#thank u for drawing me the bun i cannot

[fr0gcraft]

Lineart and Sketch by @mxanimationz, thank you my love for drawing my fursona

as said, lineart and sketch not by me, i just did the coloring, bg, paw flags, age, name, pronouns

but yes, fursona!! bunbun!!!

deep down i blame @histrionicscribbler for encouraging me to make my first fursona back when we were kids so uh- ur fault i have a bunny w massive honkers now ily /p

#mx art #partner art #rabbit fursona #furry community #sfw furry #furry character #fursona #bunny fursona #furry #furry oc #thank u for drawing me the bun i cannot #bunsona #bunny girl #not my lineart #fluffybabes

[bugaboooooooooo]

Saw @ladyofthenoodle's and @maridotnet's beauty and the beast ladybug post and IMMEDIATELY got obsessed so naturally I had to make my own maribug design!!

Anyways I did a ton of research on ladybugs and the og beasts design and stuff so I wanna explain a bit abt this design

I kept her body pretty simple since real ladybugs bodies are also simple, so her heads the most interesting part

^ as u can see their heads r very Shapely so I wanted to incorporate that into my design!!

So basically I gave her a bun to represent a ladybugs actual head and gave her some sort of comb (crown? idk man) to look like pincers, which works out nicely bc the beast is supposed to be some kind of royalty so this gives off that vibe! And obv she gets antennae <3

Anyways moving down to her actual head

I gave her bigass pincers/teeth bcos thats what Marinette would have wanted you cannot tell me otherwise, and I kept her hair tendrils from her human form bc I love them <3

also you know those white spots on ladybugs heads? Yeah that's what those things are on her forehead!! I tweaked em slightly so they can also fuction as eyebrows (for drawing purposes)

MOVING ON to her body and stuff

I gave her a big collar bc ladybugs don't really have necks, so this way I could avoid any complications lmao, and a nice ol cape <3 and like I said her bods pretty simple so there's not much to say abt that!!

Anyways that's it <3 I LOVED both of your ideas and designs, and this kinda helped my out of art block so thank you sm!!

#ml beauty and the beast AU #miraculous ladybug #ml #miraculous #mlb #tales of ladybug and cat noir #les aventures de ladybug et chat noir #miraculous les aventures de ladybug et chat noir #tales of ladybug and chat noir #miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #ml fanart #my art #tw bugs #tw insects #beau et la coccinelle #my posts

[red-doll-face]

domestic oni w/ his s/o and some bebes please ;/// u know

Of course!!! I have seen the light on oni and I have realized he’s the big boi we needed. This ones for u bun ! I’ve never written for oni before so I just went off sorry 😞

Warnings: slight nsfw, slight breeding kink on onis part and reader is afab or at least has obtained baby making bits also children , mentions of blood and gore as well as nasty baby shit 🤢

WC: 1380

Kazan ‘The Oni’ Yamaoka x afab Reader

A Star in the Night

Life always balances itself out. For every bad day there was a good one. Considering his last day on Earth wasn’t necessarily what one could call good, there had to be some good here in the sprawling fog to naturally even things out, right? So, he searches for another chance. This must be Kazan’s second chance because if it were not, he would be well and truly dead. Floating in the abyss, gone forever. Here, however, he’s even met a descendent and her story makes him feel as if he’s done some good. Passed on his vengeful anger that pushed her to stand up for herself and so he decides that here will be his own slice of peace despite the souls he sends to the sky everyday.

As much as he wishes he could have left that part of his past behind. The killing and the beating. Brutality. It has become a part of him. It’s what makes him useful to the new god that rules here so he does it. If he hopes to one day achieve something here he has to please it. The new god has even taken to labelling him the Oni. The oni. A term he once despised. To torment him more, his skin is now tinged blue and his nails have sharpened and grown out black. He sure looks like one now. Blends into him like colors or ink into water. Makes the endless loop of killing a little easier.

Whatever he’s been working towards, he thinks he finally found it. In these repeated processes Kazan see’s someone unique. One of a kind among all the different screaming visages of the survivors. That’s the moment when he makes a more important decision. The choice to take you as a prize. Something of his own.

Bargaining with the Entity quickly places itself as his new priority. What would he have to do to take you away? To start again with you? The entity asks him to sacrifice 100 survivors. No moris, no escapes. Kazan is determined to get this. He is not in this place for no reason. This is his destiny. He almost lost the streak a few times. Against the hardy survivors. Against you too. But it’s not for nothing because the moment he succeeds, the entity allows him to take you. Upon seeing him, you are apprehensive. Why you? What for? All he will say is that you don’t have to be hunted anymore. Not by anyone. You can live a comfortable life, as comfortable as it can be. You’re shocked. Unsure of why this offer is being extended to you. But what would it be like to be in the fog but never have to go to a trial. You ask if you can come back at some point. If you’re free to leave when you want. Kazan doubts you’ll want to leave. He nods anyway.

And so you sit in his house. A house that used to be only Spirits. The temple however isn’t suitable and thus you live in the house. Settling in is rough. You’re not sure what to do. Then Kazan brings some old traditions. Meditating, raking stones in the garden into little lines. Lighting candles and lanterns at the shrine. It’s fairly easy to put you back into a lulling routine. One that doesn't involve blood and hooks. You start to realize that the Oni or Yamaoka Kazan, he had told you, is interested in more than just feeling bad and sheltering you from the Entity’s wrath. He acts as if you are his spouse. He comes from trials and comes to find you. Greets you. Merely wants to spend time with you. He tells you stories from a time of what must have been Japan when their were jitos, shoguns, and, samurai. He was a samurai. You’re uncertain on why you can communicate with him. Shouldn’t he be speaking a different language.

From a cupboard, he pulls little black sticks and stones used for grinding them into powder. Then into ink. Calligraphy brushes. Old brittle paper. He watches you draw little pictures and he keeps all of them, praising your creativity. How he has chosen someone as talented as you.

“Chosen? For what?” You question. Innocent enough of a question.

“To stand beside me.” That clears up nothing. You feel as if something has gone over your head.

His grand daughter, Rin treats you with kindness. She treats you as if you’re part of her family. With a familiarity you’d forgotten was real. It clicks then what Kazan is trying to do. You are to be a warped version of whatever marriage customs were held in his day. A spouse. He’s taken you as a spouse.

Once you confront him about it, he acts as if you should have always known. That it was obvious what his intentions were and that he didn't feel the need to be explicit. You retaliate with the acknowledgement that you’re not from his time. It’s your first real argument. What did he expect from you.

You don’t know when you start to actually like him. He’s not the best conversationalist unless he’s talking about fighting or battlefield strategy but he tries to entertain you. Listens intently to what you have to say. Ultimately, Kazan comes off as more genuine than your own fellow survivors. Some of them were nice. Niceness can only go so long here though. You’ll run out at some point. He brings up the last time you talked about why you were in this derelict house and he apologizes. Kazan apologizes so formally that he practically looks like he’s begging forgiveness. For not thinking of you as an individual and instead as a vessel. Finally, putting two and two together, you think he wants children. You stare quietly at him. A pause lingers and then you ask him if you wanted to bear his children, he wouldn’t respect you any less, would he? He tells you that he would crush the souls of 1000 more men should it mean you would bear his line. He would lay their bodies at your feet if it made you happy. Dramatic but fitting for someone like him.

Kazan tries for it as soon as he can. It should be impossible. The entity cannot create life, only steal it. But you allow him to try. Over and over again. Until it takes. Whenever he finishes, he takes to stuffing his seed back inside of you. Careful of his talon-like nails that seem to be made for ripping flesh apart.

After trying so many times, you feel something change. The entity buzzes about you, you can feel it. No one can see it, certainly not you but it’s excited. When Kazan returns from his stand-in profession, he’s visibly happy. Thrilled.

“You are with child.” He almost yells it, he’s so happy. He picks you up and hikes you into his arms.

It’s the birthing that makes you nervous. You're less daunted by the carrying. Kazan dotes on you, more than he had already. Treats you like a glass figurine, passed down generations. You cannot be broken or stressed. You feel like a figurine, alright. The man simply sits you down and admires you. As you swell, he looks at your belly fondly and then to your face. He pets your hair and soothes you.

The birth is painful. So, so, so painful. More than any mori, hook, or cage. Your body rips itself apart for his child. Your child. The baby is covered in blood and birthing fluid and Kazan is smitten. He’s silent, in awe of your creation. The baby is so small, so tiny in his hulking hands.

The child grows and grows. Laughs and gurgles. Kazan cares for it, a wonderful father. He cleans the blood and gore from himself before seeing your child and you watch on as he teaches them to write. Read ancient japanese. Rin is just as caught up with your baby. She’s like an older sister, the best kind. Normal childhood is unattainable but you lament at forcing the child in this world of night. Your child will never see the sun. But you figure that's because your baby is the sun.

Thanks for requesting and I hope you liked it! 💖💖

#dbd #dbd x reader #dead by daylight #oni x reader #kazan yamaoka #the oni dbd #red writes #kazan yamaoka x reader

[lovenona]

I just haad to say thank you for the free serotonin that you have provided me with through the last artist sukuna post

it's just... ✨beautifull✨ we are slowly building up this au

BUT CAN YOU IMAGINE HIM GETTING MORE AND MORE FRUSTRATED WITH THE LACK OF ATTENTION WERE HE'S KIND OF POUTING

and then there need to be a project done in which you have the option to work in groups and NO MATTER WHAT this proud cherry haired idiot WILL work alone but geto won't he came to y/n and they really need to work in a group if they want to get this done so of course y/n is happily gonna agree to the offer of geto to work together they do be viben after all which ultimately leads to the fact that y/n is gonna give sukuna even less attention (it probably doesn't even get on his nerves that much that y/n works with geto its just the lack of attention and ultimately time spending with you that result from it)

ah i am sorry I was rambling again😂

anyways hope you have a nice day and don't stress yourself too much with answering always happy to see you post❤️

babe let me just say ur brain is massive and i thank u from the bottom of my heart – anyway here’s the original post for everyone about to embark on this godforsaken journey with art student sukuna and our new friend pretentious fuck geto suguru 

if you thought you were pitiful at drawing, your sculptural skills are on another level of true and utter shit. you cannot, for the life of you, create things out of clay. you despise carving anything into wood. your pottery faithfully collapses on you whenever you try. you hate working with glass. you would have dropped the class, honest, if you didn’t desperately need it in order to fulfill your major requirements and graduate on time. 

all in all, it’s an awful class created solely to tank your gpa – you don’t understand what you’re doing, you don’t understand what anything is supposed to look like, and you sure as fuck don’t understand how anyone else seems to have their shit together all the time. when you glance around the room, no one, not even the famous ryomen sukuna, has trouble making their materials turn into something recognizable.

