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#sage vs quackity
sagendipity · 2 years
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*coughs* the ‘and there was just one bed’ trope?
and there was just one bed
info: feral boys (individually) x reader; no warnings
dream would offer to take the floor but if you convince him that its fine for him to also share the bed, he would lay still like a plank until you fell asleep and then finally relax a bit. probably look over and see your peaceful expression and smile a bit, maybe reach out and brush a bit of hair away from your face while you sleep?? he’d sleep alarmingly well but wake up before you and probably leave before you woke up, but based on the state of the pillows you can assume that he had drifted closer to you during the night, whether intentional or not~
and george would not offer to take the floor because he does not want to, but he would also not want you to sleep on the floor, so the unanimous decision to share the bed is landed upon. and he crashes quickly, laid on his stomach with his knee tucked up near his stomach, arms crossed underneath the pillow and head resting atop that. his hair is mussed and you watch him for a little too long before trying to settle in. at some point during the night he has drifted close enough that he is now hugging your pillow and it is halfway out from underneath your head- instead of taking it back, you just maneuver so your head is pillowed next to his arms and you def don’t regret it when you wake up with him sprawled over you, arms loosely slung around your waist and soft snores pressed into your collarbone
okay but sapnap. sapnap would be all awkward until you guys lay side-by-side for a few minutes and then he goes, all quietly, “can- do you want to-” and you just roll over and snuggle into his arms because you knew what he meant. and he stiffens for a second before sighing contentedly and shuffling around to hold you a bit better, one big arm underneath your head and the other cinched tight around your waist. he smoothes down your hair to rest his chin atop it and falls asleep almost instantly. and somehow he barely moves during the night, you wake up in almost the exact same position and instead of crawling out of bed and pretending that intimacy had never occurred, you press farther into his chest and settle your face in the crook of his neck and shoulder to fall back asleep for a bit.
and karl would not be awkward about it at all, he’s already so touchy that snuggling in bed is not even that weird, and so you fall asleep pretty close but not-quite-cuddling him BUT a bit later you wake up and he’s got his arms around your waist, a leg thrown over your knees and his nose smooshed into the soft skin behind your ear. so you shift around a bit to get more comfy, maybe bring a hand up and comb it through his fluffy hair and he hums contentedly, barely half-awake, mumbling something like “mm.. thas’ nice…” before falling back asleep
and alex. MAN lets talk about alex. he would be real careful and try to give you as much of the bed as possible- he doesnt sleep long nor deeply so it doesn’t matter- but you quirk up your brow when you see him sequestered to his side of the bed and say “i dont bite” and he turns all red and stuttery like “oh-i know, i just-” and you laugh softly, cutting him off, “its ok, come here” and he just slowly shuffles over, stiff as a board until you rest your head on his chest and settle in for the night. and he gently puts a hand on your back, still nervous, but when you sigh and relax he starts gently petting circles on your back and then you fall asleep so quickly he can’t help but follow- and its the best sleep he has had in WEEKS but he would never willingly admit that
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sagendipity · 2 years
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reader who is shy about hugging
info: some feral boys x gn!reader (individually), no warnings. reposted
when sapnap gives you a hug at the airport after finally picking you up- after months of knowing each other online- you have no idea how to react. you know that you’re supposed to grip back but you’re so stunned- it’s like your senses overload, he’s so big and warm and solid against you, and it’s like all the air left your body at once- in a good way. and he breaks apart after a sec and goes “you okay? this okay?” and you stutter out a “yeah- yeah, sorry, i just- i haven’t been hugged in so long, i guess. it’s nice.” and he giggles, that sweet little giggle that he does, and wraps you back up in his arms and this time you lean into his grip, bringing your hands up to cling to his jacket as he rocks you guys back in forth in the airport.
when hanging around karl, hugs are almost an hourly thing- but he notices that you flinch a bit, or stiffen up, every time he touches you for too long, so he starts to stop himself. he reaches for you and then remembers and aborts mission- but you don’t want that, you just- don’t know how to… react. so you tell him, embarrassedly, but he’s just so confused because why would you have not gotten affection in so long?? you deserve it more than anyone, what the fuck- so with your permission he literally becomes a level 5 clinger, until it’s impossible not to get used to his cuddling and kisses and kind touches. and soon it’s second nature to nuzzle into his chest when he gives out his good-morning hug, to sit on his lap while he’s streaming and lean back into his chest, to fall onto him when sat on the couch, and to curl into his side before falling asleep every night.
when you tell alex why you’re flinching away (unintentionally) from his hugs and affection, he nods like he understands, and he does, but it hurts him. he just wants to touch you, shower you in affection- after all, you deserve it. so he starts with gentle little arm and shoulder touches, just a flat palm as he slips by you in the kitchen or leans over the couch to say hi. and then the flat palm grips a bit, starts rubbing soothingly, and soon you’re wanting more, so you’re pushing into his touch with a little “mmgh” and he’s laughing affectionately, obliging you and giving you full hugs. and from there, there’s no going back- after he lays one finger on you, you’re turning into his chest and staying there for at least a minute. and he’s so gentle, petting up and down your sides, nails just digging in enough to leave little tingles in their wake. he scratches at your hair and scatters kisses all over your temple and mm, it’s so nice.
