s trying. “Hey,” he places a hand on her shoulder. “It’s ok.”

“No, it’s not.” Tears start to roll down her cheeks faster than she can wipe away. “I’m just so sad that she’s gone, and then I get angry. I get angry at her for leaving, and at the accident for happening. Then I get upset for being angry because I know it wasn’t her fault. I can’t be mad at her for something that’s not her fault.”

“You still have a right to feel whatever you are about it all though. Be mad at the universe, not her. Be upset that she’s not here anymore, wish that she was here. All of those things.” He laughs in his head about the irony of what he’s saying, about what he’s going to say. How it took other people telling him to do the same thing for him to finally let himself feel. “Keeping it all bottled up, ignoring that they’re there and telling yourself that you shouldn’t feel this way. That’s not healthy, believe me.”

Julie looks at him, finally. Eyes puffy and cheeks stained with tears. “I miss her.”

“I know you do.”

The dam lets itself loose and Julie crumbles, leaning toward Steve as she breaks. He pulls her into a hug similar to the one that he gave Dustin months prior when they were waiting in hospital rooms. Holding her close to shield away the bad, as the emotions ignored to keep appearances finally break free. Letting her know that he’s safe, and he’s here.

That he’ll always be here.

Part 10

Tag list(let me know if you want to be added or removed): @homoerotictangerine, @mugloversonly, @thesuninyaface, @imyelenasexual, @anaibis, @ilovecupcakesandtea, @brainsteddielyrotted, @jackiemonroe5512, @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @cinnamon-mushroomabomination, @lolawonsstuff, @writingandmushroomdragons, @stevesbipanic, @sierra-violet, @steddie-as-they-go, @dauntlessdiva, @mousedetective, @the-daydreamer-in-the-corner, @zombiethingy, @connected-dots-st-reblogger, @that-agender-from-pluto, @allyricas, @cheddartreets, @devondespresso, @crypticcorvidinacottage, @queenie-ofthe-void @chronicpainstevetruther, @cheddartreets, @theupsidedownrealestateagent, @acidbubblegummie, @sirsnacksalot, @l0st-strawberry, @helpimstuckposting, @strawberry-starss, @freddykicksasses, @italianwhore1, @i-threw-my-name-out-the-window, @rageagainsttheapathy, @nuggies4life, @ape31, @whimsicalwitchm, @chrissycunninghamfanblog, @michellegilligan, @hippielittlemetalhead, @bridget-malfoy-stilinski-hale, @jaytriesstuff, @confused-stripes, @faeb1tch42069, @marklee-blackmore, @hel-spawn, @genderless-spoon, @mamafaithful, @estrellami-1, @starryeyedpoet17 @i-amthepizzaman, @lilpomelito @melonmochi

[blueinkscribe]

A longer collection of "WRONG!" Snippets I wrote after being asked for by my discord.

This is the post where I make all your favourite characters and ships suffer :D

"The mad scientists"

wrong

Cub never left that behind. Cub is still a mad scientist ad heart. No matter where he goes, he carries that with him, even in his museum, he turns so many things just a touch too much into science.

Meanwhile, for zedaph, that science stuff had been nothing but a fun past time. Something to keep himself entertained until he could go to a world he knows he could stay in long enough to start the project he is truly invested in.

The main point they bond over is Cubs entire life, but to zedaph its nothing but a way to pass the time

"Pearl will forever be the red witch"

wrong!

It was never about that. It's never been about a role or a character she played. What it's always been about is that Pearl always and forever ends up being abandoned.

Weather that is by her alliance, by her soulmate, or by her friends.

Pearl is kept around only when someone deems her useful.

And when she's not, they leave her behind.

And she so desperately just wants to be heard, listened to, and when noone does, she begins to scream and shout until people have no choice but to listen.

The role Pearl played is nothing but a byproduct of her loneliness.

Pearl won't forever be the red witch. She hasn't been in a long time actually. All she's ever been is abanoned

"Majorwood were so good for each other"

wrong

Majorwood were nothing but a coincidence, they were never anything more then a participation medal to each other.

Martyn never really saw Scott for who he is, all he saw in Scott is a sad projection of Ren, nothing but a bandaid on a wound that needed stiches.

And Scott, Scott never needed martyn, what Scott needed was to be loved, and he saw martyn, who was ready to treat him with so much love but never for who he is, only for what he wanted him to be.

What Scott needed was trust, but ultimately, martyn turned on him without second thought, because martyn was only ever truly loyal to one person.

Majorwood, to each other, were nothing but sad ghosts of what they truly needed, nothing but unfulfilled dreams

(For context, this is about their characters)

"Jizzie are happily married"

wrong

OK let's be real, I don't know where you'd get this from.

Everything about them is exclusively lust (in a non-sexual way) and never about love.

What lizzie seaks in Joel is entirely a kick. What she gets from him is an adrenaline rush, gets yo play with fire a little. And she could get this from everyone, but Joel is right there, so she goes for him.

Joel, on the other hand, is getting companionship from her. Or well, the illusion if it. He is so sunken into the loneliness of his cave and his red life, that the light of lizzie quite literally blinds him from seeing that to her, he's nothing but an adventure.

And after it's over, lizzie will leave, return to her alliances, and Joel will be alone, craving the company and warmth of another person. But lizzie never cared. Not about him.

Only about the kicks

"Scott and Jimmy never moved on from each other"

wrong

Oh honey, they so did.

I thinks it's obvious that when Jimmy met Tango, he started healing and started moving on, he was proven then that someone could love him just as unconditionally and that he doesn't rely on Scott. He was proven then that there's others who also see his worth. Jimmy is well over Scott. Sure, sometimes he thinks back on that time with a fond smile, but he doesn't miss it.

For scott, moving on looked different.

Scott struggled to move on for so long, and it's not that hes over Jimmy, no, but when he realized that Jimmy was over him, he bottled it all up and shoved it down until he couldn't feel it anymore.

In his dreams, scott can still see the flower valley, can still feel the touch of jimmys hand in his. It no longer fills him with joy, instead, it leaves a sour taste on his tounge. To him, they're nothing but a nightmare that haunts him. A memory he can't let go. All because he has been let go

"Mumbo cant go a day without seeing Grian"

wrong

You think Mumbo is the one obsessed?

I mean, I see where you're coming from, I really do.

But get this. Mumbo just sucks at being alone.

For Mumbo, it could be anyone. The reason it's grian isnt because grian is special, but because Grian is easy, non-intimidating.

To Mumbo, grian is just "the easy option"

Grian is outgoing and exitable and he does most of the work for Mumbo.

He does a great job at patching the whole of loneliness in mumbis heart.

But Mumbo doesn't care if its grian. Before grian, it had been iskall and when grian isnt around, its scar, its Ren, its anyone who will listen. Grian isnt special.

Grian on the other hand. To him, Mumbo is everything. Grian is obsessed with him. He needs Mumbos constant validation and his company and his presence. Without him, grian is incomplete.

Grian yearns for him, he needs him.

And Mumbo is there. Because Mumbo thrives under his attention.

Grian loves Mumbo, Mumbo loves attention, and grian just so happens to give him that

"Impulse and Tango are each other safe space"

"Impulse and Tango are always there for each other through the worst of times"

wrong!

On so many levels.

What they are is forced proximity, over and over again. They catch each other because they stand where the other happens to fall, being crushed under the impact of the fall.

Of course they'll listen, of course they trust each other to an extend. Because they're so used to it having to be each other.

But let's be real. Most of that is Tango. Tango so rarely gets people he can truly rely on, there was Jimmy, sure, but jimmy has since moved on and any other time, the ones he trust end up dead or betraying him.

Impulse, on the other hand, he has people. There are many who have his back.

And yet, whenever disaster strikes, its when he's with tango. They safe each other because it saves themselves

And so, in the sense of calamity, they find each other. Because they're used to it. Because it's all they know.

If they had a choice, they would choose anyone else, they would choose those they wouldn't crush, those who can heal them and not just hold them together so they momentarily function.

But fate never gave them a choice. And so they continue to crush each other

[berryunho]

THE ANSWER: V

Kim Hongjoong doesn’t like the word ‘cult.’ He prefers ‘sect.’ pairing: ateez x fem reader genre: cult au, thriller, angst check warnings on AO3

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The next morning is not the best of your life.

You wake up with a pounding headache, and your stomach turns over as soon as you move to pull yourself up. You freeze in place, half propped-up, half reclined, trying to keep yourself from losing the contents of your stomach. Thankfully, the nausea passes after only a moment and you’re able to fully sit up and take in your surroundings.

You’re on a couch. Not your couch, but a couch. You almost start to panic, realizing that you have absolutely no idea where you are. The room that you assume to be the living room is quite small, one that you can’t recall ever seeing before. Your eyes pass over the coffee table in front of you, before settling on a picture frame resting on one of its corners. In the frame is a picture of Haseul and a guy you’ve never seen before. Relief flows through your body as you realize that Haseul must have taken you home. 

You quickly notice that the bag you had brought with you last night is also sitting on the coffee table, and you eagerly lean off the couch to grab it. You assume that your phone must be inside, probably waiting for you with a text from Mingi.

You dig through the purse and, sure enough, find your phone inside. When you unlock the screen, however, there is no such message waiting from Mingi. Taking note of the time, 9:41 A.M., you relock your phone and shove it back into your bag. You set it aside, bringing a hand up to rest on your forehead. God, your head hurts.

Sitting for a moment, you deliberate what you should do next. Assuming Haseul drove you here, you’d be missing your car. Meaning you couldn’t leave. And if Haseul was still sleeping, you would be stuck here until she woke up. 

Fortunately, your worries that you might be stuck turn out to be unfounded. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Haseul tip-toeing out of the bathroom, trying to be quiet. Despite the headache, you manage a smile at her consideration. Just like Haseul, to always take care of those around her.

Before she can get far, you call out to her, “Good morning.”

She startles, wheeling around to face you on the couch in half a second. She smiles when she sees you, falling down onto her heels and making her way to the living room. “Good morning.”

She joins you on the couch, the cushions sinking down next to you. She continues smiling, and asks how you’re feeling. 

“Not as bad as I would think, actually. My head is killing, though.”

Haseul nods, bringing her hand up to pat you on the back. “You probably drank just a liiiiiitle too much last night,” she brings her thumb and forefinger of her other hand up, squishing them together to emphasize her words, giggling. You can’t help but nod in agreement. 

“Did anything too crazy happen? I remember up to…” you trail off, trying to recall what the last thing you remembered was. Come to think of it, you could vaguely remember Haseul asking for your keys and telling you that she would take you home. “Everything, I think.”

Haseul takes her hand off your back and claps her hands together in front of her, apparently pleased with your statement. “Great! So you’re going to tell Mingi that you’re visiting, right?”

Ahhh, Mingi. The reason you had gone out. You could remember telling the group about what happened, and you cringe at the memory of how you had started bawling your eyes out in the middle of a bar. Sighing, you nod to Haseul. Yes, you will go visit Mingi. As embarrassing as it had been to cry in front of everyone last night, it was an eyeopener. You missed Mingi more than you had originally thought. Seeing the picture of the two of you had torn a bandaid off that you hadn't known was in place. “I’m gonna let him know.”

Haseul claps her hands in front of her once more. Haseul hadn’t been one of your closest friends in university, but you can tell that she definitely still cared about you a lot. And, come to think of it, you felt the same way. She hops up from the couch, almost running into her coffee table, and turns back to you. “Let’s get some breakfast!”

