#shitty people and then made it affect my life in such a dramatic way that I lost interest in my only community outlet

[milo-is-rambling]

Bummmmed rn bc I quit the queen music theater show I was gonna work in March/April bc some ppl (💨’s boyfriend and mom) are gonna be working the show which means 💨 will be around which means we will have to deal with each other and I don’t think I could also bring around her boyfriend or mom would make me lose my mind rn I think and like. Just. UGHHHH. FUCK HER FUCK HER FUCK HER

[dumplingsjinson]

List of random dialogue prompts (pt. 3)

“Truth be told? I miss the times — the me — before I fell in love with you.” 

“You know, I can see myself in, on top of, or under you. What do you say?” “I can see you buried six feet under my very feet if you don’t stop joking about this shit with me.” 

“Was there a point when you fell out of love with me?” “There was a point when I fell in love with you, but never out.”

“When did you fall out of love with me?” “That’s the thing: I never fell out of love with you. You’re the one who fell out of love with me.”

“Right person, wrong time… What if this is the right time? We’re just the wrong people for each other.”

“You have me wrapped around your fingers. Crazy part is, I don’t mind it.” 

“Don’t forget this: I made you. I can easily break you if I wanted to.” 

“I shared pieces of me, with so many people, and none of them kept those pieces safe, and I don’t know if I can risk that with you because it would devastate me if you turn out to be the same as them all. I would be completely destroyed.” 

“Don’t give me that look.”

“You okay?” “No. I need hugs. From you. I need you to hug me.” 

“I just wanna fucking get over you so I can be okay again.” 

“Stop trying to remind me that you’re still in my life. I’m trying to not think about you, for God’s sake.”

“I wanna kiss you so badly right now but we’re in public and I know you hate public display of affection—“ “I’ll allow you to do it this time.” “Wait… Really?” 

“I make shitty decisions and you’re a testament to that matter.”

“I have things to do, and most of them include me trying not to think about you.”

“I’ve never cried because of someone, you know? I didn’t have anyone to cry over. You’re the first, and you’ll also be the last, or so God help me through this embarrassment.” 

“Breaking up with me does not mean you had to kick me off your Spotify playlist, you know? Because damn. As much as I’m upset, your list had some bangers.” 

“You don’t get to do decide my feelings for you.” 

“I’m not bitchless, you fucking dickhead. Take that back!” 

“Every little thing reminds me of you, which sucks because you’re not in my life anymore.”

“It’s kinda weird not seeing your name on my phone when I wake up. It’s gonna take me some time to get used to this.”

“I think I knew this wasn’t going to last when I realised it’s not that I trust you. It’s that I don’t care what you do, and who you might be fucking around with.”

“One text from you has me happier than a child whose mother bought them their favourite candy. It’s not okay.” 

“I don’t share my Spotify playlist with just anyone. It’s like a secret love language of mine, reserved for those I want to let in. You’re one of them, yet you’re here thinking I don’t feel the same way about you?”

“I dunno, I just… Kinda fell for you.”

“You’re the reason why I fell in love with you. You, as a whole.” 

“There are some songs that I can’t listen to anymore, because they remind me of you; of all the times we’ve had together. And it sucks because some of them are great songs. And you fucking ruined them, you asshole.”

“I’m tired of acting like I don’t care, because I do. I fucking do, and that’s what makes this even worse.” 

“One thing you should know about me is that I suck at letting go.”

“So you’re telling me I’m supposed to sit here and give a fuck? You couldn’t pay me enough to do that. I have places to be and things to do.” 

“You need to stop being such a dramatic bitch.” “It’s the only way I can entertain myself, okay? Now piss off and leave me be.” 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have let you go.”

“You deserve someone better than me—” “You don’t get to decide that for me.”

“You ever think about how good we could have been together?” “Yeah. I think about it all the time, and then I remember how badly you fumbled. So yeah, good job.”

“You’re blushing.” “I’m not.” “…Then I guess I’ll have to give you something to blush over.”

“I lost myself while trying to find the good in you.”

“I think it’s comforting that they’re somewhere out there… Even if we never speak again, you know? They were a part of my life, even if it was only for a little while. They made me feel good, even if it was only for a short amount of time.” 

“Remember when you said you’d catch me when I fell? Well, you’re a fucking liar. Figuratively and literally. Now I’m hospitalised and also emotionally scarred. I hope you’re fucking happy about that.” 

“If we break up, I’d look for you in other people and be reminded that they are not you, and that I’d never find someone like you again. And… I don’t think I can bear the thought of that.”

“I give you permission to break my heart.” “And I give you permission to end me if I ever do break your heart.” 

“I have things to do—“ “And I’m one of them.”

“You’re only saying sorry because you want to make yourself feel better, so you can go shove that sweet apology up your ass because it doesn’t mean shit. I hope you continue to feel like shit over what you did, because I’m never forgiving you.”

“I had expectations for someone I knew couldn’t meet those expectations, so that’s my fault for expecting anything from you at all.”

“You? Breaking my heart? It’s funny how you think you even have that power over me.”

“You were like a routine that I loved and it felt… comfortable. But I guess that’s not the case anymore.” 

“You fell in love with the idea of someone that wasn’t even real. You fell in love with your own projections. How are you so foolish to think that it would have worked out?”

“I’m fine. Of course I’m fine.” “Everything about this interaction is telling me you’re not fine — not even close.”

“The idea of us was perfect. Blame me for thinking it would turn out into something good and as fantastical as what I made it out to be in my head.”

“Because no matter what I do, I can’t stop thinking about you and it’s about to drive me to the very brink of insanity, so if you’ll excuse me for not wanting to be near you, that would great.”

“I would not be who I am today if not for you.” 

(pt 1.) | (pt. 2)

[flanaganfilm]

You have spoken about dealing with addiction in the past (congratulations on your sobriety, btw), and Hill House, Midnight Mass, Doctor Sleep, etc, all feature characters struggling with addiction. Do you find a sort of catharsis in writing those characters and their storylines, and do you find that having gone through that affects how you write those characters and their stories? p.s. if the question is too personal, I apologize. You are, of course, free to ignore it.

Happy to talk about it. I was writing about addiction long before I admitted having a problem. Looking all the way back to my student films, many years before Absentia, I can see myself starting to pick it apart. The fact is I was a really shitty drunk. I was absolutely a problem drinker. It was always that way, going back to school - I was never able to handle it, and there were times throughout my life starting very young when that thought would occur to me, and I'd get scared, and then I'd convince myself I was being dramatic and that I had no problem whatsoever.

The truth is that I didn't have an OFF switch, I was inclined to hide my drinking, and the older I got the more self-destructive I became when I was under the influence.

But I was also very committed to the belief that I could handle it, and that I didn't have an actual problem, so for years I'd coast by, telling myself whatever issues I may have had weren't so serious. "Nine times out of ten, I'm just fine - I'm the life of the party," I'd think. I wasn't, though, and soon enough it was 50/50 whether I'd have to make apologetic phone calls on a given hungover morning. And those stretches where'd I'd really let go and drink hard, the person who emerged was less and less like me. It got to the point I didn't recognize him at all - there was this stranger who lived inside, and if he got out, he was could destroy everything I held dear, and he didn't give two shits about it. Looking back at the last decade of my work with the perspective I have now, I can see an escalating subconscious urgency in the way I was talking about alcoholism and addiction. My 2003 student feature Ghosts of Hamilton Street features a wanna-be writer with a horribly self-destructive alcohol problem. The people in his life begin to physically disappear, and the world around him resets as though they never existed at all, so he's the only who notices. I was 25 years old when I made that movie, and looking at it now, the addiction issues are a huge blinking red light all over the movie. At the time, I thought it was just interesting context for the character.

I wrote the opening scene of Midnight Mass (which features Riley Flynn waking up from a blackout drunk driving session to find that he's killed someone) all the way back in 2010, eight years before I finally sobered up. That was always something I was absolutely terrified of - not that I'd die because of my drinking, but that I'd kill someone else and live with the consequences. That was probably my biggest fear for most of my life, if I'm honest. And there were mornings I'd wake up at home and wonder how the hell I'd driven myself there the night before. I remember those mornings with a stomach-turning degree of terror and shame.

It was always somewhat cathartic to write about characters with addiction issues. There's a long stretch between Absentia and Hill House where it appears that I'm not dealing with those themes in my work (though I'd argue there's a subtle addiction meditation at play in Before I Wake that I've only recently noticed), but I was also secretly working on Midnight Mass that entire time, and just pouring all of my thoughts and anxieties about alcoholism into that story. So while Oculus, Hush, Ouija: OOE, and Gerald's Game don't seem to dwell much on addiction, that's really because I was spending my nights pouring all of that into the pages of Midnight Mass, which existed alternately as a novel, a screenplay, and then a series during those years.

Working on Doctor Sleep is what brought it all to the surface for me. Stephen King's novel deals thoroughly with the theme of recovery (The Shining is about destruction of addiction, and Doctor Sleep is about the journey and reality of recovery), and a lot of people in my cast were sober. It was while we were shooting that film that I realized I needed to make a seismic change in my life.

My wife will say that reading the scene in Doctor Sleep where Dan sits at the Gold Room bar in the Overlook was when she knew I was reaching a critical moment. That scene isn't in King's book, and my first draft of that conversation between Dan and Jack was almost fifteen pages long. It's basically a prolonged argument between the addictive and sober voices in my mind, and writing that scene shook something loose in me. I stopped drinking just a few days before we filmed that scene for that movie, and I haven't had a drop since.

But for catharsis, Midnight Mass truly is the most personal piece of work I've ever made. Riley is a very thinly disguised avatar of myself. I look at that series and I see several distinct versions of myself in conversation with each other over more than a decade. I'm glad it took so long to get that show made, because if I'd made it in 2016 like I wanted to, I wouldn't have done a good job - there is no way I could have told that story until I was finally sober. If you listen closely to the AA meeting scenes between Riley and Father Paul throughout the series, you're basically looking directly into my conflicted brain over many, many years.

This year is my fifth year sober, and I spend my days happy, busy, and so grateful that I was able to make those changes before my drinking destroyed my career, my marriage, and my life. I was lucky. I am lucky. But since I finished Midnight Mass, I haven't felt that pull when I'm writing. I haven't felt those themes elbowing their way into my work. That part of me is still in here (it always will be), but I feel like I was somehow able, over many years, to coax it to sleep. I'm sure I'll return to those themes over the years, as I hope to learn more about myself and have more to say... but for now, those voices are peaceful and quiet. I have projects on the horizon that will touch on some of those things (if I'm able to make The Dark Tower, there's some wonderful elements with Eddie's addiction issues that I look forward to exploring) but it feels different.

One of the things I hold onto when I look back at that time is the hope that the work can be helpful to someone else who may struggle in a similar way. And talking to fans, I've heard here and there that it has, and that means the world to me. I think storytellers can't help but use their stories as a mirror, it's one of the ways we take ourselves apart, look at the pieces, and put them back. It's one of the only ways we can see ourselves clearly.

Sometimes we don't even realize we're doing it. It's only looking back that we can see ourselves, and our work, with any real clarity.

[ochrearia]

"What Happened To You?"

And here comes the revelation that I know a lot more about wyd!BF's lore than people probably thought, mainly because I helped Karl brainstorm a lot of it SADSFDGFHGJ Think FAST chucklenuts throws this mean shit at you

BFs in this drabble: wyd!BF (Beef, Karl's), Yourself (YS)

“Why the hell am I the only one of us bitches that gets stuck here?!”

Beef couldn’t remember who came up with the name on the sign, or why this damn thing existed for that matter, but it was a running joke and none of the others were letting it go. Especially YS, who happened to be the owner of the room it was in. Literally just one of the corners of his room, with a shitty cardboard sign taped up having the words ‘dumb idiot corner for dumbers’ written on it. It wasn’t even good handwriting either.

“Because you think first with your anger and not with your brain.” YS responded bluntly, arms folded as he stood in front of him. “And it doesn’t seem like my words alone do anything to get you to realize that’s not a good fucking idea, so, dumb corner you go. Time out.”

“This is so unfair.” Beef whined, bringing his knees up to his chest. Why the hell was he starting to get genuinely upset over this? It was a dumb gimmick and nothing more. YS never made him sit there for very long anyways, but it was really only him. Always him. Did he really have that bad of anger issues?

Yes, you do, need we go over all of the times you went too far in the last month or so?

Oh good, his thoughts were against him too. Like it couldn’t get any fucking worse anyways, everyone was always against him. He could never catch a break. For once, could something just go his way without him walking on eggshells to achieve it?

YS sighed, shaking his head knowingly before moving to sit right next to the upset and stewing counterpart. “Not like any of us are any smarter, anyway.” He stuck his thumb up to point at the sign, burying his other hand into Beef’s hair to ruffle it gently. “Different approaches to different problems, that’s all. Remember that I really do want to help. But I don’t know everything. I don’t know how to approach everything the right way on the first try. But I’m trying more than once, that counts for something yeah?”

That was…true. None of his other selves had tried to run off on him yet. All of them knew at this point that he was quick to anger, even over the smallest things, or things that didn’t even affect him directly. Always so angry, and what for?

“It’s still unfair.” Beef insisted with a sniff, refusing to look at his big bro- YS. He was refusing to look at YS. Now was not the time for his jealousy to start kicking his shit in. If YS wanted to act like a big brother to him like he did with Biff, he couldn’t force that. Trying to do so would only make it disingenuous.

God, but it would be so nice to have their brotherly relationship.

“Life’s unfair, dumbass, that’s why we’re all here living it.” YS replied with a slight grin. “A bunch of idiots, all with shitty problems, orbiting around each other because one of us decided to fuck around and bring us all together. Not sure how we’d all be fairing if I’d just minded my own business. Well, I know how I would be. But the rest of you still have GFs and Picos to fall back on. I think everyone would’ve been fine eventually. Doesn’t stop me from wanting to help anyways. Make that progress even slightly faster and it’s worth it to me.”

“You sound like such a corny sap.” Beef commented, turning to stick out his tongue. “Thanks for the help, or whatever, but you’ve put me in the dumb corner for like the fifth time in two weeks and I am not going to forgive you. Not even into the next life. You’re dead to me.”

“Well that’s not very nice.” YS frowned over-dramatically, which that frown immediately returned to being a mischievous grin. The hand he’d left ruffling Beef’s hair moved to curl around his farther shoulder, pulling the smaller one towards him and wrapping him up in a sudden hug.

“What the- hey! Let go of me, you’re like a parasitic weight, what the fuck!” Beef hollered, struggling against YS’s lanky grip. “Get off, you’re weird and slenderman says he wants his job back!”

“Hmm, nah.” YS grinned, hugging Beef to his chest instead. “You morons can’t fool me, Peacock and Bee snitched. Heard you and the other three gloat about my hugs. Told me you’re all addicted, so I know you actually want this. You’re just leading with your anger before your thoughts again.”

“Ugh! Traitors and liars, why would you believe anything they say?! They just got here, surely the weight of my words should be higher than theirs right now. Why would you believe I would be addicted to your hugs for any reason, that’s bullshit!”

“Why are you leaning into it then?” YS taunted, still not letting go. “Why are you letting your arms return the sentiment if you don’t want it? Hot ball of hollow fire you are. Maybe we didn’t get off on the right foot at the start, and maybe I could’ve done better to be patient. But I think I know now that your anger usually isn’t actually real. Just a defense mechanism for a silly idiot who just wants to be safe.”

“Prick.” Beef spat, but he couldn’t contest that. Safe. That was a nice word. The fire quickly went out, not that it was even really real anyways. He sighed, squeezing tighter and pushing his nose into YS’s shoulder. Safe. It was good to be safe. He liked feeling like people weren’t going to run off on him for one mistake. He made so many already, it was a damn miracle that he still had anyone left. He really had to wonder why GF and Pico were still with him every once and a while, with the things he’s said in the recent past.

Oh. Small plucking notes started dancing in the air, YS apparently seeing it fit to use his magic to broadcast some sort of music-box lullaby. Placating him? Putting out the angry fire long after it had already gone, maybe he was trying to make sure it never came back? Fuck, how was anyone supposed be mad at or hate this guy when this was the shit he was willing to do for other people?

The bumps. The bumps on the taller’s back, the memory of them zapping back into Beef’s brain when his hands roamed a little too high and found them again. They were small, almost not noticeable but there was something a little too sharp about them to be the normal back muscles you’d find there. Something a little too out of place. A hidden accessory? No, that couldn’t be it. That wouldn’t make sense. Not with how they were placed, too symmetrical. And they gave way slightly under the pressure of his hands. He felt YS tense, cluing in to where his hands were all of a sudden. This was probably the only chance he was going to get. Say it, now, oh but what if it was the wrong thing to say? Say it now!

“What… happened to you?” Speaking wasn’t something Beef believed he should be allowed to do. Too many times it was his words from his accursed lips that started it all. Something that, seemingly, was going to happen again.

YS’s arms retracted quickly, almost quicker than a human should be able to move. The magic keeping the music box lullaby vanished into nothing, notes at the very end strangling themselves and dying into nothing but a whisper to be remembered by. Beef could only try to catch his mind up to speed as YS pushed away, standing up. Gone was the safety, almost in record time, and something about that set Beef’s entire body on fire. Not with anger. A fire that hurt even worse than anger could. Fear. Fear that he was going to be left abandoned by someone he’d just started to trust, just started to care for dearly. Not again. Not again-

“H-hold on, wait!” Beef cried, surging forward and catching YS by the arm just as he started to walk away. The taller one wouldn’t dare look at him, and he was starting to panic. No, don’t do this, come on. I’m sorry, I didn’t think that was going to be all it took to fuck it all up! Don’t go! “Don’t go. Please…”

Something about that raw, whimpering plea changed the atmosphere. YS’s head turned back to face him. It had to be some trick of his magic, how much the shadows over his eyes would stretch to the rest of his face when something went wrong. But his eyes were still visible, and somehow all wrong compared to what Beef was used to seeing. Eyes a little frantic, searching all over his face, and suddenly watery, and there was a pained grimace on his face that made his teeth bare in a sad way. And maybe that caused Beef to freak out a little more, because how can one question cause so much damage in just a few moments?! What the hell had happened to him that would make him react so poorly!?

For a second Beef thought he was going to continue to run off. Those were the eyes of a panicked animal, something he’d seen before with his Pico (guiltily, he remembered how recently that was too). Was it his fault, again? Why did he keep making people run away from him?

“I’m- I’m sorry-” Beef stumbled, freaked out and nervous, and maybe already horrendously guilty. What was he doing? He couldn’t keep YS here. That wasn’t right, and he knew it. Pushing past the aching fear in his veins, he hesitantly moved to let go of his arm. To let him go, because so many times people had run off on him he was starting to believe that it was supposed to be that way. But…

His arm was stopped. Just as his hand let go, suddenly YS was holding him by the wrist- tightly. Beef kept looking at him, and fuck, eye contact was suddenly so hard when you were madly unsure. But something crumbled in YS’s eyes, and the beginnings of tears started pooling at their edges. Suddenly, the taller one knelt down in front of him again, and now hugging him even tighter than before. Beef didn’t dare try to pretend not to want it this time, holding tight where he could, making an honest effort not to let his hands fall too high up on the other’s back this time. It was clear that YS just wanted to hide his face. Something that a hug was also good at doing.

Beef’s vision slightly blurred, blinking away the beginnings of tears of his own. Eyebrows, furrowing between a mix of panic and pure concern. What happened to you? Four words and it’s like the world’s falling apart. A trauma response… has to be.

Just like Pico.

You’re not going to damage this one beyond any logical repair. You can’t. Not this time, don’t waste everything he’s tried to teach you.

“I- It’s okay.” Beef tried, squeezing back tightly. Heartbreaking, really, when he felt YS shaking slightly in his hold. That hadn’t been something he’d seen the other do, even with that nasty breakdown a while ago. How deep did this wound go? “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. You don’t need to answer that. Just… I’m sorry.”

One step at a time. Think with your head, not your anger.

The other didn’t respond. Just arms, squeezing tighter, as tight as they could without starting to cause physical pain. A distraction, a desperate need for comfort over something that was invisible to Beef. But that didn’t matter. If it was bad enough to make arguably the strongest version of himself break down so fast and so easily, then it didn’t need to be spoken. He would offer as much as he could to help it go away. Maybe not go away, Beef couldn’t make something like that go away. But he could help calm him down.