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sagendipity · 3 years
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sage! imagine quackity with a s/o that’s the polar opposite of him. like soft shy quiet more feminine etc. etc. everyones like confused as to why reader picked quackity of all people but they’re super cute together so who are they to complain
this would finally be proof that alex has a quiet off-camera side. and everyone jokes about how you two get along because whenever you’re on stream with him he still acts as energetically as usual. but occasionally he’ll slip and people get a glimpse of how he actually is with you and they’re like “oh.”
if you get up during a stream to grab a jacket he looks at you all alarmed like you’re about to leave him for good, and he grabs your arm all gently and you just murmur “m cold” and he’s like “okay” all quiet and nice and when you come back he grabs your hand just before it’s hidden under the desk (screenshots float around twt for weeks)
and every photo the two of you have, you are either tucked under his arm so tightly that it looks like you’re behind him or you’re trying to bury your face in his chest bc ur camera shy… and it ends up that you get rly funny captions like “THE LOVE OF MA LIFE 😎👍” and all you see is your hair and maybe a glimpse of ear bc ur hiding in his puffy jacket
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sagendipity · 3 years
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Eyo sagey, answer this whenever you feel like it bc this is your free pass to dump any and all comfort hcs of yours under here that may be floating around that humongus brain of yours but dont quite fit into a full fic or post of their own. I love you and i appreciate you and i hope you're having a good day sweetheart💙 - 🦇
comfort headcanons (misc.)
info: mcyt x gn!reader, no warnings
i think that when dream is upset but isn't ready to talk about it, he still seeks out comfort in a physical way. he will wander over to wherever you are in the house, looking a bit forlorn in the sweats and tshirt he's wearing, and hang off your body like a monkey. he will link his arms around your shoulders and rest his head on yours and stand there as you sway quietly with him, and when you settle your hand in his hair and scratch just a bit, he feels really loved. he also does this in bed, he'll roll over and shove his face into your side or your hip/thigh. the first time he did, you thought he was hiding tears and asked if he was okay, but he just nodded and stayed cuddled into you until he fell asleep.
dream also gets really mad sometimes. normally, stuff snowballs and he gets irritated at himself, and then bursts out into a quiet but significant fit of rage that is evident in how his entire body seems to sink under the weight of it. when he can't do something how he wants, or fix whatever he's trying to make right, he feels incompetent, and becomes resentful towards himself. you like to remind him he's not; you like to lean over the back of his chair and tuck your nose into the crook behind his ear while you smooth your warm palms down the front of his shirt, until they rest on his waist and he brings his own hands up to grab them. he squeezes tight, until the frustration fades, and then he tips his head up to thank you with a kiss.
when you're just a little off and having a quieter, more relaxed day, sapnap feels bad about being more talkative and energetic than you, so he tries to shut himself up. but you don't want him to feel like you're annoyed with him, so you make sure to spend time with him, even if that's just laying on his chest in bed and scrolling through tiktoks with him, or sitting next to him while he streams or edits, and playing with his fingers whenever a hand is free.
if you and sapnap lived apart, perhaps if you were in college in a different state, and he really missed you, he would call you when he's ready to fall asleep and just talk to you about mundane stuff for as long as he can. if that's not enough to lull him into sleep, you read to him (he didn't ask, he couldn't ask for that, it's too silly- but one day you'd read him an excerpt to talk about how ridiculous it was, and he'd murmured shyly how much he'd liked that, and you made the connection). you read from whatever text you're studying; it helps- reading it out loud- it helps you remember it better. and sapnap noticed if he falls asleep to your voice, he's more likely to dream of you.
lastly, alex is a forehead kiss guy. not just giving you them- that too, though, quick ones before he starts stream or leaves, keys dangling in one hand while the other holds your temple against his lips. but he likes when you give him them, when you give him a glass of water while he's studying, and linger long enough to press your lips kindly against the skin of his forehead, which is creased with concentration. or when he crawls into bed with you and settles into your arms, you lean down and brush the soft hair out of his eyes before giving a little kiss to his forehead again. it's a way of telling him you love him, he thinks, and he's right. when he's upset, you calm him enough to get him to lean down (or up, if you're taller) so you can pepper kisses alllll over his forehead and temples until he's a blushing, giggly idiot.
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sagendipity · 3 years
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the law of attraction: de minimis
a quackity x reader law school au
part one, chapter one
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The first myth about law school is that everyone is the same.