You chuckle at her near blunder, nodding and sticking a hand out for her to grab. She readily takes it and heaves you off the couch, pulling you into her kitchen.

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。.

By noon, you’re back at your apartment. Haseul had lovingly made you buttered toast, and then brought you back to Dirt to grab your car. You had then driven home, thinking about what you would say to Mingi the entire time.

Now that you’re home and on your own couch again, you find yourself in a similar situation to a few nights ago. What would you say to Mingi? Simply that you’re coming? Or should you ask if you’re invited? You don’t want to make it seem like you’re inviting yourself… even though Mingi had expressly invited you multiple times. He had even asked the commune leaders for permission for your visit, and they had apparently readily agreed. 

You pull your phone out of your purse, noticing that you should probably plug it in soon. How your battery had lasted this long, you had no idea. You easily find your conversation with Mingi, and read the last text he had sent.

I would love for you to visit. I hope you’re seriously considering it. MON. 8:49 P.M.

Love. He would love for you to visit. Had he chosen that word on purpose? Was there some hidden meaning there? You had analyzed the message for the better part of Monday night, but hadn’t given him a response. Of course, you had been seriously considering it. You just could not understand why Mingi was so adamant that it happen this weekend. And, while Mingi had loosened up a bit over time, his stunted way of speaking was still a bit unnatural. You read your response over, before hitting send.

I decided I’ll come out Saturday, if that works for you guys. I don’t have to work Sunday, so I could probably stay the night, too. What’s the address? 12:21 P.M.

You had noticed that Mingi seemed to reply much faster whenever your message was related to the commune or your visiting it. The pattern holds true, as Mingi is quick to respond once you send the message.

That works great for us, and you are welcome to stay as long as you want! 12:23 P.M.

He attached the address to Google Maps in the next message, and you click the link to try and get a sense of where this place is. Once the app loads, you try to take in the surroundings of the red dot. However, there isn’t much that can be taken in. Further zooming out, you notice that it seems to be miles away from any type of town, or even gas station. Frowning, you click on the “directions” button and allow Google to create a route to the farm. Once you choose your apartment as the starting place, your route is calculated. Two hours and twenty-one minutes, with mild traffic. Holy shit. 

You stare, dumbfounded, at your phone for a moment. How was that even possible? You take in the blue line that draws the route to your destination. Its almost directly south, and a bit to the east. From what you knew, there shouldn’t really be any completely empty farm-land there. That just… wasn’t the area. For a second, you wonder if the address is even right. Until an even worse thought crosses your mind. What if Mingi is just fucking with you? What if he doesn’t want to see you, he just wants to send you on some wild goose-chase? Almost as soon as the thought occurs, you clear it from your mind. Mingi would never do that. No matter how much he has changed. You write a response.

Great. See you Saturday! 12:30 P.M.

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。.

Seeing as its only Wednesday, the next few days of the week absolutely drag on until Saturday. On Friday, you let your boss know that you’ll be out of town for the weekend, so he shouldn’t rely on you to come in if the place is understaffed.

“It’s no problem, (Y/n), do you want Monday off, too?”

He must be in a really good mood, but you still let him know that that won’t be necessary. You really were only planning on going Saturday, and then leaving pretty early on Sunday. While you missed Mingi, you still have an entire life to worry about. You couldn’t stay with him forever.

After your shift, sitting at home, you open a new conversation on your phone. A groupchat with Jungeun and Haseul. 

Well, I’m leaving to visit Mingi in the morning. I’ll be there until Sunday! 3:20 P.M.

Do either of you want to come with? 3:20 P.M.

You add the second message as an afterthought. You don’t really think that either of them will want to join you, but you think it would probably still be nice to invite them. Jungeun is the first to reply.

That’s so awesome, (Y/n)! I have to work, though :( 3:22 P.M.

Haseul isn’t too far behind Jungeun.

Me too :( But enjoy yourself! 3:25 P.M.

You smile at your friends’ responses. They really did seem excited for you! You almost can’t wait to get back, solely to tell the two of them all about what is going to happen over the weekend. While you’re not expecting much, you know that its still going to be super good to see Mingi. Maybe something will happen. Maybe not.

Sighing, you decide that it is probably about time you pack yourself a bag. Going to your room, you grab an old university duffle bag, opening it up and setting it on your bed. You would think that picking out one outfit and a pair of pajamas wouldn’t be too difficult, but, when you try, its like you’re in highschool again. Like you’re picking out an outfit for a date. Which was totally not anything that was going to be happening this weekend, anyways. 

After 30 minutes and your closet being torn almost completely inside out, you decide to just pick something completely normal. Something that Mingi would have seen you in everyday. There was no need to do anything special, as Mingi was literally your best friend. He wouldn’t be expecting anything from you. After the clothes are in your bag, you go to your bathroom to pack a simple toiletry bag. You figured that you probably wouldn’t need much.

Going back to your room and putting the toiletry collection into the bag, you survey your room. You can’t seem to find anything that you’re forgetting so, satisfied, you zip the bag shut and bring it out to your front door. Things that you still need tonight will be packed in the morning. 

The rest of your afternoon and evening fly by in a whirlpool of anxiety and other emotions. Laying in bed, trying to sleep, you wonder if Mingi had ever had feelings for you. Not that you had had them for him… of course… but what if he had been into you? What would you have done? Thinking hard, you decide that you probably wouldn’t have rejected him. So did that mean that you liked him? God, human emotions are way too complicated sometimes. If you had been into Mingi, you would have known it. You are the master of your own mind, afterall. 

Moving off the subject of your feelings for Mingi, or lack thereof, you find yourself thinking about how you will react to seeing Mingi tomorrow. Seeing a simple ID photo of him had almost sent you reeling, so how would the real thing make you react? Hopefully you wouldn’t be driven to tears. At least not sad tears. You don’t know if you would even be able to survive the two days at the commune if you immediately started bawling in front of Mingi (and presumably a bunch of others, too). 

Anxiety continues to fill your thoughts, and it takes quite a while for you to fall asleep.

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。.

Your alarm wakes you up at 7:00 sharp, and you’re out the door by 8:00. While you were not, by any means, looking forward to the nearly two and a half hour drive, you still wanted to be able to enjoy most of the day with Mingi. 

You stop at The Bean on your way out of town, grabbing a coffee for your drive. You say goodbye to your boss, who is appreciating his new ‘Adam.’ He always does this. Everytime he gets a new item for the interior, he stares at it for months. On your way out, you take in Adam as well. As hard as you try, you just cannot get over the junk in his trunk. Sure, sure, its art or whatever, but damn. Was Adam really that thick? 

Once you’re back to your car, you plug your phone into the auxiliary cord and start the perfectly curated driving playlist you had designed for the express purpose of this drive. As you planned, the first song to come on is a complete banger. The playlist is, of course, designed to have no skips. Having already plugged the address of the commune into the GPS, you head on your way.

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。.

Two hours later, and you only have about 30 miles to go. The drive had been very uneventful, which you are almost happy for. It had given you a lot of time to think. You are super excited to get to see Mingi, of course, but also, as the distance on the GPS ticks down, your anxieties start to creep back up again. Is Mingi as excited as you are to see him?

Blocking the thoughts out, you focus on the road ahead of you. There is an extreme lack of scenery in this area. When the GPS alerts you to the final ten miles of your drive, you pass a sign announcing your arrival to “unincorporated land.” How pleasant, you’re not even visiting a real town. The road is surrounded entirely, on either side, by tall corn fields. It is nearly harvest season, and you can tell just by looking at the way the stalks are starting to droop from the weight of the corn. 

With about five miles remaining, you pass by a single barn, standing alone next to a fork in the road. The GPS instructs you to follow the fork to the right, and you oblige. The road thins and turns to dirt, and continues to be surrounded by corn. 

After a few minutes, the corn disappears, and you enter a wide open expanse. There are three large buildings that you can see, a barn, and a couple sheds. There’s even a few people milling about, all turning or craning their necks to follow your car with their eyes. Not exactly knowing where you should go, you spot two other cars in front of one of the large buildings and decide to park there. You pull up next to one of them, wondering what you’re supposed to do next.

Right as you’re about to text Mingi to let him know that you’ve arrived, there’s a knock on your window.

← previous || next → || masterlist

[vacantgodling]

gonna call the main brain rot ones here bc (1) still working on celestial weddings and i didn’t feel like being sappy about all of dag’s relationships quite yet. (2) carlos & jenna + lath & ensio don’t count as much as i’m obsessed with their relationships just bc they’re not “technically” romantic lol. and the romantic ones are what i’m talking about (3) i’m on mobile my fingers tired.

also as an aside it’s not nearly every relationship in any of my wips bc i have a lot. however these are just ones i rather enjoy and im going to wax fucking poetics about them thanks

anyway without further ado

some sappy shit:

darren x gabe (wip: vampires don’t take roadtrips)

their love to me is like a slow dance. meeting someone for the first time; at a weird place and a bit of a weird time, but settling into getting to know each other. of taking tiny steps towards the right place and a right time. it’s unhurried but no less intense. there’s embers underneath soft blankets, burning gently but still burning. it’s a feeling of home when home is a long way off. yet a feeling of excitement that stirs butterflies in your stomach or catches your words in your throat. it’s familiar yet unfamiliar. the excitement of the unknown and the thrill of a new adventure, but the dejavu that comes with a familiar path or road. they’ve known each other for so little but for so long. the coziness of how they melt into each other is unmatched. it feels natural, there’s no other way to describe it. just the natural order of things should be hands laced together and noses nuzzled into necks and homeliness amid the unfamiliar.

corsel x blackpeak (wip: vampires don’t take roadtrips)

their love is mending—they’ve been hurt for quite a long time. distractions can be bandaids but the wound is gaping and in need of salve. the salvation of communication, the terrifying barrier of just being fucking honest. the fear, of baring that last piece of your soul to someone who already knows what notes it sings; the fear to fall completely that keeps your cards close to your chest but the desire to lay them all on the table is icy hot, somehow bitter. wishing their face was that of a stranger but it’s one you’ve seen every expression of. it’s a final breakdown of pride, of ego, it’s finally saying enough. of this. enough pain, we’ve suffered enough. and if i am to suffer i’d rather it be at your mercy than to my own.

laurent x emily (wip: vampires don’t take roadtrips)

“til death do us part” — but still they can’t be parted. their love when they met wasn’t love but something hostile; a fierceness forged on the flames of alienation and misunderstanding; of distrust and disdain. one that was slowly mended. somehow a bridge was created to bridge the gap between human and monster and there was a sameness there, a shared othering that could be quelled in no one but each other. how bright that love burned, to turn a cold heart warm and a guarded heart soft. how it burned others around them in its intensity, how even age nor years could scratch the surface of the deep bond they shared—until one finally breathed their last. the other, humbled. yet alone. how moving on is something inevitable, but it will never be the same. how that love has molded and shaped and reforged a shining, glimmering steel out of a husk of iron. no one can compare to that love. but it is because of that love, that love can, eventually, be found again.