Yeah, calm him down. Beef thought, gently digging his chin into the shoulder his head rested on again. No fire, no fear. I can do that.

Pay no mind to the faint, ghostly vision of white wings from his back.

[naranciiiasolos]

the day i took senior photos made me actually want to kms. that day i felt so ugly and big. i felt like everything was so ugly. i remember thinking when i saw my friends having their photo taken “ wow they all just naturally look pretty “ after my photos were taken i actually felt like crying in that moment. i saw them and just wanted to burst into tears because i literally thought i looked so ugly. i hated everything. i hated how shiny my face was, i hated how my eyes looked i hated how my smile looked crooked i hated my double chin. i hated everything. i hated how big i looked no matter what. but i thought to myself “ hey no its ok cause when you get home you can show these photos to your mom and dad and they’ll call you pretty “ i came home already feeling super shitty about myself. i show my mom the photos and she just stared. i showed my dad and showed him the one i choose and he just went “ i dont like the one you picked “ i kinda laughed it off and walked away and went straight to my room. i ripped those photos. i locked myself in my room for like 4 hours literally just crying and telling myself how much i hated myself. i dont know why. like yea i still feel lile this but why was i so damn dramatic. i think i just wanted somebody to call my pretty that day. i usut wantef to hesr one nice thing about me. thats what i dont like about myself. i feel like im ugly because people dont call me pretty. im slowly starting to like the way i look. im kinda learning to love my double chin and my stomach. sl its improvement. but i still need to get diet. back in 2017-2022 my dad liked to have these conversations with me about my weight. i always hated them but ik hes just looking out for me. i just dont like the way he does it. he liked to compare me and sisters weight a lot. he actually compared me to my sister a lot. my sister noticed it too. i love my sister. we never show much affection towards each other. we almost never hug or say i love you. but i think we both just know. we never have to say it. i miss her. shes the only thing that keeps me sane tbh. she was a huge comfort to me back in 2020. she didnt have to say anything. just knowing shes listening or is by my side is enough for me. i was listening to an old playlist i made back in 2020 whoch made me remember everything that happened that year. somebody came out for me to my parents. my parents are cool with it i think. idk i just remember my dad having a talk woth my sister and me in their room. when they called me into their room i got the feeling that they knew. so i already expected my dad’s reaction. he was mad that i didnt tell them first. i didnt want to. i was scared that everything was going to change. i didnt want it to change. i didnt want them to look at me differently. i was scared they were going to completely stop talking to me. they mentioned it jn the past. so ofc i wasnt going tk tell them. i remember having a full on oanic attack. i literally couldnt breath. i was crying a whole bunch. i was suffocating. i was terrified about what he was going to tell me. after he went on gis rant he stopped talking to me. until the next day. he walked into my room and told me he loved me no matter what he just didnt want me to such a big decision early on into my life. the thing is i knew since i was in 7th grade. ive just been questioning if i felt the same about men. i still dont know but i remember him crying and telling me how he was sorry for how he acted. he hugged me and it was like a 10 min hug. i love my dad. but that year i was kinda pushed away from him my dads relationship with me kinda changed. he seemed more distant from me. he has gotten better. in fact hes a lot more accepting. we just havent talked about that incident since. tbh idk how i even got here. but i think i need therapy. but i really feel embarrassed of telling my parents

[nutteu]

love me in this muted summer [Chapter I]

-

[AO3 Chapter I] [AO3 Chapter II]

Sykkuno liked Toast because Toast felt right when not so many things in Sykkuno’s life did. A story of college struggles and finding ground in relationship and friendship; a slow fall and negotiation of directions. [Toast/Sykkuno; college au; published 2021-02-01; total word count: 14,753]

-

College had always been a struggle for Sykkuno. Not only because of the increasingly difficult course loads, and how Sykkuno secretly had an ambitious streak a mile wide. Connecting with other people was simultaneously easier and a lot harder in college, and Sykkuno was forever grateful that his circle of friends generally understood that he was a bumbling mess when it came to normal human interactions.

Sykkuno stuttered and stammered his responses, too shy to look people in the eye, and was never decisive about what he wanted to eat or whether he wanted to join their night outings to clubs. Rae tried the hardest, amongst them all. She pulled and picked Sykkuno’s walls apart, in a surprisingly pleasant way though he wasn’t always ready for them. Rae understood his behavior and tells, back off when she had to, pushed when she saw an opening. She made him comfortable in her brashness and loud affection, and he had always considered her one of his closest friends. It also helped that she was the first of the few he had.

“Talk back to people, Sykkuno,” she told him. “I enjoy their surprised faces. Always hilarious to see. Come on, make my shitty week better.”

And then Sykkuno would stammer out, “John, y-y-you donut,” and Rae would laugh hysterically when John looked at him with a scandalous face and dramatically placed hand on his chest.

“Excuse me?” he sassed back, and Sykkuno would cover his mouth and laugh under the protective barrier of his fingers.

Rae invited him along to lunches and dragged him along whenever she made new friends. Most of Sykkuno’s friends were hers; some he kept close, some he felt enough to know as acquaintances only. He couldn’t possibly be expected to keep up with so many people at once. He liked Lily, though. He liked her sweet voice and her cunning way of getting people to do what she wanted under the bat of her eyelashes. She could be smothering sometimes, and very nosy—just like Poki—but Sykkuno liked them enough to keep their contacts on his ‘Friends’ list in his phone.

He liked Jack, Ludwig, and Ash, and their way of easing Sykkuno into affections by complimenting him on small things that he thought they’d never noticed. It was nice, to know that Jack liked his smiles and was always thoughtful with his words; that Ludwig would exaggerate the way he professed his undying love and admiration for Sykkuno; that Ash found his presence enjoyable enough to chatter nonstop when they met, inviting him for games on some occasion.

He liked Corpse and his wheezed out laughter at everything Sykkuno did, even if he couldn’t stop the blushes and stutters when he teased him. Corpse found him endearing and flirted with him, hard, and coupled with his voice that always had a knack to make Sykkuno weak on the knees, it wasn’t hard to imagine flinging himself across the room and kissing him silly. He wouldn’t, though. Corpse seemed like the type of someone who would do an intimate, serious relationship once he was comfortable. Sykkuno wasn’t ready for that at all.

Toast came around a little later.

“Do you like the jeans,” he said. Toast didn’t ask when he had predicted the answers. With Sykkuno, it was even easier. Out of everyone, Toast had always known which questions Sykkuno would answer with long, stringing words with no conclusion; which ones he wouldn’t immediately reply to, keeping his thoughts until he could answer with confidence.

This time, he had finally given in to Rae’s invitation to the club. When he tried to make flimsy excuses of not owning proper attire to go to a club, Toast literally told him to 'shut the fuck up' and bought him a new pair of ripped jeans that hugged Sykkuno’s thighs a little too tight, along with a black, deep V-neck shirt that made Sykkuno went red. They were the number one cliché club outfits. He didn’t have enough muscle to pull off that type of clothes, he said to Toast.

“No,” Toast said as he looked at Sykkuno with sharp eyes, silently glaring at him into submission. “But you have nice neck and collarbones and Rae said to dress you up like you wanted to get fucked against the wall tonight.”

“Jesus, Toast!” he cried out, face immediately covering his heating face. “R-Rae told you that?” He couldn’t believe her; he would have to give her a long, detailed lecture why Sykkuno would never fit into those kinds of aesthetics. He would die from panic and nervousness before he could even think about flirting with someone.

Toast shrugged. “That’s the gist of it.”

He contemplated the clothes on his hand. They were new, it would be a shame and incredibly rude to not wear them. But… he didn’t think that he’d be comfortable enough to—to look like he wanted to get—oh, Jesus H. Christ, Sykkuno wasn’t awake enough for this.

“I, uh… I’ll just wear my sweater, I think,” he said, already moving to his wardrobe. It’s okay, he’d still wear the jeans and Rae would have to accept the sweater. It wasn’t that bad. People wore that kind of thing to the club all the time, right?

Except, this time, Toast leaned back on his bed and said, “I want you to look like you’re looking to get fucked against the wall.”

Oh.

He wore both the shirt and the jeans and fidgeted with the exposed skin of his thighs. They weren’t toned enough, and some patches were darker than the others because he wore shorts in the summer. He walked Bimbus a little bit after 4pm, but the sun still did its job on tanning several parts of his usually covered skin.

Toast looked at him with unreadable eyes and didn’t talk to him as he drove the group to the nearest club. He didn’t look away when Sykkuno caught him staring at the bar. That was enough to make him less unsure about his attire, strangely enough. He didn’t get fucked against the wall that night, despite Rae’s high hopes. But Toast sat next to him on the bar, and sipped his drink as he listened to Corpse flirting with Sykkuno—a coping mechanism from their collective nervousness about being in public, crowded places. He thought that Toast understood his friends more than he let on.

Sykkuno wasn’t drunk enough by the end of that night to have some disastrous sex with Toast as he helped him get out of his clothes, but Toast still kissed him in the bathroom after Sykkuno brushed his teeth with great difficulty. He insisted that Sykkuno cleaned up. “You wouldn’t want to feel like something died in your mouth come the morning,” he had reasoned, and Sykkuno agreed.

It was a gentle kiss, almost chaste. But Toast crowded him against the sink and kept kissing until Sykkuno let out an embarrassing whine. He stopped then, and said, “This isn’t some dramatic confession or something equally deep, Sykkuno. You dressed up nicely tonight and still came home with the designated driver. You deserve a kiss at least.”

It didn’t hurt him as much as he thought. They didn’t talk about it afterwards, though.

Toast was his roommate in the second semester, and Sykkuno breathed a little easier knowing that he’d be staying with someone he was familiar with. He didn’t want a repeat of the first semester, with him and his roommate barely talking and having stilted greetings each morning and night. Sykkuno never warmed up to the guy, and his roommate had never expressed any interest in befriending him either. He had to admit that he was a little guilty by the relief he felt when the guy said he was moving out of the dorm.

Toast was straightforward, but he mulled things over and analyzed his surroundings. He kept all the information he had and used the knowledge to maneuver the landmines that were college life. He knew which person to team up with in certain classes, which one he would like to talk to when finals were coming; he knew which student would know the latest info about their Uni, and kept strings of contacts for his future internships and jobs.

“You’re pretty awesome, Toast,” Sykkuno said one day, and it almost sounded reverent. He was blushing before he even finished his sentence. It was a sign of confidence, Rae would say, but Sykkuno was a weak, weak person when he had to express his opinion. Even with his friends, it was hard to pry his thoughts that went beyond genuine compliments and minimal input in conversation. This was also a compliment, but Sykkuno felt like he had just imparted a secret.

Toast would keep it, though.

“Finish your assignment, Sykkuno,” Toast said, and kissed him again after he was done.

By the end of the third semester, Sykkuno felt like he was one of Pavlov’s dogs. Toast and he became close friends, just the way Sykkuno did with his current circle. It felt different, somehow. He thought that he would be sentimental about romantic entanglement, but he learned from Toast that it wasn’t always so intense, wasn’t always dramatic. Sykkuno had thought that he would be like Corpse about this kind of thing, but as it turned out, he fell for Toast all the same while still being able to keep the pace their friendship was at. It was a steady fall, almost cold and detached in perspectives, but just as impulsive as any college romance he had ever heard from his friends’ stories and experience.

At times, he wondered if he really was associating his feelings for Toast with detachment. Because Sykkuno couldn’t handle compliments well, and was sensitive about a lot of issues, and cared genuinely about people he held dear to him to be this blasé about liking someone. Whom he had kissed, repeatedly.

But really, it was just Toast and his way of handling Sykkuno like he was his own person who was strong enough to stand on his own two feet. All of his close friends, they all loved him without pretense, he was aware of this. But in a way, they were very gentle and at times babying. They took their time with him and patiently nurtured his confidence and trust. Toast was careful with his feelings, too, but he pushed Sykkuno to a limit that he alone could see. He cut Sykkuno’s pandering and made him face the conversation, made him pay attention and learn to answer quicker, be more decisive. Toast waited for him when it mattered, but he would leave without remorse if Sykkuno kept running away from answering properly.

It kept him on his toes, and it trained him to be more attuned to what Toast wanted and expected from him. The way that Toast understood and noticed the smallest detail in Sykkuno’s behavior and habit, his feelings and signs of thoughts he couldn’t express. Toast was pretty cutthroat, but he rarely ever hurt Sykkuno and meant it. He did say some nasty things when Sykkuno wasn’t careful on his bad days. He apologized afterwards, on things he knew he should be apologizing for, but let Sykkuno learn that some people really wanted to be left alone instead of crying and talking their hearts out. Just because Sykkuno felt bad and tried to help, didn’t mean the other party was responsible for accepting it. Helping was a good thing to do, but it wasn’t always the case in every problem. He accepted and learned from it too, and for that, Toast kissed him again.

Every milestone that reached the bar Toast set, he kissed Sykkuno as a reward. He didn’t even know what he did, most of the time, just that he had done something good enough to be worthy of being kissed against the bathroom wall, the bed, the door, the small window where anyone could see and nearly gave Sykkuno a heart attack even if he leaned back into the kiss. He asked, once.

“I’m not telling,” Toast said. “I don’t want you to set the definition of something good and praise-worthy by my standards. You keep doing it at your own pace, and let me do it on my own.”

It was mind-boggling in a way, that Toast could predict how Sykkuno would react and what action he would take on certain matters. It made things easier, but Sykkuno couldn’t help the instinctive tilt of his head when he did something and Toast would look at him with raised eyebrows. Sometimes he kissed him for that, other times he just sighed and went back to whatever he was doing at the time. It disappointed him for a while, but he figured out that it was actually better that way. Sykkuno would always seek out people’s approval in a way or another, and Toast wasn’t responsible for that fixation, but he learned slowly that the first approval he needed was from himself. If Toast didn’t kiss him for completing his essays in a difficult class with flying colors, then he would give himself a pat on the back and buy that one video game he had been eyeing for months or just simply let himself sleep early on the crazy study nights near the finals.

Ultimately, he still harbored kinship with Pavlov’s dogs. It was ridiculous and he wasn’t about to tell Toast that, but he thought that maybe Toast understood it already.

So, yeah, college was a struggle, but in the journey of navigating classes, social life, his roommate, and his personal life, Sykkuno had learned a lot of things as well. That was a lot more than he had expected in his first semester, and he wondered if Toast would agree and kiss him for two hours before he left to continue his 12-am deadline assignment.

-

Sykkuno stared at the phone number scrawled on a piece of sticky notes on the café table, and blushed bright red to his root. Rae was hooting already, attracting attention to them. Ludwig gave him winks and nudged his sides; Ash was busy eating her lunch, bless her appetite. He didn’t need more teasing.

Toast, however, had different thoughts on the matter. “Wow, Sykkuno,” he drawled. “And to think that you keep saying girls aren’t into you.”

“W-well,” he started, already knowing a losing battle but pushing through nonetheless. “They are not into me. She—she’s probably just joking, a-and will run away once she finds out that I’m a loser.”

“Liar,” Toast replied easily, eyes alight with unholy glee. It seemed that he enjoyed these rare moments of Sykkuno’s delicate springtime of life.

“If you’re that convinced girls aren’t into you, I know some guys who are, Sykkuno.” Ludwig was bright-eyed and very serious as words poured out from his mouth. Sykkuno was about ready to terminate his friendship contract with them all.

“Yeah,” Corpse, unexpectedly, joined in the fray. “I know some too.”

“Ooh,” Rae narrowed her eyes on him, smile dangerously close to a manic grin. “Someone is popular.”

He heaved a sigh and sunk into his seat, pulling down his hood and hoping that the floor would swallow him whole. Next to him, Toast laughed so heartily that Sykkuno almost felt less bad about him being the butt of the joke.

“Seriously,” Ludwig said. “I’ve never seen you date anyone. People flirt with you left and right, and none of them pull through? You’re something else, Sykkuno.”

He peeked from the protective shell of hands, and frowned. “People don’t flirt with me.”

“I do,” Corpse piped up, and it got Rae cackling again as Sykkuno spluttered on his seat. “I regularly flirt with you. I lost hope when you haven’t asked me out yet by our third semester, though.”

“Such a heartbreaker,” Toast said, too close to his ear.

Sykkuno nearly jumped from his seat, warm breath hitting his skin. Toast’s hand on his shoulder prevented that. He didn’t think his friends would think too much of it, but Ash and Rae were sitting across from them, and they were more perceptive than people gave them the credit for. He chuckled nervously and didn’t push Toast away. Maybe they’d read into it, maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe Sykkuno wouldn’t mind if they did.

The hand stayed through the rest of the lunch, and Sykkuno thought that a little dent on his lunch money was a good trade to feel Toast’s hand patting his arm, and the warmth of him as they were pressed side to side.

“Such a heartbreaker,” Toast said later on, too close to his ear. Sykkuno snuggled up against him as they watched an illegally streamed TV series.

The laptop was sitting precariously on the pillow, a little bit tilted to the side, but Sykkuno was too comfortable to move. Toast was warm and soft. He had only started to get serious about hitting the gym lately. Enough to form muscles on his arms, but not enough to properly shape up his abdominal muscles. Sykkuno would poke his stomach and Toast would slap his hand away, sometimes a little too hard. He kept the reddening mark close to him. Just reminders that he got close enough to be able to do that, albeit with consequences.

“I would never,” Sykkuno said with a smile. It was easier to stomach the teasing when they were alone in the small dorm room.

“I’ll have to ask Ludwig and Corpse who those friends are,” Toast said, and Sykkuno felt a warm butterfly in his tummy. What a great way to start a misunderstanding amongst their friends.

Jack had caught on to their… situation, but he had always had a knack of knowing things long before the others noticed. He didn’t say anything about it, but he did give Sykkuno a knowing smile when he suddenly visited their room to borrow Sykkuno’s notes. He had hastily, and with great reluctance, pulled away from Toast when Jack called at their door. He was pretty sure he didn’t have time to wipe his spit shiny lips.

“Yeah,” he replied. “You do that, and m-maybe I’ll see if they’re cute enough to flirt with.”

“Ooh, Sykkuno, hit me with that confidence,” Toast said with a flat tone as his eyes were glued back to the screen. He did pat Sykkuno’s thighs, though. So he must have meant it.

After some time, he reached for the laptop and clicked pause. It was late enough, and both of them had morning classes today. Sykkuno didn’t want to take morning classes, at all. But he needed that class for specialized courses in the future. Toast was just a beast in his single-minded focus of achieving the highest grades. His father had high hopes, and Toast carried that out with such seriousness that was at odds with his laid back behavior. It also made Sykkuno’s growing hero-worship of Toast worse. Just the teeny-tiniest bit.

“Corpse meant it,” he suddenly said after they lay back on Toast’s bed. The lights were turned off already, and Sykkuno turned to feel for his face with his fingers. “He told me that you deflected all of his flirting and his attempts to date you. Still likes you as a friend, you’re nice and calming to be around, he said.”

Sykkuno didn’t know why Corpse told Toast, of all people. They bantered as often as Corpse flirted with Sykkuno. Maybe because Corpse saw how hopelessly enamored Sykkuno was with Toast, despite them literally having zero intimate contacts in public. He was surprised that he could have that restraint, honestly. But then again, he approached this situation with Toast with a lot more level-headedness than he thought he possessed to begin with.

“He’s a good guy, very cool,” Sykkuno decided after Toast grabbed his hand and held it between them. “He’s nice to be around, too. I think he understands more than most, about- about my anxiety and worries.”

He felt Toast nodded, his hair brushing against his forehead. “Yeah, he does.”

He didn’t say anything after that, and then, Sykkuno leaned in blindly for his lips. Toast indulged him, and pressed him on the mattress as their lips slid against each other; his tongue entwining with Sykkuno’s in a slow dance that made him breathless. He liked the feeling of Toast’s weight on him, holding him secure with calloused hands and controlled touches. They never had sex, never went past making out and a little bit of touching. They never even jerked each other off. He wanted to, oh God he did. But he didn’t mind with this, too.

It wasn’t something so dramatic, wasn’t something equally deep. It was as simple as giving rewards for dressing up nice, and indulging Sykkuno once in a while. He liked it. He didn’t feel rushed or panicking at the pace of whatever it was they were having. Toast could come out clean tomorrow and said that he wasn’t interested in Sykkuno and he would accept that. Maybe he wouldn’t, if Toast was just stringing him along purposely, but he wouldn’t do that to Sykkuno. Crushes or not, he knew that Toast wasn’t that kind of person.