In movies, in TV shows, in books- everyone in law school is a certain type of person. Dangerously smart, hardworking to a fault, and absolutely cutthroat.
Now, that is true. To get this far, to get into a competitive law school and make it to your final year, you have to be all of the above. Smart, hardworking, and just a little cunning. It’s impossible to get a leg up unless you’re standing on someone else’s knee.
Or neck.
However, the fact that everyone here has to have a certain few traits in order to survive does not mean that they cannot have other traits.
Some are louder, exuberant, and competitive- the type to yell out the answer to a question before raising their hand, the type to go back and forth with the professor when they’re sure they’re right (and they’re not). There’s the introverts, the sly ones you never see coming, who you barely notice next to you all year until you glance over at the grade on their final and it’s a 110%, somehow.
Of course, there’s also the in-between. The respectable ones, the students that are just there to get through the classes they need and get a respectable job at a respectable law firm and make something nice out of their lives.
Or the hero type, the ones that are convinced they can fix any injustice they perceive in the world- the environmental lawyers, the criminal defense lawyers, the civil rights lawyers. They might be right, too, which is why it seems like a never-ending flow of them are pouring into the school at each orientation.
It’s not always as simple as that, of course. You, like many students, are a mix of a few types. You lie somewhere between the exuberant and introverted sides, not shy about answering questions in lectures, but not jumping the gun to cause discourse, either. A bit of a hero type, you must admit, but you do pride yourself on being reasonable when it comes to your life’s expectations. You don’t expect to become some William Kunstler. You work hard, you get shit done, and like law school has a tendency to do, it seems to become your whole entire life.
The type of person you never quite got a read on is Alex.
He’s been sitting next to you in your upper level criminal procedure class for the entire semester. A whole semester’s worth of lectures means you have plenty of time to observe and analyze the people in your classes- its not like there’s anything else to do when the professor is going over voir dire for the third hour that week.
You pegged the kid in the third row as a die-hard businessman. He’s not going into law to help people, he’s going into law to make the most profit off of the most vulnerable clients he can find. The girl in row six, however, is definitely the hero type, judging by her “save the oceans” stickers on her giant re-usable coffee cups.
Alex, though, you can’t read. He dresses down compared to the other students. They dress up to hide their shortcomings, like their fancy coats can stop them from feeling bad about their less-than-adequate qualifications for the internship they just applied for. Others just like to lean into the New York City aesthetic and dress like they’re already lawyers, even despite failing their last midterm. You fall into that category- you can’t help it, it’s a fun look- but hey, you definitely didn’t fail your midterm, and you’ve lived in New York your whole life, so you think you have the right to dress like that.
Alex dresses like he has nothing to hide. He dresses like the young, high-level professor who is always cracked out on Redbull and hasn’t graded a paper in his life; like the cute, fascinating barista at the local hipster coffee shop you can barely afford. He dresses like that one guy you’d see on the subway one day and never manage to forget because of how his eyes met yours for a split second.
To be fair, that is kind of how it’s gone. It’s not exactly like the two of you met on the subway, and you’ve definitely interacted more than just a passing glance, but goddammit is Alex stuck in your head.
You convince yourself it’s just because he’s such a mystery. It’s not because he has really sweet brown eyes, or the most charming, unruly hair you’ve seen this side of the Midwest. It’s not because he whispers a joke under his breath whenever your professor says something stupid, or because he bumps your ankles together and shares an amused glance with you when that one really annoying kid pipes up with an opinion no one wanted.
It’s just because you don’t know why he’s here, and you don’t know what he wants, and you don’t know how to read him.
It bugs you. It gets under your skin- not like an itch, more like a hum. He’s on the back of your mind constantly, like you’re trying to subconsciously figure out what’s up with him, but to this day you’ve had no success.
It’s not like you think about anything substantial in regards to him- every time your traitorous brain brings him up, you put it down quicker than it came up. Getting attached to people is dangerous in the best of circumstances, but getting attached to the absolute enigma of a guy in your criminal procedure class who you can’t even confidently say is named Alex would be equivalent to signing up for heartbreak.
“Don’t date law boys,” your roommate had lamented after she had done just that, laid across her rose-pink bedspread with a sleeve of crackers clutched in one hand and a tissue in the other. She had then blown her nose unattractively. “Lawyers have a reputation for being soulless for a reason. They’re only here for themselves. Fuck them.”
Despite that, you find yourself friends with Alex. As if you’d be able to resist the self-satisfied grins he flashes at you when the professor praises him for a particularly poignant answer, or the way he holds his hand out under the table for a high-five after you nail the answer to a cold call. You barely know anything about him, and yet, you know enough to decide he’s a good person.
“Alex”, whose name you’re only about 80% sure of- maybe it’s short for Alexander, but you thought you’d heard someone he was on the phone with call him Q, so maybe he’s a Quinn or a Quentin?