graves x dove (wip: the graves we dug)

only a lover could hurt me as sweetly as you do. you can run from your problems but darling, you can’t run from love. facing what your love has created; a reckless, sweet, shameless love in a world that beat the innocence out of it. a cruel love, a biting love, a love that demands you face it even if you can’t look it in the eyes. a love that is mean as it is spiteful, a love that rages as it bleeds. a love that is hellbent on getting everything you got back from it, until you have nothing left to give. a love that has haunted a love that hunts a love that is both the predator and the prey. a dangerous desire that poisons everything it touches but you can’t help it, you need it, you live for it and perhaps you’ll die by it. but what a sweet death, a sweet apocalypse; if their eyes are the last thing you see before you give into the dark.

hyacinthus x amon (wip: paramour)

a love found in things not said but actions that do. two alike souls two ends of a twin flame; that bare teeth before they spare kindness. a love that is a shield against the pain of those around them, as much as it hurts to admit it’s there. if it’s there, it can be taken, it can be used. a love not spoken of, if only for the fear of it. they’re drawn to each other irrevocably and once the train is in motion it cannot be stopped. their loneliness and desperation to cling to something that gets it, that understands, that would fight for it as easily as they would die for it is hidden underneath the easier to explain emotions like anger or bitterness or greed or grief. it is frightening to find someone who sees you as you are; it’s like looking in a mirror, and learning to love the person staring back at you.

forte x clear (wip: the chronicles of lathsbury)

a love that is a salvation, a guiding light in the dark. to find a love that will meet you where you’re at and hold your hand throughout it all. how can you be worthy of such a thing? but your shine is bright— the care and compassion that bleeds from one feeds the other in a never ending cycle of uplifting devotion and care. an easy symmetry between them that circles back and strengthens with every rotation it makes. a love that is unending and a love that is selfless; a love that puts the other first to eventually cede to the care being given. a love that is cool, calming, a love that is a peace for souls that have long been weary

jihi x cameron (wip: the chronicles of lathsbury)

a love that is giving, perhaps giving to the point of breaking. until there is nothing left to be given, and even then you give more. a love that is patient and waiting, one that is selfless but wanting. a love you couldn’t dream of having but it is given freely. a love that is unreciprocated in the way you wish but you continue to give because you love them so much its all you can do. a love that overcomes hardships and is willing to be mature; to mature from crush to infatuation to love that is unwilling to let harm befall you even if it costs life, even if it sheds blood. a love that can be started anew; a flower start in an unfamiliar garden, one who has seen much and lived long. but love is ever youthful, as flowers blossom in the sun.

di x toph (wip: the cardian restoration project)

a love hard one; a love that was fought for. a love that took time to finally see eye to eye. a love that was hindered but the hindrance caused it to grow, grow until it was not a wily flower or a small bush but a large tree, twisting and unyielding. a love that supports, that lifts up, that pushes through tangled vines to find the true heart at the center of it. a love that is hard won; a love well deserved. two people who have fought and died for it finally getting that bliss, that peace. to let their love cradle them forever more.

[fernsam]

The Musical Creativity of Gone gone/Thank you

You know when you finish a really good movie and you’re sad that it’s over but it was just so satisfying. That’s the feeling of Tyler the Creator’s song “Gone gone/Thank you”. This song is about how he had just gone through a breakup. As the song title suggests, his love is finally gone and he’s thankful for the experience. It's not really a mind-blowing concept, but Tyler uses the idea of two songs in one to contrast the stages of moving on. Specifically, he creates a spotlight that sifts between the instrumental and his voice to emphasize the complex and heartbreaking emotions felt regarding leaving a relationship. 

The starts very abruptly with a simple percussion and off-key singing. It is pretty eerie and makes the listener wonder what is happening. As the song continues, the singing sounds more and more like singing, but what marks the actual start of the song is the percussion fading in and coming back. He starts singing how his love is gone and it sounds like a defeated character who longs for something. Throughout the first half of the song, his cracking and raw voice doesn’t change. What makes his voice stick out the most, however, is the instrumentals, which include a subtle percussion, a slow synth, and an occasional guitar riff. This allows the listener to focus on what he is saying and relate with him, and it sounds like he is talking directly to his ex. To shift focus onto the sample, the chorus is from “Hey Girl” by Cullen Omori, which is a very depressing and indie-sounding song. This helps show that the instrumental adds just the right amount to the melancholy mood where we can focus on what he is saying yet still feel the heartbreaking emotions subtly placed in the music. At the bridge, he lowers his voice, almost like he is going insane, repeating “Kept me going, the bandaid is falling off now” and ends with “and now I'm scarred for life”, which is then cut off by the instrumental. His voice comes back in the third verse, which is pretty different and is more of a rap. Even though Tyler is rapping, his voice is still very raw. 

At the end of the first part of the song, he plainly asks in a normal voice if they want him to “do it over”. A really soft voice asks “where” (which I have never noticed out of my thousands of listens before), and according to Genius, he responds with: “Everything.”  Even though it is such a short interaction, it makes the listener wonder what is wrong with this version and he wants to start the song over again. In a more metaphorical sense, Tyler may have wanted to correct the mistakes he made in his past relationship, like how singers want a do-over of a song to correct its mistakes. On the other hand, he could be saying how he wants to do everything over to be happy again. What really nails the coffin about how heartbroken he is is the outro, which is not even said by Tyler himself. In a distorted voice (with no music in the background), a comedian named Jerrod Carmichael says: “I hate wasted potential, that shit crushes your spirit. It really does, it crushes your soul.” Even though it is just someone’s voice, the line feels so impactful because of the lack of instrumental. 

The instrumental completely shifts its tempo and mood. The instrumental gets its spotlight with the solo which transitions to him singing in a muffled voice. Unlike “Gone gone”, the instruments start gaining more solos and focus (listen to how much is going on in the instrumental). The percussion is a lot more lively, the guitar riff is more prevalent, and the synth keeps on dancing throughout the song. This creates a more positive atmosphere for the song. Even though the instrumental is positive and it sounds like the song will conclude soon, he constantly sings that he will “never want to fall in love again”. Because of the upbeat instrumental the listener can tell that he really is trying to be happy but the lyrics are so hurtful that it makes it feel even more depressing. At the same time, the upbeat instrumental allows the listener to believe that he really did enjoy the good times and that he is appreciative. In the end, the instrumental again fades away along with his voice. You can tell that the song is over and after everything calms down, he quickly says “got my eye” (and it ends). Ending with a voice contributes to the meaning of his song: his eyes are open and he knows that he has to move on. 

This song really felt like a roller coaster ride with a satisfying, yet bitter conclusion. The first part of the song starts with a melancholic atmosphere that mainly focuses on the vulnerability of his thoughts, while the second part focuses on the bittersweet reality of needing to heal and move on. Tyler is able to achieve this meticulously through the alternating emphasis on either the diverse instrumental or his unique voice. Through this, Tyler drags you along on his rough journey and leaves you satisfied with how personal it feels. 

[viralhoax]

the death card

i’ve always felt like being dead was the best and worst thing you could be. if you’re dead, you’re free. the people around you live with the grief, though. it’s a double-edged sword. grief and death go hand-in-hand. i’m fixated on death and loss, sometimes in a nihilistic way, sometimes in a fearful way, always in a way of “if i was dead…”. my own mortality isn’t as scary as the mortality of the people, animals, places and things i love, though. regardless of whether someone or something is at its end, or it has been waiting to die, or it is swift and spontaneous, it is almost always shocking or painful in some way. 

i hold onto things until they are no longer breathing, either a fool or a murderer myself. 

i have a problem with ripping off bandaids, i have a problem with wounds in general. the what-if-ism of everything makes me stagnant and stand in place, holding onto something i should be letting go. like a firefly in a jar with no holes, i keep its beauty alive momentarily and mourn the corpses left behind, as if i am not the one who captured them to begin with, as if i am not the one who lacked the foresight to put the holes in the jar. so i sit with a jar of bug carcasses on my mantle, admiring that they were once alive, talking as if they are still lighting up the room. 

catching myself in my own web, staring at myself outside my body, i can watch myself squirm as i am caught up in problems that i have made for myself. and when you’re caught in a web that you made, only you know how to get out. i’m very forgetful, so i might as well just stay here.

sometimes it is time for something to move to its next phase. i’ve been pulling the death card multiple times a week for a couple weeks now in my morning tarot reading. putting stock into the cards and stars drives my faith and decisions, but i do not always want to hear what they have to say. sometimes, the universe shoves the answer in my face repeatedly. screaming at me while i am canceling out their voice with green noise to calm my constant anxiety instead of grounding myself and listening, i’m hearing that i need change. i need change. this needs to change. all things have to end.

did you know that doing the same thing over and over and over again and expecting a different outcome is the literal definition of insanity? i find myself crazymaking, but only to myself. no, you’re crazy — you’re sensitive, you’re ridiculous, you’re emotional, it’s your mental illness, it’s your PTSD, it’s that, it’s this. as if i would ever speak to even an acquaintance that way. 

revisit when you’re not feeling this way. revisit when the planets align in favor of the situation. revisit when you’re more stable. only you can control your reactions. yada, yada, fucking yada. i tell myself that i’m wrong so that i can be in control of the outcome — i can apologize. i can move on. i can make amends. i can make this work. sleep on it. smoke about it. talk it out. write it out. it doesn’t feel so bad today so keep going. 

there’s a metaphor about boiling a frog. maybe you’ve heard it. something along the lines of, you put a frog in water and keep turning the temperature up slowly. when it’s too hot, the frog will try to jump out, but it’ll be too late. what happens if you boil a tadpole? do they immediately resign to their fate or do they grow up in the heat, learning to live within it, growing their strength until they’re froggy enough to jump out? i’d like to think it’s the latter. sometimes i feel like a boiled tadpole turned frog — burnt up with legs that barely work, but i’m ready to jump. 

i’ve been here before, drowning in this lake on fire. i’ve been here before, it all feels too familiar. i’ve been here before, and i don’t want to be. i’ve been here before, how the fuck do i get out? i thought i learned to stay away from the unexplored depths. i thought i learned. why haven’t i learned? and so continues the spiral of shame, of self-blame, of wondering why this death feels so reminiscent of the deaths before.

the reaper and i, we’re on weird terms. i fear his wrath, i keep him at a distance, but his number is still in my phone. i never reach out, but i know he’s always there. and sometimes, he makes decisions for me and i don’t even know. sometimes i see him riding a horse on a card that tells me it’s time to kill the things that bring you pain, even if killing it also brings you pain. his presence allows me to see from a distance, except i’m not caught in my own web this time. i have a bird’s eye view to the world and how small i am in comparison, and how my choices need to matter to me. 

if i am eulogized, i don’t want to be remembered as “the person who did it all, all the time”. i want to be remembered as a person. but to be remembered as one, i should start acting like one. 

acceptance of the end is the most mortal thing you can do. death is closer than it isn’t. sentences have periods, and time has markers.  

this death may be a rebirth, or it may be just a death, but either way, i am becoming human again, one ending at a time.

[keefwho]

November 17 - 2022

1:33 PM

There are periods where I am raring to go and ready to get everything done and then some. But yesterday and today I don’t want to anything. I actively want to do ANYTHING else than the things I have to do. Just forcing it almost doesn’t work on days like this mostly because whatever I work on is going to suffer greatly because of how much I despise having to do it. 

I think I’m going to do today’s requests tomorrow. I’ll also finish the commission I was working on today. I have the means to do this and still be on schedule so I should be okay with doing this. Sometimes I beat myself up over not sucking it up and doing extra. Fuck doing extra. With how I am right now I’m fine just doing the average. 