(and, in true sukuna fashion, he loves to make sure you know how fucking untalented you are.) 

so when anthropology-and-ceramics king geto suguru asks if you want to be partners for the next big art project, you agree without a second thought. you’ve been talking to him recently, small talk before class, and for all his pretentious faults, you think he’s delightfully hot as fuck with a smooth voice to match. he wears those crisp, expensive button-downs that he bought at overpriced local craft markets. he always smells like cedar and eucalyptus; he brings a different tote bag to every class, his favorite being one he got as a gift for subscribing to the new yorker. he shops organic only and throws around the words “fair trade” and “bourgeoisie” and “means of production” with the ease that sukuna throws around the words “fuck” and “shit.” 

you think geto is fascinating. and maybe he talks down to you when explaining his anthropology knowledge, he absolutely does, but when he gazes at you with those warm eyes and offers to help you learn how to sculpt and raise your grades, you can’t help but agree with a pair of big pathetic doe eyes. 

why wouldn’t you? you’re just here for a good time, after all.

so when you giggle as geto places his sinfully smooth, manicured hands over yours while teaching you how to use the pottery wheel, you don’t think much of it. you think he’s cute and warm. you’d be a fool to notice the dark annoyance radiating from the other corner of the room.

ryomen sukuna always works alone. but what he didn’t count on was that you wouldn’t be working alone with him. 

it’s not that you’re working with geto, he swears. it’s that you’re not working with him. his ears feel strangely empty without your argumentative quips, without the way you tell him he’s infuriating and annoying every time he tells you something lewd just to fluster you. it’s strangely empty without you both arguing about the difference between great artists and sell-outs – were you here, in his corner of the room, maybe sukuna would have tried to tell you michelangelo was a loser just to see what you would say. 

but you’re not with him. you’re listening to geto tell you about the time he went to study abroad in germany and how he took a trip to morocco where he tried some amazing food you’ve never heard of. he’s telling you about the time he helped make tampons in botswana after his senior year of high school and all of the other deliciously precocious things he has done for the sake of human rights and anti-capitalism. 

(you’re killing the environment, you know, geto often admonishes you when you stumble into class with your cup of coffee. that cup is going to end up in a landfill. he always taks a sip from his hydroflask for emphasis. it’s sleek and black with an oxfam sticker on it.

and sure, you know that your cup is going to become trash. geto doesn’t have to be an annoying fuck and tell you when it’s only eleven in the morning and he drove a literal moped to campus. but still, with that silky man-bun, everything he does is okay.) 

but understand that sukuna doesn’t hate geto. sukuna craves attention, and he absolutely cannot stand being ignored. he’ll pout without realizing it, pursing his lips and wondering what kind of circus act he needs to perform to win back your presence. should he get another tattoo? cuss out the professor? offer to fuck you senseless in the third-floor bathroom? he’s not sure – he’s never not been seen before. ryomen sukuna doesn’t know what it’s like to come in second. 

so he intercepts you after class; in a manner that is both sukuna-and-not-sukuna, he’ll casually throw one of his heavy arms over your shoulders, subtly pulling you away from geto’s aura, wrapping you in his scent of earth and leather and sex appeal. “come on, puppy,” he says, sultry and annoying and condescending all wrapped in one, tapping his ring-clad fingers against your arm. “you’re supposed to help me write my paper, aren’t you?” it’s not a question, it’s a demand, one you know deep down that you would rather die than shy away from. 

you might not like sukuna, you tell yourself, but there’s something about him, the way he talks and moves and exists in the world, that makes you unable to shy away. there’s something about him that always makes you want more without you quite knowing why. 

(he kissed you, once. sometimes you wonder if you would like it to happen again.) 

and you’re still nestled under sukuna’s arm, trapped in his orbit and following him to his favorite empty classrooms, when geto calls back to you, wondering if you’re still interested in going to the avant-garde poetry reading with him tomorrow night. 

he’s going to present a poem he wrote on the terrors inflicted on south america by the united states, geto had explained earlier when his hands were on yours. it was going to be some real, hard-hitting poetry, none of that “rupi kaur bullshit.” he thought it might enlighten you to join him, perhaps in more ways than one.

you pretend you don’t notice the way sukuna’s arm tightens around your shoulders when you tell geto with a flirtatious smile that you can’t wait. 

#welcome to my blog where we just thirst all day long #geto and sukuna fighting over me? it's more likely than u think #pretentious fuck geto is my favorite thing ever #sukuna #sukuna x reader #geto #geto suguru #geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #adele writes #artist!jjk #letters to adele #geto.seguru #ryomen.sukuna

[mischiefandi]

A Shitty Love Song (Part 2) - Stiles Stilinski

Altered State Of Mind

A/N: hi guys!! im super happy im posting part 2 of this series :)) I really hope you like it and once again, huge thank u to @duskholland​ for all your help <33

Summary: Y/N is a 17 year old girl who struggles in an epic battle against herself. Whether it is amor’s icy grasp or life’s unexpected course that forces her to finally open up, only one thing is certain. The truth cannot be long hidden.

Warnings: panic attack, mentions of underage drinking, swearing

Word Count: 5,2K

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x Reader (Y/N)

Series Masterlist

(picture is not mine -> credits to @ elevantarts on unsplash)

A blaring sound resonated in Y/N’s ears and she groaned, her fingers curling around the blanket she lay beneath. A throbbing sensation in her head forced her to pry her eyes open, sunlight seeping through the gaps in her eyelids.

Reaching up to rub her eyes, Y/N tried to sit up, the throbs against her forehead staggeringly more painful. When her eyes finally accustomed themselves to the light, Y/N glanced around, looking for the source of the insufferable noise. The blaring seemed to come from far away and nearby at the same time; Y/N was simply too tired to make any sense.

“Oh my god, my head,” she moaned, falling back against the soft pillow with a grunt.

“Would someone please shut that off,” a voice mumbled from underneath a heap of pillows and messed up sheets.

“Y/N, it’s your phone,” another voice groaned.

Passing a shaking hand over her face, Y/N forced herself to fully open her eyes and focused on the sound of the alarm, still shrieking in sync with her god awful headache. Reaching over her head, she grabbed her phone and put it on silent, thanking the universe for the sudden alleviating silence.

“Well last night was-“

“-crazy.”

Y/N shot a glance at Lydia’s bed where the strawberry blonde was propped up against her pillows, wiping off the smudged mascara beneath her big green eyes.

“I can’t even focus right now. What happened last night?” she asked, rubbing her forehead.

“You don’t remember?”

“I mean, bits and pieces, why?”

Allison and Lydia exchanged a look.

“Uh, Y/N you went wild yesterday.”

“I did?” asked Y/N, worry seeping through her oily pores.

“We had to get a cab home cause neither one of us was fit to drive, and…you definitely threw up in the cab.”

Y/N groaned, a hand flying up to her forehead. “That explains the taste in my mouth.” She thought to herself.

“Yea, you got pretty drunk. Thank god, Stiles and Scott were there or you’d have passed out right on the dancefloor.”

“Wait, they were there?”

Allison sent Y/N a confused look, biting her lip.

“Well yeah, they got there about thirty minutes after we did. Did you not hang out with them at all?” she asked.

A sudden flash of colour appeared in Y/N’s head, the feeling of skin against skin, lips hungrily claiming each other, the smell of sweat and leather. She gasped, a hand reaching up to cover her mouth. Jumping up to her feet in a burst, ignoring the violent throb in her head, she rushed over to the mirror and turned her neck towards the right, her eyes widening at her sorry reflection.

“Are those-“

“Hickeys?” exclaimed Allison, leaping off of her mattress and onto the floor.

“Oh my god…”

“No way! Who are those from?” inquired Lydia, shock painted across her face.

“I’m not sure…” answered Y/N, her voice but a quiet murmur, her eyes still fixated on the deep purple marks scattered across her neckline.

In the back of her head, amber eyes bored into hers, and she couldn’t help but notice the dark pit forming in her stomach.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

Y/N stepped out of her bath, all of the dried up paint and sweat cleansed from her body. Stepping up to her bathroom mirror, she wiped the hot steam off the glass, the purple stains on her neck still very visible. She sighed, her fingers lightly tracing the mark by her collarbone, her mind elsewhere. She was at a loss.

Had it been him? Had it been Stiles? Maybe she had him confused with someone else, maybe she really had shared this moment with Jeremy. Maybe.

Y/N’s frown deepened. All that was left from that moment on the dancefloor was these purple love bites and blurriness. So much blurriness. Hundreds of questions and voices overlapped in Y/N’s head.

“What does this mean? Was it really him? What’s next?” She shook her head anxiously, quietly tapping against the steam covered sink.

Grabbing her phone with shaking fingers, Y/N typed in a message and sent it to the person she had had stuck in her brain all day long.

Y/N: did u ever show up at the rave?

Y/N: cause my drunk ass can’t remember a thing :/

Minutes seemed to last longer than hours as she waited by her phone. She sat impatiently on her bed, furiously tearing off the tips of her fingernails, occasionally drawing out a tiny spot of blood accompanied by a soft hiss. Finally, the buzzing sound of her phone snapped her back to reality and she unlocked it in a flash.

Stiles: yea I stopped by

Y/N stared down at her phone screen, puzzled.

Y/N: did you have fun?

A few minutes passed before his short answer came.

Stiles: yea it was alright

Stiles: I was just glad to get out of the rain

Y/N: the rain?

Stiles: yea it was raining when Scott and I got there

Y/N’s fingers trembled as she started typing in a new message, her hands abruptly pausing when her phone buzzed again.