“Alex”, who shows up looking more comfortable than you’ve been in your entire life, and still manages to hold an air of confidence around him that you’d not be able to master even in your finest long coat and shirt.
“Alex”, who seems determined to wiggle his way into your heart in any way he can.
“Alex”, who you seem to be powerless to resist.
.
This growing attachment to Alex of yours is only strengthened with each lecture. You share this class three times a week, two hours each on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. It’s a focus class, meaning that anyone who wants to go into criminal work should take this course. It’s challenging, it’s competitive, and it’s cutthroat.
And it’s only February.
A cold Monday morning in February, in fact, with the clock above your professor’s desk ticking obnoxiously as the big hand nears the 8. Outside, it’s downright miserable: windy and foggy. The outside of the paneled windows of the classroom are glazed in a sticky frost, reducing the figures of passing students to dull blobs as they hurry through the whipping wind to get to their classes.
The big doors at the back of the classroom close with a bang that reverberates throughout the lecture hall, cutting through the murmuring chatter of the students who are already here. Out of the corner of your eye you catch a flash of green- as you suspect, it’s Alex. He always takes the seat on the very end of the row, and you the one immediately to his right. You look up at him with what you hope is a casual smile, but the one he returns is so bright it could probably melt the frost off of the windows.
“Hey!” he says, too awake for 8 in the morning, and sets his binder down on the desk with a clatter. The whoosh of air rustles the paper of your notebook, which you smooth back down habitually. You watch Alex longer than you should, only tearing your gaze away after you notice the smattering of tiny snowflakes that have gathered atop the beanie he’s wearing.
You stifle a little laugh. This guy wears a beanie to law school.
Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he settles into his seat. He shrugs off his hunter green jacket, leaving him in just a gray hoodie, dotted with darker spots from melting snowflakes that’d been blown into him. He drops his outer jacket across his lap just as the room goes silent, your professor walking up to his desk.
As the last tails of conversations die off, you turn to Alex, unable to help yourself, “You have… snowflakes, on your head.”
He glances at you, a little huff of laughter escaping him as he brings up a hand to smooth over the beanie. The snowflakes are swiped off, melting on the heat of his hand- you wonder how it would feel held in yours, probably warm, he looks like he runs hot- and you pry your eyes away as he straightens out his beanie and tucks his hair up into the brim of it. He misses a strand, and the black swoop stands out sharply against the frost-paled skin of his face.
“Happy February,” your professor begins, his microphone crackling to life. “The month of love, is it not? Just two weeks until Valentines day.”
He swings his bag up onto the stool next to him, the sound echoing through the microphone. He turns to face the lecture hall, arms spread as if welcoming you all to a talk show.
“I’m about to ruin all of your Valentines Day plans. Welcome to the start of your final project: the mock trial.”
.
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sagendipity · 3 years
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the law of attraction: de minimis
a quackity x reader law school au
part one, chapter two
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“Now turn to your left and say hi to your partner, the person your significant other will hate, after you blow them off on Valentines day to do voir dire.”
Alex chuckles, the sound drawing your gaze right over to him. You sigh dramatically, but can’t help yourself from letting a fond smile take over your features.
“Figure it’s time to introduce myself,” Alex quips, holding out a hand invitingly. “Alex.”
“Yeah,” you say, as you take his hand and shake it. He is warm, and your hand fits perfectly in his. “I picked up on that.”
“You will each work in teams of two within larger groups. I will assign you into a group. Each group will have a defense and a prosecution. You do not get to choose which side you represent. You do not get to choose your client. You do not get to choose the crime.” The professor rakes his eyes across the room of students. They all, including you, are silent and sitting attentively. “The only thing you get to choose is how well you represent your client, whether your client be the accused, or the state.”
Beside you, Alex lets out a low sigh, almost a whistle. His knee is bouncing, the black fabric of his track pants bunching up around his knee with the movement. You want to reach out and straighten it, fix the three white stripes running parallel down the side.
“You may know this: the university is granted a courtroom at the William Kunstler Courthouse for academic use. When you leave this room in a few moments, you’ll find informative packets on my desk.” The silver-haired man grabs a heavy stack of papers, and spreads them out on his desk like a dealer spreading a stack of cards. “Take one. It contains all the information you need to win your case, and pass this class.”
Your breath catches in your throat- you had a feeling this was coming.
“If you lose your case,” your professor says. “You will receive a maximum of a B+ in my class. If you win, you are guaranteed an A.”
The static sound of unsettled murmuring steadily rises in the echoey lecture room. You glance over at Alex, who is leaning back in his chair, legs crossed casually. He’s fiddling with one of the hoodie strings that hangs from his collar.
“This mock trial will work as any other real case. Your jury consists of freshmen students in a jury studies elective. They have no knowledge about this case, and you should treat them not as students, but as ordinary citizens when you go through voir dire.”