They ended up almost late for their morning classes, and Toast grumbled into the white bubbles around his mouth as they brushed their teeth. But Sykkuno kept a small hickey a little further down his clavicle, and felt content for the rest of the grueling day.

-

It was a stressful week for Toast. His family called this morning, and he spent the call with a severe frown on his face. Sykkuno touched his shoulder and went to his afternoon classes with uneasiness in his stomach. He couldn’t even finish his lunch. He was worried sick, but he knew that Toast would handle it. He wouldn’t want Sykkuno to crowd him and give incessant offers for help. Toast would come to him in his own time.

It still didn’t stop him from sitting next to Toast after he came back that evening. Toast was strung tight; it was a matter of time before he snapped.

Sykkuno had never smoked around his friends before. He always did it alone; didn’t want to share the toxic smoke with anyone else. But Toast knew about the cigarettes he kept in his drawer. He didn’t comment on it, but occasionally he would sit next to him, just like now, and let Sykkuno lean his head on his shoulder. He said, he didn’t mind the smoke. Sykkuno wasn’t sure, but Toast was warm, and they had to open the window to let the smoke out, so it was a little chilly. He didn’t smoke as often as he did back then, but it was still often enough to make his other friends worry if they knew.

Tonight, he offered his cigarettes and Toast took the one already lit on his fingers. It really was that bad, Sykkuno deduced.

“You have multiple tattoos scattered all over your body, and you smoke. You kiss your roommates without telling your friends, and you still refused Poki when she invited you for some edibles,” Toast said after a lungful of nicotine. He winced a little at the taste, and Sykkuno threw him an apologetic glance. He used to be a heavy smoker; his preference in cigarettes was a bit high on the nicotine, and it carried on until now.

“I don’t—I don’t like the feeling of losing control like that,” he said.

“You got so drunk that one time after finals, threw up all over my textbook,” Toast pointed out.

He shrugged. “Yeah, well. Alcohol didn’t worsen my nightmares. I just passed out. I tried it once and—just—a panic attack with vivid imagery is the last thing I want.”

Toast nodded, understanding even in his cold regards. “My dad is sick,” he said then. Sykkuno nearly dropped the cigarette. “They asked me if I can take a semester off to sort out some family matters.”

His dad had been sick for some time. Sykkuno didn’t like to think about what family matters Toast had to take care of, especially considering he was the oldest in his family. Toast thought so too, if the gloomy drop of his shoulders were to be trusted.

“What do you want to do?” he asked, waiting for Toast to inhale the smoke, before taking the stick from his fingers. “What can I do to help?”

Toast didn’t answer him for some time, so Sykkuno finished the cigarette, and fished out for a new one. Toast didn’t share it with him this time. It was okay; he always had a habit of taking a lungful each time he inhaled. He burned through his packets of cigarettes too fast. Nowadays, he bought one for each week, limiting himself as best as he could. During stressful times, he forgot to track it altogether. This was a stressful time.

“I’ve booked a ticket to Canada,” he said, and Sykkuno inhaled deeper. He wanted the smoke to settle in his lungs and ease the restless flutter of his worry.

“When?” he asked.

“In two days,” Toast said, and gently took the cigarette package from Sykkuno’s hand. “No more for tonight, okay? Come on, you need rest.”

They didn’t rest. Sykkuno sat on Toast’s lap and kissed him with desperation that burned his lungs the way his cigarettes did. He pulled at his hair, and Toast’s grip on his hip was almost bruising. He savored the lowly throbbing pain and inched closer for more. There was spit dripping down his chin, and he thought that their teeth clacked too many times tonight, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t care about anything but the feel of Toast’s lips, the urgent lick of his tongue, the harsh touch he rarely ever allowed upon Sykkuno’s body.

“It’s only for a month,” Toast said against the skin on his neck. He pulled at the hem of Sykkuno’s shirt, and they pulled apart long enough for him to slip it off and throw it somewhere in the dark room. “You’ll wait for me, won’t you.”

Toast didn’t ask when he had predicted the answers. But Sykkuno pulled him up for a kiss, and whispered I will, of course I will, on his lips. Toast wouldn’t push past what they usually did tonight, he could feel it. Maybe he never would. But this stark, raw emotion that Toast presented was more than enough to make Sykkuno feel like he’d been fucked over for hours on end. He felt like a raw nerve, sensitive to the touch. Every pleasure and pain magnified tenfold.

Sykkuno had two bite marks on his left hip, and hickeys on his shoulders. He wore clothing that rarely ever revealed skin more than his forearm, but Toast still marked him on unseen places anyway. It should feel like a dirty secret, but Sykkuno thought that it was more like Toast guarding what they had between them only. He left his own marks on Toast, too, and hoped that it was enough to remind him that there was a piece of Sykkuno laid upon his skin. He slept in his boxers, and let Toast brushed his thumb over the crescent moon on the back of his thigh.

“You never did tell me where you got this one,” Toast said after they had calmed down, laying side by side on Sykkuno’s bed. His cigarette on top of the drawer in plain view.

“Later,” he said. “I’ll tell you when you’re back.”

“Alright,” Toast nodded. “I’ll take your cigarettes with me. Don’t buy another one until I come back.”

A whole month without Toast, or his cigarettes. Toast really wanted Sykkuno off his rocker, and spent all day thinking about him, anxiously waiting for his return. He sighed and agreed still.

The others were visibly surprised when Toast told them, but they held back from saying anything. They understood that Toast wouldn’t want that. They took him to the airport, and Corpse held his hand when Sykkuno’s shoulders shook as Toast went inside without so much as a goodbye wave to him.

“He’ll be back before you realize it,” he said, like he understood. He probably did, considering what Toast told him. Sykkuno nodded and tried to believe.

-

It really was bad. Sykkuno had thought that he was getting better with his smoking habit, but two weeks had passed and he had to physically restrain himself from going to the nearest convenience stores and buy a package or two. Toast texted him several times, but they were short and clipped. The rest was total radio silence. Sykkuno wanted to call him so badly. He didn’t know whether it’d be wise to do that.

Ash invited him to play games with her a lot more than usual. He thought that she noticed the way he was rapidly losing sleep, the way his fingers shook whenever he was in crowded places, how he regressed from his hard-earned progress in managing his social anxieties. All in the span of two weeks without Toast by his side. It wasn’t even the cigarettes. It was just his reassuring presence and his deadpanned tone whenever Sykkuno tried to dance around a subject.

“It’s going to be alright, Sykkuno,” she whispered, her accent thick and comforting as Sykkuno shook and tried to regulate his breath. “Slowly,” she said, “breathe with me, alright? Can you do that?”

He couldn’t. His chest was burning from the pain of not having enough oxygen, but try as he might, he couldn’t take more than a lungful of air before panic seized him again and his windpipe felt like it was closing up. Toast wasn’t here, and he probably wouldn’t come back either. Sykkuno really was going to lose him, just the way he lost everyone else in the past. Was he really that useless in keeping things he held dear? Just the thought of not being able to look at Toast and wait for the simple shake of his head whenever Sykkuno was being needy, sent him into another bout of hysteria.

Ash held his hand through it, calling his name in a soothing voice, breathing with him and letting him cry and cry and cry on her shoulder when he couldn’t take it anymore. It was hard to breathe, even more so with his nose clogged up now. He knew that the grip he had on her arms must be painful, but she rubbed his back and let him ride out the worst of it.

“Can you hear my voice?” she asked, and Sykkuno nodded with difficulty. “Good, it’s very good, Sykkuno. It might not feel like it right now, but I promise you can get through this one, yeah? Can you breathe with me again?”

He nodded again, and tried to imitate her pace of breathing. Big inhale, hold it for three seconds, let it out. Again, that’s very good, Sykkuno. One more, okay? Just like that, big inhale, and slow exhale. You’re going to be alright, I promise. Would you like to try again? Yeah? Thank you very much, Sykkuno, you’re doing great, buddy. It’s okay, I’ll keep you safe, just try to breathe again, yeah?

He listened to her, trying to breathe through his nose, exhale through his mouth, and felt the numbing sensation of detachment come along with fatigue and a sense of sadness so deep inside his bones. When he woke up, he cried again and Ash held his hand until he fell back into sleep from exhaustion. He was worried about Ash’s roommate seeing him like this, but he didn’t have the time to panic about that before restless sleep once again claimed him.

“She went to visit her boyfriend,” Ash explained. “I figured you need some time away from people. So I invited you here when she’s gone.”

He nodded mutely, tired and fatigued all over. It had been so long since he had to take his pills; he left them in his drawers. He thought that he ought to take some today. He still had two weeks to go, and Toast had always taught him about recognizing his own limit. He wasn’t wearing any shirt. He felt like he was suffocating in his hoodie, and Ash had too much size difference with him. Her biggest shirt still stretched tight across his chest. He felt like clawing his own skin, but Ash gave him a big mug of hot chocolate to hold onto. It was cooling fast, he hadn’t even taken a sip. Ash reassured him that she was okay with that. They could put it in the mini fridge. It’d still taste good, and Sykkuno latched onto Ash’s unwavering belief that chocolate was the best option for everything, in every situation, in any state.

“I’m—sorry,” he croaked out, his voice felt unused and it sounded broken to his own ears. Ash nodded all the same. It was okay, he didn’t need to repeat it and he didn’t need to spiral into another bout of panic attacks just because his voice wasn’t loud enough.

“Thank you for letting me help you, Sykkuno,” she said. It was more than what he could ever hope for. Sometimes people said certain things that didn’t bode well with his current fragile state of mind. Ash’s words washed over him in a soothing wave.

“I missed him,” he suddenly said, and it all tumbled out of his mouth. He figured he’d let it be before hysteria came back for him. “I missed him so much that I feel like I’m dying. It’s—it’s pathetic and it’s too clingy and—and he said that he likes my smile when I don’t cover it, and he kisses me when I do something good, even when I can’t see it myself. He—he— Toast is—“

He choked on his saliva in his haste to let the words out, and Ash handed him a glass of water. She held it when Sykkuno reached for it, slowly tipping it for him. He was grateful for it; he felt boneless and so, so tired. There was a steady thrum on the back of his head, and the streams of thoughts in his mind. They all reminded him about how worthless he really was, how it was ultimately a bad decision on his friends’ part to be with him in the first place.

He knew that those weren’t true, he knew. But the tears fell anyway. It was hard to run from his thoughts and he was too weak to face them properly. Ash put the mug away from his hand then, and replaced it with her palms.

“He has his own problems too,” he said. “I don’t want to add to his burden, but—but I can’t stop thinking that he won’t be back. That something bad happened to his father and he’ll be left alone to deal with the aftermath. I’m scared and I can’t do anything about—“

He cut himself short, suddenly feeling exhausted. There were still too many things he wanted to say, but he had no energy left. Ash guided him to stand up, and he walked with shaky legs to her bed. She ran his fingers through his hair. Sykkuno felt like throwing up. He couldn’t even form coherent thoughts and he left her hanging in his explanation.

“That was very kind of you to share it with me,” Ash said. “It must have taken a lot to say those. I’m proud that you can say what’s on your mind, Sykkuno. It’s okay, I understand. I know you’re tired and hurting, so rest, alright? Trust me, I understand what you said, so it’s okay. It’s more than enough, okay? You did enough, Sykkuno.”

He nodded, breathing in slowly to keep the bouts of tears at bay. His eyes hurt, he didn’t want to cry anymore. He couldn’t think of anything, couldn’t even keep a tab on his surroundings. His head was becoming empty too fast. He’d be back, Ash said. And Sykkuno wanted to say, no, he wouldn’t. But it wasn’t true. Toast always kept his promises, didn’t he? His thoughts just needed to remember, instead of conjuring worse imagery. He just needed to hold on, and remember that it was alright. It felt like hell right now but he had gone through it last night. He could—he could try again, at least.

“It’s okay to rest now, Sykkuno,” Ash’s voice sounded so far away. Like she was talking through telephone from three lines over; statics and muffled all over. “I’ll be here. You won’t be alone. Rest, alright? I promise I’ll be here.”

He wished Toast would be here, too. He fell asleep with Ash’s voice next to him, trying to believe her words. That it was alright, he was going to be alright. He wouldn’t be alone. It was alright.

-

Toast didn’t berate him when he found out. Sykkuno didn’t want to call him, but Ash said that Toast needed to know. That it’d be worse if Toast came back without knowing about this. So he relented. Ash called Toast instead while Sykkuno showered for the first time in two days. He had missed some classes, but Jack was kind enough to send him notes and help with the assignments that seemed to never stop piling up.

He was too tired to do anything other than lay on his bed and listened to the quiet scratch of Jack’s scribble. Ash had gone back to her dorm. She hugged her tight, and said that she’d visit him soon after she was done catching up with her work. He felt the guilt start to weigh down his body, but Ash was adamant in reassuring her that she kept tab of her college responsibilities. It wasn’t his fault—she helped him because she wanted to, because she could at the time. She would never force herself and make it worse for the both of them. He nodded, not having enough energy to even hug her back. She was okay with that, too. It didn’t completely convince him, but it was enough to let him breathe a tad easier.

Jack stayed in his room and did his reviewing there. They understood that Sykkuno wasn’t in the condition to be left alone. He was thankful that it was Ash and Jack. He loved all his friends, but Ash had always understood Sykkuno in a different perspective than the others. Jack already knew about Toast and him, and he took care of Sykkuno with careful nudges and soft words spoken in an Irish accent. Ash had a thick accent too, he remembered, and smiled for the first time in a while.

“What are you smiling about?” Jack asked. He wasn’t as loud as he usually was. There was a small smile playing on his lips too.

“Ash’s and your accents,” Sykkuno said, because he felt empty and lightheaded. Maybe he’d float away if he closed his eyes.

“It’s hard to shake off,” Jack said. “D’you want to learn Irish, someday? I can teach you.”

He closed his eyes, and floated along the memories of Toast in his quiet nights studying for his finals. “Yeah,” he said. “That’ll be nice, Jack. Thank you.” He thought he fell asleep before he could hear Jack’s reply.

Toast’s call came a little bit late in the night. Jack slept on Sykkuno’s bed. They didn’t say anything about how Sykkuno was sleeping on Toast’s and wore his jacket with too much guilt inside his chest. He truly felt pathetic that he needed to do this in order to calm down.

“How are you feeling now?” Toast asked. He sounded exhausted. Sykkuno wanted to cut off the call and cry himself to sleep. “Don’t think too much. I’m alright; I’m tired because my cousins went over and I had to carry them around all day long.”

“Oh,” Sykkuno said. Toast always seemed to know what he was thinking. “I’m—I’m feeling a little better. I took my medicines, haven't had any more episodes since this afternoon. Ash and Jack helped too.”

“That’s good,” Toast said. “Can you hold on a little longer? I’ll be back in less than two weeks.”

He didn’t know if he could. He truly didn’t. He had started crying before he realized that he was making pained noises. There was a gentle touch to his hand, and Sykkuno saw that Jack was sitting next to the bed, holding his hand. He opened his mouth to say something, but he shook his head, signaling for Sykkuno to continue the call. He gripped Jack’s hand tight, and said, “I don’t know, Toast.”

“Sykkuno,” Toast called, and he sounded like he was weary; like the proud, hardened lines of his shoulders were sagging into exhaustion. Sykkuno wanted to hold him tight and cry for him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, over and over again. “I’m so sorry, Toast. I- I know that you have a lot in- in- in y-your mind, and-and this isn’t—this isn’t your problem. But—but Toast, I—I— missed you. I missed you so mu-ch.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Toast said, and he sounded almost sad. He sounded so tired. Maybe he was tired of Sykkuno. “I missed you too. I’m sorry, I didn’t call because I’m swamped at the moment. My family is moving to a new house. I’ll take you here to visit next semester, maybe after our finals are over. My father is recovering, but I have to manage some properties we have to sell, and some that we’re turning into new business.”

He didn’t say anything as Toast explained, hanging onto his uncharacteristically gentle cadence and endearments. He had never called Sykkuno that, but it calmed his sobs. He liked the sound of that from Toast’s tongue.

“Are you—“ he choked up a little, but he continued, “are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” Toast repeated. Sykkuno felt stupid for asking again; he couldn’t help it. Toast had to do so much, and here he was, consoling Sykkuno instead of resting. “Take your medicines in moderation until you’re feeling alright on your own feet. And—call me, when you can’t handle it well. Sykkuno, I want you to call me if this happens again.”

“Okay,” he whispered, closing his eyes and breathing in, and out. In, and out. Jack stood up and signaled to the dispenser to get some water. “I’ll call. You- you should be resting, T-Toast.”

Jack came back with a glass of water, and carefully held it as he guided Sykkuno to take some sips. He was careful not to swallow too fast and risk choking on the water. Toast could probably hear it, because he took his time in answering.

He nodded when he had enough, and Jack put the glass on top of the study desk. Sykkuno would probably start worrying about the glass if he put it on top of the drawer. It could fall and shatter. They would have to clean and wipe it up, and he would be incessantly anxious about missing smaller shards of the glass.

“I’ll rest in a moment,” he said. “Do you think you’ll be able to get some sleep tonight?”

He contemplated it, and nodded, though Toast couldn’t see it. Jack was back on his bed already after he deemed that Sykkuno had calmed down enough. He would feel bad about it too if he weren’t so burned out.

“Yeah, I- I think I can try.”

“Good,” Toast replied. “I’d kiss you, but we have to wait a little bit for that.”

Sykkuno’s cheeks warmed up from that, as did his chest. “Yeah, I’d, uh, I’d like that, too.” He debated whether he should bring it up or not, but in the end, the words were out anyway. Maybe Toast calling him sweetheart had emboldened him. “I’m—I’m wearing your jacket.”

“Yeah?” the older man said, waiting for him to continue.

“It’s a little loose, but- but not too much,” he admitted. “I like the feeling of it. Like you’re here with me.”

“Well, you are taller than me, Sykkuno,” he said, almost teasing. “You can use my clothes if you want.”

His eyes widened at that, bringing the sleeves of Toast’s jacket close to his mouth as if trying to bring him closer. “You mean that?”

“I do,” the answer was almost immediate. There was a sound, and then there were muffled voices, before Toast came back to the call. “I have to go. I’ll call again later when I have the time, okay? This should be done in four to six days. Wait for me.”

Sykkuno bit his lip, and said, “Can you call me that again?”

Toast was silent for a heartbeat. “You’re going to make me die from cringe,” he said.

“I know,” he said, smiling a little. It was… it really was nice to be able to listen to his voice again. “Can you?”

“Yes, I can Sykkuno, back off my case,” he grunted, but he heaved a deep sigh and said, “Wait for me, okay, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” Sykkuno said, despite the apparent struggle in Toast’s voice. He didn’t sound mocking, though. If this meant a lot to him, then Toast wouldn’t mock him for that. “I will.”

“Alright, I really have to go. Get some sleep, I mean it. I’ll see you later.”

“See you later, Toast,” he said, and waited until Toast clicked off the red button.

He didn’t sleep until two in the morning, but he woke up without nightmares and felt less like he’d been hit by a truck and died, over and over again. He started to chip away on some assignments, and reread the notes Jack had brought as he explained some things Sykkuno couldn’t grasp immediately. Ash came over and brought Rae with her. She didn’t stay long, just enough to hug him tight and whisper some encouragement. Corpse missed him, she said, and wanted to come but decided to give him these puddings instead. They didn’t want to make him feel crowded, she said, and Sykkuno was thankful that she understood instead of launching into an interrogation.

He could count on his friends to catch him when he shattered. It was hard to remember this when he was on the lowest point, but he was grateful all the same that there were people who took his hands and guided him towards the place that Sykkuno knew he had worked so hard to reach. Less than two weeks, he thought to himself.

He would hold on; he'd promised Toast on that.