(Y/N: did we hang out at all last night?)

Stiles: my dad’s asking me to help him out with dinner

Stiles: gotta go

Deleting her previous and thankfully unsent text, Y/N quickly typed in something else, her heart almost leaping out of her chest.

Y/N: oh okay, np

Y/N’s wet hair cascaded down her shoulder as she removed the towel from her head, letting her body gently plop down onto her bed.

Had she truly imagined it all? Something was off, but somehow, she couldn’t pinpoint what it was. The girl braided her damp hair and slipped under her toasty covers. Exhaustion soon took over her body and pushed her into a deep slumber, her dreamless sleep a tranquil break from her precipitating thoughts.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

Amor loves to have one’s undivided attention. It slips through the thinnest of cracks and likes to hide behind your thoughts, carefully creeping around your mind, giggling at your confusion. Without even knowing it, you consume amor, you breathe it in, you bathe in it.

Amor is sneaky. Which is precisely how Y/N went about her day, ate, showered, studied, breathed without ever discerning her bewitchment.

Monday’s sunrays broke over the horizon, the song of gleeful robins piercing through the cool morning air. Lazily, Y/N slipped her clothes on and decided to walk to school, enjoying the crisp breeze. Autumn trees coasted along the route as she slowly carried herself to school, her tired eyes carefully observing the orange and brown leaves twirl down in timeless waltzes onto the cold concrete ground.

When she finally got to school, Y/N walked over to her locker, unlocking the padlock with her designated combination. As she placed the contents of her bag on top of the metal shelves and retrieved her chem notes, Y/N readjusted the wine-red turtleneck she had meticulously picked out from her wardrobe the day before.

“Uncomfortable but necessary.” She thought to herself as she turned around.

Her heart suddenly leapt into her chest, her eyes landing on Stiles’ dark blue flannel shirt. Taking a step forward, she was about to call out his name, when his eyes met hers. Time paused yet again, Stiles’ furtive gaze avoiding hers, his amber irises quickly looking down at his feet as he resumed his conversation with Scott.

A brief glimpse of the undeniable tension between the pair, a sight covered by amor’s thick layer of fog.

A wave of hurt washed over Y/N’s entire body, but she bit her lip and hurried off to class, choosing to ignore the feeling rather than dwell on it.

Class seemed to last even longer than usual, the constant tick-tick-tick of the clock rocking Y/N into a state of pure passiveness. The words spoken by her teacher floated around her head, seeping out through her ears almost as rapidly as they had penetrated her mind.

When the lunch bell rang, Y/N couldn’t help but exhale softly, releasing some of the tension stacked atop her weary shoulders since earlier that day. No matter how much she tried to focus on her notes, a chaotic whirlwind slowly formed inside of her, preventing her from following the teacher’s train of thought.

Her fingers furiously tapping against her thigh, Y/N stood up hurriedly and grabbed her bag, sliding its handles onto her shoulder. Pushing her way through the crowd of students, she walked out of the building and onto the school field, making her way towards the walnut tree.

“Hey, Y/N!” shouted Allison, waving her over with her gentle hands.

Y/N rushed over and plopped down by the brunette, breathing in the cool air.

“Where are the others?” she asked, noticing how empty the table was.

“Why are you so impatient? The bell only just rang,” Allison said, her light laughter filling the atmosphere surrounding them.

Y/N watched as the group slowly reunited, Scott and Kira walking over nonchalantly, arms linked together, followed by Isaac, unmistakingly blushing at the sight of Allison. Finally, Lydia joined the table and sat across from Y/N, her beautiful hair wrapped into a low bun.

“I am so hungry,” said Scott as he hurriedly took out his sandwich, eagerly taking a large bite out of it with a moan.

“I thought I was gonna pass out in calculus. I am so tired!” exclaimed Allison, burying her face in her delicate hands.

“Yeah, I still haven’t recovered from Friday,” agreed Lydia.

Y/N’s mind flashed right back to the sweaty dance floor, bursts of colour flooding her memory, and she bit down on her lip, shutting her eyes.

“Y/N, you okay?” asked Isaac. The group looked over at her, puzzled faces staring at her own.

“Yeah, everything’s fine!” she replied, her fingers dramatically twisting around the fabric of her coat.

“So, uh, where’s Stiles?” she asked, quickly but not subtly changing the subject.

Scott’s head slightly tilted to the right, a confused expression on his face.

“He didn’t tell you?”

“Didn’t tell me what?”

Scott nonchalantly pointed at a table a few feet away from the walnut tree where the gang was seated, Y/N’s eyes following his lead. Her puzzled gaze landed on the dark blue flannel shirt from that morning, wrapped around a boy sitting across from a tall brown-haired girl, their heads buried in books, but their eyes fixated on each other.

“There’s this new girl, Malia Tate. He offered to help her with her math,” explained Scott, unaware of the pit deepening in Y/N’s gut.

As Y/N observed the pair sitting far away from the group’s table, the pumping muscle lodged between her lungs tightened with affliction, though she wasn’t entirely sure why.

The voices surrounding her melted into each other, the sound of her friends’ chatter fading into the background as she kept on staring, the ache in her abdomen persisting.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

Several interminable weeks had passed since this particular lunch break. November was slowly coming to an end, along with Y/N’s withering patience. The air had become cooler, and not just the one blowing through the leafless trees.

Stiles and Y/N’s friendship had started to abate, its previous progression suddenly coming to a strange halt, much to Y/N’s dismay. Her phone occasionally buzzed, the screen revealing only a brief answer on his part, or a funny picture or joke every once in a while. However, the long phone calls and texts until 2 am had seemingly come to an end.

Y/N couldn’t exactly pinpoint how it made her feel, but it didn’t feel good, that much was clear. Stiles hadn’t disappeared from the face of the earth, but his texts were spread much further apart, and when he was around, at lunch or in class, he wasn’t truly there, always focused on something else.

She couldn’t help but feel as though there was a void in her day, a gap only replenishable by the mole-speckled boy. She tried to distract herself from the looming feeling of loneliness by hanging out with Allison and Lydia, their light hearted conversations usually effective. Only, her attempts fell short as soon as she was alone again. It had come to a point where Y/N would count the hours between each message, trying to come up with reasons why he wouldn’t just text her back sooner. None of this helped of course.

Constantly thinking about the source of your pain can only do one thing: vivify it.

One rainy Tuesday, Y/N sat down at a table in the school cafeteria, dropping her lunch tray onto the cool surface with a soft thud. Squeezing in between Lydia and Allison, across from Scott and Isaac, she reached for her apple and bit into it with a satisfying crunch as the chatter surrounding her slowly increased.

The girls chatted as the boys focused on Scott’s phone, their eyes glued to the screen.

Y/N raised an eyebrow at them and leaned forward, snapping her fingers just a few inches away from their faces. Scott’s head snapped upwards and Isaac startled, the pair releasing a breath as she chuckled.

“What the hell are you guys doing?” she asked.

Isaac handed her the phone before grabbing his turkey sandwich.

“Our English teacher showed us this website with a bunch of riddles and we’re trying to figure some of them out,” Scott replied, pointing at the screen as Y/N slowly scrolled down.

“You guys are studying riddles?” Allison gasped. “Why do we always get stuck with the boring English teacher?”

“The more you take, the more you leave behind.” Y/N read one of the riddles aloud.

“Footsteps,” replied Lydia with ease, nibbling on her carrot sticks.

“Okay genius, what about this. What is easy to get into but harder to get out of?” Allison asked, peering over Y/N’s shoulder.

Lydia paused, reflecting quietly as the group observed her furrowed brow with amusement.

“Can I give it a go?” asked Isaac, hand raised.

“Go ahead.”

“Trouble?”

“That’s it!” replied Allison.

“Of course you’d get that one right,” Y/N joked, shaking her head.

“Oh okay, try this one. Who has married hundreds but still stays single?”

Suddenly, Stiles’ voice resonated in Y/N’s ears as he sat down next to Scott, his lips curled into a grin.

“A priest,” he said, accompanied by a soft click of his tongue.

“Correct,” replied Y/N, pointedly staring down at her apple.

“Speaking of weddings…when’s yours Stiles? We’re all invited right? And is it an open bar or have you not yet discussed your opti-“

“That’s funny, Isaac, that’s very funny,” answered Stiles. “Yeah, I’ll make sure your invitation gets lost in the mail.”

“Seriously though...Malia?” asked Scott, a sly smile drawn on his lips, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards.

Stiles blushed a little, avoiding everyone’s gazes as he watched his fingers repeatedly tap against the table, his lips pursing together.

“Malia, the girl from your math class?” inquired Lydia.

“Yep, and they’ve been talking…a lot…” Scott teased, his voice higher than usual. Stiles shot him a glare and shook his head in disbelief.

“You can’t keep a thing to yourself can you?” he laughed.

“Wait, so are you guys…?” Allison asked, her chin resting in the palm of her hand.

Y/N shot a glance at Stiles, her heart picking up its pace as she waited for a response.

Was something going on between them? Were they just friends? Was Malia the reason why Stiles and her weren’t talking as much?

“We’re talking. She’s fun. It’s fun. Talking, is- fun,” Stiles said, fumbling his words in embarrassment, his cheeks flooding with red.

“Wow, you’re smitten aren’t you?”

“Okay! Guys, let’s give him a break from the interrogation. He looks like he’s about to explode,” exclaimed Y/N, desperately trying to change the subject, for both their sakes.

Stiles sent her a grateful look and chuckled, the group moving onto another topic, enjoying their lunch together before classes started anew.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

Later, after the busy day had winded down and the sun had dipped beneath the horizon, Y/N lay on her bed, the tiny fairy lights hanging on her wall catching her eye as she quietly hummed along to Peach Pit. As the leader singer gave way to the guitarist’s blissful riff, her phone buzzed, and her quiet bubble burst.

She sighed as she reached for it, her fingers connecting with the cool screen. Her tired eyes adjusting to the sudden blue light, she focused on the screen, her lips curling into a soft smile as she read the words she had just received.

Stiles: what comes in hard but comes out soft?

Stiles: tip: you can blow it

Y/N: you’re disgusting

Stiles: excuse me

Stiles: I don’t know what you’re talking about

Y/N: what is it?