Alex huffs a laugh again, a little noise that is quickly becoming very familiar to you. “Explains why he went over voir dire for three hours last week.”
Despite the anxiety thrumming through your veins, you nod in accordance. Your fingers thread and twist through each other, the poor ring on your index finger falling victim to your fiddling. You pull it off your finger and twirl it around in your lap, the metal warmed from your body heat even if you feel more frigid than not.
“A real judge will be presiding over your case. Kissing up to them by bringing them a gift basket and ‘thanking them for their time’ is not frowned upon, but it is not effective. They are the only truly impartial ones in that courtroom, most of the time.”
With every word out of your professor’s mouth, you feel your exhaustion growing.
Isn’t this what you want to do? Isn’t this what… everyone here wants to do, for the rest of their lives?
You look to Alex. He’s looking at the professor with bright enough eyes, but the bags underneath them tell a different story, the skin taking on a bluish tint. His relaxed posture, his crossed arms with his fingers tucked into his own sides, the confident yet also unreadable expression he tends to wear still constant as ever. He looks like he knows something you don’t, and that should scare you.
You slide the ring back onto your finger and fold your hands atop your desk.
“The only difference from a real trial is that you have more prep time, and that you have your partner to help you with your side of the case. Both of you will be present in court, choosing jurors, delivering opening arguments, questioning witnesses, presenting evidence and arguments, and, yes, delivering your closing statements. You better get comfortable with your partner. Your futures rest in each other’s hands.”
You think you feel a headache coming on. You’re about to put your entire future, the fate of your entire career, in the warm hands of someone who is, at this point, just this side of total stranger. That should scare you.
“Everyone take a packet on your way out. I suggest you get coffee or a meal with your partner in the time you would spend in this class on an ordinary day. Information about Wednesday’s class is in the packet. We are meeting at the courthouse.” The professor spreads his arms wide, an enthusiastic grin suddenly spreading over his face, looking as out of place as a daisy on a sidewalk full of snow. “Welcome to real criminal procedure. Class is dismissed.”
.
“Here, before I go.” Alex’s voice pulls you out of your stupor with a gentle hand on your upper arm. You think you can feel the warmth seeping into your chilled skin through the thick fabric of your coat. You look down at where his hand rests on you, his skin a beautiful contrast to the dark red of your coat. Then, you notice his other hand- holding out a post-it note. “My number. I’m really sorry, I have to go- I have a thing to do for a friend- but, are you free this afternoon for lunch, maybe? We can get to know each other a bit before we start spending hours together each day.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you force out, the teasing normally coming naturally, but today it feels like speaking around a rock in your throat. “Um- you have to go?”
“Yeah, sorry, it’s a- work thing.”
“I thought you said it was for a friend?”
“It is- look, it’s complicated, I’m sorry. I promise, you can have me as soon as I’m done, I’ll call the minute we’re done.” His furrowed brows stab at your resolve, the questioning facade you put up disappearing like a melted snowflake.
Taking the post-it from his outstretched hand, you carefully fold it into quarters and slip it into the pocket of your slacks. Before you do, you catch a glimpse of a little :] scrawled at the end of the string of numbers.
“What makes you think I want you?” you quip back after a moment.
His face falls for a moment, before he gets the joke and his brown eyes spark back up with the intensity of a firework. An unapologetic laugh bubbles up from his chest, an addicting sound that you feel echoing in your own chest, as well throughout as the high-ceilinged lecture hall.
“I’ll grab you a packet,” you say, nodding your chin at the table at the front of the room that has assembled a bit of a crowd around it. “Go, get your thing done.”
“You- thank you!” Alex grins, his hand on your arm squeezing in some sort of a thank-you before he leaps to his feet and grabs his binder. “I’ll see you soon- promise.”
“Promise,” you nod seriously, holding up your pinky.
You don’t expect him to turn on his heel and link his own finger with yours, pulling your hand tight against his for a moment before nodding with an enthusiasm entirely inappropriate for the situation. Then, he is actually gone, with his green jacket slung over an arm and the papers in his binder fluttering as he whisks out the door.
You notice that the frost in the windows had cleared when you see him jog across the street. He crosses just in time for a gust of wind to threaten to tear off his beanie- he slaps a hand down on top of his head, unruly black strands curling around the edges of the hat as he disappears around a crowded street-corner.
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You sit yourself down in the library with a pen, a highlighter, and a steaming cup of coffee from the campus coffee shop. For midmorning on a Monday, the library is packed. Most of the students are windblown and dusted with snowflakes, their jackets pulled tightly around their shoulders as they seek out shelter from the horrible weather to chat with friends, classmates, and partners.