I was going to make up for not exercising yesterday too. 

3:24 PM

My day declined incredibly swiftly. First while I was shaving, I stabbed my dick with my “skin safe” buzzer. It was bad as far as minor injuries though. The kind of bad where it didn’t want to stop bleeding on it’s own so I had to use a bandaid. 

But then I had to take my dog out like every mid-day but she’s scared as fuck of the buffalo hide my parents are keeping right next to the outside door. She literally won’t go out my door and if she finally does, she’s sprinting for dear life to get outside. Then while she’s out there she goes animal mode and is just trying to find a place to get safe or something. Its MADDENING to watch. Something about her getting like that really pisses me off because she won’t listen or respond to anything. I’m trying to be comforting and get her close to the door so she can just run past but instead she’s trying to run to my parent’s front door or all the way around the house for some fucking reason. So I have to somehow get her to me, then use her collar to guide her to the door but she doesn’t want to move and ends up fucking SCREAMING as I gently move her. She actually tried biting my hand which sent me over. I can’t remember getting this mad in the last 10 years and she’s lucky all I did was slap her behind. Then I used my other hand to push her butt past the buffalo and inside the house where she ran head first into her water bowl exploding it EVERYWHERE. So I screamed at her to get into her kennel and beat the shit out of her with her newspaper which I knew wouldn’t actually hurt her. But to be honest I was in a rage and was taking it out on her. Even though she wasn’t physically hurt, I feel like a monster. I’ve been crying about it. I don’t know why all this made me this angry. 

Now I gotta practice being more patient with her and try to train her better because she hardly listens as it is when she gets too excited. 

And now because of my mini breakdown, I feel like shit about everything. I’ve been a weak pathetic fuck today putting work off until tomorrow. I didn’t even do my workout because my stomach is still weird from yesterday. I feel like shit in every way. I feel horrible I can’t be as good of a friend as I want. I feel undeserving of everything I have because of how fucking broken I can be sometimes. God.

There’s so much to do all the time and there is no way I can ever do it all. I feel like a failure for it. If I could just bust my ass like I’m supposed to then maybe I could get most of it done. But I’m weak. 

Now what? Do I try to relax and recuperate myself? Or push through the pain and do everything anyways? I already know it never makes me feel good having all those things done because it sets a standard for how good I should be that I’ll keep having to uphold until I die. There is never a break. Based on pure experience I should try to take it easy for a bit. Brute forcing myself to be better isn’t sustainable and I know it. I’ve learned it. 

3:59 PM

I feel ugly right now, inside and out. Literally unattractive in every way. 

11:16 PM

I don’t wanna make promises to myself but tomorrow I hope to pick myself up and get everything done. It’s Friday after all, I’ll have a weekend right after. The “work” day should be easy and other than that it’s just my workout and some cleaning. I can do it. 

11:54 PM

Please let me be strong tomorrow. Today I was very weak and it feels shameful. I’m embarrassed. I know I’m only human but I prefer not to get like I got today. I want to be strong for myself and for my friends. I want to feel like I’m worth something. 

[luveline]

a special friend, part two [Fred Weasley, George Weasley x reader]

tags: reader-insert, platonic relationships, friendship, can be read as romantic for either or both, hurt/comfort, mental health issues, implied/referenced self-harm, dissociation, quiet reader, shy reader, sad reader

relationships: fred weasley x reader, george weasley x reader

wordcount: 3.2k

read part one here

The common room was always so clean. The house-elves must work themselves half to death with effort, as you never saw a hair or speck of dust where there ought not to be one. The small refreshment table filled and refilled through every new day and the fireplace was always roaring on cold winter nights. It was especially cold that evening, and so the members of Gryffindor house benefited from a crackling fire and hot chocolate coming out of the ears.

You basked in the warmth of the flame, sitting cross-legged before it. A cup of hot chocolate cooled in between your hands, which were both laden with bandaids and germolene. Fred and George’s orders, of course. You were not to scratch, bite or mess in any detrimental way with your hands, arms or skin. If you did, you were to report to them for immediate bandaging.

At first, they’d simply been spelling each wound away. This had an opposite effect, as the freshly healed skin was perfect for picking whenever your mood turned - which was often. You found yourself blinded and basked in the light of being cared for by others, and although you may have preferred complete autonomy over your own body, you couldn’t say you minded the attentiveness of the twins. They’d made it their personal mission to prevent any self-harm, accidental or purposeful. You weren’t sure you even knew the difference half the time.

A quiet had settled over the room. It seemed as though each red and gold student was content to breathe in the smell of chestnut and pine in peaceful, companionable silence. You found yourself smiling kindly at each person who looked your way. You couldn’t imagine having done that before you had become acquainted with the twins.

Acquainted was a word you used to protect yourself. Friendly was too confident, too firm. You sometimes dreamt of horror stories where you, confident and comfortable, admitted how much you cared for them. In these dreams, they laughed in your face. Poked fun at your hope.

Of course, Fred and George weren’t cruel. If they felt that way, they certainly wouldn’t rub it in your face or make you feel embarrassed about it. But some shame never went away, and you carried it like an ever-burning torch.

Despite the pleasant warmth of the room, chills racked your spine at the thought. You pushed it from your head, attempting to think of anything else. You traced a pattern through the braided strands of the rug you were lazing upon, first the flames of a bonfire towering ten feet tall, then a mirror of the powdered sugar landscape outside.

Two warm bodies settled in the carpet on either side of you. A long arm wrapped around your shoulders confidently. The floral scent of your perfume mingled with the strong scent of burning caramel and something woody, the signature fragrance of the Weasley twins.

George moved first, plonking a stuffed toy into your lap. He positioned the neck carefully so that the teddy bear was sat as comfortable as you were.

“For you,” said Fred.

“An early Christmas gift,” George added.

The bear was spotted unusually like some sort of hybrid creature. You wondered where they could possibly have acquired such an artefact.

“We saw him and thought of you,” they said together.

That was rich. And maybe correct. After all, it was a weird looking plushie and you weren’t exactly renowned for your normality. You didn’t say much, simply handing off your cold drink to George without so much as a sideways glance and brought the bear to your face. You grazed your nose against its brown stomach and inhaled, breathing in its clean scent.

Both twins were used to the general quietness that came with your presence and didn’t pressure any response. You knew you should’ve said thank you, or even smiled gratefully, but you just couldn’t make your mouth move the way you wanted. You placed your hand on each brothers leg and applied the barest amount of pressure, hoping it showed gratitude.

“Well, I’m starving.”

“I’m so glad you said so, my brother.”

“Yes, I’m craving something savory, Gred.”

“Something juicy, Forge.”

“Such as?”

You looked between them like a muggle attending a tennis match, back and forth and back and forth. They ran circles around you for their own enjoyment, you assumed, but maybe also to make you feel more included.

“Y/N, fancy a trek to the kitchens?”

Before you could say no, or yes, or make up your mind and decide what it was you wanted to do, your stomach growled. Fred grinned wickedly.

They ushered you out of the portrait hole and down the stairs without preamble, flanking your sides like bodyguards. You didn’t mind, taking time to smile at the castle ghosts and portraits as you went.

The twins shot each other looks when they thought you couldn’t see. One said, how do you think she is? Another said, I think she’s however you think she is. Both said, she seems okay today.

It would feel a little patronizing if it weren’t so foreign - to have people care about your well-being so deeply they made changes to their day to see you and went out of their way to make you feel good; you’d find it condescending if it wasn’t so delightful.

That is to say, you felt conflicted. Happy that somebody cared, ashamed that they also felt concerned. They worried over everything these days, what you ate and what classes you had and oh, ghostie, do you need help with that? Y/N, sweetheart, let me carry that for you, lest your arms grow too tired.

It was… nice. It was nice, even if it was painful. Sometimes, it reminded you why you didn’t allow yourself the pleasure of friendship in the first place.

You hummed to yourself. Making sound had become a little easier. You weren’t inclined to say a whole lot, but allowing yourself to be louder, to take up space, had come easier the longer you spent with them. Neither Fred nor George minded if you huffed after too many stairs or if you clicked gobstones together at the foot of their beds.

The song was one of those cheesy Christmas numbers you’d heard on the radio. It was warm and comforting, bringing tears to your eyes if you thought about it too much. George slipped into song with you easily, humming much more loudly and obnoxiously. Fred just grinned to himself, keeping dutiful watch of the corridors.

You bubbled like a shaken can of coke by the time you arrived at the painting that enclosed the kitchen doorway, feeling too happy for your own good. Despite feeling very hungry, not a lick of fatigue or unhappiness tinged your mood, though the fuzzy numbness of every day threatened your well-being if you stopped to think too long.

The door swung open obediently after your half-hearted tickle insisted upon by the boys.

“What do you feel like, Y/N, sweet or savoury? There’s bound to be something you’ll fancy,” George said.

You held in a grimace. There were lots of things you wanted to try, the kitchens smelled like so many amazing things. The cloying smells of jam and treacle and custard, the hearty scents of gravy and roast dinner. It was too bad, then, that most everything you ate tasted stale. For years, your tastebuds had been slacking. During your worst days, food held no taste at all, resulting in your decreased appetite.

A tingling began in your fingers. You didn’t know what to say, or how to say it, how to convey that you didn’t really feel up to anything at all. You knew they would protest as they always did when you didn’t eat.

“Bread,” you managed. Bread was a safe choice. Dense enough to feel filling, easy to keep down, and bland to begin with.

Both boys were frowning but trying not to at your choice.

George moved forward, catching the attention of a harrowed looking house elf. They conversed with familiarity and soon you were being beckoned to a table that was relatively clear. Within minutes you were surrounded by bread, crusty rolls and sliced sourdough.

George casually nudged a bowl of tomato soup in your direction.

The surface shined with grease. It even had a swirl of cream and a sprig of basil afloat.

He looked at you, eyes pleading.

“You too,” you said.

This appeased him. The boys sat across from you with their own bowls, eating in the horrific way that teenage boys do. By the time they’d finished, you’d managed half of your own meal and two slices of bread. The nausea you experienced from just existing was starting to build, accompanied by the disappointment of your bland meal. You’d hoped an improved mood would help your appetite, but you still felt unsatisfied.

The boys grabbed a passing plate of tarts and ice cream.

Your good mood was wearing thin. You bit down on the tip of your thumb and stared at the grain of the table.

You bit down harder.

“Hey. Hey! Don’t do that,” Fred said, reaching forward as if to grab your hand. You pushed it under the table.

George pushed the plate of confectionary closer to you. “Chew on one of these instead, hm?”

You took it all back - this was patronising. Lovely and thoughtful and very, excruciatingly patronising.

You didn’t want to say no, or push it away, or eat anything else or even laugh it off. You wanted to do nothing. You lay your head down on the table, closing your eyes. You caught a murmur or two between them, though you couldn’t make out the words with your ear pressed so hard against the wood and the other covered by your falling hair. The table was smooth and cool under your skin.

A chair scraped against the floor. Footsteps. A broad hand against your back.

“You’re like a steam train running out of coal sometimes.”

You knew he was hoping for a response, a joke, a sign you’d been cheered up.

Through slow blinks, you could make out his face. Endlessly amused and a little sad, framed by the candlelight. He was beautiful, you thought absently. They were both beautiful.

“You okay?” he said quietly.

“Mm,”

“Mm? Is mm a yes or a no?”