Stiles: it’s gum

Y/N shook her head, rolling her eyes at the pervy connotation.

Y/N: ha ha ha

Stiles: it’s not my fault you have a dirty mind

Y/N: yea yea, I was completely innocent before meeting you guys

Stiles: please

Stiles: there’s nothing innocent about you

She stopped, rereading the words carefully, her memories from the Halloween rave flooding back. Those god awful colours just couldn’t stop dancing in the back of her mind.

Hesitantly, she typed in her answer.

Y/N: so what’s up?

She patiently waited, her hands still holding onto her phone, the soft music in the background rocking her peacefully.

Stiles: well

Stiles: I’ve been talking to Malia a lot

Y/N: how’s it going with her?

Stiles: actually we’re hanging out tomorrow

Stiles: in the woods

Y/N felt a pang of hurt in her abdomen but she swiftly ignored it.

Y/N: wow

Y/N: is this a date?

Time stopped for a few seconds before his painful answer showed up on the screen.

Stiles: I think so yea

Y/N: damn

Y/N: so you really like her huh?

Stiles: yea she’s great

Stiles: she’s kind of dominant too?

Stiles: very assertive

Stiles: it’s

Stiles: interesting

Y/N: you like that?

Stiles: it’s definitely not something I’m used to

Stiles: but yea it’s nice

Stiles: I haven’t really talked to anyone about this besides Scott so don’t tell anyone please

Y/N: ofc not

Stiles: thanks

Stiles: quick question

Stiles: might sound weird so don’t judge me

Y/N: go ahead lmao

Stiles: what do you do before you kiss a girl

Stiles: do you ask for permission or do you just do it?

Y/N’s heart momentarily stopped beating and she gulped, her eyes fixated on the surprisingly hurtful words. Her mind completely blank, she paused the music from her computer and passed a hand through her hair, trying to think of an answer. Finally, she drew a deep breath and replied, her hands steady as stone.

Y/N: there’s no answer to that haha

Y/N: you have to do what feels natural

Stiles: yea, you’re probably right

Stiles: just don’t want to mess it up

Y/N: you won’t

Stiles: thanks

Y/N: tell me how it goes!

Stiles: will do

Stiles: and thanks again

Y/N: npp

Y/N shut her phone off and plugged her charger in, placing it on her bedside table. Turning off all of the lights, and drawing her bedroom curtains to a close, she settled beneath her comforter, spreading her limbs with a wide stretch. As she shifted onto her side, placing her hands underneath her cool pillow, she let her eyes roam around her bedroom, thoughts churning in her head.

He had feelings for this girl. Stiles actually liked Malia. And not only was he going on a date with her, but he had talked to Y/N about it. Had she really just imagined it was Stiles on that dance floor? Had she really just mistaken the person kissing her, sliding his lips up and down her neck as she held onto him? And if so, if all of this was purely just her mind playing tricks on her, what did that mean? Did she want it to have been Stiles?

Amor was lingering around her head but she couldn’t see it. All of these questions bustling in her mind soon blended into silence as she drifted into a dreamless sleep.

The next day flew by in a blur of classes and scribbles on sheets of paper, a bland and monotone school day. Only one event stood out.

Stiles: well it’s official

Stiles: Stiles Stilinski is a bachelor no more

She congratulated him and heard all of the details surrounding Stiles’ date with Malia. The brunette had laughed at his jokes, she’d held his hand, they’d walked down the stream in the woods, talking endlessly, and then he had leaned in and kissed her.

And she had kissed him back.

What the group had originally thought to be a fling had turned into something more, it had become a real serious relationship.

More absent than ever, Stiles spent most of his time with his new girlfriend, enjoying the feeling of her lips against his own when they kissed each other and the complicity between them. Everyone could tell he was beyond excited about the thrilling sensations that came with young love, though no one other than Y/N knew just how much.

Every day, her phone buzzed, the notifications reminding her that her friend loved making Malia laugh, or that Malia liked the same band he did. Reminding her that he was happy.

And Y/N was unbelievably happy for him as well. She tried to focus on the positives, mainly the fact that the pair had started talking again. Things had gone back to normal, their inside jokes rekindled and their conversations more frequent. But still, something just didn’t sit right.

Y/N pushed this feeling away, diving into new hobbies and hanging out with her friends. As a child, she had always loved drawing and painting. As a matter of fact, she had even followed lessons in an atelier not far from her house, in her hometown. She’d always loved painting but as she had grown older, her extra time had become much slimmer and with life getting in the way, she had had to let it go.

Then one fateful December afternoon, Lydia forced the girls to paint with her in the art room at school. Much to Y/N’s surprise, the tranquility she had felt as a child while holding a brush came back unbelievably naturally.

It was like the brush had never left the palm of her hand. So she started painting again.

When she wasn’t studying or spending time with the pack, creating timeless memories with them, she was hidden away in her room by the window, her fingers curling around her paintbrush, her hair wrapped into a loose bun.

The simple act of turning thin stripes of colour into shapes and scenes was so beautifully appeasing to her. With every flick of her hand, with every twist and turn of blues and yellows onto the white canvas, she felt herself come alive again. Every worry, every disappointment, and every doubt poured out of her hands and blended into the mythical paradises she painted.

Sometimes we live without something, and we don’t realize just how much we miss it until we let it back in. She had missed this terribly.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

As the early mornings became darker and darker with every passing day, Y/N spent hours watching the sky and the leafless trees, observing time and its slow and tantalizing movement. She memorized the scenes before her as she got dressed for school, her eyes lingering on the dark blue sky outside and the yellow halos of light emitted from the streetlamps.

Sometimes simple things like the way your eye catches the light can be astoundingly beautiful. Y/N paid attention to details in order to paint them later. Every trace, every shadow, every speck of light was equally important.

One morning, finally ready for school, Y/N walked out of her home, adjusting the red beanie on her head, her bag swung over her shoulder. The frosty morning air greeted her and she thanked herself for having decided to wear her dark grey wool sweater. Turning on the ignition (and the heat) of her dad’s car, Y/N left the driveway, and made her way to the high school, the sun slowly but surely peaking above the horizon.

Y/N’s fingers furiously tapped against the steering wheel of the car, the school coming into eyeshot. Classes were becoming more and more exhausting with winter exams right around the corner. The air was tense inside the school, students talking about their exam schedules and fears about their upcoming performances.

Y/N was nervous too. She was a good student, but quite often, she would get lost in her thoughts, ignoring her teachers rant about equations and The Scarlet Letter. She studied and she handed in her essays on time, however doubt clouded her mind, and maybe her hard work wouldn’t be enough.

These thoughts played on a loop in her head as Y/N attended her first two classes, time ticking by slowly.

When Y/N entered her classroom for the third period, students shoved past her, quickly exiting the room and heading on to their next lesson. She slumped into her seat, her bag landing on the surface of her desk with a thud. As she waited for her history professor to get to class, her eyes scanned the room.

She watched her fellow classmates enter the room, chatting loudly, groups forming around students seated on their desks or lingering by the windows. She glanced to her right and noticed Stiles, always recognizable due to his colourful flannels, seated a few desks away from her, close to the blackboard.

“Stiles!” she called out his name, puzzled. He didn’t have history class with her. Her eyes lingered on his arched back and she repeated herself. “Stiles?”

His back still turned to her flinched at the sound of her voice and she frowned before standing up and walking over to him. As she inched closer, she glanced down at his fingers, curled around the edge of his desk, the tips white from the pressure of his grip. His knee burst up and down at a furious pace as she placed her hand on his shoulder, the color draining from her face when her gaze fell upon Stiles’ contorted expression.

“Stiles, what’s going on? Are you okay?” she asked with a whisper as she bent down next to him.

He emitted a small whine, his breathing suddenly more audible.

“Sti, talk to me,” she murmured, rubbing his back slowly.

His breathing became more unsteady with every movement of her hand and he gasped, making Y/N’s heart leap in her chest. The room had started to quiet down, and she turned, quickly realizing the scene was starting to draw a lot of attention. Putting her arm around her friend, she stood up and dragged him out of his chair, his legs staggering as he followed her out of the room.

As soon as the pair had gotten out of the classroom and into the hallway, Stiles’ breathing tripled in velocity, his breaths short and intense. Y/N held onto him, treading as quickly as possible through the hall, trying desperately to get to the boy’s locker room, where they’d be alone.

Pushing past the crowd of bustling students, Y/N’s eyes lit up as they approached the blue door she had been looking for. The pair burst into the dim locker room, Stiles rushing over to the back of the room, his legs giving in under the weight of his shaking body. His breathing was erratic and fat tears rolled down his cheeks as he punched the floor, the pain in his knuckles incomparable to the burning sensation in his gut. Y/N ran over to him, her knees hitting the floor with a painful thud, but she didn’t care, instead focusing on Stiles’ pale and tormented face.

“Breathe. Come on, breathe with me,” she said, an undeniable hint of worry in her voice she had difficulty hiding.

“I-I…can’t,” he gasped, a choked sob escaping his throat.

Y/N grabbed his quaking hands and held them in her sweaty palms, her eyes fixated on his.

“Sti, look at me. Look at me,” she insisted and he squinted at her through the thick tears spilling over the barrier of his eyelids. Soothingly caressing his shaking hands, her eyes piercing through his, she spoke, her voice a gentle anchor grounding him into reality.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Everything’s gonna be fine. I’m here. You’re okay,” she repeated, her voice slightly trembling.

She had never seen him like this. He was a shaking mess, his face wet and twisted in pain, his breathing still highly unsteady.

Stiles held onto her hands with difficulty, his chest heaving as he struggled not to give in to the never-ending waves of panic washing over his quaking body.

Y/N inhaled and exhaled slowly, her eyes never leaving his. Her exaggerated breaths were soon followed by his own weak attempts at controlling his lungs, groans of pain slipping through his gritted teeth.

“Here do this. Press your finger against one of your nostrils and inhale for 5 seconds with the other. You can do this,” she said, acting out her words as carefully as possible.

Stiles struggled to follow her lead but slowly, he pushed the tip of his shaking finger into his skin, blocking the path for oxygen through his left nostril.