One of the only open tables rests right in the corner, sandwiched between two wide windows. You find why it’s empty very quickly, the thin glass doesn’t do much to stop the icy air from leaking in. Regardless, you shoulder your messenger bag onto an empty chair before setting yourself up in the chair farthest from the window. The packets you’d grabbed from your professor had taken a bit of a beating in the trek here, both dotted with little spots of water from stray, melting snowflakes.
Wincing as you smooth the packets out with your hand, you carefully wipe away an ink smudge that one particularly big snowflake had created. The words “de minimis” are smudged out, at least you think that’s what had been there, considering the following sentence.
A court of law is focused on the smallest things. Arguments are described as de minimis, as in, having their foundation built upon the smallest of things. One partial fingerprint is enough to seal someone’s sentence. One word misspoken is enough to cause a mistrial. One sentence too far is enough to get yourself held in contempt. The smallest things seal fates and shape lives, in law as in life.
You take your pen and carefully scrawl in de minimis onto the dampened paper.
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TAGLIST: @just-a-dreammm @strawberrymilkgeorge @wmmy @nochuwastaken @noraimp @axths @tinyegg @moonamor @lincolnns @boiled-onionrings @esylwen @queennightsetz
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sagendipity · 3 years
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reminder i'm sage i used to be notplanningshit until i accidentally deleted my blog so now im reposting my works!
info: quackity x reader, gn!reader, hurt/comfort, no warnings
on frizzy hair and the pursuit of perfection
Intellectually, in the rational side of your brain, you know that what you’re feeling is stupid.
You see the Instagram posts talking about the importance of self-affirmation and mental health. You see the tweets saying that people are more than their family’s perception of them. You realize that having a condescending and judgmental family is almost a right of passage for your generation.
These are all things you know, intellectually. But knowing something intellectually does jack shit for actually convincing your heart of whatever you know. You can yell at yourself all you want, but it’s clearly not your rational brain making you tear up at yet another text from your dad that was along the lines of “cool, could be better, though.”
You just want someone, just once, to celebrate an achievement with you. You want to be excited to share something with someone, without fear of them scoffing in the face of your pride and excitement. In your family- hell, in the world, certainly- someone has always done better, and you’re damn sure to be reminded of such.
It’s been years of this same behavior, ever since you can remember. It’s not just your dad, either, it’s your whole family- aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins. The whole town you grew up in had this haughty, arrogant air about it, where everyone was constantly competing, even if there was no reason for it. Take the hardest classes, get the least sleep, get the biggest scholarship. Even your friends would flex their better test scores at you, and refuse to help you with the homework, in case you somehow got a better score on a test than them. You know it’s how they were raised, they’re just a product of their environment and don’t know how bad it hurts, but it still stung then, and probably always will. You’re still in contact with a few of them, and it’s just more of the same whenever you exchange a handful of quick texts every couple months.
You know you should stop giving information about your achievements to them, but when your dad texts and asks how you are, there’s not much you can reply with other than “good, got a promotion at work!” From there, it’s a slippery slope of him asking what new benefits you got, and then the judgmental few moments where the gray dots disappear and reappear while he tries to compose his thoughts about your inadequacy in the least-abrasive way a middle-aged man can. That is to say, not un-abrasively at all. In fact, his words are often delivered with the finesse of low-grit sandpaper on soft wood.
Well, could be more. Work harder and maybe you’ll get an increase next month. I got a lot of bonuses at work when I was your age. All you have to do is take the bad shifts and get some good customer reviews. You’ll get there.
You stare at the fresh new message on your phone screen before clicking it off with a bone-deep sigh, your eyes betraying your rational side by, again, tearing up. You shove the heels of your hands into your eyes and rub until the tears are forced away and you see spots.
That’s how Alex finds you, sat on the foot of your shared bed with your hands rubbing fiercely at your eyes. He’s probably just come to grab a hoodie- the setting sun brings with it a cool breeze that washes through your open windows and cools the house from the warmth it’d gathered from the day’s sun.
“You good?” He asks, opening his closet door and pulling out a hoodie. He wrestles it on over his head as he waits for your response- when he pushes his head out the other end, hair mussed and static-y, you still haven’t answered. “Baby?”
He comes and sits down next to you. Your eyes, red-rimmed but still dry, track his movements before flicking to catalog every tuft of disheveled hair protruding from his head. With a superficial smile, you reach up to smooth his long, black locks back and down into place. It doesn’t matter; he’s going to slip on a beanie sooner or later, but for now, you distract yourself by combing gentle fingers through the soft strands.
“Not that I don’t appreciate this,” Alex murmurs, brown eyes searching your face for an answer to what has you upset. “But what’s wrong?”
“Just my dad,” you whisper, not trusting your voice not to crack. You avoid his gaze, keeping your eyes fixed stubbornly on his hair as you finish your work. “There. You looked like a hedgehog.”