-

[mentallyilltiredgirl]

vent: im greiving & i thought that my friends would be there for me to comfort me through this because this is very hard for me. 1 out of dozens of my friends asked me if i was okay & let me talk to her about it. no one else said anything to me about it & it hurts because i know they know im hurt & they know that this is affecting me. im struggling and theyre going about their lives. im not even struggling in private. they know. now not only do i have to deal with the hurt from this loss but i also have to deal with the hurt of having no one who truly cares about me. and maybe im being dramatic but it hurts so bad. ive struggled with self harm throughout all of my teenage years and clearly im into it sexually, but i havent hurt myself because i have upset/sad/angry in a really really long time and im on the verge of relapse & i feel so alone. the worst part is i know i have so many friends but at this point its making me want nothing to do with any of them. i want to cut them all off and move forward with my life with the 1 friend who reached out. & im scared to express these feelings to my friends because i dont want them to think im seeking attention. this isnt about lack of attention, its about feeling like they genuinely dont care. i just feel so shitty & im afraid that if i keep these friends i will resent them for the rest of my life and they will never understand. i thought at least half of them would check on me and i thought a quarter of them were my genuine friends. but im not so sure thats the case anymore. ive always felt things so much harder than most people & its a blessing and a curse. i know that if i saw them post that they were going through something sad i would reach out and be there for them. i understand that i cant hold everyone to a certain standard and expect them to act the way that i would. theyre not me. i wish i could have myself as a friend and i guess in a way i do. i do have myself and i always will and i think thats special. i need to be there for myself in the way that no one else will and thats why i wont hurt myself again. i think i might give myself some distance from everyone. & when they get a clue and ask me whats wrong ill tell them. im not sure im ready for their responses and that already should tell me everything i need to know. if they were my real friends i wouldnt worry about communicating my feelings about something that genuinely hurt me. but i am worried. im worried that ill be dismissed. told that its not a big deal. i cant let people do that to me anymore. i cant let people tell me how i should feel because i am feeling these things and those feelings are real. and if they were real they would respect me. i dont feel respected. i feel ignored. theyre going on about their lives and theyre not worried about me, so why should i be worried. am i willing to throw out friendships that ive had since middle school? i might be. ive recently come to the conclusion that in life the only thing i really care about it my mental health. i just want to be happy & i want to surround myself with people who make me feel happy. evidently these people arent making me feel very happy. maybe i had too many friends anyway. i suppose i really could cut my circle down to prioritize myself. i wont be here in this town forever. i wont be surrounded by these people forever anyways. i will be surrounded by myself forever. at the end of the day i need to put myself first before anyone or anything else. im so hurt right now and moving forward i need to remember these feelings and not let anyone dismiss them. right now im making a promise to myself to hold onto these feelings when talking to these people again. i wont forget how they made me feel, and i wont let them make me doubt myself. this sounds dramatic i know, but its really how i feel.

[kopicetic]

Mini update time: I agreed to date him.

I don't know, we have had some massive blow up fights recently that leave us both crying and they're always over his inability to communicate and my shitty hair trigger temper.

This is something that I'm aware of and am actively trying to work on. Usually what happens is that it's just him not telling me something, like that he's been struggling with some issues lately that have affected our sex life. Which I fucking adore this man idk. He's one of my best friends. The problem is I need physical intimacy along with emotional shit, without the physical stuff the emotional side begins to fade for me. If I feel unwanted physically, I cannot be emotionally attached and I am likely to leave.

This normally hasn't been an issue since I have huge issues with intimacy and trust and actively run from actual relationships lol. Like ya girl is fucking turning 35 this year (🤦🏻‍♀️😭🤮) and he is the first actual boyfriend I've ever had because yikes.

He's also the only dude I've ever liked enough to even try with.

I mean I feel like we've had some break-throughs each fight? Lol. One is that we have dramatically different views to fighting. For me, my temper flares up hella fast and like the hounds of Hell are about to swallow you whole, but just as quick it's over and I'm horny af and angry makeup sex is the best etc.

He just feels miserable, wants to cry alone, is so far removed from the idea of even attempting sex, feels drained, etc. Which just means I need to adjust my thinking a bit here. It's been a cycle for me because fighting is almost like foreplay for me. We fight, I'm in the mood, I make a move, he rejects me, I get madbro all over again. But knowing how he feels just means I can switch up my reactions. Ideally we wouldn't fight at all, I fucking hate fighting with him.

One of the reasons he gets super drained is because I selfishly refuse to let him leave before we reach a resolution. He starts being like "It doesn't matter, you've made up your mind, blah blah" and I'm like "No. I want you to explain yourself." The idea of leaving stuff unresolved so we can pick up fighting in the morning sounds horrible to me. I don't know, the idea of leaving him when we're both mad and upset just seems so fucking terrible to me.

Then he explains himself and how shit I've done makes him feel. Some of it is valid. Sometimes, it's anxiety related, he convinces himself that something is true when it's not even remotely the case. The valid stuff I've made note of, realize how I've fucked up, and actively try to stop that kind of toxic bullshit. When it's anxiety driven, I explain what it really is or try and figure out why it comes across that way, etc.

So I don't know, I don't want to keep fighting him over stupid shit but I feel like these previous verbal blow-ups have helped us reach a deeper and better understanding?

Like he's hella introverted. Has no friends really, hates talking to people. We met through Pokémon Go, and they do a weekly hour where it spawns in only legendary raids and since I'm like literally the polar opposite (I'll talk to anyone, I'm happiest when I'm the center of attention and surrounded by people lol) raid hour for me is to catch up with my other Pogo friends, talk to people, hang out, see them face to face, etc. One of my pogo friends always has ridden with me for that.

He goes but he's always super salty because he hates that it can't just be me and him. He hates that I talk to my friends about emotional issues or even anything at all. I mention having a conversation with someone about *topic* and he makes all these loaded comments about how he guesses he's just too stupid for me to talk about whatever with him. Some other friends of mine and I started doing that Hunt A Killer thing to try and have more regular friend time and he suggested we just buy it ourselves and solve them all together because my friends are too dumb to pick up on shit.

The very fact that I've made any personal posts about him at all would DEEPLY upset him, but like I can't keep everything bottled up. I'm not sharing details so idk.

But like the whole thing is that we've realized that, because he's not a talker, has no friends (the four people he lists off that he speaks to are me, his dog, his son, and his dad) BY CHOICE, and struggles to open up to anyone means that he finds our conversations romantically and emotionally fulfilling. They make him feel bonded and intimate and like we're being super close. Even our text messages have that effect for him.

I literally talk to people all day lol, I have my group chat bubble open at all times, I'm constantly texting and DMing and snapping people, talking is just a thing I do lol, it's like a basic level bodily function with me lol, without talking to people I'd die. 🤣🤣🤣

It doesn't make me feel close to him. It's not intimate. It doesn't replace being able to physically touch his skin or wind my fingers in his hair or have sex with him or anything like that. Not even close. Kissing and cuddling feel way too intimate for me, I always used to have a no kissing rule because it feels more personal than sex but I make out with this man all the time because at least we're physically close and I can feel his heart beat and hear him breathe. Post-coital cuddling is one of my least favorite things to do and I deal with it for him.

So Idk, I feel like this new understanding is massive. We get each other more.

I don't even know where I was going with this post lol. Anyway he was really drunk and I was just pretty drunk when I told him I'd actually date him if he promised to tell me shit and that I would focus on methods of toning down the spontaneous rage. I'm kinda hoping he forgot because honestly we fight over the same shit constantly. Telling him we could be in a relationship feels like a stopgap, a desperate attempt to make this trainwreck work.

I don't get what massive difference calling him my boyfriend and him getting to tell his family about his girlfriend makes. I didn't understand. But it's super important to him and also his self esteem so like maybe it will work from an anxiety reducing standpoint.

And he opened up a bit all on his own today, told me about feeling depressed. He failed his classes last semester, something I feel hella guilty about, and it's been fucking with him, but then he said "You're worth failing for. " Bruh, no one is worth mortgaging your future over. He chose to spend time with me over focusing on school because he cared more about going places with me and getting to kiss me and hold hands than he did on maintaining his 4.0 I just. 🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️ That doesn't help me feel any less guilty tbh.

Anyway this was so fucking long, if anyone actually read this whole thing then goddamn.

[consistent-self-destruction]

Growing is so so so stupid hard.

I'm happy, then I'm not.

I know myself, and then.. I don't?

I don't know I just felt like writing I guess. Godbless my silly little girlblog. Although, this is more like - if a girlblog was a wretched beast, which is like one of my alternate personas I think (going back to the great debate of if I even know myself).

I'm 18 now by the way! I had drafted a post venting about how my birthday was shitty until my emotions about it all got too complex to even comprehend, much less type out - so I abandoned it.

Anyways currently I am brain scramble. A manic mix of emotions and influences and thoughts just colliding at each other in agonizingly slow inevitable crashes. I guess you could say my own human complexity is on the brain.

I'm thinking about how I listen to Saweetie and feel like a girlbloss who needs to delete tinder, ghost bitches, and enter my selfish and successful era. I like to be in that mindset when it comes. It feels motivating and in my best interest. It feels like a positive shift from the obviously negative connotation to losing myself to distracting people places and everything else that's unimportant.

But then I listen to Billie Eilish and lean into my sadness because it feels like a friend holding me close and rubbing my back.

I'll listen to Melanie Martinez and suddenly I want to hyperfeminize myself and be absolutely insane!? And it's a mood, it's a vibe like sometimes it is so much fun to just let go of everything and let yourself act in a character of craziness. Smudge your makeup and yell at your mirror and be dramatic! Call yourself hot and then cry about how untrue it feels in the same second! It's a fun release of energy in a way?

And these are all radically different moods from one another, but they all feel real to me - and I guess that's just because they reflect different shades of the human range of emotion. It's everything humans just.. feel. It's normal to feel these things and the only thing that makes it feel weird is the aesthetics surrounding the emotions I suppose.

But anyways, the thing itching my mind isn't exactly that I feel these things - but more about when I lean into them, and how much. What does it mean for me as a person in terms of how it affects my growth, wellbeing, and excellment? What does it mean to my identity? There's a lot to it and I don't know if I have the brainpower to think and write about it all - unfolding it with every typed word. But, let's see.

First of all: in regards to growth, wellbeing, and excellment (I've googled this word and can't tell if I made it up.. anyway;)

I think I have a few "moods" or "eras" that I fall into while moving in life. First, there's the fresh slate era: A time of promise and hope for productivity and coming success. My expectations are high and for once, so is my motivation. I'm probably listening to a lot of positive music like classical instrumentation, songs that remind me of childhood like steven universe, anything upbeat, and afrobeats that make me want whine my hips and dive in waterfalls. I'm waking up early, having breakfast and consistent meals, and engaging in productive habits. I feel good :)

Then, there's the absolutely-falling-apart-but-not-at-rock-bottom-yet era. This is absolute mania lol. I am losing my mind. I wake up when I can and either sleep for 15 hours straight or run my days on not a blink of sleep and only one powerful pop-your-pussy 3 hour hyperpop playlist. I'm eating whenever I feel like (three goldfish to be exact, 5 packs of fruit snacks, and whatever else I salvage that is not a real meal). I have a hard time maintaining hygiene habits and my room is an absolute warzone. I have no motivation to clean or be clean (things that require energy - be honest.) and I spent hours upon hours unhealthily online feeling like a racoon living in a dumpster. My confidence manically falters between "you are the cutest thing ever, someone should kiss you" to "you are a disgusting fucking rat why would anyone even touch you." I feel like this literally just depending on my appearance. If I haven't had the energy to take care of my appearance and DO look bad, then yeah - I feel bad but like. To the extreme. And if I manically get the urge to get all cute and dressed up LITERALLY JUST to FEEL SOMETHING (pls.) then ofc I feel good, but again - to the extreme. Like I'll be dancing and grinning in the mirror and being an absolute weirdo ditz, nevermind that my entire life is falling apart around me as my only focus in that moment is get cute feel fun embrace mess and chaos. I am running away from all my responsibilities and consciously burying myself in distractions and digging my grave because I feel energetically incapable of facing my own reality. This is an entire part of me that I feel way too often. It obviously doesn't feel good - but it's easy to romanticize with so much media context that promotes the concept of "crazy girls" and the whole "psycho but pretty" thing. In a way, I think it just feels like a character for me sometimes. Except the problem is that I'm allowing myself to play a character, that should be fake, but is literally destroying my reality. The problem is that when my life starts to fall apart, I only run from it more by putting on this character that feeds off chaos and it's self destructive. I'm aware of that, but I'm having too much fun escaping reality with a romanticized chaotically free version of myself to care. How the hell does freedom feel exactly like decay?

And lastly, there's the era that runs somewhere between reflective and rotten. It usually is after the era of mania. I'm burnt out and at my lowest point. I don't even have the energy to be manic anymore. I'm still not taking care of myself but now it's truly worse because without the mania, there is no hyper-energy to even try. I'm always in bed. Always. Everything is a mess, I'm a mess, and my reality is a mess. I can do nothing but think myself into spirals or (and this is the rotten side) not think at all. Only lay and dream and further escape reality. I have finally decayed into my most rotted form. I can only reflect. I'm usually listening to a lot of r&b during this time because it's my one true love and always always always comforts me. However I do have some periods where I will exclusively listen to sad indie or softened indie rock (still sad). This is a very somber, still, and almost dead feeling for me. I lean into the sadness again, because it feels strangely comforting and necessary in a way. Sometimes I feel like I need to lean into my sadness because it's all I have. I have to feel it because it's there and otherwise won't go away. I have to love it into leaving me.

Anyways, those are all the major character arcs I experience as I go through life. And while only one of the is very obviously good, and much better for my wellbeing, I still can't help but feel attached to the other two? In that - again, they are sentiments that are so easy to romanticize, to the point where going into those mindsets feels like a weird part of my identity? Like yes! I can be crazy and manic sometimes and other times I can feel retrospective in the reflection of my own darkness. And it all feels so real and so me, just in the fact that I experience it. But is it really me? Am I actually insane or do I just feel insane? Am I really a loner or do I just feel alone? If I refuse to indulge in the last two "eras" of myself, am I denying parts of my identity - even if they're bad parts? Is it better to only live to embrace the best part of yourself to prioritize your wellbeing, or is it better to embrace the good parts of you as WELL as the bad? Is embracing the good and bad counterproductive if it is draining in nature to coexist in contrasts?

I don't know man. Anyways onto the point of where this stands for my identity, there are sort of two parts to this: the things I experience, vs my spheres of influence.

Everyone really experiences the same range of human emotions. But with the rise of media consumerism, the way that we view or perceive various emotions are heavily influenced by the media-made aesthetics they align with. Which is why when I feel certain emotions, I listen to certain artists that feel aesthetically aligned to that emotion - or think of certain characters, films, colors, products, objects, etc. And the problem with this is that in addition to aestheticized emotions, it has become a trend for people's identities to be built on the basis of content and products they enjoy consuming. For example - the type of artists and music you listen to, is considered a part of your identity and who you are. But at least, my personal issue with this is that I listen to different types of music depending on my mood. Hyperpop and bimbocore for the mania, classical pianos and violin for when my mind actually decided to be healthy, r&b all the time - and sometimes I'll have very specific niche days where I'm just in the mood for specific artists. There are Melanie Martinez days, Blackbear days, Billie Eilish days, Selena (Quintanilla tf.) days, etc. etc. And the "aesthetics" surrounding these artists all feel central to my identity because they align with emotions I experience in real life (or in the case of Selena at least - I grew up listening to her because my mom is Belizean lmao). I am someone who likes all things pink and girly and lace and hyperfeminine! I enjoy the visual aesthetics of all things vintage and childhood that Melanie Martinez draws out - and while I don't have much of the actual things in that aesthetic in my life, the fact that I *would* and would like to, makes it feel like me. Same thing with Blackbear - who often references the party girls he meets who are wild and free and just don't give a shit about anything. Again, so real so me. I spent my first semester of college going to parties literally every weekend and the freedom of unhinged femininity is exhilarating. I love it, feels so real so me. And then there's silly little billie with all her depressing ass songs bye. Again, so real so me. And that's only a few artists! There are so many others who draw out very specific emotions from me and it feels so real that I can't tell if it's actually me or not - especially if they touch on things I haven't done yet or don't have but would LIKE to do and have.

I guess all this goes to say that the life of a fangirl is so incredibly hard. I am a walking mosaic of everything that has every influenced me. My parents, my mom's culture and it's music, endless and endless musical artists, and my own media consumerism of aestheticized content. With my life being a composition of so much influence, it's hard to tell if all of that combined is who I am, or if it's all a DISTRACTION to figuring out who I am. It's confusing because your influences are what raise your identity. It's your parents and everything around you that helps you find out who you are. But when you resonate with everything and everyone, can you really figure it out with all the noise? And this is especially frustrating when I think about myself as a creative! I like to paint, draw, make crafts, play with fashion, and a lot more - but the easiest way to describe this is with songwriting. I recently hit a wall with songwriting in that, during my junior year of highschool, I was doing NOTHING but churning out SONG after SONG after SONG. It was a wildly expressive time and even tho the emotions were dark at the time (reflecting an rotting era), it felt so relieving to be able to healthily release it all and do it so easily. Most of the songs I wrote during that time fell somewhere in the sound of soft indie angst / soft sad indie rock, etc. It was reflective of the music I was listening to at the time, but writing in that style also felt insanely natural? And came to me easily. But then I sort of exhausted myself, writing in that same style and I yearned to write in the style of other genres I enjoy. I wanted to write an r&b song REALLY badly cause it's my first love. I wanted to write indie jazz like Raveena or a cute steven-universe-like diddy. I tried my hand at them, and it didn't flow as naturally as the indie-esque songs, but I got a few out. Then I just stopped writing for a while because I'd exhausted my creativity and felt uninspired. When I finally did have urges to pick my guitar back up, I'd still feel uninspired and it got frustrating. I'd have the urge to write and know what I want to write about, but I wanted to make it sound like a Summer Walker song, and nothing I was doing was working. It was insanely frustrating. Then I stopped trying to write like Summer Walker and just tried to write at all. But none of the chords sounded right. I couldn't find a sound I was satisfied with - it either felt wrong or too similar to my other works. I started to feel like I was running in circles, doomed to make music that all sounds the same because I've exhausted my range of possibilities with chords OR just constantly chasing sounds I enjoy, trying to recreate them without success. It made me realize that I don't know what my sound is. I don't knowif my sound is naturally indie-ish or if that's just a product of listening to it often and finding it most expressive. And I'm struggling to branch beyond that sound because I don't know enough chord possibilities and I don't play any other instruments. So that's just an example of what I mean when I say that the issue of influencers in finding identity is even more disruptive to creativity. I don't know what my authentic creative style is because I'm struggling through trying on OTHER people's creative styles that connect with me. Again, the same applies with my general identity - in terms of style and characteristics, and more. I thought I knew who I was but now I realize that I'm way more confused than I thought. I can engage in so many different shades of life because I like to explore and enjoy every space. But when you wear different styles everyday and range between wild party girl to all things sunshine and peace caribbean hippie - how do people even describe you? If you took away my interests and influences, who would I be? All I know is what I like (a lot of things) and what I don't like (also a lot of things but not as much). I guess that's enough for now. Knowing your identity 100% is hard work, but it's enough to at least know what you like and don't like.

- 1.6.23 | 6:51 AM -

[kingkatsuki]

Dial Tones Part One | Eddie Munson x reader

☏ Masterlist.

This is an idea I had which should’ve been a one-shot but has now evolved into a multi-chap. Thank you to anyone that gives this a go!

Part of @arlertslove​ Are We Live? event. Thank you so much for letting me join, lovely!💕

Summary: “I ain’t here for therapy, sweetheart.”

“You do realise this is a premium service?” You rolled your eyes.

“Oh, my wallet definitely knows,” Eddie smirked, “I just like the sound of your voice.”

Starting a job as a phone sex operator was supposed to be temporary, you were just trying to earn enough money to move out of your parents home and pay off your loans. The biggest rules were don’t tell your clients any personal information, and definitely don’t fall in love.

But you hadn’t counted on one of your clients being Eddie Munson.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, no beta, Eddie calls a sex line, weed mention, m!masturbation, f!masturbation, dirty talk, lots of suggestive content, reader introduces herself with a fake sex line name but Eddie hates it and doesn’t use it really.

Word Count: 7.7k.

Loneliness had always been prevalent inside Eddie Munson, it was difficult not to be when he’d lost so many people in his life. But it began to feel worse after he made it back from The Upsidedown. An incident that should’ve made him grateful to survive, to keep his life after so many others lost theirs, but he couldn’t help but feel like it had been wasted on him– that it should’ve been him. The nightmares that continued to plague his dreams since he made it back to Hawkins had begun to seep into his consciousness too, affecting his work and making it near impossible for him to attempt finding a stable relationship. Not that he’d find one in this shitty town anyway, even though he’d graduated High School, the same labels that shouldn’t exist still defined him. Even though he’d been cleared of all charges, he’d always just be the town freak. In the end, it had just been a reminder of how lonely he really was.