“Mm,”

“Alright,” he said, rubbing a soothing path up between your shoulder blades and down again. It would’ve been dizzying if you could think straight, it made the numbness a little woozy. You preened beneath his touch like a pleased cat, feeling the unhappiness melt just a little.

It was crazy how affection could make you feel better, even if it didn’t always solve the problem.

Embarrassed, you mumbled, “you’re going to kill me.”

Fred smiled. “How so?”

“You’re fattening me up like a lamb to slaughter.”

He didn’t quite laugh, huffing through his nose. He really was very handsome up close. His hair was curling at just below his ears, a lush auburn colour that complemented his pale, freckle adorned skin. His eyes were a heart-melting brown so that his pupils were lost. The look he gave you was searing like he knew exactly what you were thinking about him. Your ears were tinged with heat, cheeks filling with colour.

He retracted his hand.

“Wrap some of those up, Georgie. Ghostie needs her bed.”

“It shall be done, brother mine!”

You smiled despite yourself.

-

For your birthday, the twins had gifted you a simple necklace. The chain was silver, reaching to just below your collar bone. It had no charm or jewel. It was perfect.

It helped you sometimes when you felt out of it to run it between two fingers or tug it gently from left to right, feeling the chain links rolling behind your neck.

You’d tried that, among every other coping mechanism drilled into your head by George and Fred over the past few weeks. You drew circles were you wanted to scratch, put plasters over fingertips you wanted to pick at. You took big breaths and did the stretches George insisted on. You even tried getting a full night’s sleep - nothing worked.

It filled you with guilt. You felt as though you were letting them both down by struggling.

You stared out the window of the dormitory at the sky, moonlight spilling onto your skin and staining your clothes a gauzy silver. You’d read once that sometimes when the planets were in rotation, you could see them as though they were as close as the moon.

This didn’t seem right to you. How could Mars seem so close? It was an optical illusion. The planets revolved around the sun, but humans had once thought they revolved around Earth instead.

It must’ve been a very strange experience to realise you weren’t as important as you thought. The Earth was just the Earth, spinning and wobbling its path through space.

You shook your head, feeling lost. It was ridiculous to project your feelings on the solar system. But still, you couldn’t help but feel like, despite its inhabitants and its systems, the Earth was so lonely.

Your necklace began to grow cold until it was almost like ice against your skin. One of the twins, or maybe both, had charmed it to change temperature. Cold usually meant, ‘Ghostie, you awake?’

You cringed against the sensation. Why couldn’t they booty call you like normal young men, throwing stones at your window with a boom box? Or, for merlin’s sake, an owl?

You grumbled to yourself, throwing the fleece blanket from your body. You were hardly dressed for company in knickers and a tank top, so you threw on a grey zip-up jacket and a pair of pyjama shorts that were hardly any better than the knickers. Luckily the jacket hung past the shorts. You wanted to care that you were dressed scantily, really, but the boys wouldn’t care and you didn’t have it in you to find something else.

You trekked down the stairs, your trainer socks slippery against the well-worn wood. Fred stretched languidly in front of the fireplace, a pack of exploding snap cards and a mountain of chocolate frogs beside him whilst George was sitting much more straight-backed on the sofa.

“I’m cold,” you said, announcing your arrival. The redheads turned to look at you over their shoulders. Fred rolled his eyes at you and flicked his wand. The necklace slowly heated until it was pleasantly warm against your collarbones.

You clambered over the back of the sofa with little grace, folding your knees underneath you and leaning heavily against George’s arm. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

“If I were a lesser man, I’d ask where your bottoms were, Y/L/N,” said Fred, shuffling the cards dexterously.

You raised your jacket wordlessly, exposing your bottoms.

“Wouldn’t you know, they were there the whole time.”

“You assumed the same as me, George.”

George didn’t reply, though his expression said he was similarly embarrassed.

“And do you always let girls you presume to be half-naked climb all over you?” you asked.

“So talkative,” George chastened.

“Don’t change the subject! I’m interested in the answer,” said Fred.

“Oh shove off! You insufferable tyrants.”

Ah, so he knows how it feels now, you thought. You looked up into his face, the line of his jaw.

You looked down at your legs, feeling fatigued. Smooth stretches of skin and fine hair interrupted only by thin white lines. The low light made them almost impossible to see. They shined like silver when you moved, caught by the light of a nearby candle. They felt a lifetime away now when a young you had used pins and quills and little carving knives to punish yourself for bad behaviour.

You traced a slightly thicker one with a pointed fingernail. You pushed it nastily into the scar, but it didn’t hurt.

You sighed.

Fred and George were half arguing about something you didn’t catch, Fred through a mouthful of chocolate.

It was hard, always being miserable. People often criticized the moody for ruining the mood, but it wasn’t as if you could choose how to be. You wanted to wake each day and be happy and entertaining and absurdly good-natured, like the twins. It was an abject cruelty, then, that every day you woke up and felt the immeasurable dread of continuing on another day. Not even magic could help you with that.

You rejected Fred’s offer to play, happy to sit and watch the boys play. You let yourself slide into the space George had vacated, curling into a tight ball. Your stomach hurt.

Godric, there was always something fucking wrong with you.

You were frustrated. The boys could tell. Their game of snap was stretched thin, and you knew it was your fault. You wrinkled your nose at the smell of singed hair, restless. You squirmed against the warm leather under your skin, feeling sticky and out of sorts.

You closed your eyes against the aching and slept.

You woke up crying.

Fred shifted in his sleep. He was leaning against your legs, his hair and face smushed into the leather beneath you. George was facedown in the carpet. You pressed a hand to your mouth to muffle any sound.

The clock on the wall read 4 minutes past 4 o’clock in the morning. You’d only managed an hour and a half of sleep.

You couldn’t remember what you’d been dreaming. Maybe somewhere familiar. Faces you recognized. It didn’t matter, only the feeling of being crushed by the air. You reached out without thinking, grabbing Fred’s shoulder.

He roused gracelessly, blinking through squinted eyes at you. A hard sob rocked you to the core, the feeling of breathlessness sinking deep into your chest.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurting?”

You couldn’t answer. You grasped for his arm, begging him to do something, to save you. You felt as though you were going to run out of air.

“Hey, you’re alright. You’re okay. Let’s breathe, should we? Breathe with me.” He grabbed the hand you’d pushed over your mouth and brought it to his chest. You could feel him take a huge inhale and you tried your best to replicate it.

“Good! That’s good. You’re doing so well.” Another big breath, a long exhale.

“You feel that? The leather under you.” He grabbed your free hand and put it on the seat. “Feels weird, huh? Dimples and wrinkles.” He dragged your hand over the texture repeatedly.

A big breath.

Eventually, your breathing returned. The crying stayed.

“Don’t cry, ghost.”

You frowned. It was odd to be looking down at Fred instead of up. He pressed your hand tighter to his chest.

“Bad dream?”

“Don’t remember,” you whispered.

“It was just a dream. You’re okay. I promise.”

George snored. Fred rolled his eyes. You laughed through the tears, blinking the last of them away.

“Go back to sleep. I’ll be here.”

You knew he was telling the truth.

[raggaraddy]

Tae’s first time with a virgin if your still taking requests?

Virgin

A/n: Thank you for the request! It was fun to write. Enjoy xx 💜💜💜

Trigger warning: Smut, first time, oral, D/s themes, examples of a bad D/s dynamic, dirty talk, mild spanking.

Taehyung

Dom!Taehyung

You pull out your phone and type the message. Over and over. Deleting it and re-writing it about 30 times.

Until you see the typing bubble pop up on Taehyung's side.

If you have something to say, get it out. He writes.

Damn. You really should have written this on paper first. But too late now.

You had spoken with Taehyung for months and had met him in person for the first time last week. With clever wording, so far you'd gotten around telling him your secret. But you know you have to tell him before your first play session tonight. You don't know if a guy can tell or not, but if he can it's going to be embarrassing if he finds out that way.

It's not like you haven't done things before, you were probably more experienced than most when it came to other areas. You've played with other kinky people before, hooked up with girl friends and guy friends, and you've had a full D/s relationship that was filled with BDSM. It's just that you'd never done that one thing.

Really, you don't even know why you held onto it for so long. At first, you were trying to be smart and not give it away too quickly or easily, but then it almost became something you had a sense of pride in and tried to protect. But Taehyung was special. Someone you felt connected to. And you know, it's time to get it over with. Both telling him and the act itself. You have to simply rip the bandaid off and tell him. He shouldn't be mad. You didn't exactly lie about anything.

Its just about tonght :)

Please don't be mad. I ddnt know how to say it before

But you should probably knwo I'm a virgin

Three separate messages. Typed so quickly they're riddled with spelling and grammar errors. The words are not nearly as well prepared as you had wanted. But at least it was done.

The read symbol appears, and then nothing. Staring at your phone for what feels like 5 minutes, there is no reply. You're running over a dozen new messages, typing them in your head first. Wanting to explain that you didn't lie and that everything you told him, you really had done.

Typing the first word, his answer finally comes through. Only 3 words that make you relieved but also anxious from their conciseness.

See you tonight.

After spending hours getting ready, it was finally time to meet him. You came to his house and were perfectly on time. Although, you had a moment of concern thinking you were at the wrong address. When Taehyung said he had a big apartment you hadn't expected it to be a 2 story, riverside, penthouse in the middle of the city. He never wanted to tell you anything about his job, and now you were a little worried he's someone famous or that he runs a drug cartel or something.

Feeling a bit out of place and with the upcoming plans looming ahead of you, you start the night filled with nerves. However, Taehyung's confident demeanour as well as some casual conversation and a few drinks, eventually help you start to relax. And soon you're even beginning to get a little impatient.

A mix of anticipation of what is to come, steadily becoming tipsy, and having not touched yourself for a week, your mind is already running with all manner of dirty thoughts. But unfortunately, you're far too shy to initiate anything so you are entirely dependant on Taehyung's schedule. And he is taking it slow.

Normally, he would have a girl naked and on her knees by this time, but you were special to him, also. And especially now knowing that you're a virgin, he is determined to make the night last. Sat on the couch with him, there are small touches here and there, provocative topics of conversation, and his commanding tone of voice that makes you melt. Your excitement peaking as he passionately kisses you, pulling you onto his lap.

Nearing 2 hours of talking and teasing, Taehyung finally starts the main event. Taking you with him into the most stunning playroom you have ever witnessed. An industrial meets a minimalistic-modern theme. A beautiful king four-poster bed, with an x-frame top, a wooden headboard, and a white canopy. Making you think that this must be where princesses who liked to get spanked come to play.

Never parting his lips from yours, slowly and gently Taehyung undresses you. His delicate removal of your clothes and his tender kisses are in explicit contrast to the sharp, rough tugs on your hair that he uses to move you around. The combination making your skin burn with lust.

Sitting you in the middle of the bed, he remains fully clothed. A prickle of excited nerves shivering up your body. You're beyond needy and ready. Your hands starting to pull at his shirt, unable to refrain yourself any longer.

"Please," you whine. As his mouth comes off yours, you pull him into you a little firmer.

"What do you want?" Taehyung asks. His voice coming out deep and lowly spoken.

"I want," you gulp trying to think of what to say. Your face heating. "you?"

"That wasn't convincing." He moves forward, his hand pressing to your chest, pushing you flat onto the bed. "I asked you," Leaning over, his mouth comes to your breast, sucking your nipple. Your gasps turning to moans as he bites down before repeating himself. "What do you want?"