He huffs a little laugh, but scoots closer to you and grabs a hand out of your lap- you’d curled your hands into tight fists, your nails digging little red crescents into your palm. He uncurls the hand he’s holding and reaches for the other, but you save him the work by instead grabbing onto your own thigh tightly, redirecting the frustration. He rubs small circles into the aching skin of your other palm while he waits for you to gather yourself and explain, now that the ice has been broken on the topic.
“He always acts like whatever I do is just not quite good enough for him. They all do- him, my mom, even my fucking friends.” You rub your free hand down your face, trying to alleviate some tension. It does not work. “I don’t know why I’m still upset. They’ve been doing it forever.”
“That’s probably why you’re still upset. You hope they’d grown up enough to stop doing that.” Alex presses his thumb into the center of your palm. It grounds you, and you swallow around the lump in your throat.
“It’s not even a matter of immaturity- it’s not as simple as a pissing contest. It’s just who they are. They don’t think perfection exists, but they want me to achieve it anyways.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. That sounds exhausting.”
He sounds so sincere, so genuine, like the idea of you being treated this way is deeply upsetting to him. You’d never really… experienced that. Someone recognizing your struggle, and admitting that it must fucking suck is something you’d never been graced with.
His brow is furrowed in a display of concern, eyes gentle and searching. He’s not lying, he means what he said, and he’s not going to follow it up with a “but-,”.
Eyes beginning to sting again, you lean forward until you’re resting your forehead on his shoulder. The soft fabric of his hoodie immediately calms you, along with the warmth you can feel emanating from him. It makes sense, after all, that the personification of pure sunshine would have such warmth about them.
Alex scoots forward, gathering you more closely in his arms, his legs awkwardly folded so that you can sit right in front of him. His hands come up to hold you, one fisting in the fabric of your sweatshirt, and the other resting on the back of your neck, gentle, but firm. You let out a shuddering breath, squeezing your eyes shut tightly. Not going to cry.
“I got a promotion at work,” you mutter, taking a long, deep breath. You brace yourself, waiting for a dismissive response. “That’s what set my dad off- I got- he-.”
Your voice cracks, and you trail off with a small sigh, clutching at Alex’s hoodie even tighter. It’s thick and soft under your fingers, and you knead at it like a cat.
“A promotion?! Baby, that’s amazing!” Alex pulls back just enough to take a glance at you, his own expression steeling from excitement back to sadness as he sees that you are still fighting back tears. “Sweetheart, I think you’re the only person to ever cry after getting a promotion.”
A little laugh escapes your chest, huffy and wet, but still a laugh. Alex’s lips curl into a smile as he reaches up to smooth back some of your stray hairs, like you’d done for him a moment or two ago. You smile, reaching up to intercept his hand, and lace the two of you’s fingers together.
He squeezes your hand where it’s resting in his grip, looking at your linked fingers briefly. “Also, your family is wrong.”
“About what specifically?” You huff, wiping at your eyes for hopefully the final time.
“About perfection not existing. It does, and I know exactly what it looks like.” Despite the serious words, Alex is fighting back a smile. You narrow your eyes at him, already anticipating the next thing he’s going to say. “It looks like you, dumbass.”
You groan, feeling a hot blush rise to your cheeks immediately. You tip forward to bury yourself in Alex’s neck, this time hiding your flustered face and stupidly happy grin.
“I can feel your smile against my neck, you know.”
“Oh, fuck off-.”
With the hand that’s on the back of your neck, Alex coaxes you out of hiding just to press a kiss to your forehead. “Really. I am proud of you. I don’t want you to be afraid to tell me about your achievements because of what your family has done to you.”
“Okay,” you whisper again, voice thick with emotion. “Thank you.”
He hums in response, tilting his head and looking at you with what can only be described as pure fondness in his eyes. Then, he leans down to meet you for a delicate kiss, and your eyes finally stop stinging.
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sagendipity · 3 years
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masterlist
SERIES
the law of attraction (qxr):
- part one
- chapter one
- chapter two
the law of attraction (dnf):
- to be updated
comforting you after assault:
- to be updated
with a hurt and grieving reader:
- to be updated
GROUP IMAGINES
feral boys:
- misc. comfort headcanons
- and there was just one bed
- reader who is shy abt hugging
INDIVIDUALS
dream:
- morning cuddles pt. i
- making out with dream pt. i
- stealing his hoodie
- realizing he's falling in love
george:
- to be updated
sapnap:
- cuddling headcanons pt. i
karl:
- realizing he's falling in love
quackity:
- on frizzy hair and the pursuit of perfection
punz:
- dating headcanons pt. i
- dating headcanons pt. ii
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sagendipity · 3 years
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navigation
hi i’m sage and i write headcanons, imagines, drabbles, and other fics for mcyts.
"HEY SAGE WHY IS ALL UR SHIT GONE?"
i deleted my old blog on accident. no i am not kidding. im in the process of reposting what i have recovered!!