“Okay, good. Inhale. 1…2…3…” she counted, and he inhaled with her, his breath occasionally bursting through his mouth.

“Keep going, come on. 4…5…Hold it in!” she cried, her eyes welling up at the sight of Stiles’ pained expression, his chest obviously about to burst.

“Okay, breathe out, with me. 1…2…3…4…5…” Y/N murmured, her gentle fingers caressing his hand. The boy exhaled with her and shook his head, almost as if he couldn’t believe the method was starting to work.

“You’re doing great. Switch nostrils now. There you go. 1…2…3…”

The pair breathed in and out in sync, Y/N’s hands still holding Stiles’. After a few minutes, each breath of his was accompanied by a slightly deeper one, Y/N’s shoulders loosening with relief as a wave of calm washed over her.

As the chaos in the room started to subside, she felt Stiles’ fingers tighten in her palm, his sweaty skin pressed against hers. She looked into his red-rimmed eyes and gave it a reassuring squeeze, her unoccupied hand reaching up to wipe the tears off of his weary face as her body shifted upwards.

Before she could touch his skin, Stiles caught her hand and pulled her into an embrace, his lips quivering tremendously as he broke down, warm tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Don’t leave, please. I need you. I need you,” he repeated like a mantra, his entire body going limp in Y/N’s arms, strangled sobs escaping from his sore throat. The girl closed her eyes as the felt Stiles’ heart thunder furiously against her chest, small tears threatening to spill over her eyelids.

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered in his ear, tightening her embrace.

“I need you. I need you.”

A/N: hope u liked this part!! please reblog if u did :) feedback is also always appreciated <3

if you would like to be added to this series’ taglist, please send me an ask :)

If you would like to be added to my taglist(s), feel free to fill in this form

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski fanfiction #Stiles Stilinski fanfic #Stiles Stilinski series #Stiles Stilinski x reader #Stiles Stilinski x reader insert #teen wolf #tw #Dylan o'brien #v writes #a shitty love song #series #angst #fluff #warnings #viewer discretion is advised #panic attack trigger warning #panic attack #trigger warning

[nctsiren]

Thank you for turning on anon uwu for the ask game thingy can I ask these for all of the girls? daydreams, caress, ivory, golden, freckles, twilight, poppy, clouds, roses, lollipop, dimples, whisper, pencil, honey, velvet, strawberry, kiss, shampoo, lace, sapphos?

hewwo anon!!! thank u for requesting!! i’m sorry it’s late :(( hope you enjoy, nonetheless!! i enjoyed writing it 🥺

daydream-

hyeyoung: “i think i’ll say joan jett or debbie harry!! i admire them a lot, i love their music, and i think it’d be fun to be a rock singer.”

mila: “i think it’d be nice to be beetle. i’ve always wondered how his mind works. being a dog seems cool”

evie was answered in my other post!!

jimin: “seulgi unnie!! i’ve always wondered what it would feel like to be perfect ;)”

caress-

hyeyoung: “i love to snuggle... i like when johnny lays between my legs with his head on my chest. it makes me so happy.”

mila: “yes... but i play hard to get with some of the wayv members. i feel at ease cuddling with ten.”

evie was answered in my other post!!

jimin: “there are hundreds of youtube comps of me being snuggly and affectionate .. i just love my members”

ivory-

hyeyoung: “i wear matching sets. like the pants and the button up shirt? or the silk/satin shorts and matching tank tops. i love cute pajamas, i always have.”

mila: “i usually wear a sports bra and boxers or shorts.”

evie: “big shirt and my underwear.”

jimin: “usually a big hoodie and shorts!”

golden-

hyeyoung: “i cannot choose!! i own lots of stationary, and i scrapbook, as well.”

mila: “i’m not really a stationary person. just gimme some lined paper and i am all good.”

evie: “i love a good pen.”

jimin: “AHH i’m a sucker for the cute stationary cards. i like writing letters and notes”

freckles-

hyeyoung: “honestly, i have a pair of black cigarette pants that i love to pieces. i wear them often- they just go with everything and are so comfortable!”

mila: “i... honestly probably this hoodie i stole from lucas. it’s super big and comfy. if i don’t wear it at certain times i feel like something bad will happen ://“

evie: “i have this big, chunky grandpa sweater that’s striped and i wear it to the point where it might start falling apart.”

jimin: “it’s not really a clothing item, but i’ve worn the lily necklace chenle gave me every day since i got it. and my necklace that’s just my name, jimin, in cursive.”

twilight (this is their best friend outside of the other girls)-

hyeyoung: “i know it’s cheesy, but johnny, for obvious reasons... i’m also quite close to irene unnie, as well as jaehyun and taeyong. it’s hard for me to pick.”

mila: “ten.”

evie: “i legitimately cannot pick outside of the girls... maybe lucas... or yuta... or doyo... i don’t fucking know.”

jimin: “chenle- i’m stuck with him.”

poppy-

hyeyoung: “pink. i’m not even much of a pink girl, but pastel pink is lovely.”

mila: “is... pastel orange a thing? i see it in my mind, but i don’t know if anyone else can.”

evie: “green. green is my favorite color in general, all shades.”

jimin: “lavender and periwinkle are my favorite colors outside of grey and white.”

clouds-

hyeyoung: “it was me alone in a practice room, but the room had large windows in it and it was so light. i was dancing- there was no music playling, but i still was. i felt so happy, and i stopped after twirling because johnny had arrived and he just smiled at me with so much love in his eyes.”

mila: “i honestly don’t remember my dreams, but i remember how i felt during them?”

evie was answered in my other post!!

jimin: “all of my dreams are weird and i don’t have a favorite because they’re too bizarre to enjoy.”

roses-

hyeyoung: “red roses... my late grandma, who was the person i loved most in the world, loved red roses.”

mila: “i think... tulips.”

evie was answered in my other post!!

jimin: “lilies, but not because of my name. my loved ones give them to me because of my name, but i love them because i receive them from my loved ones LMAO”

lollipop-

hyeyoung: “lipstick is my favorite. nice reds and pinks. i never go dark with lipstick- only dark eye makeup.”

mila: “i love ALL makeup”

evie: “i kind of hate wearing makeup, but i guess i’d pick eyebrow stuff.”

jimin: “mascara and blush! i like the heavy blush look.”

dimples-

hyeyoung: “my favorite thing is when i see people’s eyes crinkle when they smile. smiles and lips- oh, lips- are so beautiful.”

mila: “i love the variety of expressions that people can show even in a matter of seconds. i love seeing the range of emotions and thoughts on people’s faces.”

evie: “i love noses. all noses. also, i think facial structures are so lovely and unique. everyone is different.”

jimin: “smiles and eyes. i think eyes are so, so beautiful. i’ve never met anyone with eyes that aren’t beautiful. and smiles are heavenly because seeing a person’s joy written on their face is priceless.”

whisper-

hyeyoung: “i usually get the amount you’re supposed to get. i tend to go to bed earlier and wake up earlier. my alarm is santeria by sublime, like johnny’s...”

mila: “i have horrible, horrible insomnia and only get a very little amount.”

evie was answered on my other post!! ++ she also will sleep through ANYTHING even her alarms

jimin: “i either get too much or too little.”

pencil-

hyeyoung: “i bullet journal to plan, and i also write down the things that make me anxious during the day so that i can reflect and see what i could do next time to sooth myself more”

mila: “lined notebooks full of songs that i keep in a specific drawer. if i need to get out anything, it escapes my mind in a song”

evie: “my journals are 10% words, 90% drawings.”

jimin: “i have my song journals, but then i have my jimin journals which hold every intimate thought or emotion i have ever felt.”

honey-

hyeyoung: “baby or love. those are what johnny most commonly calls me. he likes to call me angel, too, and that really gets me :) .. we also call each other chipmunk.”

mila: “i used to hate being called lala, but now i love it. it’s also cute when evie calls me baozi, because i call her shumai. i also like bun.”

evie’s is answered on my other post!!

jimin: “uhh... baby, minmin (thanks, jisung), i like when people call me flower too 🥺”

velvet-

hyeyoung: “my first crush? i saw kurt cobain when i was little and thought he was the most handsome man i’d ever seen- i listened to a lot of nirvana growing up. a lot of people don’t expect me to like things like grunge or rock, but it’s very much my style!! im just shy and don’t dress to reflect it.”

mila: “i watched hercules when i was really little and became obsessed with meg. yup. it was the classic ‘i just thought i wanted to be her!’ but nope. gay.”

evie: “i don’t remember?! i think it was when i was in secondary school, because i didn’t like anyone for a while. just this classmate... and i was a cringe little fuck.”

jimin: “the first notable one i remember was when i was in second grade... i was reading twilight and fell in love with edward. yes, i was reading twilight in second grade, yes when i got to breaking dawn my mom didn’t let me read part of the honeymoon. i also had a crush on bella, and to this day, i would be in a throuple with robert pattinson and kristen stewart.”

strawberry-

hyeyoung: “cherries and strawberries, because they taste best covered in chocolate.”

mila: “mangos are so fucking good.”

evie: “grapes are arguably the best fruit and gumdrop grapes are arguably the best kind.”

jimin: “watermelon, bitchesssss”

kiss-

hyeyoung: “i mean, my first kiss was with a boy i was friends with when i was in america. we had both smoked a cigarette before it (i just wanted to try it) so it tasted bad. the other guys i kissed i weren’t proper friends with, and then johnny.”

mila: “um, ive kissed evie, like, when we were dating. i havent kissed many people to be honest...”

evie: “i kissed mila, i’ve kissed lily (a friendly peck), i’ve ALMOST kissed hyeyoung, i’ve kissed some of my guy friends and girl friends predebut- so, yes, i have kissed friends. and people who aren’t friends. i just like to kiss.”

jimin: “... sigh. renjun, chenle, evie, The Ex We Don’t Talk About, yeri (friendly, like with evie), and probably a few other friends in a non-romantic way? i dunno”

shampoo-

hyeyoung: “my favorite scent is johnny’s versace cologne, his shampoo, and his skin. definitely roses. i also love my perfume smell, clean linen, and i love the smell of champagne.”

mila: “i like the smell of cigarettes... YES i know it’s bad, but it calms me down. i’d also pick the smell of rain, or beetle, because he always smells good.”

evie: “the smell of paint and pencils is so comforting. i also like nature smells. when the air smells cold, it’s so nice. and the OCEAN.”

jimin: “home-y smells? laundry, and warm smells... lavender and florals, my perfume, and the smell of summer nights and bonfires. also any of my members.”

lace-

hyeyoung: definitely a dress person, is definitely in love with the classiness and sleeves of that first one, and is definitely happy about how sexy she looks in that second one.

mila: is NOT a dress person and prefers dresses that she can go braless with and are comfortable

evie: this is just Evie and we all know it

jimin: the first one is cute on it’s own AND with a big sweater/sweatshirt over it, and the second one make her feel like she on a european holiday

sapphos-

hyeyoung: “jiminnie :) she writes such beautiful poetry- i’m very thankful that she chose to share some with me!”

mila: “i don’t think i have a favorite poet, to be honest... i like kate bush, though, and i know she’s a singer, but she’s truly a poet.”

evie: “michael faudet. he wrote a series of poetry books, his first is called ‘dirty pretty things’ and it’s really 18+ but i thought it was gorgeous. i have all of his books.”

jimin: “asking me to pick a favorite poet is like asking me to pick a favorite member- can’t do it.”