Eddie twirled the pack around in his fingers, pinching the sides together as the material flexed beneath his touch. The words glistened in the low lights of his bedroom as he read over the words again.

“Your happy ending is just a phone call away.

DIAL: XXX-XXX”

A dramatic pair of red lips were beside the phone number, the other side had a pair of breasts with “CALL ME” in bright red font.

Truth be told, the tits on the pack had been the only reason Eddie had picked it up. His eyes caught the card on a table at a truck stop that he was at with his Uncle Wayne when they’d travelled south to pick up parts for his truck, smirking at the picture as he pocketed it on the way back from the restroom.

He had absolutely no intention of calling the number, the card sitting forgotten in his jacket pocket for the next few weeks until he was searching for a lighter. His trusty zippo flickered as he tried to light his joint as he searched for a pack of matches he remembered grabbing earlier that week. Smiling in victory as he grabbed the pack of matches, snapping one out before striking it against the back. Holding his joint towards the flame as he waited for it to ignite, heaving a sigh of relief as the smoke finally began to seep into his lungs.

Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, the joint held precariously between his fingers as he tried to forget the negative memories. Resting back on his mattress as he read the pack one more time, “Your happy ending, just a phone call away”— what kind of bullshit was that, he couldn’t help but laugh. Wondering how many lonely men picked up the same packs of matches at truck stops along the highway and actually called the number, thinking they were talking to a sexy young thing when in reality it was an old lady with no teeth. Snorting at his wild imagination as he tossed the card onto the bed beside him so he could grab his beer, taking a long swig from the bottle as he relaxed in his bedroom. The loud guitars of Iron Maiden played through his speaker as the drugs and alcohol began to flow through his system, feeling himself begin to relax as his foot bobbed to the music as it hung off the edge of his bed.

Maybe it was the beer or weed that gave him the confidence to call the number, morbid curiosity getting the better of him as he made his way into the kitchen to tug the phone off the wall. Holding the receiver between the curve of his shoulder and neck as his fingers messily keyed in the phone number, holding the card in his other hand. Eddie’s heart was racing in his chest as the phone began to ring, unsure what to expect or who exactly would be picking up. If anything he could laugh it off and hang up after the first minute, giving him another wild story to tell his friends about the time he called a sex operator (of course, it would be fully embellished for maximum effect).

All the bravado disappeared the moment he heard a click on the other end, with someone picking up his call.

“Well hi there, big boy. I’m so lucky you called me tonight-”

Big boy? Eddie’s mouth was agape at the pet name, your silky voice practically sang through the speaker. It should’ve made him laugh, it sounded ridiculous and he couldn’t imagine the number of men you’d recycled that exact same line on. But Eddie was floored, his cock twitched beneath his jeans as the airy sound had blood rushing straight between his thighs.

You sounded different to all those women in the porn VHS tapes he watched, a saccharine melody to your tone as Eddie was certain it’s the sound he’d hear if he ever made it to meet the man upstairs.

“Hello? Come on, big boy. Don’t be shy. You still here with me?”

“Uh- hi?” Eddie mumbled. All the bravado that he held inside him seemed to disappear at the sultry sound of your voice, for the first time Eddie Munson found himself speechless.

“Hey, big boy. Got a name?” Every time you called him that pet name it had his cock throbbing, and Eddie wasn’t sure he’d be able to survive hearing it again.

“I- uh, yeah-” Clenching his eyes shut in embarrassment as he tried to tell himself to calm down, his hand holding the back of his neck as the other gripped the receiver, “It’s Eddie.”

“Hi, Eddie,” You cooed on the other side of the phone, and if he thought the pet name would kill him, the sound of his actual name in that husky tone would surely send him over the edge, “Let me grab your credit card info and we can get started, yeah? Whatever you want-”

“This is so stupid,” Eddie grunted moving his hand up to grab the receiver to slam it back on the line but you stopped him, “Dunno why I even called, sorry.”

“Wait! Eddie?” There you go again, saying his voice like that, “Is this your first time?”

In everything.

Of course you could tell, he was probably being painfully obvious. 21 and still a virgin, not that there was anyone in this town he’d want to touch with a six-foot pole, but there had to be someone that wanted him. Or he’d be resigned to fuck his fist for the rest of his miserable life.

“Yeah,” He mumbled, as he felt his cheeks heat up.

“That’s okay,” You cooed, “I can talk you through everything, help you relax.”

Your voice was doing anything but, his cock tenting his jeans as it stretched the firm denim. Shifting his hips to try and give himself some slight relief as his fingers teased the cord of the phone, trying to remember to breathe.

“O-okay,”

“You can’t tell me a little about what you’re into, the things you like, what you want me to call you, and I can help you relax. How does that sound?”

Stupid. It sounded stupid. He didn’t even know how to answer those questions when he’d never really tried anything. Sure, he’d watched more porn than he’d probably like to admit, gaining a wealth of knowledge in that department. Different niche kinks and fetishes that most men in Hawkins probably couldn’t even name, and definitely more expertise than most men his age. But he’d never actually tried anything, not knowing if the things he liked to watch and read about would be the same things that he’d enjoy in practice. Well, if nothing else at least he knew where the clit was.

“Okay,” He mumbled, unsure how to respond as he chewed his gum.

“What made you call anyway?” There was silence on the other side of the phone as Eddie pondered the question, “Eddie?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Is it the fact I’m sat here alone smoking weed in my room on a Sunday night? Or maybe the fact I’m 21 and still a fucking virgin who can’t get a single girl in this shitty fucking town to even look at me.” He blurted, instantly hating the drugs and alcohol in his system for lowering his inhibitions.

“Then you must live in a town full of idiots,” Your reply was so simple, but it had his heart pounding against his ribcage, ready to burst free.

“Dunno about that,” He laughed, picking up his joint from the ashtray as he moved it back to his lips to take a large toke, “No one’s gonna wanna touch the town freak.”

You could hear the sad tone of his voice as he went quiet on the other side of the phone, letting the smoke slowly exhale from his lungs as it settled in the air of his trailer.

“Sorry,” He mumbled, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand.

“Don’t be sorry,” You cooed, “Is that why you called?”

Honestly, he didn’t know why he’d called. Boredom, curiosity, loneliness? Perhaps all three.

“Dunno.”

“Well, I’m alone on a Sunday night too, maybe we can be alone together?” The seductive huskiness of your voice had him pulsating, his chest heaving as he tried to adjust the tent in his jeans.

“Bet you could talk to anyone you wanted on this line though, huh?” Eddie scoffed, leaning his shoulder against the kitchen wall as he took another drag of his joint.

“Well I am, I’m talking to you, aren’t I?” You laughed airly, and Eddie found his lip curling into a smile at the sound of it.

“Like you have a choice when I’m paying for the privilege, sweetheart.”

“Trust me, there are definitely worse people I could be talking to right now,” You whispered, and Eddie wondered what kind of clients you had to deal with on this line to have a response like that. Or maybe you were talking about people in your personal life, maybe family, a boyfriend, a husband–

“What should I call you?” His voice was soft, eager.

“Whatever you wanna call me,” The same sultry rasp returned to your voice as Eddie grinned on the other side of the phone. This felt like something directly out of a budget porno.

“No, what’s your name?”

Most men had fantasies, some had you pretending to be their ex-wives, their coworkers, or their best friend's wives. Anything that would get them off quickly so you could get paid and clock out.

“You not got an ex or a crush or anything you wanna fantasise about, Eddie?” You teased and were met with silence.

Eddie had liked girls in the past, of course, he had. There were plenty of crushes he’d experienced growing up in Hawkins, he’d even convinced himself he was in love with Chrissy Cunningham in high school, but none of them even really mattered to him now.

“Nah,” He scoffed, “Unless you wanna call yourself Elvira.”

“Oh, so you want me to be your mistress of darkness?” You laughed, but Eddie dropped his joint at your response.

“Shit,” He cursed as he bent down to pick it up before he set fire to the trailer, rubbing the fallen ash with a socked foot.

“Is everything okay?” You asked softly.

“Yeah, s’fine.” Eddie grunted, “So you gonna tell me your real name or am I gonna have to guess?”

“You can call me Cherry,”

Eddie knew there had to be some sort of anonymity in doing this job, but he’d hoped that at the very least he might be able to learn your actual name.

“Yeah, okay. Cherry.” Eddie rolled his eyes, “That your real name, yeah?”

“Tonight it is.” You laughed, light and airy and Eddie was certain he was going to pass out. He felt lightheaded as he leaned back against the kitchen wall.

“Okay, Cherry.” Eddie scoffed, but felt himself falling into the illusion, “I guess we’re both just losers at home alone together on a Sunday night, huh?”

His thoughts were immediately consumed by what you might look like- certain that if he were to ask you’d probably concoct an image of his perfect girl just to add to this fantasy.

“I guess we are.” You laughed again and it had Eddie’s heart doing somersaults.

“Pretty shitty for us though, right?”

There's just something about you, or maybe it’s the crippling loneliness he felt, that made him want to open up to you. He wants to tell you every little part about his life and he wants to find out about you too, the real you. Maybe it’s easier because you’re just a faceless voice, a complete stranger that he’ll probably never talk to again. Or maybe it’s the fact that you’re one of the only people that doesn’t think he’s a complete freak, even if he was the one calling a sex line at past midnight. But whatever it was, Eddie found himself opening up to you.

“Things won’t always be shit, Eddie. It feels like it right now, but I promise you things will get better.” Your voice soothed him, the tone softening his exterior as he leaned against the wall of his trailer.

“Hope you’re right about that, sweetheart.” He ran a hand down his face as he sighed, “Pretty certain I’m gonna stay lonely forever.”

“You don’t know that,” You grinned on the other side of the phone, “We can control our own destiny, all we have to decide is what to do with the time given to us.”

“Did you just quote Lord of the Rings to me?” Eddie took a deep breath as he recognised the quote, his heartbeat increasing again.

“Okay, you caught me.” You laughed, “They’re actually my favourite books.”

“Fuck, me too.” He breathed, wondering how it was possible to have one conversation with you and find himself falling hard. Even when he knew absolutely nothing about you, none of this was even real-

“Your time is almost up now, Eddie.” If he wasn’t mistaken, he could’ve sworn he heard your voice drop in sadness, “You’ve wasted all your time talking to me instead of using this service for what it’s actually for.”

“It wasn’t wasted time,” Eddie replied truthfully, he couldn’t remember the last time he smiled this much.

“Well, you’ve got about five minutes left before the line disconnects. Bet I could still get you off in that time if you want.” You teased.

“You seem sure of yourself,” Eddie replied, but he was certain it was true. His cock was painfully hard, and as soon as this call was over he was definitely going to take care of it in his bathroom.

“Hey, what can I say? I’m good at my job.” You laughed again, and he felt his heart doing somersaults.

“Yeah,” He breathed, “You are.”

“You didn’t even get to experience it, Eddie,” You pouted on the other side of the line, an adorable whine to your voice, “You definitely didn’t get your money's worth.”

“Nah, it was perfect.” Eddie hummed, “Have you seen how expensive therapy is? And I didn’t even have to leave my house- You’re underselling yourself, sweetheart.”

He made you laugh.

“Your time is up now, Eddie.” You breathe out a sigh when you notice the countdown has timed down to zero. Not wanting to leave the conversation yet, “I think this is the first time I haven’t made someone cum during a call.”

“Oh, sorry.” Eddie wondered why he’d been so stupid as to not take you up on your offer, it’s what he was paying for after all. But in some ways, the phone call he’d had with you felt better. He was the only man that had spoken to you that hadn’t received his happy ending, although in some sense he thought he had.

“Don’t be sorry, I really enjoyed talking to you.” You sounded sleepy on the other line and Eddie wondered if you were going to bed after this, or maybe you were already laying in bed talking to him. Whether you’d be falling asleep thinking about him the way he knew he’d be thinking about you.

“Me too,” Eddie pauses, before clearing his throat. It’s as though he’d forgotten that this wasn’t a flirty conversation with someone and not a paid sex operator call, “Thanks for— this,”

Eddie didn’t know what to call it, the last hour was spent talking. Wondering how many other men had given the same thanks at the end of a phone call after getting themselves off to the sound of your voice, it’s something he doesn’t want to think about as he stands from his position on the floor.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Night, Eddie.” His heart throbbed at the sound of his name a final time, his hand lingering on the receiver as he waits for you to hang up first. Not quite ready for this all to be over, “Call me back if you actually want me to make you cum next time, yeah? I owe you one.”

“Yeah,” He grins, finally placing the phone back into its bracket as he makes his way towards his bedroom.

Flopping down onto his back on the mattress as the effects of the weed and alcohol have finally worn off, but he’s still left with butterflies tickling his ribcage. His cock still pulsing beneath his jeans as he rolled his hips, the length of it pressed against the rough denim as a low groan rumbled from deep in his chest. The irony was that he’d spent the better part of an hour on the line to a sex line operator and he was still painfully hard after the exchange, his fingers slipping down to his fly to unbutton his pants. Dragging them down just enough to free his aching cock as he wrapped a fist around it, hissing at the temporary relief as he gave himself a languid pump. His thumb swiped against the blunt head to collect the shiny bead of pre that glistened against the tip as he smoothed it down the underside, following the thick veins that scattered along the length of his cock twitch at the sensation.

“Fuck,” Eddie groaned, canting his hips to fuck himself into his fist as his thoughts began to wander, trying to picture what you might look like on the other side of the phone as he heard your voice vividly in his mind.

Leaning forward he pouted his lips to spit onto the tip of his cock for some lubrication, smoothing it along his length as he set a steady pace. He regretted not doing this on the phone with you, the curiosity of it all still heavy on his mind as he tried to imagine some of the filthy stuff you’d say to him to try and get him off. Remembering what you’d said about him telling you his likes and dislikes, so you’d know exactly what would get him off.

Tugging his shirt further up his torso as the dark trails of his happy trail were exposed, eyes clenched shut as he imagined you on your knees for him between his cock. How much better your lips would feel wrapped around his cock compared to his fist, how warm and wet your pretty mouth would be as you bobbed your head along his length. Groaning as he tightened his hand around his girth, fresh pre oozing from his slit as he circled his wrist when he reached the tip of his cock, smoothing it along his length for more lubrication as he began to rut his hips up into his hand.

“Fuck, take it-” He grunted, eyes clenched shut as he concocted the perfect fantasy in his mind. He didn’t have a clue what you looked like, and somehow he was harder than he’d ever been. Even Elvira, Joan Jett or jacking it to those adult film store VHS tapes hadn’t made him this hard, it was as though his entire body was aflame.

Clenching his teeth as his hand began to move with more urgency against his cock, the crude sound of skin against slick skin sounded in his humid bedroom as he moved his free hand to cup his heavy balls. Rolling the heavy weight of them between his fingers as he worked himself towards his release.

“Shit, sweetheart.” He mumbled, as he pictured how wet and tight your pretty pussy would be for him. Wondering how many fingers you’d be able to fit inside you before he split you apart on his cock, wondering how you’d taste-

Eddie tried to imagine your voice moaning his name, the saccharine tone to it sending jolts of electricity directly to his length. His hand tightened around his length to try and replicate how tight your pussy would feel wrapped around his cock, squeezing him as you tried to milk him for all he’s got to give.

He’d never brought himself this close to climax in such a short amount of time, his entire body throbbed as he began to picture how pretty you’d look cumming around his cock. Those velvety walls stroking his length to try and coax him towards his own release, burying himself in your tightness with each rut of his hips.

Eddie began to imagine how pretty you’d look covered in his cum, wishing that he could know what you looked like just so he could picture you with his release all over your face. Wiping the tip of his cock against your pouty lips to smear his cum against the surface as he continued his frantic pace.

“Holy shit, princess.” Eddie groaned as his tongue peeked out between his lips, imagining you beneath him, moaning salaciously as you begged him to fill you up– and he would. God, he wished you were here right now so he could see how pretty you’d look with his cum seeping out of you. Watching your fluttering hole slowly push it out as it dribbled down the curve of your asshole as his slender fingers would catch it- slowly pushing it back inside you, keeping you stuffed full of his cum.

“Eddie,” He imagined how pretty you’d sound when you were about to cum, the slight breathless lilt to your voice as you came around his cock.

He’d never wanted anyone so badly in his life-

“Shit, fuck- fuckin’ take it-” A slew of curses left his lips at the fantasy he’d concocted himself of you, his hips jerking off his mattress roughly as he felt himself falling into his climax, his lips parting in a deep, throaty growl as he fell over the edge of his bliss. Calling out your name as white, hot spurts of cum began to spurt from his cock against his skin. Leaving silvery trails along his torso as he continued to give himself a few more languid pumps to prolong the pleasurable sensation.

Slowly opening his eyes as he was brought crashing back down to reality, laid back against his mattress as he glanced down at the mess he’d made of himself. His cum began to dry against his skin as he ran his other hand through his curly hair, pushing it back from his sweaty forehead as his chest continued to heave from the intensity of his climax. Eddie couldn’t remember the last time he’d made himself cum that hard, leaning over the side of his bed to grab a discarded shirt from the floor to wipe it against his abdomen. Cleaning the cum off his skin as he stayed staring up at the ceiling, trying to coax himself to stand up and shower before bed. The thought only served to make him think about you wet and soapy in the shower waiting for him on your knees, groaning as his spent, softening cock began to twitch at the image.

“Fuckin’ hell,” He groaned, deciding against showering tonight as he checked the time on the alarm clock beside his bed.

Lazily pushing his jeans down his thighs to kick them off his legs, letting the denim fall to his bedroom floor as he tugged his sheet up around his torso. Closing his eyes as he turned onto his side, fatigue began to consume him as he allowed himself to fall into slumber. It was the first night for as long as he could remember where he didn’t wake up during the night with nightmares, his head filled completely with you.  

If someone had told you that you would become a sex line operator you would’ve laughed in their face. A job like this should be for someone with skills, experience and confidence. Areas in which you felt you were severely lacking, but you’d surprised yourself the first time you’d picked up the phone. The job boosted your confidence to no end and allowed you to finally move out of your childhood home.

It wasn’t supposed to be a full-time arrangement, just something you could do between jobs to earn enough money to pay the bills. And the salary you earned in the few hours each night was far more than anything you’d made working at the local store. Sure it was a little unorthodox, but you were determined to earn enough money so that you didn’t have to move back in with your parents, anything would be better than that.

Although you hadn’t been doing this job for long, you still had your fair share of regulars. Men that would specifically ask for you when you called, your boss Bev often vetting them before they were transferred to you. Ensuring that anyone who became too much was banned or transferred to one of the more experienced ladies, your safety was her top priority.

You’d been thinking about Eddie all day, wishing that you’d met under different circumstances so you’d have a way of contacting him. Wondering whether he’d actually fancy you if you’d grown up in the same town and if you’d even have a chance with him. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d smiled that much on a phone call with one of your friends, never mind the clients that you spoke to daily. There was something that had you holding onto the little fantasy that you’d now concocted in your mind with Eddie Munson, although you knew that’s all it would be– a stupid little fantasy.

He probably lived on the other side of the country for all you knew, or maybe he already had a girlfriend. There were a lot of things you had to overlook as part of your job, and unfortunately, there were a lot of negatives. The men that called your sex line were often calling for a reason, and Eddie was no different. You were a means to an end for most people, and you’d have to continue to remind yourself of that. You hadn’t even got him off on the phone call, so you doubted he would call again. But, it had been nice to dream, even for a few moments.

The shrill ring of your phone broke you from your thoughts as you reached out to answer it, snuggling back against the plush cushions of your couch.

“Hello?”

“Hey, darling. There’s a client asking for you by name.” Your boss Bev spoke on the other side of the line.

“Ugh, it’s not that creepy again, is it? I told him to stop calling.” You blanched at the thought, placing a hand over your eyes to try and block him from your memory.  

“No, it ain’t him, but he sounds young? Said he spoke to you last night?” Your boss continued, “I can ask his name-”

“Eddie,” You breathed.

“Oh, you remember.” You could hear the teasing tone of her voice on the other side of the line, “I can tell him you’re not available tonight if you don’t wanna talk to him, darling-”

“No!” You almost shouted, sitting up from your position lying on your sofa, “No, it’s okay. You can patch him through to me.”

“Okay, hun. But you call if you need anything, you hear me? I don’t want to find out any of my men have been taking advantage of you.”

“Thanks, Bev. I will.”