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askbox status:
requests: currently open
your thoughts: always open
questions/chatting: always open
the differences?
requests are short ideas that you want me to expand on. your thoughts are short or long asks about someone, something, or any idea you had that you want to share [i might also add my own thoughts to these, but not guaranteed]! questions/chatting are, obviously, just that and are always open.
my masterlist
MAIN MASTERLIST
my tags
sage vs dream , sage vs george , sage vs sapnap , sage vs karl , sage vs quackity , sage vs punz
sage vs bbh , sage vs foolish , sage vs sam
sage vs feral boys , sage vs dnf , sage vs karlnap
sage vs anons [just chatting asks]
who do i write for?
i regularly write SFW -> PG13 full-length fics, imagines, headcanons, and drabbles for the following: dream, georgenotfound, sapnap, karl jacobs, alex quackity (SFW only), and punz.
i will share asks about and potentially write drabbles for the following: bbh, foolish, and awesamdude.
i DO NOT write for: any minors, technoblade, schlatt, wilbur, fundy, or philza. characters who are not mentioned are free to be requested, but i might decide not to write for them.
what am i okay with writing?
i am okay with writing anything except the following: anything involving pregnancy, death of reader or character, cheating, abuse or non-con from any main character, anything perpetuating harmful stereotypes about a person or place.
i am okay with writing about the following heavy topics: self-harm, eating disorders, sexual assault, mental illness, physical illness, past abusive relationships, past or current abusive familial relationships when they pertain to the reader and the reader’s past, but will not apply these topics to any of the ccs i write for [will write about cc comforting you after an assault, but would never write that cc being the perpetrator of anything like that]. these posts will be given trigger warnings as needed!
i will write x reader for any accepted characters, as well as the following ships: dnf, karlnap. at this time i am not accepting poly related requests but may in the future!
i will write any gender reader if specified, but default to gender neutral pronouns.
do i have an anon list?
no i do not! i do not have an official anon list but you are welcome to identify yourself with a word or emoji(s) and i will do my best to remember you. there is not any official list, however, simply because i will not keep it updated.
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sagendipity · 3 years
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sage (notplanningshit) deleted blog
hey guys its me sage. no this is not my old blog. no i dont want to talk about it
ok fine if i must. um. i changed my user from notplanningshit to sagendipity. then i went to do some... blog cleanup.
and. i thought i was deleting an unused sideblog and to my .. . disappointment and inappropriate amusement ... i accidentally deleted my main
now i know what you're thinking. oh no sage, all of your work! you had hundreds of posts, over a thousand followers and a handful of beloved anons!
that’s all correct! don't worry, any self-respecting writer with any ounce of foresight backs their works up somewhere else, off of this hell-site.
uh. unfortunately. i am not self-respecting nor do i have any foresight.
sorry. ill rewrite most of it
don't worry the law of attraction is written entirely in scrivener thank FUCKING CHRIST--
but if you liked my old blog, used to follow it, are looking forward to the law of attraction, or are one of my anons this is.. uh.. where we live now.
i don't care abt losing followers too much BUUUUUT i really want my anons to know This Is The New House and @marvelsmurphy you. consider this your formal notice like a cop knocking on your door and serving you a restraining order but the opposite of a restraining order bc i want u to come back!!!!
if you need a reminder on who i was: im sage, i write a lot of hurt/comfort, i complained about twitter a lot, and i wrote a few notable series that you might recall (mcyts taking care of you after assault) and i am working on a quackity x reader law school au!
i apologize for being the person god made me
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sagendipity · 3 years
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OH ALSO candle anon here once again, i have the dream hurt x comfort fic in a side blog somewhere (the long headcanon ones) if that’s not in your recovereds i’ll gladly link it to you mwah
YOOO EVERYONE COME EMBRACE CANDLE ANON THEYVE RECOVERED ONE OF THE CLASSICS
i do not yet have that one saved if you can just tag me in that reblog i will grab it!!!!!! tysm that’s one of the ones ik a lot of ppl liked so 🙏🙏
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sagendipity · 3 years
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SAGEEE OH NOOOO omg this is a terrible day for the sage notplanning enjoyers . all my comfort posts . gone, reduced to atoms /lh
anyways i’m glad to see that you are seemingly taking this well haha and also know that i will continue to stick around lolol
- 🪐
DONT FRET im sure some of your comfort posts are within the 65 i recovered and will be reposting!! and if not ill be rewriting some of them amen
if you are comfy, and have an acc where you reblogged any of those comfort fics pls gimme an ask and tell me your @ so i can go find it in your reblogs! ofc your @ will be of the highest confidentiality and i have the memory of a small bug so i won’t remember who you are
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sagendipity · 3 years
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black shirt. i just wanna see outfits
the law of attraction: de minimis
outfits
quackity:
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gn!reader:
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