"Whatever you want, Sir." Your hands cling into the blankets trying to stop yourself from digging them into his perfect dark hair instead.

Looking up he smirks. "Mmm, when you call me that," he grabs your wrist, bringing it to his crotch. Pressing your open palm to the hard bulge straining in his pants. "it really turns me on."

You whine as he pulls your hand away. You'd been fantasizing for weeks about what he must feel like and now you were so close to having what you dreamt of.

"Don't worry about me, Y/n. I'm going to get what I want. But what I want right now," his hand suddenly cups your pussy making you gasp, "is for you- my horny, wet, little virgin," instinctually you spread your legs wider and his middle finger presses deeper, slipping between your folds making you wail. "to tell me what you want."

"Anything," You're trying to make yourself say more, but your mind is swimming and you're glowing with embarrassment thinking about actually saying what you want him to do to you. His piercing stare, his beauty, his hard cock, you're aching to have him. He knows what you want. It's not fair for him to make you ask for it.

"Y/n," your eyes lift to his face upon hearing his rumbling voice call your name. "Have I given you the impression that I tell you to do something so I can hear my own voice?"

Your eyes get big as you chew your lip, shaking your head. Even his light scolding is turning you on.

"Good. Then I'll ask you one last time, and if you make me ask you again, I'm going to put your panties back on, and they won't be coming off again tonight." he purrs making you whimper at his threat. "I was going to accept your little two-word answer, but now you've made me ask you multiple times, so you'll tell me in detail. What do you want me to do to you, little girl?"

You feel like curling under the blanket from shame, but you start to push the answer out. "I want... you... to," you swallow looking down, "fuck me." You can see his eyebrow raise, telling you to go on and give him the specifics like he asked. "I want to have you inside me, Sir. I want," you're thinking of the next words while feeling near to tears from discomfort. Unable to even glance at his face. "I want you to be the first man to fuck me." It's nearly inaudible by the end of the sentence, but you get it out. Hoping it's enough to make him happy.

Finally building the courage to look up, Taehyung is brimming with satisfaction and hunger. Looking ready to devour you.

His fingers gently hold your chin, lifting your head a little higher to meet him as he hovers over you. "Thank you, Y/n." He says softly, making your stomach swarm with butterflies. His warm reaction has you even more confident in your choice. "Put your arms above your head, and interlock your fingers." He instructs hushedly.

Too eager to follow his order your arms stretch above you, knocking into the headboard making your wrists bend. Holding your hips, Taehyung yanks you down the bed giving you the space to hold your arms out straight.

Pressing down on your wrists his face softly becomes more serious "You're not going to move your hands at all until I say. Not in any direction. Do you understand?"

With a little smile, you nod. Already having fun. "Yes, Sir."

"Good girl," he praises making you blush for what is surely the 100th time tonight.

He releases your hands and you push them down making sure to follow his order.

Slowly Taehyung shifts down your body, his fingertips lightly tracing down your arms and your sides, making you flinch and squirm. Fighting through being ticklish to hold still and keep your position.

Setting between your legs he continues to play with you. Your eyes clenching shut as his touch runs down your neck, your chest and stomach, gripping your thighs, tracing your lips. His fingers softly pinching your nipples producing a moan, your hips bucking up as your breathing deepens.

Moving lower still, Taehyung pushes your thighs wider. Lifting one of your legs he has you bend it upright, kissing from your knee down your thigh. Trailing lower until his lips touch your core making you bite your lip to stop from crying out. Needing to bite back even more vocal cries as his tongue flicks out, kneading against your clit. Starting to suck and lick you. Your legs spreading further on their own accord. Quickly losing your senses to pleasure.

His nearly painful grip on your hips jerks you down, pulling you into his tongue as it dives inside you making you cry out. Instinctually, your hands want to cling onto him and lift an inch from the mattress. Quick realization making you panic and slam them back flat.

Soon you're fussing, calling out his name as the flat of his tongue strokes you, eating you like a man starved. His long fingers deep inside you, massaging you in the same insisting manner. Pushing you to the edge without pause. Cumming with a yelp you bite your cheek in lieu of your arm. Your orgasm not stopping him, instead, he spreads your legs further lapping up all of the juice you spill. And just when you can't stand anymore and your body is starting to shake, he finally springs up smacking his lips with a satisfied open mouth grin. Wiping your cum from his face.

Flopping onto the bed alongside you, he rests over you again, kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself. Leaving you breathless when he finally parts.

"How are you doing?" He asks, his mindlessly touch once more trailing along your skin. "Good?" he presses for confirmation.

"Yes," you giggle, feeling lightheaded in the afterglow. Wanting to touch him back you, accidentally lift your arms off the mattress again. "Oh," You gasp, settling them back.

Raising up, he leans on his elbow. Digging into your joint hands, he clicks his tongue. "How many times did you lift your arms? Hmm?"

"Um," You feel like your cheeks burning under his inquisitive gaze. In truth, you hadn't counted. But you think at least 7 times. "Seven," you whisper.

"And how many times did I say you could move them?"

Your mind races for a moment trying to remember exactly what he said. You don't remember him saying a number though. And you realize it's a trick question. "None?" you squeak.

"That's right." He hums.

Sitting upright, he abruptly sticks his hands under you, flipping you onto your stomach in forceful motions. Trying to not break position, you stay straight keeping your arms flat to the bed. With a last tug, Taehyung pulls you onto your knees, your elongated arms and aching your back makes your face burry into the mattress.

"Seven," He says. His large open palm smacking your ass harshly. He doesn't count down the rest, but in your own head, you do. Each stinging slap only worsening your hunger.

But it doesn't matter how desperate you are, Taehyung isn't nearly done with you. Over the next 90 minutes, he touches and toys with you. You come serval times from his hands, his tongue, from toys, and even once from your own hand as he makes you get yourself off.

As the events go on, he gradually undresses. His own needs getting dire, he also cums, letting you suck him off and swallow his load. But soon after he is hard again. Getting too much enjoyment from teasing you with his cock, seeing you become a mess. And no matter how many times you cum, it is the part you want the most. At last, though, he addresses your needful craving.

Putting you on your back, you can see the switch in his eyes and the intent behind it. Laying over you and resting on his elbows, he lines up with your entrance. Your body almost shaking with expectation.

"What do you want little girl?" he repeats, his own breath strained with desire.

You no longer have any apprehension about saying it. You've never wanted anything, anyone, inside you more than you want Taehyung right now. "Please fuck me, Sir." you pant, tilting your hips up, your motion rubbing his tip through your dripping folds.

This time it's Taehyung whose exterior cracks. Dipping in your warm opening makes him groan. His jaw tensing, he has to restrain himself from slamming his dick inside you. He wants to do it. He wants to make you scream and writhe, and take his dick all at once. But he knows he can't be cruel. He knows he has overcome his baser instincts and be patient.

Pressing his lips to yours, slowly, carefully, he starts to edge his hips forward. His cock sinking inside you. Inch by inch. Allowing you the time and space to adjust to him. And you're grateful for it. He's stretching you and the deeper he goes the further you're being spread. The size of him, his thickness is larger than any vibrator you've used before. Or anything else you've had inside you.

Breathing lightly, shortly, your hands are clinging to the blanket. Your eyes fluttering closed. Feeling him fill you is beyond your wildest imaginations, and right now you wish it would never end.

"Fuck," Taehyung whispers, his entire dick buried inside you. Your virgin walls tightly constricting and twitching around him. With a few heavy breathes, he calms himself. "How does that feel Y/n?" He asks, half teasing you, half genuinely checking on your well-being.

Words have left you. Your mind is delirious. You can only whine and nod stiffly. Your hands wrapping his back draw his body against yours. Mutly begging for him to continue.

He gets your meaning and is all too happy to oblige. Keeping a slow, steady pace, he lifts his hips. The rubbing making you fevered. And when he sinks into you again, he sets up an even pace of long deep strokes. Rocking into your over and over and it isn't long before any hint of pain is replaced with pure euphoria. Your legs shaking and shivering.

"Such a good girl." He moans into your lips. "You're taking my dick so well," Starting to pick up the pace, your moans come out more unrestrained. A kind of vibrating static filling your brain.

As his thrusts become more empowered, the low ache returns. Hurting just enough that it's helping the incredible sensation build. After several minutes, one of Taehyung's hands lowers to your clit. The external pressure causing electricity. Enhancing the pleasure inside. Quickly the combination overwhelms you and you can feel pleasure in your core unlike any other. As if every single cell in your body were crying out in joy, you lift and fall, exploding in ecstasy. The sensation turning your stomach, aching the back of your jaw from how hard it hits you. Taehyung's tongue filling your mouth, he swallows the breathless screams of your orgasm.

"Oh god, Y/n, you feel so good." Taehyung groans, his thrusts not slowing any. Your body floating, your mind ringing in orgasmic relief.

The pulsing inside you seems to last for an eternity. And even after it fades your oversensitive body is still quivering from his unrelenting motions. You're exhausted and wrecked and now that you've cum, his size is starting to make you sore.

"Did that feel good?" He purrs. Your moans of pleasure turning into whimpers as his pace begins to pick up. Pushing on his chest a little, you're breathing too hard to vocalize your thoughts. But Taehyung can read your actions.

"You can take a little more, cant you, baby?" He coos, pressing deep and holding it, grinding his hips down. Making you squeal in pleasurable pain. "You wanna make me feel good don't you?"

He stops moving, pulling back a little to give you space to breathe and to hear him clearly. You nearly sigh in relief. The tip of him was pressing too far. Your eyes open as his hand comes to your face, making you look at him.

"Can you be a big girl for me while I fuck you?" he kisses you lightly, sucking your bottom lip. "Do you wanna be a good little girl and let me use you, let me fill you with cum?"

Even with your body depleted, you don't need to think twice. You want all of that. You want him to cum inside you. You want to make him happy, whatever it takes. Not looking away from his eyes you nod. A little scared, but mostly turned on and excited at the idea of him using you to get himself off.

Closed lipped, his mouth lifts into a smirk. His eyes getting prideful at your agreement.

Easing into you, his breath becomes shaky. Again he bottoms out inside you and you whine in pain. With your approval given he isn't waiting on a slow build this time. He's rock hard and your warm wet cunt is driving him crazy. He knows it's going to hurt you. But he also knows you won't need to endure for very long. He is already nearly ready to burst.

Quickly his thrusts get faster and rougher. Extending his arms he raises up and lifts one of your legs for leverage. His chest pushing down on the back of your thigh spreads you deeper and shoves him even further inside you.

You can't contain yourself at that point. Crying out with every thrust. Your skin is covered in goosebumps. You can tell he is still restraining himself, but it's easily too much. You're drained and tender. And he's too big and rough for you to handle.

But despite your discomfort, you force yourself to stay still. Repeating a mantra over and over in your head that you want to be good for him.

Sweating lightly, Taehyung is pounding you until all of sudden, with a final solid snap of his hips, his movements faltering. A chesty moan pouring out of him as his body falls heavier into you. Your raw sensitive walls twitching as they are flooded with warmth. Several small jerking thursts pumping all of his cum into you before he drops his weight.

Letting your thigh drop back down, he rests on his elbows on either side of your head, his heavy breath fanning your face. Lightly brushing his lips to yours he kisses you through a smile.

"Such a brave girl." He mutters.