#nct siren #nct siren;; q&a #nct siren;; misc #just siren things #hyeyoung shon #mila zhou #evie wu #lily na

[ftcoye]

congrats on 200 followers!! I'd like to request Wen Qing/YanLi ,, u know just some soft lesbians. To be more specific lmao, could you write a soft reunion of sorts? Thank youuuu

[Ao3 Link.]

“Um… excuse me?” Jiang Yanli turns, and there is one of the youngest disciples. Recruits have been coming in and she hasn’t been able to acquaint herself with every single new member of the Jiang sect, but she’s met this one before. The second youngest shidi of the current boy, a quiet little boy that turns a furious red every time she so much as looks at him.

(It makes her think of other young shidis, lost to the Wens and their slaughter, and her heart aches.)

“Yes?” she asks, smiling and trying to seem welcoming, and right on cue his cheeks burn. “How can I help you, shidi?”

She’s still coaxing them to call her shijie – A-Xian remains the only one to call her such, even though she wishes he would call her jiejie. Her shidi doesn’t look at her, his hands curling uncertainly in his purple robes, staring at the water from the corner of his eye. “Um…” he says quietly, “There’s… someone asking for you…”

That’s a surprise. She frowns, just a little. “Do you know who?”

He shakes his head. “A lady… she said she was your friend.”

Ah. Such a thing explains why he hadn’t alerted her brothers, if it was a woman. But… who…? Yanli tends to make friends wherever she goes, but she typically remains primarily surface-level. Not because she does not care about them, nor that she has not desired to make true friends, but…

It is an unfortunate habit, and family has always come first.

“Thank you for telling me,” she tells her shidi sweetly, giving him a smile. “I will greet them.”

He bounces lightly from foot to foot, anxious. “Should… should I escort you…?”

Yanli wishes that she knew him well enough to draw him into her arms – were he one of the shidis from before, one of the members of her sect from before all were slaughtered, she would have, but… it is best to not think of that. Instead, she shakes her head. “No, I will be fine,” she says, seeing him relax a little. “But…” Yanli taps her finger on her chin. “Aren’t you supposed to be practicing archery right now?”

He pales and then his face blotches red, clearly having not expected her to stay on top of the training schedules. “I- I- I’ll go do that right now!” He stammers, bowing and sprinting off as she does her best not to giggle.

She doesn’t quite succeed, but at least she manages to hold it in until he’s out of earshot.

Now, to see her visitor. Yanli ponders over it as she heads to the front, wondering who it could be. If it were someone from one of the larger sects, whom she had known at Gusu, perhaps, there is no reason they wouldn’t announce their name and be properly escorted in. But someone who did not declare herself as such, and was waiting for Yanli alone…?

Yanli is not unintelligent, and given those she would have counted among friends, and those who could have reason to keep quiet about and yet come seek her out regardless….

“Wen Qing,” Yanli greets her as she approaches, and the hooded woman looks up. She looks… absolutely awful. Her cheeks are hollow from hunger, her hair a mess from what Yanli can see, her robes and cloak dirty and torn in several places.

“Jiang Yanli,” she says, and then her eyes widen and she fumbles. “Or… forgive me, I-“ They are not equals anymore, Yanli realizes, but it matters little to her.

She steps forward quickly and takes the other woman’s hands in her own, giving them a gentle squeeze even as Wen Qing jerks and swallows, but lets them stay. “Jiang Yanli is fine,” she tells her gently. “I am glad to see you.”

And in fact, she is – she would say it is glad to see Wen Qing doing well, but she is clearly not, so Yanli will have to be content with the simple matter that she is glad the other woman is alive. There were so many deaths in the Sunshot Campaign, on both sides, and she is achingly glad that Wen Qing is not among the fallen.

Wen Qing swallows sharply again and then she is gripping Yanli’s hands right back, a fierce determination in her eyes. “I am here to beg for your help,” she says. “It is my family.”

Oh, no. Yanli can’t help the concern that swells up in her, even more than before. “What happened?” she asks, and she gently tugs on Wen Qing’s hands, taking a step back and intending to pull the woman with her – but she remains rooted to the spot, gaze steady.

“They’re disappearing,” she says, intent and unwavering. “Murdered or taken – I don’t know which. My cousin’s son and his caretaker, our grandmother, were the most recent.”

Yanli’s brow furrows very slightly. “But… Lanling Jin said they were just going to contain the cultivators,” she says. In hindsight, she realizes with a lurch of guilt, they were very, very vague and that would most certainly contain the woman before her. She should have spoken up, then – should have asked for Wen Qing and Wen Ning to be put underneath Jiang protection, as well as anyone they needed to bring with them.

Wen Qing pushes forward. “Lanling Jin lied,” she says. “It isn���t just cultivators – it’s every Wen, no matter how young and no matter how old.” Her lip curls slightly. “Nor do I think they are simply containing them.”

It is a blow – it is a terrifying blow, a terrifying thought. If Lanling Jin has lied about only cultivators… Between Jin Guangshan and Wen Qing, Yanli knows who she will trust more. It is not even slightly in question. She squeezes Wen Qing’s hands and nods fiercely. “Yes,” she says, even though Wen Qing had never actually asked a question. “Of course I will help.” Surely, even if Lanling Jin is lying, the other sects do not know…!

A horrifying thought strikes her, then. “Your brother?” Because they are a pair, and yet he is not here!

Fortunately, Wen Qing relaxes just a little bit at that and shakes her head. “Don’t worry,” she says. “He’s fine. We thought…” She grimaces a little. “If he approached with me, we would have been directed to your brother, instead.”

In truth, it makes sense – Yanli is unwed, and for a strange man to be requesting an audience with her, even if he is accompanied by a woman, when that woman will not in turn identify herself either… no, they likely would have been directed to Jiang Cheng.

Yanli wishes she could say that Jiang Cheng would have heard them out, would have listened to them, but she knows her stubborn little brother and he may not have.

He will listen, though, to her.

“Is he in town?” she asks. “Should we get him?” Yanli cannot imagine they are far apart – were this the situation, she doubts she could leave her brothers, even if it was what made sense.

“Actually…” Wen Qing glances down, and then she pushes forward, holding Yanli’s hands and being gentle as she does so, moving them a few steps. Yanli does as she is directed, taking a few steps back even as she is confused. “A-Ning, you can come out.”

There’s a splashing noise from under the dock, and then Yanli’s mouth drops open as Wen Qionglin steps out from underneath it, the water shallow enough that it comes up to his shoulders when he draws himself up fully. He reaches out, grabbing hold of the dock, and hauls himself up, arms trembling slightly but managing it. He’s completely soaked through, his robes and hair completely sodden as he drips all over the pier, but that doesn’t stop him from giving a bow. “Lady Jiang,” he greets, voice soft, and Yanli is completely flabbergasted.

“How- How long were you under there?” she asks. “Why?”

Wen Qing looks at her, relaxed enough to give her a slightly unimpressed look. “I wasn’t going to leave him behind, not when this is going on,” she says, which is exactly what Yanli had been thinking but moments earlier so she’s not going to argue with that. “But it’s not like there’s anywhere else to hide here.”

She is, again, not wrong, but Yanli is an older sister too and so she instinctively goes to fretting. “Oh, you must be so cold! I’m sure some of A-Xian’s robes will fit you – and some of mine will fit you as well, Wen Qing. Please, come with me.”

“Thank you,” says Wen Qionglin softly. Wen Qing lets go of one of Yanli’s hands to offer the other to her brother and he takes it.

They make an interesting trio, as they walk through Lotus Pier. Yanli, holding hands with the exhausted, hollow-cheeked and dirty Wen Qing, who holds hands with the dripping wet Wen Qionglin. It is both fortunate and unfortunate that not all of her shidis are at practice. Unfortunate, because it means they witness this event – it cannot stay quiet, and it will spread quickly.

Fortunate, though, because Yanli stops the first disciple she sees. “Gather up a few other disciples,” she tells him. “I need two baths drawn up in my room, and someone to fetch some of the pork buns from the kitchens, please.”

“Lady Jiang,” Wen Qionglin says, in a polite-but-protesting manner, and Yanli throws her best ‘I am your older sister and you WILL listen to me’ look his way, which she typically has very little need to practice. Fortunately, practiced or not, it is enough to make him stop, and Wen Qing snorts.

“Thank you,” she says instead, and Yanli turns a smile upon her, squeezing her hand.

“Of course,” she says, because there is no question about her doing such.

They stop by A-Xian’s room before they reach her own, and Yanli leaves the door open as she steps inside the messiness. It is a little worrisome, in that while A-Xian has always been messy he has never been… like this, and she worries greatly for both her brothers every day. Still, he has clean robes put away, and she plucks some out for Wen Qionglin to wear. Her brother is maybe just a little taller, so they should fit him well.

Without even thinking about it, she takes Wen Qing’s hand again when she shuts the door behind her, and leads on.