The line clicked to indicate the phone call had been connected and you took a deep breath before speaking.

“Hey, big boy.” You teased, unable to stop the wide grin that covered your face.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Eddie’s soft voice spoke through the receiver, “I hope calling you back so soon is okay? The last lady said I could talk to her, but I just really wanted to talk to you-”

“Of course, it's okay.” It’s more than okay, you wanted to say, “ But I gotta say, Eddie. I didn’t expect you to call back so soon.”

“Oh? Why?”

You’d honestly not expected him to call back at all, so the fact that you were talking to him now had you giddy. Your finger twirled around the phone chord as you spoke into the receiver.

“I dunno,” You chewed your gum, “I don’t feel like you got much from the call last night.”

“Oh no, I really fucking did,” He groaned, “Had the first good night's sleep I’ve had in months.”

“I’m glad,” You smiled, snuggling back against your pillows, “You sound a lot happier today”

“I am.” He breathed softly, “Especially now I’m talking to you.”

“Bet you say that to all the girls,” You laughed.

“Just the real pretty ones.” He shot back.

“Lucky me, huh?”

“I guess you are pretty lucky,” Eddie scoffed, “I mean out of all the guys you could be talking to, you get to talk to me.”

“I’m glad I picked up your call,” You smiled.

“Hey– I was gonna ask you this last night, but I’ve been thinking about this a lot,” Eddie mumbled, “But I was wondering what made you work for a sex line?”

The question caught you off guard, you hadn’t been expecting him to ask the question so soon, and in such an upfront manner. You were often embarrassed about talking about your job, only one of your closest friends knew what you did for a living. You hated the thought of him judging you. Like most people seemed to, it’s why you didn’t tell anyone in your personal life what you did for work.

“It pays the bills,” You shrugged.

“That’s fair enough,” Eddie smiled, “A pretty wild way to pay the bills though.”

“I’m sure you’ve had a few weird jobs to snag a bit of extra cash.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” He laughed and you felt your heart clench.

“So did you call to finally experience my world-class service today?” You laughed, “Since you didn’t get the full experience last night.”

“I’d disagree, cause I think I did,” Eddie’s voice was soft as it flowed through the receiver, “You gave me a lot to think about-”

If only you knew he spent the rest of his evening fisting his cock to the thought of you.

“Oh really?” You grinned, “Want me to impart more of my words of wisdom on you, young padawan?”

“I ain’t here for therapy, sweetheart.” He replied huskily.

“You do realise this is a premium service?” You rolled your eyes, “You’re definitely paying over the odds just to listen to me.”

“Oh, my wallet definitely knows,” Eddie smirked, “I just like the sound of your voice.”

“Your wallet will be sobbing when it’s empty and all you have is my voice,” You laughed.

“I dunno, seems pretty worth it to me,” He shrugged.

“But you shouldn’t settle. You could be getting more for your money, Eddie.”

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie licked his lips, his heart speeding up as he tried to think of what to say next.

“There’s nothing wrong with lowering your inhibitions.” You cooed, “I could help you with any little problems you might have..”

You trailed off, really hoping that he might get the hint, you’d never felt so flustered on a call as you had with Eddie.

Most men left you bored, watching the clock as you pretended that they were the only man in the world.

But with Eddie you didn't have to pretend, he had you curious, inquisitive, desperate for more.

Your clit throbbed at the sound of his voice, thinking about how he would sound saying the most desperate, depraved things to you.

“What problems would those be, sweetheart?”

“I dunno?” You laughed, “Maybe the real reason this line is here?”

“Wait, what.” You could practically feel Eddie blushing on the other side of the phone, “No- that’s not why- I didn’t try to call you back for that-” He stuttered.

“Eddie, relax,” You cut him off with a laugh, “You’re the one calling a sex line, remember? It’s kinda my job.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want you to think that’s the only reason I’m calling for… Cause it isn’t.”

His voice softened on the other side of the phone as you smiled slightly, “You don’t have to be shy, pretty boy. That’s kinda what this line is for.”

“You call all of your callers pretty boy?” He scoffed.

“No, just you.” You teased back, you weren’t one to use pet names during calls even though your clients seemed to like using any and everything to describe you. Different men had different vices so you had to learn to deal with pet names that you wouldn’t always enjoy. Most of the time you blanked out all emotion during these calls, something that meant things wouldn’t become too intense. But when you started speaking to Eddie you felt yourself diving in heart first, slowly feeling yourself yearning for him.

“How’d you know I'm even pretty, eh?” Eddie teased.

“I can just tell,” You hummed, “I have this feeling-”

“You gonna tell me you’re a seer now?” Eddie joked, “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Two,” You joked, but you heard him curse on the other side of the phone.

“Don’t do that shit, sweetheart.” He laughed, “I’ll start believing you.”

“Was I right?” Your cheeks ached from smiling so wide.

“Lucky guess,” He muttered.

“Okay, stop avoiding the question.” You pulled him back to the topic, eager to know the answer, “Tell me what you look like.”

The line went silent for a few moments, the air thick with tension as you were worried that you’d upset him. The truth was Eddie was scared to tell you what he looked like, nervous even. Unsure how he could make himself sound attractive over a phone call when you couldn’t even see him. He wanted so desperately to make himself sound like a fantasy, like the way the elves were described in all his fantasy novels- the perfect creatures. But all he could think of were things that would put most women off, the same way it had put off the women in Hawkins.

“You first.” He deflected.

“Uh-uh, I asked first.” You joked back.

“Aren’t I the paying customer?” You could hear the smirk in his voice, and you knew at that moment he’d won.

“Ugh, fine.” You huffed, “Cheap trick.”

“Are you going to tell me what you look like, or what Cherry looks like?”

“How would you know the difference?”

“Wow, sweetheart. You really gonna lie to me?”

“Who said it would be a lie?”

“What do you normally say when guys ask what you look like?”

“Usually they already have a specific fantasy in mind, so I just go along with whatever they like to avoid disappointment.”

“Well, you definitely don’t need to worry about disappointing me,” Eddie mumbled, “I just wanna know what you look like.”

“But don’t you have a fantasy in mind, Eddie?” You continued, “Something sordid that’ll help make this conversation better.”

“It doesn’t need to be better.” He shook his head, holding the receiver between his shoulder and neck to reach into his pocket to grab his packet of cigarettes. Placing one between his lips as he reached for his zippo, “It’s already perfect. You’re already perfect.”

“We’ve had one conversation, how do you know that?”

“Trust me, I can just fuckin’ tell,” He laughed, “Now please tell me what you look like?”

“Begging now, hm?” You laughed, “Is this a new kink reveal?”

“Shut up,” He scoffed before becoming more serious, “Please?”

“Okay,” You breathed nervously.

You’d never told any clients what you really looked like before.

You tried your best to describe yourself as honestly as possible, wondering what sort of fantasy this would put into his head about you. Whether he’d be imagining what you looked like, or an over-embellished version of you. Deliberately leaving the things out about yourself that you didn’t like as much, as you focused on your hair colour, length and eye colour. You hoped he liked what he heard, even just a little– wishing you could see into his mind and see what he was envisioning.

“Oh, fuck. You sound beautiful.” He exhales softly, “Wish I could see you for real.”

“Okay, your turn.” You avoid the compliment, thinking that he was creating a perfect version of you in his mind that didn’t reflect how you looked. Trying to ignore the sadness that washed over you as you thought about that, the thought that if he saw you in real life he wouldn’t feel the same way.

“I dunno what to say, I’ve got long brown hair, brown eyes, tall, boring.” He trailed off.

“Nothing about you seems boring, Eddie Munson.” You smiled, “And I happen to think long hair is real sexy.”

“Yeah?”

“Something to hold on to when you’re between my thighs, right?”

“Fuck,” He groaned, the subtle thud of his head banging against a wall played in the background as you smiled into the phone, “You got no idea what you’re doing to me, sweetheart. Seriously.”

“Well, I could be doing more, but someone doesn’t seem to want to.” You teased.

“It ain’t that I don’t want to,” Eddie mumbled, “Cause I really fuckin’ do.”

“So what is it then?”

“I just really like talkin’ to you,” He shrugged, taking another drag of his cigarette, “It’s just nice to talk to someone.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at his compliment, realising more and more that you enjoyed talking to him too. It was a breath of fresh air compared to the other clients you had to deal with on the phone each evening, and you felt yourself becoming a little less hollow in his presence.

“Well you are the paying customer, and I aim to please- but remember I do have other services available.” You laughed.

“I’ll take you up on them, sweetheart. I promise.”

The thought had you squeezing your thighs together as you imagined his smooth voice talking to you through the phone- telling you to do the nastiest, most depraved things.

“Once again, your times nearly up and we’re both still completely clothed.”

“Next time, for sure,” He grinned, “Since you seem desperate to get me naked.”

His cock was throbbing the entire time like it always was when he spoke to you– but you didn’t need to know that.

“Says you! You’re the one calling a sex line.”

“And yet this has been the most PG conversation you’ve had.” Eddie laughed and it had your heart thumping inside your chest.

“So tomorrow?” You laughed.

“Yeah! I– Fuck,” Eddie groaned, “ I forgot- I won’t be able to talk to you tomorrow, I’ve got a show.”

“A show?”

“Yeah, I’m in a band. We play at a bar outside the town every Tuesday.”

“You didn’t tell me you were in a band!” You teased, “You should’ve led with that, it’s hot.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah! What do you play?”

“Guitar, and sometimes I dabble in vocals, depending on what it is.” He laughed, “Our crowd of five drunks seem to enjoy it at least. We get a standing ovation at the end of every show, although it’s usually when they’re trying to get to the bar.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his honesty, imagining him giving the performance of his life for the smallest crowd. Part of you wished you had friends in the area to go out with too, instead of spending all your time cooped up inside your tiny apartment. Moving to a new area had made it difficult to maintain your old friendships and create new ones, the thought of going out to meet new people was completely daunting as you spent most weekends alone. 

“Well, I hope you put on a great show for them tomorrow, Eddie.” You smiled, trying to ignore the twang in your chest that he wouldn’t be calling you the next night, “I’ll speak to you soon?”

“Of course you will,” His voice softened, “Night, sweetheart.”

“Sweet dreams, Eddie.”

“Well I’ll be thinking about you, so they should be.” He grinned, finally hanging up the call as you heard the familiar dial tone.

You replayed his final words in your mind as the line went dead, the familiar dial tone sounding through the receiver as you held it against your chest. “I’ll be thinking about you, so they should be.” you were one step away from squealing and kicking your legs in glee as you felt your entire body heat up. Although you couldn’t shake the slight disappointment that he’d told you that he wouldn’t be talking to you the next night because of his gig, already looking forward to his calls each evening. The conversations you’d had with Eddie helped you feel a little less alone in your empty apartment, a little more human after the monotonous conversations you’d have with your other clients.

If you lived in the same city you’d be able to go to the show with him tomorrow night, to see him play guitar in his band in the dingy dive bar. But instead, you were stuck here, painfully alone. Letting your thoughts begin to wander as you thought about being his biggest cheerleader as you watched him perform, his fingers strumming against the guitar strings as you felt your cheeks begin to heat up.

His fingers.

Imagining how they would feel stroking along your inner thighs, tracing a path up towards the heat between your thighs. Pressing against your clit through the thin cotton of your panties as he watched you grind down against his hand, eager for any kind of relief as you arched your back into him. Rubbing your thighs together to try and quell the ache as you wished he would’ve taken you up on the offer to have a salacious conversation on the phone, making it the first time you’d ever touched yourself on a call with another client.

Your hands moved to grasp your breasts through the thin fabric of your nightshirt as your nipples began to pebble against the fabric, your thumbs brushing over them as you gasped in pleasure. Thighs rubbing together to create some friction as you tried to imagine Eddie’s voice whispering your name as he pressed searing hot kisses against the curve of your neck, trying to press the pads of your fingers down harder against your skin to try and replicate how his hands would feel against your body. Sliding a palm down your stomach to press against your leggings, rolling your hips into your touch as you thought about his fingers slipping inside your tight, wet cunt as he slowly stretched you out.

Imagining how pretty his cock was, wondering how thick he was, how long he was- the thoughts had your cunt clenching around nothing as you imagined how much he’d stretch you out. Reaching places that your fingers couldn’t quite make, filling you up and fucking you into the shape of his cock.

“Eddie,” You whimpered, your eyes clenched shut as you tried to imagine him here with you, your hand slipping beneath the hem of your leggings and panties as you pressed against the top of your mound. Your fingers delved between your messy folds as you found your clit. Rubbing soft figures of eight against it as you imagined Eddie’s fingers, the pads calloused from years of playing guitar as he began to work you towards your climax.

“Come on, pretty girl- you can do it for me, can’t you?” Wishing you knew what he looked like to try and complete your perfect fantasy, “I know you wanna cum-”

You trembled as you kept your slow, steady pace. Your hips moved in tandem with your fingers as you worked yourself towards your climax, his name on the tip of your tongue as your walls began to flutter in the telltale signs of your release.

Thinking about him bending you over in the dimly lit bathroom of the dive bar after his show when he was covered in a thick sheen of sweat from the performance, the taste of weed and beer on his tongue as he pulled you back with a palm around your neck to stare at your reflection in the mirror. His hard cock pounding into you as he made you stare at yourself, watching as he split you apart on his cock.

“Are you gonna come for me, sweetheart?” He cooed into your ear, his warm breath fanning your cheek, “Wanna watch you come undone for me-”

You could feel it, you were so close to the edge as you began to place more pressure against your clit, determined to vault into your bliss before you heard the shrill tone of your phone ringing in the background.

“Fuck,” You growled as you pulled your hand from your leggings, scrambling to reach the phone you’d hung back on the dock as you tried to pick up in time before your client was transferred to another operator.

You couldn’t pass up the opportunity for another call, not right now with rent due. Your nose scrunched in frustration as your clit throbbed with neglect, your entire body so close to the release you coveted.

“Hi there, handsome.” You cooed into the phone, immediately putting on your sultry phone voice as you heard your client reply through the receiver, “I’m so glad you called-”

The lie came out so naturally now, you were so used to the lie on the phone with these men- but you couldn’t help but wish it was Eddie on the other side.

[k-evans-reads]

On Deck

Chapter 6

Summary: Although they grew up in the same small town, Chris and Sam had both gone their separate ways a long time ago. Chris moved up to become a MLB star, one of the best in the business, while Sam stayed stuck in the same small town. But when multiple injuries ended the Red Sox prodigy’s career, he winds up back in the same small town he swore he’d never be back to. The past may not stay in the past any longer, as old wounds begin to creep back up.

Pairing: MLB!Chris Evans X OFC Samantha “Sam” Merrick

Word Count: 3,980

By: @k-evans-writes and @ourfinest-hour

We do NOT give permission for our works to be reuploaded, translated, or reposted on any other site. Our work is our own.

Warnings: None.

Previous | Main Masterlist | On Deck Masterlist

Sam pushed through the kitchen doors, hanging her bag on the hook as she sighed deeply. It’d been four days since Chris had been at Sam’s apartment, four regret-filled, anxiety-inducing days. She knew that she was overthinking all of it. Sam had barely seen Chris since then and what little interactions they shared had been awkward, things having seemingly shifted dramatically in the wake of that night, causing Sam to keep beating herself up for it happening at all. 

She kept trying to say it was just a random thing that happened, even though she knew it wasn’t true. But she just knew she couldn’t cross that line again. She couldn’t risk how it would affect his relationship with Riley, especially when she knew it wouldn’t mean anything. Chris would end up leaving town and going back to his life and she’d still be here, serving shitty food to the same people. So why possibly damage Riley’s view of Chris or make things weird? She knew it was a mistake and decided to just put it out of her mind but it was hard when the first thing she was greeted with was his name. 

Ify’s voice broke through Sam’s thoughts as she placed her name tag on her black shirt. “Chris was here this morning,” her friend said, from where she was wiping off the prep table. 

“And?” She asked, a bit cold, “A lot of people eat here.” 

“But not a lot who are into you the way he is,” Ify raised her eyebrows, leaning her hip against the table and looking at her best friend.

Sam rolled her eyes, passing Ify to clock into the system. “He’s not into me,” she muttered.

“You guys made out. I think he’s into you.” 

“I think it’s more like he doesn’t have a lot of options in this town,” Sam said what she knew to be the truth. 

“Well he certainly was disappointed when I walked out to take his order and not you. He didn’t even say hi to me at first, just asked where you were,” Ify told her quickly, Sam pausing momentarily before she shook her head. “I’m telling you, he’s had those puppy dog eyes for you for a while now but I think you guys making out caused it to go off the charts.” 

“We did a lot more than making out,” Sam muttered before deciding to turn to Ify and tell her the whole story, “After the carnival he came to my place.” 

“Are you serious?!” 

“Yeah and it was not a good decision. Things have been so weird between us since then. I knew it would be,” the stress was evident on Sam’s face while she tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. 

“It must not be that bad if he was asking where you were earlier though,” Ify surmised before tilting her head, wondering, “Where were you anyway?” 

She punched her code into the computer, biting out, “Begging my landlord not to kick us out because the rent was late again, that’s where I was.” 

“You know if you need anything Sam…” 

“I know but it’s okay. I took care of it,” she assured her, shaking her head. She checked the dining room again, seeing it was still empty as the early dinner crowd hadn’t arrived yet. When she came back into the kitchen to do some sidework, she ignored Ify’s concerned looks, the pair working silently as a tense feeling settled between them. 

She was snapped out of her own head when she felt her phone vibrating incessantly in her back pocket, pulling it out and instantly declining Chris’ call. She just wasn’t ready to face the inevitable conversation, just not yet. He tried calling her two more times, Sam sending each to voicemail, taking a minute to compose herself before she rolled more silverware. But soon, the shrill tone of the diner phone rang, Sam’s stomach dropping as she recognized the number on the screen. 

Without even a greeting, she picked up the phone, harshly whispering, “Chris, I can’t talk about this right now. Ken is here and-” 

“Riley’s hurt,” he said quickly, Sam feeling as if she’d be sick from those two words. 

“What?” 

“At practice he slid into home and caught his cleat on the side of the base and I think he broke his ankle, and he smacked his head on the catcher,” he was quick to reply, Sam hearing some fumbling on the other end as Chris moved and muffled voices, presumably from the other players. 

Tears burned in her eyes, Sam nodding even though he couldn’t see her. “Oh my god, okay, I’m coming right now and I’ll take him straight to the hospital.” 

“We already got him in my car and I’m taking him,” he replied, Sam able to hear a car door slamming in the background. “The trainer is at the lacrosse game across town, so we’re just going straight there.”

“I’ll meet you there,” she said, looking at Ify’s concerned face as she nodded, having a silent conversation with Sam. 

Without even saying a word to Ify, her best friend told her to go, promising she’d cover her shift and get Bridget in to help quickly. She ran out of the diner, getting in her car and driving the- thankfully short- distance to the hospital, barely turning the car off before she ran inside the emergency room. 

Sam raced inside the sliding doors, going right to the front desk and asked, “Where’s Riley Merrick?” 

“I’ll have to check, hold on,” The woman calmly said while scrolling on her computer. 

Sam impatiently tapped her foot, anxiety getting the best of her as she waited until the woman told her what room he was in and the moment that number left her mouth, Sam took off down the hallway. When she came bursting into the room, she found Riley laying on the small bed, his left foot elevated and a hand resting on his forehead, eyes slightly bleary as he stared at nothing. 

“Riley, are you alright?” She asked, coming to a stop at the side of his bed, eyes roaming all over her brother quickly. He was still in his dirty clothes from practice, dirt covering the legs of his pants. A cleat was still on his left foot, probably to reduce any excess swelling, but the right one was sitting haphazardly on the ground, Riley’s hair a sweaty mess. 

He nodded, cringing a little at the motion as he squeezed his eyes shut. “I think so, but my head hurts.” 

“Remember they said to keep your eyes closed, the lights are really bright, bud,” Sam heard a familiar voice say from behind her as a big hand reached around her to gently rub Riley’s shoulder. 

Sam’s eyes left Riley for the first time since entering the room, turning to see Chris sitting behind her with nothing but worry on his face. There was so much left unsaid between them, a layer of thick awkwardness hanging in the air but both of them were able to push that aside for the time being and focus on Riley and what they could do for him.

He gave her a sad look before explaining, “They think he has a concussion, but we’re waiting for a doctor.” 