You're so tender that he has you mewling even as he pulls out of you. The movement makes you wince.

Gasping, you're surprised you can actually feel his cum shifting. It feels like it's going to run out of you. Clamping your thighs shut, your face glows again with embarrassment. You're not sure if that is supposed to happen. You thought it would stay inside. But in any case, you don't want to make a mess on his bed.

With a last satisfied grunt, he drops onto his side, leaning on his arm while still hovering above you.

"I'm so proud of you. You did so well." He smiles warmly, brushing your hair off your face, wiping away your sweat. "How do you feel?"

How do you feel? Sore, exhausted, thoroughly use, but mostly,

"Good," You grin sleepily, leaning into his touch.

"Good." He whispers back.

Shuffling a little higher, he pulls a pillow down and nudges it under your head. His arm going under your neck he wraps his other arm around you, hugging you. As you roll to your side and cuddle into him, he takes the hint and draws you in tighter. His hands rubbing up and down your back softly.

"I had a really nice time tonight Y/n." He kisses the top of your head, his chest tightening against you. "Thank you for letting me be your first."

[butwhyduh]

NOW I wanna blow jason girl can you do an smut of giving jay jay a blowjob while he reads??

I mean- I did miss Friday

He sleeps like a bear. Flat on his back with soft snores that almost sounds like growls. You woke up before him. That was pretty common. He didn’t come in until 4 and was often bruised head to toe. But today he didn’t look that bad.

You rolled over and first looked at his face. A bandaid across the bridge of his nose and short hair growing on his face. He needed to shave. You smiled as he gave a little snore. His large chest rose and fell with his breath. The blankets were shoved to his waist. He was always running hot. There was no bandages here. That’s was always a good sign.

You looked at the little bit of hair on his chest and on his lower stomach. You ran a finger across the bit on his chest. He moved but didn’t wake as you played with his hair. You grinned remembering the one time that he tried to shave it and ended up with razor burn and a poky chest for days. He gave up immediately and decided that he was just too hairy for all that.

He moved a little bit more and you could tell by the way his chest moved that he was awake. You slid your hand a little lower and lower until you reached the blanket. You ran a finger along the edge near the band of his boxers and he shivered, a smile formed on his face.

“What are you doing?” He asked, looking at you with a side eye. His voice was rough and deep with sleep but he was definitely awake.

“Nothing,” you said before sliding your hand beneath the blanket to cup his already half hard cock in his boxers. He breathed in deeply.

“Feels like you are doing something, Princess,” he said and you grinned. You reached across him and he playfully tried to bite your side. You gave him a book from the side table and he looked at you confused. “What’s this?”

“You said you were going to lay around reading all day if I remember right,” you said.

“Well maybe not if you keep your hand there,” he said and you chuckled.

“Oh, well I don’t wanna ruin your plan. I can stop,” you went to move your hand and he grabbed it with his own and pressed you against him harder.

“Don’t,” he breathed.

“Well, are you gonna read to me?” You asked and he gaped at you.

“You have my dick in your hand and you want a story?” He asked and you nodded innocently. He groaned as you slipped a hand beneath his boxers to properly grip him.

“Yeah, read to me baby,” you said and he blinked a few times before starting. He cleared his throat.

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair,” he read before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. You had moved between his legs and were kissing down his chest as you slowly pumped him.

“we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way--in short, the period was- was,” he stuttered as you shifted his boxers down. “the period was, uh...”

“Are you stuck?” You asked looking up at him. You face was only a few inches from his painfully hard dick and Dickinson was the last thing on his mind.

“the period was so far like the present period that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received- fuck! Princess,” he groaned as you licked up his shaft. You stopped and looked at him expectantly. “for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only."

You put him in your mouth and swirled the tip. Jason stuttered his words again before continuing. He did good for about a paragraph or two before you took him deep in your mouth and his muscles flexed and he gulped. Usually he was swearing and gripping your hair but he couldn’t do that right now.

“It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that- that- holy fuck Princess, that mouth,” he whimpered. You grabbed his thighs as you bobbed your head along his length. You could feel that the muscles beneath your hands were as tight as bow strings. You stopped and looked up at him and he groaned before starting to read again.

“England at that favoured period, as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth blessed birthday,” he read in a disjointed breath. He started skipping places and reading non-sense. “Even the Cock-lane ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally de-.”

“Fuck I’m close. Your mouth is- is something else,” he breathed. You lightly slapped one of his thighs and he jumped before realizing what your pointed look meant.

“Shit, uhh... the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five. Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that,” he said in pants. You were surprised at his control. The fact that he could still read was impressive. You were really giving him a great blow job. You took him deep and gulped around him.

“Okay! I’m... fuck! I’m close,” he said and you kept going. You pulled back to take a breath and deep throated him again. “Shiiitt,” he gasped before calling out your name as he came. You swallowed before pulling off to kitten lick the tip. He jumped at every lick before finally grabbing your chin to pull you up.

Jason was sweaty and out of breath and he looked at you almost in reverence. He gently kissed you. “Fuck, Princess, you blow my mind every fucking time. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

You giggled. “You’re always so sweet. You can just pay me back sometime.”

Jason chuckled. “Alright. I’ve gotto get back to being a functioning human first. You- uh, yeah. Wowza. But yeah I’ve got you,” he said pulling you tight to his side. “But if I’ve got to read all day...”

“Oh you wanna play that game? Keep this memory fond, Todd,” you said.

“No no no. I give up. Plus you knew I wasn’t going to leave you wanting, babydoll,” he whispered in your ear in a deliciously naughty voice. You shivered and hummed before being pushed to your back.

[pan-ic-at-the-homehome]

Golden Child Pt. 1

I literally can't remember where I found it but I read a headcannon for an angsty SBI +Reader and I loved it so much that I had to write something similar to it but I think I might have forgotten to like it, so if you know what the original is please tell me so I can credit them I was partially inspired by@helliontherapscallion's "Adrenaline Junkie" series, simply for the fact that because of them i haven't stopped thinking of inventor reader. Also let's just pretend that uh my human biology degree isn't going to waste by me writing blindness incorrectly ha ha. This is a purely fictional way that blindness works.

(REMINDER YOU IDIOT, FOR THE PURPOSES OF THIS STORY: Wilbur is 26, Techno is 20, Tommy is 16, Phil is 32, SO READER IS 22, GET IT RIGHT AND STOP MESSING UP)

As soon as Y/N's wings started developing, they were instantly the favorite child. Philza still showed his love to Wilbur, but nowhere near as much as he did to his winged child. If he had to choose between spending time with them or Wilbur, he'd pick them in a heartbeat. Wilbur was usually upset when this happened, but he had gotten used to it and had learned ways to cope with it.

This was until Techno showed up. On their doorstep. Next to a freezing Philza who had sacrificed most his warmth to the young piglin. Wilbur had his thoughts on this, yhough he kept them to himself. But Y/N couldn't be happier! This meant a new friend, AND they were right when they said that Phil was just a nice person, there wasn't a favorite child! Right?

They quickly realized that Techno wasn't their friend, as the first interaction they had together was them getting a claw to the face by the piglin. Philza just simply sighed and made sure the wound would stop bleeding before tending back to the scared pig.

Y/N was only eight at the time, they didn't know what they were feeling. But whatever it was didn't feel good.

Since that day, Y/N was the new Wilbur and 'Technoblade' was the golden child. Y/N wanted the spotlight back, so they tried hard at everything. Nothing ever worked. Nothing was better than what Techno could do. Nothing was more amazing than Techno's knowledge, or his skills in fighting, or his odd way of speaking, or those stupid things that he did, or the fact that he'd always blame it on some 'voices' in his head. That he had a God complex. That he was better than Wilbur. He was better than Tommy. He was better than you...

He was always better than you. Of course. Thats what you felt when you first met. Not amazement, not the happiness of having another friend. Of course not. It was overwhelming jealousy. But he was your brother, so you had to suck it up just like Wilbur did.

But soon enough, they came to peace with this. They moved on and worked on what they actually enjoyed, not what Philza enjoyed. Mechanics. Phil would have killed you if he learned of all the dangers that you put yourself through to consider yourself an inventor. Or.... Would he?

One day your older brother approached you with his idea to create "L'manburg". At first you couldn't help but laugh. But when it was realized that Wilbur wasn't joking and that he had already recruited Tommy, they agreed to join the fight for freedom. It was a way to pay Wilbur back for being there for them, afterall.

Y/N never imagined the true horrors that they would have to go through so they could say a 'thank you' to Wilbur. They never even truly said it to him, L'manburg was already exploded and he was killed before they could say it to him. Not even saying it to Ghostbur was good enough.

Y/N was forced to suffer through watching her loved ones go mad. Sometimes, they would try coming up with inventions that could help her friends out, and some that could help some regular problems in the world for other people. Most of them didn't work, they were only able to produce goggles that could just barely help fully blind people see. But it was a step in the right direction.

Then doomsday came. Y/N didn't want to be part of it, they didn't want to even try hurting their father and younger brother. They aren't even sure how they came to that point.

Before they knew it, they were begging the man who once gave them anything in the world for him to stop. The whole server was one big family especially everyone in the homes he was about to destroy. But what they wanted didn't matter anymore. It's what Technoblade wanted, and he wanted blood.

At the last moment, Y/N remembered Friend. Ghostbur would be devastated if Friend died.

Falling down to the ground from the small warning of TNT, Friend flooded their mind.

If they couldn't save L'Manburg, they needed to save Friend. Ghostbur wasn't the same, but Ghostbur is Wilbur. They still never said thank you. They have to show their gratitude through the miracle of Friend surviving.

And so that's what they set off to do. With no mind to their own self-preservation, Y/N got up and flew as fast as they could to save Friend. But before they could reach the sheep, a large pile of rubble fell on one of their wings, almost snapping it right off. Y/N tried to get it off but to no avail, and their whole body wasn't safe. As they saw more rubble they crouched down while covering their head with their hands and covering the undamaged wing with their body, they prepared for impact.

The last thing they could speak out was almost incomprehensible.

"Wil..... Will...... Ghosbu.............. Tommy.......... Dad............."

And then everything went black. Y/N couldn't see or feel anything. Not even after her youngest brother, the ghost of her older brother, and the three fiances of the SMP untrapped them. There was nothing.

After what felt like years for the brothers, there was finally a glimpse of Y/N waking up. But they continued to drift in and out of consciousness and whenever someone tried communicating they were completely unresponsive.

During this amount of time, it was agreed that it was in their best interest for their wings to be removed. They were both utterly useless now after being crushed and would just be extra weight with unnecessary pain that can be avoided the sooner their wings get removed. Just in case Y/N was still aware of everything going on, they were put under amnesia to lower the chance of them feeling the agony of a wing removal surgery.

Slowly Y/N began more responsive to people, but never to the same amount. Everyone that took care of them were absolutely heartbroken when they figured out part of the rock that fell on them damaged a vital organ that allowed a person to see. Luck was in fact on their side for damaging their eyesight instead of the brain, however most people didn't see it that way.

Ghostbur took it upon himself to become Y/N's seeing-eye dog. He missed having Friend nearby and Y/N was the thing he connected to the most after Friend's death.

After a few months of trying to get used to no longer having sight or wings Y/N was finally allowed back in their lab with a large amount of supervision from Ghostbur. While carefully running their hands across some unfinished inventions, Y/N comes across the goggles that they made at least a year ago. It immediately smarked a memory deep within their brain, the closest thing they had felt to seeing something ever since doomsday.