Her shidis are good – they work fast, probably scampering as fast as they can, and the three of them are slow. Yanli has never been a fast walker, and Wen Qing and Wen Qionglin do not seem to have the ability to move quickly. She wonders how long it has been since they properly ate or rested, and the thought sends a pang through her.

Either way, it means by the time she has led them to her rooms, her shidi are just finishing up. They bow quickly. “Is- Is there anything else you need, Lady Jiang?” the older one asks, eyes wide as he glances at her two companions.

“Could you tell Sect Leader Jiang to meet me here?” she requests, and he nods, both of the children off like two arrows, hurrying as fast as they can without running.

Yanli smiles at their backs, but Wen Qing is the one who speaks up. “You have rebuilt this place well,” she says, her voice soft.

Ah. Yes. “Thank you,” she says. She sets A-Xian’s clothes on her bed, going to her wardrobe to pull out some clothes for Wen Qing as well, and then ensures that both the towels and her privacy screen are at hand, should they need the latter. She moves quickly – the baths are steaming, and they should get in while they are warm.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?” she says, as she shows them where her shidi have set up tea and pork buns on the table.

Wen Qing shakes her head. “Thank you,” she says, and she seems to struggle with her words. “I… You’re doing a lot for us. Thank you.”

Yanli abandons decorum and draws her into a tight hug. Wen Qing is surprised, but then hugs her right back, just as fiercely. “You have done a lot for me as well,” she says simply, quietly, her mouth right by the other’s ear. “What are friends for?”

When Wen Qing pulls back, she is perhaps a little misty-eyed – Yanli allows her her pride and does not comment. “Friends,” Wen Qing agrees as well.

“Thank you, Lady Jiang,” says Wen Qionglin, watching the two with a smile on his face, and he bows again. Yanli would hug him, but he is very, very wet right now.

“Jiang Yanli is fine,” she tells him, and though he nods, she doubts he will call her such immediately. It will likely take more persuasion. “I will be right outside. Let me know when you are finished.”

And with that, she leaves them to it, shutting the door behind her and then leaning against the wall next to it with a slight sigh. This will be… difficult, she thinks. Quite hard, and yet… can she do anything else?

A-Cheng rounds the corner. “Jiejie,” he says, and his eyes are narrowed, angry with concern as he reaches out for her hands to hold them. “Are you alright? Who did you bring here, what’s going on?”

She loves her brother, in his angry care, his fierce comfort, and when she wraps her arms around him he doesn’t hesitate to hold her back. “It is Lanling Jin,” she says, because it is probably the best place to start. “They have lied to use, they…”

A-Cheng squeezes her, careful but firm. “Tell me everything,” he says, and Yanli does.

#wen qing #jiang yanli #yanqing #qingyan #wen ning #wen qionglin #mdzs #nessarinthegay

[2p-stuff-because-i-miss-them]

2p Japan (general) Headcanons

I haven't got any asks yet so I'll start off with these ig.

His full name is Kuro Honda

What a little bitch bean boy, no fr-

He's small but he'll kick your ass

He lives in Kyoto usually but sometimes he'll go and visit America, China or like England and live there for a couple months because- he can.

^Allen appreciates this greatly because he cannot clean for shit- Kuro goes on a mad cleaning spree and cooks all the dinner

There was a point where our boi was interested in the pastel goth aesthetic- it was mc fucking adorable he made 1 look.

But before anyone could even dwell in the cuteness this bean didn't even-

He stopped it entirely, hid away his outfit, b r u h

Only Zao knows about it, Kuro knows that Zao knows but he's threatened him many many times-

He says it'll never happen again it was just a phase-

then why do you still have the outfit Kuro-

Absolute meme garbage,

You say a refrence l, even the most vague comment in the world? He knows-

^you'll say like 1/3 of a not so well known meme or trendy song, and he'll finish it like "here come-" Kuro: DAT BOI, SHIT WHADDUP

He's a hermit low-key high-key you know? But he's still active and aware of things, to the point where you kind of don't believe he's a hermit-

^Kuro you said you weren't at the meeting because of... several anime marathons?

"Correct"

So I guess we can give you a quick brief reca-

"that'll be unnecessary I already know about everything that's going on, thank you. *leaves*"

But he wasn't here for 3 months-

But he knows....he knows-

This Bois hair grows pretty fast, so it's usually either to his mid upper back or a cute short tousled bobcut or something.

When his hair is long he'll put it in space buns at night.

He hates it when people see his space buns, because they stare weirdly-

But all of Axis thinks it's cute-

^Kuro: Lutz

Lutz: hm?

Kuro: would you remove your hand from my buns

Lutz: hmmmmmm, but they're so smol and precious

Luciano: Lutz move your hands, now.

*Lutz moving away*

Luciano: now let me see these-

Kuro likes drawing a lot so he's started a channel with tutorials.

He gets really angry at watercolor, but he still uses it aLmOsT eVeRy TiMe

He also has a commentary channel, it's high tier comedy. He has a pretty big following.

His sense of humor is pretty innapropiate so, it's mostly like 16-30 year olds watching his content

It's kinda hard to make friends with him

Probably because he knows if you'll be friends before you do-

Awkward small talk will cause him to be astrally projected to another continent

Nothing really shooks this guy, it's sort of like he's seen everything but also at this point any surprise to come that he hasn't experienced he's just thinking "this makes sense"

^Alien invasion? "Oh yeah obviously"

^Godzilla has risen to kill all of humanity. "Knew it. Allen you owe me $50"

^The matrix is real, you can truly be whatever you want because this world is fake. "This was bound to happen at some point"

You don't want to see this man visibly upset

It's a scary time.

He'll fucking fold your ass, even if you're twice his height

^ *person annoying him existing*

Kuro: yo what's up with you, wanna catch these hands?

Okay maybe he doesn't say it like that, but that's how he feels-

Kuro is pretty close to the Axis although he doesn't like them all the time.

He looks up to Luciano in a way a bit

And Lutz if we're being honest, he appreciates his charisma

He's got other country friends:

Him and Allen are pretty chill, he's pretty sure Allen has a medium sized crush on him but eh-

He wishes he could talk to Matt more but they're both pretty reserved so it's harder to talk. They still have a mutual feeling of respect for eachother though.

He actually sort of can't stand François, but only because he doesn't know his full story, he just sees him as an attractive nihilistic manwhore. (Oh but Allen and Luciano are much more different-)

This is basically it tho, ask if you want more boyfriend ish headcanons abt him

And remember my ask box is open so send in a few!

#2p japan #2p hetalia #2p america #2p!japan #2p!hetalia #2ptalia #2p headcanons #2p axis

[leora-rambles]

If I may ask, Who’s your favorite character in each of the parts you’ve seen/read?

I love most of the characters in each part, but I tried to pick out just one (VA and SO are the only exceptions lmao) 💕

Phantom Blood:

Jonathan Joestar

I found him very charming! I look up to him as a role model, haha. I just like how forgiving he is. He’s a really empathetic character, and that’s something I relate to lots.

I also like his voice. If there’s one thing that gets me attached to a character, it’s their voice. Jonathan’s voice is just so pure, it makes me tear up.

Battle Tendency:

Caesar Zeppeli

He’s what got me into JoJo in the first place. I saw a picture of him and immediately thought “I need him in my life”. He’s a charming character, and I love his stubbornness.

I like the way he impacted part 2, even though it made me cry lots. I can’t even listen to his theme without crying. I also love his voice.

Stardust Crusaders:

Kakyoin Noriaki

I really just for for the JoBros huh. First of all, he is artistic which made me instantly like him. His intelligence and wittiness just draws me to him.

His 👏 voice 👏. It is b e l i s s i m o. I also really like his colour palette.

Diamond is Unbreakable:

Rohan Kishibe (Spoilers?)

I’m going to try and keep it short, I don’t know why I’m attracted to this man. But I just love him so much. His confidence drew me to him I guess

I can relate to him, but only really goals wise. We both have the same ambition to be read and such. I just found that really cool.

HIS VOICEEEEEEE OMGGGGG. I cannot e x p l a I n how much I like his voice.

I also think his backstory with Reimi was really sad but heartwarming. Reimi is one of my favourite characters, and when it was revealed that she saved Rohan my heart j u m p e d. She’s best girl in DiU imo

I also adore his character design and his outfits, thank you so much Araki for giving him different outfits each time he made an appearance!!

Vento Aureo:

Can’t choose love them all Abbacchio, Risotto, or Fugo (Spoilers)

Abbacchio

Abbacchio’s one of my favourites because I liked how he contrasted with Giorno. He was mean, but you know what, I love that.

His backstory with his teammate made me cry big phat tears my dudes.

I love his character design 😳 you just know he conditions his hair well

His voice 🥺👏 shivers down my spine I tell you

His last mission for the crew made me cry. He got the job done even while he was dying.

Risotto

Risotto just makes my heart jump my dudes

His character design,,,, immaculate

The way he died for his team. It just showed how much he cared about them. The little details DP added in (Like Risotto staying at Sorbet and Gelatos funeral the longest) made me like him even more.

His voice 😩

Fugo

Fugo is a weird one for me. I like him because I finished Purple Haze Feedback recently, and it really changed my view on him.

I used to dislike him because of what went down, but ever since reading PHF, I started really liking his character.

Stone Ocean:

Hermes, Jolyne and Weather Report (Spoilers)

I have yet to finish Stone Ocean, so please bear with me.

Hermes

Look,,,,, Hermes just makes me feel something you feel.

I love how strong she is ❤️ she’s been through lots yet she’s still really tough, and I admire that.

two words,,, boob money. Absolute game changer.

Her laugh in the game 😭😭😭

Her design 🥺👏

HER VOICE. HER LAUGH. JUST HER VOICE 🥺

Jolyne

Jolyne. I will fight for her until my very last breath.

I think I will cry.

She is doing her best. Please.

I love her design, her hair buns SLAP. Her suit SLAPS.

She’s just so mfing strong!!! and motivated!!! Like yes!! Save your dad sis!!

I don’t mean to be shallow but she’s really pretty and that made me 😳

YARE YARE DAWA RFHEUUWHSS 🥺

She’s so bold!!! I love that for her!!

Her willingness and determination,,, immaculate.