She nodded, standing by Riley and talking quietly to him for a few minutes, before she could tell he was drowsy. With a promise that she’d still be there when he woke up, he drifted off, Sam sitting down in the chair next to Chris with a sigh, eyes never leaving Riley’s lanky frame. 

They were both silent for several minutes, watching Riley as he slept. She almost forgot Chris was even there until his low, emotional voice apologized to her, saying, “I’m so sorry, Sammy.” 

She turned her head, looking at him with confusion. “It’s not your fault,” she told him with a strong voice, eyes looking at the guilt written all over him. 

“It is. It happened during my practice.” 

“It was just a fluke thing,” Sam insisted, sitting up straight and turning to face Chris fully.

“It wasn’t, I know a fluke,” Chris shook his head, taking off his hat and running a hand through his brown hair, before he put the hat back on and added, “This was just him not knowing how to slide right because I didn’t explain it well enough.” 

“I doubt that. I can’t get Riley to shut up about all the explanations you give about baseball,” she replied, a tiny laugh escaping her, before her eyes suddenly filled with tears. 

His brows pinched and Chris finally turned to look at her as her laugh choked off into a repressed sob. “Are you alright, Sammy?” 

“Yeah,” she nodded, furiously wiping away the tears, glancing towards Riley. She deflated a bit, her heart dropping again as she looked over his sleeping frame and admitted, “He just… he looks so small.” 

“Hey, hey. C’mere,” Chris whispered, reaching an arm across his shoulders and pulling her into his side, instantly feeling comforted by his presence. “He’s going to be okay.” 

“I just hate seeing him lying there hurt.” 

“I know,” Chris agreed, his voice dropping as he continued,“But it’s all going to be okay, I promise. We’ll get him treated and home tonight.” 

She nodded, swallowing and wiping away the rest of her tears, pulling back from his embrace. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to start crying,” she shook her head, embarrassed. She’d always gotten by, survived everything she’d been through, by being guarded. And within twenty minutes of being in the hospital room, her guard had slipped, and in front of Chris. She willed herself to put it back up and pull herself together, especially with all that laid between them, looking away as she said, “You don’t need to stay now that I’m here.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him nod, looking down at his lap. She expected him to get up and grab his jacket that had been thrown over the couch on the far wall, but he surprised her. “Just let me stay,” he said quietly, Sam turning to look at him with wide eyes. “Then Riley won’t be alone when you’re talking to the doctor.” 

Sam didn’t realize it but when she heard that he was staying, a feeling of relief washed over her. Although they both knew things still were a bit uncomfortable, Sam needed some support in this moment, more than she even realized. She sat back in her chair, not even blinking when Chris reached over and slipped his hand into hers, offering a little bit of comfort in the stressful moment. 

They sat there for a long time, holding hands loosely as they waited for the doctor to arrive. But Sam realized something she’d forgotten, apologizing to Chris as she suddenly stood up, digging through her bag for her phone and going into the hall, making her way around the corner as she dialed her mother’s number. As the phone stopped ringing, silence on the other end, Sam rolled her eyes slightly, saying, “Hey mom.” 

“Sam, do you know what time it is? I was dead asleep,” her mother yawned, oblivious to Sam’s worry. 

“I know mom, but Riley’s hurt.” 

“Hurt? What’s going on? Is he alright?” 

“Yeah he’s okay but we’re waiting for the doctor-”

“Doctor? Sam, are you at the hospital?” 

“Yeah he has a possible concussion and maybe a broken ankle,” she explained, picking at a loose thread on her shirt, steeling herself as she heard the sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. 

“Has the doctor seen him yet?” Susan asked, Sam feeling a flush of anger at the lack of concern from the woman. “If he hasn’t, you still have time to leave.” 

“Leave? Mom, he needs to see a doctor,” she insisted, clenching her jaw as she stared out a wide window, seeing the rain that had begun to fall since she arrived. 

“Samantha, do you have any clue how much that’s going to cost to take him to the hospital? We can’t afford it!” Susan yelled, “We could barely pay the rent this morning let alone a trip to the hospital.” 

She felt tears fill her eyes at the insincerity and cold way her mother spoke, shaking her head incredulously as she almost begged, “I know but Riley is really hurt.” 

“If he has a concussion, they’re going to just send him home to rest and a broken ankle will heal. We can’t afford it and that’s the end of it.” 

“No it isn’t. I’m not leaving here until Riley is seen by a doctor and I’m sure that he’s alright,” she responded, tears slipping down her cheeks, Sam fighting to keep her voice down. 

“How do you not understand that we can’t afford it?” 

“No, how do you not understand that Riley is laying in a hospital bed right now in pain and you don’t seem to care!” 

“I do care but that’s not the only factor here!” 

“Well it is to me.” 

And with that, Sam clicked the red button on the phone to end the call. She was already worried sick over Riley, she didn’t need to deal with her mother’s arguing on top of it. So many emotions were inside of her, honestly layers and layers of them and it took everything within her to hold it all inside as she trudged back into the room. She tried to keep her head down so that Chris wouldn’t see her red eyes, not wanting that vulnerable piece of herself to show. 

“Is everything alright?” She heard him ask almost as soon as she stepped inside the small hospital room, Sam pausing in her steps. 

“Fine,” she muttered, wiping the tears away. 

“You sure?” 

She nodded, contemplating what to share before she pushed through that wall, venting, “...It’s just my mother. She’s a lot more concerned with what it’s costing than Riley.” 

His eyes widened incredulously, his face flushing furiously as he asked, slightly loudly, “Are you serious?” 

“Yes! And I just don’t understand how she could even say that when he…when he’s laying there,” she gestured, cutting herself off once she looked away from Chris. 

When Sam’s eyes drifted over to Riley’s sleeping form, those emotions that were right at the surface tried to bubble over. She furiously blinked, trying to keep her tears at bay but when Chris stood up and gently pulled her up against his chest and held her so warmly, making her feel so safe, it was impossible for her to keep that wall up anymore. Sam buried her face into Chris’ white tee shirt as the tears started pouring from her eyes, all of the pent up emotions coming out in that moment. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be this emotional,” she choked out as she pulled a hand up, wiping it over her face as she avoided his eyes, looking at Riley instead. 

“Samantha, will you just stop it?” Chris asked, in a way that could almost seem harsh, except she knew he was just trying to get her to listen to him. “Stop acting like it’s wrong to have feelings. You’re carrying a lot, you’re well within your rights to be frustrated.”

She shook her head stubbornly, knowing she should just suck it up and push through it. “But it’s not-”

“Nope,” Chris cut her off, dropping his hands and moving one to tilt her chin up, forcing her to look at him. His eyes were clear, his face stubbornly set, and she couldn’t help but listen to him and take in his words. “I’m not even going to listen to some shitty excuse as to why you think you should be tougher than this or some stupid shit.” 

She nodded, her lip wobbling as she confessed, “I just don’t feel like I’m handling any of this well. I can barely keep our normal lives together let alone when something goes wrong,” 

“From where I’m standing, that’s a load of shit,” Chris told her, raising a single brow. “Because ever since the moment I stepped foot back in this town, I’ve seen you literally bust your ass to take care of Riley and give him a better life than you had.” 

“I just don’t feel like I’m doing a very good job,” she admitted with a short laugh bubbling out of her, shaking her head.

“Well you are,” his voice was soft, “And right now you’re emotional but don’t let it get in your head and convince you something that’s not true.” 

She nodded, listening to him before she swallowed, an emotional cry rising from her chest before she confessed, “It’s just a lot sometimes.” 

Chris nodded, rubbing his hands over her shoulders before he leaned down, pressing a kiss on the top of her head before he whispered, “It is and I’m glad you can see that. Maybe that’ll help you understand why the people around you want to help you and take some of that off of you.” 

“I’m just so tired of being that girl who works at a shitty dead-end job and still can’t hardly scrape any money together,” Sam said, without an ounce of bitterness in her voice. She’d be holding in these frustrations for so long, not wanting to make Riley feel like a burden, or open herself up for criticism with her insufferable mother, or be on the receiving end of Ify’s endless supply of pity again. When Chris didn’t say anything, she felt thankful, finally getting to let these words out and she continued, “I’m tired of fighting with my mom. I’m tired of Riley having that anxious look on his face when he tells me that he needs something new for school and knows how much it’s going to cost. I’m tired of Ken jumping down my throat at the diner for every little thing. I’m tired of getting up and doing the same thing every single day and not making any progress. I’m tired of being stuck.” 

“Sammy,” Chris breathed, but this time the sympathy coming from him felt sincere, something she’d never experienced with everyone else. They, despite the help they offered, seemed to just keep going on with their lives in a way that was always unfair to Sam, but Chris was showing that was different with him. “That’s not true, you’re not stuck.” 

“But I am Chris. I am stuck and I know it. I know there isn’t a way out of this and I hate it,” she replied, not even flinching when his hands came to gently wipe away her tears. “For once in my life I want to be able to walk home and actually be happy to be there, not frustrated when another thing broke, or hear the neighbors yelling. I want to be able to get Riley the new sneakers he wants, or go out to dinner. I want to be able to not have my entire life dictated by money.” 

“I wish I could take this all away for you,” he breathed, a sad frown on his face as he watched her.

She shook her head, feeling the frustration flowing through her as she wiped away her own tears.“I know that I shouldn’t be complaining because I still have enough to eat and a place to live but sometimes I’m just so sick of being the diner girl,” she confessed. 

“You’re not just the diner girl, Sammy,” he instantly replied, before continuing quickly, “You’re so caring and thoughtful, always remembering every tiny detail someone shared with you. You always seem to know how to support other people, knowing when to lean in and when to give space. You’re honest and don’t say things you don’t mean. I know what an incredible sister you are with not only how Riley talks about you but how you chose to step up and take care of him. You’ve sacrificed what you wanted to be able to give Riley more than you had, which only shows how selfless you are. And Sammy, god you’re so funny and sarcastic in the best way and you’re just… you’re incredible and the last thing I think of when I think of you is just the diner girl.” 

She was speechless, unable to form any coherent thoughts as he spoke, shaking her head a little when he was done. She felt entirely undeserving of those words, that praise, and she wasn’t sure how to respond, especially when the guy she was starting to fall for said those things. “Thank you Chris.” 

“And you’re a pretty crier which honestly is pretty rare,” he said with a smirk, causing Sam to laugh out loud. 

They settled back into their chairs for the long wait to be seen, a nurse checking in about an hour later to look at Riley’s vitals and take a look at his ankle. Chris slipped out of the room at this point, heading to grab them some sandwiches and water from the cafeteria, arriving just as the doctor came strolling in the door and Sam was waking up Riley. With a diagnosis of a sprained ankle and mild concussion in hand, they were sent on their way with painkillers for the night, instructions to wake him up every few hours overnight, and orders to get an appointment with Riley’s regular doctor within a few days. Chris offered to drive them both home, saying he’d take Sam to get her car the next day once things calmed down.

After getting Riley up the stairs and into bed, Sam shut his door with a sigh, practically deflating as the last of the adrenaline finally left her body, leaving her exhausted. She collapsed next to Chris on the couch with a deep sigh, silent until she whispered, “Chris… thank you for everything today.” 

His brows furrowed as he looked at her, shaking his head instantly. “You don’t need to thank me,” he said, confusion written all over his face. 

“I want to. I don’t know what I would have done without you,” Sam confessed, shaking her head back. She swallowed, struggling to find the words but finally said, “I know that things are a little, well… different between us now and how things have been since, well, you know, but I guess I’m just trying to say I really appreciate you being there for me today.” 

“Hey, let’s just forget about that and move on, okay?” He asked quietly, laying a hand on top of hers on the couch. “I care about you and Riley and I’m honored I could be there to support you.” 

“Thank you,” she smiled, slightly watery and feeling exhausted. 

“You’re welcome Sammy,” he said back with a smile of his own, before he sighed, pulling his hand away from hers as he began to stand up. “Well I should probably get going.” 

“Okay,” she nodded, bringing her legs up to tuck them next to her on the sagging, old couch cushion. “So I’ll see you tomorrow then?” 

“Yeah, definitely,” he grinned, grabbing his jacket from where he’d thrown it over the back of the couch. He turned his head, raising an eyebrow at her as he asked, “Promise me that you’ll text me if you need anything?” 

She nodded, playing with the hem of the loose shirt she had changed into. “I promise I will.” 

Chris gave her a soft smile while reaching out to gently brush his knuckles along her smooth cheek, quietly saying “Goodnight Sammy,” in that low raspy voice and as the door to the apartment shut behind him, Sam knew without a doubt she was totally a goner, and felt something shift between them for good this time. 

[hellmersy]

mini rants about my DBD survivor mains (plus the outfits I have for them) bc I have THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS. (Also sorry, ik I'm pretty much just talking about the same survivors over and over again but I'm like totally feral for them and will literally talk about them any chance I get)

Zarina Kassir: Despite being an overall good person Zarina does have a bit of a darker side to her. Her time spent undercover has affected her morals in some ways and by that I mean she has 100% killed someone before. We know from her lore that she had her Father's murderers arrested and convicted, but one time she went deep for an expo piece about a human trafficking ring and the things she witnessed in those two years changed her as a person. When all was said and done she lured the "ring master" back to his home, drugged him, set it ablaze and didn't look back. She talks with Tapp about cases that went wrong sometimes, about what they wish they had done right or better the first time, people they wish they could have saved. It's cathartic for them both in a way, nothing close to closure but something akin to it and for that she is greatfull.

David King: The reason it took David so long to come out is mostly due to the aristocratic brainwashing he has been fed since he was a child. When he came into the realm he was cold and distant but with time he became the protector, the person who fought for his friends even if it meant he died as a result. The lessons he had been taught from an early age told him that if he really was "one of those queers" then his value as a person would become non-existent and his friends and family would abandon him. His "friends" before the fog took him however, were basically tailor made to his parents expectations; All from other wealthy families, promising futures with good connections. Eventually he realized he wasn't a person to his family at all, he was a marketing campaign, a tool to expand their company further. He didn't know what to expect from these people that, despite him having died for multiple times, he still didn't truly trust, he didn't want them to be the same. So he never told them. Claudette was the first person to ask why he looked at Dwight like he was in love with him. David got defensive, then angry, then broke down sobbing. It was very dramatic. Claudette gives the best hugs for such a petite woman and he's eternally grateful for her friendship.

Mikaela Reid: Mikaela's debut to the arcane and witchcraft was a desperate attempt to contact her Father's spirit. She was 16 and alone, living in a shitty New England foster home that barely gave her the bare necessities and she just wanted to have a proper goodbye. She didn't get it... The Moonstone Cafe was her safe space, it was her salvation tucked into a little hole in the wall, but her Foster Parents had strict rules and harsh punishments that followed them. Starting her job at the Moonstone was the first good thing since her dad died, and was pretty much the only time she got out of the foster home aside from school. The second best thing was Julian, they met at one of the open mic storytelling nights and connected instantly, he was her muse and her best friend, he loved her and her stories and wanted only for her to thrive with the shit hand life dealt her. Now she mourns, because she can feel it in her soul that he's dead. The thing that took her ensured there would be no witnesses to it, and she hates it. Little does she know her hatred only makes it stronger...

Felix Richter: Felix often finds himself disassociating while not in a trial. All those years of thinking his parents were some part insane only to find out they were right all along, it broke something in him. His anxious ways are replaced by a catatonia that only Elodie can guide him out of and despite being in the realm for some time before she showed up he's only now starting to connect with others. Elodie is the one to tell him that his wife was pregnant the last she'd heard of her, that she was safe and mourning and starting to get her life back in order. This didn't exactly bring the sort of comfort that she'd hoped for.

SURVIVOR OUTFITS

Zarina Kassir 1: Asymmetrical Pink, Armored Undercover Jacket, White Denim.

Zarina Kassir 2: Easy Beanie, Convenient Jacket (Blue), Dark Denims (Teal).

Zarina Kassir 3: Defiant Shades, Leather Jacket (you only get this if you bought the chains of hate chapter, otherwise I also just use her default sometimes), Urban Cargo Pants.

David King 1: Trendy Specs (these are a rift cosmetic from Tome 11 so if you don't have them I recommend "Matinee Idol"), Dress Shirt & Suspenders, Dress Pants & Loafers.

David King 2: Golden Strands (these were a login reward during the 5th year anniversary. I think... If you don't have them I recommend "Hangover Style" 😉), Flashy Bartender, Distressed Denim (these two pieces were also part of the rift from tome 11).

David King 2.5: Stubborn Mug (or the "bloody David" headpiece if you have him at P6 after the prestige rework), Foggy Day Jacket, Cargo Trousers

David King 3: Hungover Haircut, Newsboy Vest, Checkered Past.

Mikaela Reid 1: Mystical Updo (headpiece from the current rift as of September 2022), Crescent Denim Jacket, Studded Shoes (leg piece from the current rift)

Mikaela Reid 2: Short Copper Curls, Golden Bangles (body piece from the current rift), Studded Shoes.

Mikaela Reid 3: Soft Round Crown Hat, Violet Off-Shoulder Top, Plum Thorn Tights & Shorts.

Felix Richter 1: Autumn Beard, Fashion Bomber, Business Trousers ( aka his default pants).

Felix Richter 2: Side Quiff, Designer Button-up, Boots & Blues.

Felix Richter 2.5: Charming Hair, Vested Design, Handsome Trousers (White)

Felix Richter 3: Post-Shower Hairstyle, Bowling Shirt, Ripped Midnight Jeans.

BONUS

The Huntress: Snow Ram Skull, Thick Hunters Coat, Wrapped Broad Axe.

The Artist: Inky Gaze, Nonconformist Dress, Mournful Blade (or Venous Blade).

The Trickster: Frosty Eyes, Polychrome Streetwear, Acute Head-Smasher.

The Legion: Atlas Flint Mask, Taped-Up Jumpsuit, Stealthy Blade.

The Hag: Ashen Locks, Molten Limbs, Calcified Talons.

The Pig: Reverse Bear Trap, Genuine Cool, Thorn's Kiss.

The Nurse: Dark Rose Gauze, Choking Corset, Lamenting Saw.

[girlindelusionn]

not even close, robin x you

summary:

you hate mornings, but robin knows how to make everything better

details:

stablished relationship cause i'm that lazy, no tws (please correct me if i'm wrong) and obviously fem reader, it's just fluff, also the reader is hispanic/knows spanish, cause i'm hispanic and i say so

okay so i'm back? i guess. i wrote this crap in an hour, while avoiding studying for finals i'm definitely gonna fail, so don't have much expectations

i also wanna start taking requests! specifically for robin, cause as you see i'm obsessed, but maybe ill get around to write another character.

so if you have any prompts please send them my way!

She knew how much you hated waking up.

She had listened to you complaining about it relentlessly ("it just… absurdly difficult for such a simple task!! And I always promise myself, today i'mma do it right but then it my bed is so warm and my dreams are so interesting and the other option is having to come here to this school and– you see where i'm going with this?") She had watched you come in late to math class every Thursday and Tuesday of the year. Five month in, you stopped apologizing and the teacher stopped complaining. At least after starting to work in Scoops Ahoy (yes, you had to wear the stupid outfit, but your way out of this hell hole isnt gonna pay itself), you had Robin. Who always saved you a seat beside her and offered you her notebook to copy the first twenty minutes of notes.

But something had changed that summer. And it was not the fact that you made enemies with evil russians (which um, was still surreal) and neither the fact that you had escaped that monster, as you and Robin liked to call it, of highschool. Or, you know, actual monsters. Of course that helped, leaving high school was always good for people like you, but finally getting around to confess your forbidden crush on your best friend just felt a liiitle more significant. (Yes, more than the russians. You're still a teenager after all.)

It hadn't been pretty. There were tears and cursing and dramatic rain, cause life liked to fuck with you sometimes, but you got passed all the hatred youve been taught since birth and figured it out. You have been dating for almost six months.

Now summer is long gone, but you don't have classes to get late anymore. The only goal now was to get as much cash as shitty jobs could give to get as far as possible. You both were thinking about France, but neither had explicitly said it. It still felt delusional, the idea of leaving. But maybe it was closer than you both thought.

Either way, for now, being out to her parents and feeling like her house was more of a home than yours ever was, was enough. Robin managed to make everything better. For example, your most evil enemy (still not the russians): early mornings.

Now, when the sun hits your face, first hour in the morning, the first thing you notice isn't how cold you are or how good was the dream you were having, cause you feel her warm body beneath you and who cares about a dream when life is this good anyway?