"Ghostbur, what color are these?" "Oh, they're blue. Blue's a really nice color, it reminds me of Friend. Do you remember Frien- Why are you looking down at those like that? Would you like some blue, it takes your sadness away! Wait dont put them on, the glass has cracks!" Y/N snickers as the ghost tries to take them away from them without being super forceful, "I'm already blind, what's the worst it can do?"

"Dont say that!" Ghostbur gasps, "We will find a way to get your vision back, those goggles might make it impossible!"

"I made these around the time you first showed up. I ran multiple tests with them and I was able to help a blind person see the world again. Sure, it was very blurry, hard to distinguish a lot of colors from each other, we have a different kind of blindness, and its been more that a year since I last tested them, but they might still work." Y/N explains, then they turn their back to Ghostbur and put the goggles on. This time, Ghostbut only makes a sound in protest.

Blinking, Y/N could feel the stimulation in their brain that they lost along with their eyesight come back. They moved their hands from the position they were in to put the invention on to Y/N's line of sight, and they could see their hands again. Fuzzy, shapeless, hands with a few bandaids and many scars on them.

"So, are they working?"

The voice of your brother brings Y/N back to reality and they turn to look at him. They had completely forgotten what Ghostbur looked like, only remembering vaguely what child Wilbur looked liked and a brief description of how Ghostbur's appearance differed for Wilbur's.

Y/N wraps their arms around the Ghost, not actually hugging but just doing the motion to where they would hug a person they could actually touch, as they tried to not cry in front of him.

(WOOOOOO THIS ENDED UP A LOT LONGER THAN I EXPECTED AND I'M NOT EVEN DONE YET, SO I SEPARATED IT INTO TWO PARTS)

[pot-of-terv]

FINALLY! It is here! The conclusion to my PuzzleJune series! Thank you so much for everyone who’s tagged along on this journey and thank you especially to @xauroraxborealisx for arranging this event. It’s been a wild ride for me because this is the first time I’ve ever done something this big so I’m incredibly grateful for everything ;__;

I might continue this story with tiny bits here and there but for the foreseeable future, this is it. Hope you enjoy!! 💗 (Please be sure to read the previous parts first if you’re new here :3)

PuzzleJune 2021, Week Four: Mind (School, Bond)

“Aren’t you hungry, Yuugi?”

The aforementioned boy startles, almost dropping his spoon into his soup. He looks at his grandpa and blinks.

“Uh, yeah, not really. Sorry.”

“Thought so,” Sugoroku nods and drinks his remaining broth straight from the bowl. “Give the rest to me.”

Yuugi blinks at him again, almost owlishly, and lifts his bowl with stiff arms to hand it over to the old man.

Sugoroku doesn’t waste any time and goes for the soup as soon as it’s in front of him. Yuugi smiles at him, amused, and stands up. He gathers up his spoon and glass and brings them to the sink.

“Thanks for the food,” he calls out as he leaves the kitchen. Sugoroku answers him with a grunt, probably already immersed in his crossword now that there’s no one else at the table.

Yuugi walks the stairs to his room slowly, silently thanking his grandfather for not making a fuss about his suddenly disappeared appetite. It’s been a quiet day but he feels tired and he’s kept zoning out. He blames it on the blistering heat of late summer but even to him, it sounds like a lie – the real reason is that he misses Atem.

He doesn’t bother closing the door of his room behind him and goes straight for the bed, falling onto it face first. It’s stupid, I know, he thinks and lifts his head enough to be able to tilt it to the side so he’s not smothered by the plush bedspread. He’ll be back soon.

Jounouchi had come to the house early that morning and asked to borrow Atem. He had reasoned that because school would start again in a week, he wanted to spend at least one day together with just Atem, doing whatever. Atem didn’t have to enrol, after all, so they won’t be able to hang out that much anymore after the classes start.

Yuugi understood him, of course – he will see Atem every day even if there’s a lot of homework, but the others don’t have that privilege. He had even joked that why aren’t their other friends waiting in line to get a turn, too, flustering Atem and making Jounouchi guffaw.

In all honesty, he’s really happy that Jounouchi would take the time to spend a whole day with Atem. They’d been going out as a group a lot after the first week and a half of Atem living (actually living) with Yuugi and while having all of their friends to hang out with is so much fun, Yuugi treasures time spent one-on-one.

It doesn’t change the fact that after being glued to Atem’s side for so long, Yuugi finds himself lost without him. His mind feels like candy floss, fluttery and sticky, and he can’t concentrate. He had tried to go through his deck in order to decide if it’s good enough (he and Atem need their own decks now, after all, so most of it is brand new) but couldn’t get past the first couple of cards. After that hadn't worked, he tried a few different games that he could play by himself but got no enjoyment from them. He’d just been going through the motions and realising that, he had decided to go down to help his grandpa at the shop for the rest of the day.

It’s not healthy to be so attached, he knows, and they really need to work on that – Yuugi is sure that Atem is fine with Jounouchi, but what about when they need to go to school and Atem stays home? He’d like to believe that the pharaoh will be much better off by himself than Yuugi is, but that is doubtful. They’ll have to have yet another talk soon – preferably today.

Yuugi bites his lip and sighs. There really is no coming back from the kind of bond that they’ve shared – through mind, heart and body – and Yuugi doesn’t want to imagine the pain that Atem’s departure to Afterlife would have caused when a simple day spent apart makes him unravel at the seams. Also, this train of thought could bring him to a place he most definitely doesn’t want to go now so to distract himself he turns onto his back and fumbles blindly to his left to grab the book he had left on the bed earlier that day.

- 

The sound of rustling wakes him an undetermined time later. He opens his eyes slowly, groggy enough to feel like he should just go back to sleep, but when he glances at the clock on his desk his stomach flips and he shoots up from the bed – the book he had attempted to read falling on the floor with a bang – and startles Atem who had been digging through a grocery bag.

“Ah! Yuugi!” he yelps and almost falls onto his butt from his crouched position on the other side of the desk. Thankfully he doesn’t send any of his purchases flying as he stabilises himself by quickly planting his other hand on the floor.

“Sorry!” Yuugi apologises quickly, his heart still racing. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep and he most definitely didn’t mean to sleep that late. It’s already seven in the evening, meaning that Yuugi had snoozed away for three hours. But – it also means that Atem is back, as evidenced by the boy currently looking up at him with concern written all over his face.

“I didn’t mean to wake you –” he starts but Yuugi silences him by shaking his head.

“No, I shouldn’t have slept in the first place. Really, I should thank you,” he says and pauses, then just looks at Atem. An unprompted smile makes its way onto his face. “Welcome home.”

There’s wonder in the pharaoh’s eyes and after a moment of silence, he returns the smile with such warmth it can almost be felt. “I’m home,” he replies, and Yuugi smiles wider.

He really is.

-

“Are you sure you’ll be fine?”

“Aibou, please,” Atem laughs and holds Yuugi’s face between his hands, squishing his cheeks. Jounouchi chortles from somewhere behind him and Yuugi frowns in his direction but doesn’t move away from Atem or try to pry his hands off of his face.

“But I worry,” he says, looking rightfully pouty as he shifts his gaze back to his partner. Atem laughs more and releases his face, patting his other cheek before crossing his arms.

“I’ll walk back home, help grandpa open up the shop and then it’s smooth sailing from there. You don’t have to worry,” he smiles at the still pouting teen in front of him. “I’ll be fine, you’ll be fine, and the day’s done sooner than you realise.”

“Yeah, Yuugi,” Jounouchi cuts in with a grin and drapes an arm around Atem’s shoulders. “Atem knows his way around the shop and we’re all here to take care of you. No sweat.”

“Honestly,” Anzu smiles and swiftly elbows Honda in the ribs before he can interrupt her. “We know it’s hard on you both but it’s just like ripping off a bandaid, right? It stings at first but it doesn’t last forever and even before you realise, you’ve forgotten all about it.”

“Y-yeah,” Honda says, rubbing his side, “what they said. We’ll be here, Yuugi.”

Yuugi stares at his friends, feeling his cheeks warming. How in the world did he get so lucky?

“T-thanks,” he mutters but can’t help smiling in the end. “You guys are great.”

“Hell yeah we are!” Jounouchi exclaims and does finger guns at him, his other arm still on Atem’s shoulders. Atem laughs but his eyes are soft when he looks at Yuugi.

“Go on, then. The gates are about to close, aren’t they?”

“Oh, shit!” Honda and Jounouchi yelp at the same time and the latter releases his hold on Atem. He ruffles the spiky-haired head before taking off after his best friend. “Stay crispy!” he shouts over his shoulder at Atem.

Anzu shakes her head, frowning. “These guys are too much. You don’t have to run yet!” she tries yelling after them but the duo is already too far ahead. She sighs but when she turns to Yuugi and tilts her head to the side, her eyes are twinkling.

“I should go after them. I trust you’ll be right behind, okay?”

And she winks. Yuugi flushes pink but before he can say anything, she’s already jogging off. There’s a chuckle next to him and he looks at the pharaoh who seems much too happy.

“That wasn’t fair,” Yuugi grumbles and that only makes Atem laugh harder.

“You’ve got amazing friends,” he says when he’s calmed down. Yuugi bristles at him but the pink on his cheeks takes away from his attempted glare. Just a little bit.

“They’re your friends too!” he reminds him and that makes Atem sober up. His voice is surprisingly quiet when he talks.

“They really are,” he says and smiles in that gentle way he's been doing a lot lately. Yuugi softens at his expression and they take a moment to just look at each other, wondering, smiling. There’s so much to be happy about, they both realise at the same time, and Yuugi takes Atem’s hand.

“I know you’ll be alright. I’m, just, I’m – I’m going to miss you.”

Atem smiles at him and squeezes his hand. “I’ll miss you too, Yuugi.”

It makes Yuugi’s smile widen and he chuckles. Of course he knew it but it feels good to hear it said out loud. He’s sure it’s the same for Atem.

“Well, I guess I should be going. Take care,” he says and without pause, kisses Atem on the cheek. “See you after school!” he grins and with one final squeeze, lets go of Atem’s hand and turns around to run after his friends. His chest is buzzing and he smiles the whole way to the building.

Atem is left standing at the curb, eyes wide, face red. He lifts his hand to touch his cheek and the skin there feels electric, as if that simple touch of lips had awakened a new sense that had been completely dormant until now. That feeling spreads across his skin, reaching the top of his head and the very tips of his toes and it’s so, so warm.

It feels really nice. Atem breaks out into a grin that matches Yuugi’s earlier one and turns around to leave, his hand staying on his cheek. He must look smitten as anything but he doesn’t care. He’s happy, so why not show it to the world?

As soon as he takes the first step, he almost collides with Ryou who had come running around the corner.

“Oh! Sorry, Atem. I overslept!” the white-haired boy exclaims and stops to give a quick pat to Atem’s shoulder. “Have a good day at the shop. I’ll come to visit if I can, after school!”

He grins and waves and dashes through the school gates before Atem can wade through the fluttery mess that is his mind for a greeting. He’s still reeling but Bakura didn't seem to mind his silence so it’s probably alright.

-

The walk back home doesn’t feel lonely in the least. After all, his partner is always with him, even when they’re apart. Hearts are wonderful like that.

And that, if something, is worth smiling for.