So the first thing you do, as you're laying on her chest, is smile like an idiot. Cause, again, you're still a teenager and love does that sometimes. She must feel the gesture on her chest, because she hums and whispers "good morning, sweetie" with the cutest voice you could ever imagine.

"Good morning, linda" you reply, ready to get your morning "no!!! my breath stinks!!!" kiss. Instead, she pulls away just enough so you can see her confused face.

"Who the hell is Linda?" she almost looks mad. You chuckle.

"Lets see, miss 'fluent in four languages', how do you say pretty in spanish?"

"Oh…" she blushes, you laugh harder.

"Idiot"

She frowns jokingly, now pulling away to the point your bodies aren't touching anymore.

"Um… excuse me?" You shiver a bit, rolling your eyes with affection when you see her keep the fake offended face.

"Come baaack…" you ask. But she manages to escape your embrace. You knew getting a bigger bed was going to be a problem.

"No, I'm deeply hurt. I didn't think you capable to do such hurt" You try to hug her again, she moves a little further to the left. "I feel betrayed"

"But i'm coldddd…" You finally trap her, she doesn't have more space behind her. It's either you or the floor. You like those odds.

"So you're using me as a human heater?" she doesn't let go of the character, in fact your last sentence 'offends' her even more, but at least now you can hug her.

"Like you don't have the coldest hands in the universe?"

She doesn't avoid your eyes anymore, instead she looks at your "uhh i fucked up" smile and you swear she almost breaks, but she keeps it together. Very committed to her performance.

"You think you're funny?" she asks. You nodd, shamelessly, and again she wants to smile but doesn't. You see mischief inside her eyes and frown, what is she planning?

You find out sooner than later, when said cold hands end up in your secretly ticklish places.

"No!" you say, moving further to the right, freeing Robin from her trap in the left corner. When she's certain there's room for her, she stops and lays on her back, arms crossing across her chest. You roll your eyes again.

"Alright…" you surrender "I'm sorry"

You swear you can see the tiniest liiitle smile trying to escape, but she doesn't move.

"Not enough" she sentences in the most dramatic voice you've ever heard.

"Rooobing…" you ask, saying her name just how she likes it as you get up and straddle her hips.

"No!" She says nervously, as she looks to the side, refusing eye contact. She isnt strong enough to resist it right now, one look into your eyes and her whole performance goes down. " I'm afraid my prices for forgiveness are way too high for you to pay!" My god she was the biggest dork ever.

"All I have to do is kiss you, right?" you say, inches away from her face.

"...Yeah" she's says in defeat, as you pull her in for a much needed kiss.

After a couple minutes you leave your spot at her hips and sit beside her on the bed. You could not be late to work again this week, so you kiss her one last time and start to make your way to the bathroom.

"Where are you going?" she whines.

"To call Linda!"

And you could not see her, but you know she rolled her eyes.

"Fuck you!" she sings still from the bed.

You go back, toothpaste still on your face, crazy bed hair still unfixed, and kiss her once more.

"Love you too, idiot"

Yeah, fuck your dreams. They're not even close.

[machine-gun-casie]

tavern music

synopsis: corpse hears tavern music coming from your room (gn!reader)

warnings: rpf, reader gets cheated on, kind of unrequited feelings, mostly hurt/comfort and physical affection tho (what im trying to say is that this is mostly self indulgent)

wc: 1.7k

a/n: havent written in a while but i found this in my arsenal, fixed it up a bit and viola. original plans for this was definitely something longer that would end with them being together but im not up for writing rn. been feeling really shitty lately and ive been needing something like this in my life. hope u guys like it ♡

He couldn’t hear it at first. His headset was on and everyone was being so loud on the discord call. When he started the stream, he really thought it was gonna be a long one. But he’s only two hours in and he’s ready to get the hell off because something was definitely wrong.

“Corpse?” His name being spoken finally broke him out of his trance, he only hummed in response. “You’ve been really quiet. Are you sure you’re up for another game?”

“Actually,” he starts as he closes a few tabs, “I think I’ve gotta go. Today was fun, though. Thanks for having me guys.”

After a chorus of ‘goodbye’s and ‘see you later’s, Corpse disconnected from the discord call. “Thank you guys for being here,” he addressed the chat, “sorry I’m ending so early today. I promise I’ll make it up to you next time. Take care of yourselves. Later.”

After hanging up his headset and getting out of the chair he’s been sitting in for far too long, Corpse made the short trek to your room. 

You had only been roommates for less than four months, but Corpse could confidently say that you have become one of his closest friends. Getting a roommate was the last resort that he never wanted to actually resort to. But alas, medical bills were piling up and youtube and music don’t make half as much money as people think they do. So cutting rent in half was the best plan he could come up with. He did have an extra guest room that no one ever stayed in. Of course having someone move into his personal space was terrifying to him. He didn’t just want to post an ad on craigslist or something. So he asked a couple trusted friends to ask a couple trusted friends… And that’s when you came in.

You were the trusted friend of a trusted friend of a trusted friend. When you met, you didn’t make a comment about his voice. Your face sure as hell showed your surprise but you didn’t say anything. To Corpse, this meant one of two things. You either knew who he was but didn’t want to freak him out, or you didn’t know about his online persona and were just genuinely shocked by his voice. It only took a few minutes of knowing you to know that it was the latter. Thank god. You were like anyone your age with social media. You had a few accounts, followed a few people, but mostly used it to stay in contact with friends. 

It only took you guys a week to realize you had way too much in common. After many a late night when he wasn’t streaming, and many an early morning when he was just done streaming, you two became inseparable. Nothing could keep you apart.

Except for one thing.

You had a boyfriend.

There was nothing wrong with your boyfriend, per se. Just the fact that he was your boyfriend and Corpse was not. 

Yeah, Corpse definitely had feelings for you. 

But right now, feelings didn’t matter when he could hear tavern music coming from your room.

He knocked lightly and pushed the door open slowly. “y/n? Can I come in?”

No response came, just sniffles and sobs. The lack of refusal on your part gave him the courage he needed to open the door wider and step into your room. He had only been in your room a couple of times since you had moved in. But he had never been in a room that gave off the feeling of a person so well.

You were curled up on your bed, facing your open laptop screen and the tavern music coming from its speakers. With every sob shaking your chest, Corpse felt his heart break. “y/n,” he murmured softly, “what’s wrong?”

“It’s not working.” Came your reply, heavy with tears. “You said it would make you feel like you're going on an adventure but I still feel like crap.”

“What happened?” Corpse asked as he sat down on your bed, facing you. You slowly sat up and crossed your legs at your ankles in front of you.

“He-” You sighed heavily. “He cheated on me.”

“What?”

“He cheated on me -has been cheating on me- with my best friend. My little brother found out.” You groaned and dramatically dropped your head onto Corpse’s thigh. His hand immediately came in contact with your cheek as he brushed a few stray tears away.

There was rarely any physical contact between you and Corpse. Sometimes you’d give him a high five, sometimes he’d give you fist bump. And there was that one time you came up behind him at the grocery store and hugged his arm to your chest. You immediately whispered something along the lines of ‘creep won’t leave me alone’ followed by a loud ‘hey babe!’

Corpse could barely admit to himself how much he liked that.

But this? This felt good. Corpse’s large warm hand on your face somehow made you want to cry more but in a good way. The tenderness with which he held your face made your heart squeeze as it remembered moments like this with your boyf- ex boyfriend. But then it remembered your brother’s words.

“Hey, what’s up?” You spoke as you answered his call. Your brother wasn’t much of a caller, so it made you worry. 

“Hey, where are you right now?”

“I’m home, why?”

“y/n… There’s something I gotta tell you.” He sighed and you could clearly hear the guilt.

“Did you break my DS!” It was your first thought as you had given it to him the last time you had seen him. “Dude! I’ve had that since I was seven!”

“No no, I called about something else.” He cut you off mid-whine. “But also I did lose the pen.” You huffed out a sigh of frustration but stayed silent so he could tell you what he wanted to tell you. “I saw your boyfriend at the park today.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “And?” How did this warrant a phone call? 

“He was with Bob.” 

When you had met your best friend, your brother was only a toddler. He had decided that her name was Bob, so it stuck. You always called her Bob, she was saved as Bob in your phone, your whole family called her Bob. But you still didn't understand. Why was he calling you to tell you that your boyfriend and your best friend were at the park? 

“Why are you calling me about this? You know that they’re friends, right?” You let out a chuckle, albeit still pretty confused. “They’re allowed to hang out without me.” 

“They weren’t hanging out.” You could hear your brother push out a strained sigh. What wasn’t he telling you? “They were making out on the swing set. As in, both of them on one swing. And I double checked, it was definitely them. I-I told mom and she said not to tell you, but I couldn’t not tell you when I’m the one who saw it!”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say a word.

“I’m sorry, y/n.”

There was no lying to yourself, you had doubts about your best friend and your boyfriend. But you constantly brushed it off. He wouldn’t hurt you like that. Hell, she couldn’t hurt like that. Not after everything you had been through together. 

But you had seen his call log by accident one time, he called her more than he did you. She face-timed him one time to ask his opinion about a dress she was going to buy while you were in the changing room. She had done a handful of things since your relationship with your boyfriend started that made you uneasy. If this was their first kiss, which was something you doubted, then they’ve both been emotionally attached to the other for far too long.

All those tender intimate moments, all those dates, throughout everything, he wasn’t faithful. Not emotionally, at least. None of those moments that you cherished meant anything to you anymore. He had played you. With none other than your best friend since middle school. You didn’t know who to be more mad at.

The thoughts of betrayal from someone who you considered a sister and the hurt of being cheated on made you nauseated.

So when the large warm hand on your face stroked your cheek again, you didn’t mind it. This was Corpse. Not your cheating boyfriend. Not your lying best friend. Corpse. And you knew that he would never hurt you.

“He’s been cheating on me for a while I think.” You mumbled against his sweatpants. “Maybe a couple months. I don’t know.” 

Corpse furrowed his brows in thought. You had told him you were going to visit your boyfriend for your one year anniversary next week. “Weren’t you go-”

“Yeah.”

“And Bob’s been your friend since-”

“Yeah.” Your chin wobbled as you answered. You brought your arms up around Corpse’s thigh and hugged it. It was a strange position, but you didn’t care. He was so warm and nice and hugging him properly required more movement on your end than you were willing to do.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Corpse sighed and reached out to untangle your arms from his leg. He gently pulled you across the few inches of bed between you and sat you in his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, immediately sobbing into his shoulder. “Do you want me to turn off the music?” You shook your head no against him and he chuckled before he solemnly sighed. “When did you find out?” 

“When I came home.”

“But you came home hours ago. Have you been in here this whole time?” You nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were streaming, didn’t wanna interrupt.” You shrugged.

“y/n,” he sighed disappointedly, “you’re my best friend. I can end a stream if you need me.”

“Okay.” Your voice, broken and weak and tired, made him feel so guilty. You had been crying your heart out for over two hours just down the hall from where he was.

He gently grabbed you by your hips and tried to push you away, but you only held on tighter and whimpered. “I just wanna get you some water.”

“I don’t want water.”

“Then what do you want?”

“You.” You whispered. “Please stay.” 

Fuck. How could he say no to that?

So he stayed.

[kuroowo]

Fight or Fight

- Osamu x GN!Reader

Summary - Working in customer service means you can’t deck the customers when they’re being stupid rude to your boss/boyfriend, but violence isn’t the only method you know.

Genre - Light angst & Fluff (established relationship)

Warning - Demeaning Osamu (you’re not the one doing it though), passive aggressiveness/pettiness, & lots of cursing

Note - I’ve said my piece with this one 😤 I’m TIRED 🗣

WC - 1168

Masterlist

“I heard he‘s got a twin brother who’s a pro-athlete. On the national team too.”, asshole number one says, loudly.

“Oh? And he’s doin’ this little restaurant work instead?”, stupid-face number two replies, equally loud.

“Maybe he didn’t make the cut and decided to switch careers? Ya know, to cut losses and save his own face.”

“Wow, that’s so pitiful—”

In his own damn restaurant. They really came into his shop, ate his food, drank his tea, and decided to shamelessly berate him for his life choices in the same breath? In front of him? Without even knowing the actual facts?

“-I’d be so insecure if I were him. His twin is basically a superstar!”

“Yeah! I wonder if he feels like he’s living in Miya Atsumu’s shadow... I would be so depressed!”, stupid-face number two says with an over-dramatic sigh, patronising doused in faux pity littering their annoying voice.

Molten anger boils in your blood and paints your vision a blinding red at the utter bullshit coming out from their mouths. Osamu is a man who has loved food all his life, much more than he loved volleyball. The statement still stands true to this day, pouring his heart into his food service. The man’s accomplished so much with his restaurant and he couldn’t be any happier doing what he’s doing right now. This is his life’s passion, the same way volleyball is for his twin. Osamu could have made it into pro-volleyball if he wanted to too, and everyone, especially Astumu, knows this. He could have made a name for himself and stood by his twin’s side as volleyball giants, but he’s long decided, even before he quit back in the day, that that career path wouldn’t be as fulfilling as his current. So, how dare they talk bullshit like this when they don’t even know him?

How fucking dare they?

Osamu notices all the telltale signs of an erupting outburst on you and he can’t help but sigh a little under his breath. He’s used to these types of customers in his restaurant, spouting the things they do without a care or consideration. He’s learned not to pay them any mind, since nothing they’re saying is even remotely true, so it doesn’t affect him anymore. Sure, at first he was more than a little pissed and offended, but what good would that do for his business in the long run when customer service and reputation came first in this industry? It was so tiring to keep at it too. So over time, Osamu learned to thicken his skin (even more so than before) and is at the point where he doesn’t even feel the need to correct them and their messed up opinions. It just rolls off him like water on glass. Unaffected. While he does find it sweet that you’re so furious on his behalf, he just doesn’t think these type of people with their ridiculous assumptions are worth any time or effort. But before he can even think to placate you, he finds that you’re already half way across the restaurant space, stalking towards their table with blazing purpose in every step.

“Excuse me, dear customers.”, you muster up your most convincing smile over your very fake customer service voice, careful to not tarnish your boyfriend’s hard earned reputation and restaurant, “Is there anything else I can get for you?”. A universal code in your area for ‘you’ve overstayed your welcome’. You know you can’t deck them in their shitty faces for being so utterly disgraceful, but you also know that violence isn’t the only way, and you’re dead set on getting revenge for Osamu. Even if it’s the last fucking thing you do today. The two customers take the hint and clamber out of their table, heading towards the counter to pay. Luckily (or unluckily), Osamu’s a bit busy with a delivery order, so he can’t tend to the register. You take this chance to place yourself behind the cashier and ring up their receipt, but not before making them squirm, of course. It’s what (you think) they deserve for being so shamelessly rude to one of the hardest working man you know.

Bias be damned.

“How did you enjoy your food?”

“Oh, it was good!”, asshole number one is chirpy, and you can tell that compliment is genuine. Stupid-face number two nods along and parrots asshole number one’s compliment.

Dickwads, but at least they recognise good food.

“Thank you!”, your smile curls up in what Osamu later tells you is sinisterly (‘but it was hot though’, he would also tell you), “Our chef Miya Osamu appreciates the compliment! Ain’t that right?”, and the chef in question nods and thanks them, unfazed by your passive aggressive stunt. Although, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t take delight in the way the two customers flinched. Both looking visibly shocked and embarrassed, body language immediately spelling out nervous as their cheeks flush in what you think is shame.

“Ye-Yer welcome.”, asshole number one squeaks with a forced chuckle, while stupid-face number two refuses to make eye contact with anyone but the floor.

Good.

“Here’s your change. Thanks, please come again!”, you don’t even finish your sentence before the two speed walks out the sliding doors with tense shoulders and downcast eyes. Your smile instantly drops and a hefty scowl takes its place instead. You’re cursing them out, practically raging spit fire, in your head as you wipe down their dirty table. You try not to grimace when you see the mess that they’ve left, splotches of food bits and tea making you wonder if their cheeks had Swiss cheese holes in them. Faintly, you think Atsumu would even call them pigs for such atrocious table manners, and that doesn’t do anything except make you even angrier than before. From where Osamu stands, he’s surprised that the smoke detectors weren’t triggered with all of it coming out of your ears.

To be honest, he does think it’s really endearing of you to avenge him like that, but again, “Yer gonna wrinkle up like a raisin if you keep lettin’ them get to ya.”, he doesn’t think they’re worth your energy.

“I don’t give a fuck, Osamu. I’m not gonna just let them talk shit about you when you’re right fuckin’ there!”, you huff, placing down the plates with a little more force than you should.

He eyes your enraged figure, hands still busy with moulding the onigiris until they aren’t. He interlaces his fingers with yours under the counter, an appreciative smile blooming on his face as he chuckles at you and your pouty frown. His thumb rubs mindless shapes over yours, soothing you, and you find your anger bleeding out of your system at his soft affection in return. Before you can even think about apologising for possibly losing two patrons for Onigiri Miya, Osamu closes the distance between you two and places a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“Thanks, baby.”

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

(1) Dear SarahI usually don't leave in depth reviews on stories because I struggle to properly express my thoughts in a (for me) foreign language, so I apologize in advance if this is all over the place. I just had to comment on the symmetry of Lily and Beas friendship to James and Remus' friendship and how well it translates into their romantic compatibilty.

(2) Like how Lily's kindness and "down to earth" common sense is mirrored in Remus and James' dramatic, sometimes over the top antics are mirrored in Bea. And other writers so often focus only on the James / Sirius friendship and treat Remus and Peter more like hanger-ons who are pulled into the other twos orbit. But your James, he deliberately seeks out Remus, especially with topics he can't properly address with Sirius.

(3) Like he knows that Remus will take him seriously and give him some perspective (like in Covet). I know Remus' dry exasperated attitude to James drama could sometimes be perceived as condescending when considered very superficially, but then he's always there for James in the end, to an extent Sirius probably wouldn't be (if he considered the topic not worth it). And I love that so much, that we get to see and experience that strong foundation of their friendship, with true affection

(4) and respect on both sides. And it's amazing that James is attracted to Lily, who shares so many of these aspects with Remus, who will take him seriously because she sees the underlying issues, who will tell him truthfully when he's acting nuts, but always kindly, never in that condescending "I have to change his personality" way that she is often portrayed. And also I see so many similarities between James and Bea, who I believe would both do anything for the people they love, their intense

(5) loyalty. While Bea may appear a bit more self-involved than James on a first glance, we have seen that she has such a heart of gold and could easily be guilt-tripped (if she were friends with someone without Lily's kindness). So their personalities are matching up so perfectly and all this open affection and support is giving me hope for humankind ❤I'm not sure if I managed to express this blur of thoughts in my head, but I hope you can make sense of this mess. Basically, yay supportive

Um, so this made me cry at work and I had to go to the loo and collect myself????

So I find it sort of stunning and gratifying when people think this much about the way I write these characters, because I do, but I never expect other people to do the same? And literally everything you've just pointed out is exactly what I intend to put across when I write these characters, especially re: Beatrice. She's particularly special to me because she's just mine, and one of my big reasons for deciding to write this fic is because I wanted to show everyone who she is in more depth, and where her deepest insecurities lie. Because she has a lot of insecurities! Yeah, she knows how gorgeous and alluring and charming she is, she doesn't doubt her ability to "get the guy" as it were, but she also has no faith in her own intelligence. She thinks she's stupid. So she plays up to being shallow and silly as a defence mechanism, it's that classic "laugh at yourself so people laugh with you" thing, right? But ultimately, that means she's absolutely the kind of girl who certain, shitty types of guys would date because they think she's stupid, and then they'd condescend to her and talk down to her or try to use her to satiate their physical needs without caring for her at all, and make her feel like absolute shit about herself. Which is why Lily is so worried about her in ASOUFE, because she knows all of this. And it's also why putting her with Remus feels so deserved and lovely to me, because all four of them deserve to be with someone who sees them and thinks they're marvellous, and for James and Beatrice in particular I think it's absolutely life-affirming for them to be with sensible, reasonable people who keep them grounded but also celebrate their silliness??? It's always in my mind that J and B have a shared fundamental fear that, despite how funny and talented and attractive they both are, deep down they aren't worthy enough as people to be loved by anyone with substance, because they can't see their own. That's why James channels all of his anxiety into ridiculous non-issues and Beatrice acts all superficial. And this has been a ramble, but I love these characters so much and I care about what happens to them. They feel immensely real to me.