Her 👏 VOICCEEEEEEE 👏

Weather Report

He’s cool 😳 I feel like he could slip down a staircase and still look cool, and I commend him for that. I like how he’s stone faced most of the time.

The way he’s blunt sometimes makes me giggle. I really like how he’s close with Jolyne.

His character design.... immaculate.

Voice,,,,,, my dudes,,, his voice,,

I don’t know much else since I still need to finish Stone Ocean haha

This was really fun to do!! If you want me to do something else that’s similar to this, the askbox is open 💕

Also, very sorry for any typos! I’m very sleep deprived.

Have a good day/night everyone !

#not writing #jojos bizarre adventure #jonathan joestar #caesar zeppeli #kakyoin noriaki #kishibe rohan #abbacchio leone #risotto nero #pannacotta fugo #hermes costello #jolyne cujoh #weather report #spoilers #ask

[chimswae]

Untold Bonus Part 3

Foreword:

Some stories are better left unsaid.I couldn’t change anything for the world, although the fame part of this industry is tough to handle.Do i have a life? Yes I have my fans.Do i have friends? Yes the members that I cherish. Do i have love? No I have to let go.Life always offers you a second chance. It’s called tomorrow. But do i have any tomorrow?

Pairing: Jimin x OC (Other characters: BTS, OCs, Lee Taehwan)

Genre: Idolau, Fluff, Romance, Father!Au

Word Count: 2,324

Author Note: I totally forget to finish update Untold! forgive me ;; This is an old story of mine i think i wrote it in 2017, so please ignore my clicheness and the excessive usage of clicheness~ that makes u cringe haha

You can check full masterlist below :)

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20

Part 3

 Although their camel tour ended a little comically, everyone had fun. Hoseok on the other hand was salty the whole day because of the poop incident. As soon as they reached their hotel, Hoseok spent at least two hours in the bathroom alone taking super long bath just to get rid of the smell or whatever he thought it was. He claimed it was to stabilize his mental state after the horrifying event.

 Hoseok could be a little too dramatic sometimes, no one could stop that guy.

 Leaving Hoseok with his delusional thought, others went to get dinner at nearby restaurant and bought takeaways food for him to savor later on. Enjoying the night city view, the stars sparkle in the night sky.

 “I love the city when it shuts down” Jimin whispers.

 Yeoul smiled upon hearing that low and raspy voice of his, so enticing. They both strolled the parks pedestrian pathways following others from behind silently. The streets was empty, there were minimal number of people around and most of them were couples. The emptiness was strange and magnificent.

 “This is perfect” she squished their hand tighter.

In front of them, there were Taehyung with his cameras and his loyal assistant Kim Namjoon, his eyes fixated on his gadgets. These two guys sometimes stopped in the middle of their walk to take good picture and admiring them afterwards. Or ended up bickering over Vante’s photos.

 Maknae and Jin on the other side were busy scanning the city and finding good spots to shop, though there were fewer shops opened past 11. The couple did not give up on whatever they were planning to buy, more like souvenirs.

 Taehwan and Yoongi went back earlier than them since they wanted to catch up their sleep, with that they offered to bring Minyeol together. Poor Minyeol being dragged around by the adults. Not to mention, they still had to feed loner Jung Hobi, that guy must be starving.

 Yeoul and Jimin took their time to enjoy this night stroll exchanging funny stories or stealing glances. Being with Jimin taught Yeoul how to swoon him with a simple flirt and playful kisses. She was taught well.

 “Baby..Let’s ditch them” he tugged on Yeoul arm preventing her to move.

 “Are you crazy? They will flip out” raising her eyebrows with a questionable look, she watched Jimin took his phone typing something in his phone.

 Jimin grinned “Done. I notify them in our Kakaotalk group,so lets go” he pecked her lips, intertwining their hand together. Yeoul could only smile at his randomness and followed him wherever he wished to go. Anywhere with Jimin is everywhere she wanted to be.

 Like a flash the couple disappeared from their vicinity for their own oh-not-so-romantic midnight tour. Jin and Jungkook had so much sense in them that they did not even care when they left unlike someone who insisted of following those two. Another reason how they ended in Morocco anyways, Kim Taehyung really need to stop pursuing different career in his life. The preferred V and Vante for now.

 Please don’t turn him into Varazzi or something.

 ------------------------

 There sitting side by side, two pure soul enjoying each other company under dark sky accompanied by the heat from the bonfire across them. Being drawn by the warmth of their body heat, Yeoul snuggled in Jimin’s embrace smiling as he rested his chin on top of her head.

 The fire glimmered and gleamed, its warmth drawn people in creating an atmosphere for sharing and making memories. As the night grows, they wished to linger around just a little longer in the warmth and contentment around the fire.

 Everything about tonight was perfect.

 “Aren’t you tired?” he was the one who first broke the silence between them.

 Jimin felt Yeoul shifted a little in his embrace and soon he heard she replied “Tired of what? You? That is impossible.. I prefer to cling onto you for the rest of my life” she teased while wrapping her arm around his waist tighter.

 “You cannot be tired of me. My charms are overflowing” he gazed down into her dark orbs. A pair of eyes that never failed to draw him in into this crazy world. World with unspeakable love. World that fills with hope. World that fills with happiness.

 If she were to list down her weakness when it came to Jimin, his gaze would definitely on the list. In fact, that’s her utmost weakness.

 “Aren’t you being a little over confident right now Park Jimin-ssi?” she ran her thumb over his lips, stroking it softly.

 “I don’t mind if it is you I am trying to win over” caressing the back of his hand along Yeoul’s soft cheeks, Jimin closed the gap between them and locking her into a long endearing kiss. A kiss that he wished to give everyday.

 Their lips move just perfectly in sync following their rapid heartbeat. He stroke over her back in a light touch that sent tingles in her heart. Every time their lips touched the spark ignite anew. Yeoul placed her palm upon his chest over his heart and felt it strong steady beat. The kiss deepened as she could feel with every stroke of his tongue latching onto hers.

 They broke the kiss to catch a deep breath “You are irresistible Park Jimin” Yeoul mumbled against his lips.

 “I am sorry. You have to deal with it until death do us part” nuzzling her face, Jimin chuckled softly.

 “I don’t mind” this time Yeoul was the one who initiate their second round. Locking her arm around his neck tight, she pulled him down for another kiss. Who knows a kiss with Jimin can be addicting? Well Yeoul had her whole life to deal with it.

 ----------------------

 It was time to get back to reality. Everyone was physically ready to be back in Korea but not mentally. They will be missing Morocco for sure. Nonetheless, thanks to Kim Taehyung unexpected plan Yeoul and Jimin stays in Morocco was extra fun than they expected. Creating new memories with their loved one especially Bangtan, Taehwan and Minyeol, it was beyond perfect.

 Boarding the plane on time, everyone got into their seat. First class seat as they said, but Jungkook was stuck with Jin for the whole journey, how unfortunate. He liked his hyung but sometimes he’s a little too bubbly for someone at his age. Considering he is in the hyung line, Jungkook felt he had slowly shifted toward the maknae line.

 Welcome aboard Kim Seokjin!

 Even before the plane took off, Jin insisted to sit on the aisle and made Jungkook stay in the middle. They had no idea who would take the window seat but scratch that, he hoped that person wouldnt snore that much.

 Jungkook eyes wandered at the direction of their seat and noticed the window seat was already occupied. He couldn’t get a full view of the person but he’s sure it was a girl. So, he sank in his seat carefully not to startle the girl whom seemed engross with her reading. She had earphone plugged in both of her ears got him less anxious to sit behind a stranger some more a girl.

 The older boy came few minutes later with a triumph grin plastered across his face, more like mocking Jungkook for sitting beside a girl.

 Maknae grunted under his breath feeling unfair as he sent death glare at Jin’s way “If it weren’t for you……” Jin dumbfounded look was even annoying.

 As the plane was ready for take off, Jungkook stole a glance at the girl beside him. He admired her long eyelashes, and her soft fluffy cheeks which again reminded him Jimin’s puffy one. Her fingers were beautiful and those accessories that she wore fitted perfectly around it. He tore his gaze from examining her feature even more like a creep. Jungkook had no idea why was he so nervous when the girl beside him showed no interest to start a conversation even a simple hi.

 You are so stupid Jungkook. He grimaced.

 The first hour of the journey, Jungkook had decided to pay all his attention on the games in his phone. His mind sometimes was too wild and he tended to over thinking too. The girl snapped the book closed as she stifled her yawn, stretching her aching muscle.

 She loved window seat since she had more space for herself and most importantly she didn’t have to deal with strangers on plane. Engaging into unimportant conversation was one thing, but she hated people who snore in the plane.

 Thank god, the two guys beside him seemed normal. She totally forgot to take a glance at the guy beside him and only to realize he’s quite good looking. Not an average look for a man at his age, but his eyes and those visible veins were her weakness.

 Reaching out to her hair, she’s about to tie it into a bun but only to lose grip on her red hairband. It landed just few inch from Jungkook’s feet. Jungkook realized that and put away his phone. He bent down to pick the hairband up but at the same time the girl was already reaching for it. Their head were hitting each other, earning a low gasp from both Jungkook and the girl.

 Jungkook straightened up with a baffle look “I am so sorry” he apologized earnestly.

 The girl took the hairband and rubbed her sore head with a small smile “It is alright. I am sorry for dropping this” their eyes met. The girl grew anxious at the sudden staring battle that they had right now. She touched her face in case she smeared her lipstick.

 “I am sorry? Is there something wrong” she inquired.

 He was brought back to his sense as he blurted without he realize “Nothing. You are just pretty” Jungkook himself couldn’t believe what’s coming out from his sinful mouth. Clasping his hand over his mouth, he patted it giving it a scold.

 The girl blushed upon hearing his compliment as he watched him in horror “W-hat…” she faked a laugh and averted her gaze from Jungkook.

 “I mean..I didn’t mean to say that. That is just weird. I am sorry again” He bowed a little hoping he would not scare the girl away. What’s wrong with him anyway? This stupid filthy little mouth gave away compliment so casually especially to a stranger like her.

 She shook her head “It is alright. It must be the gravity” she reasoned.

 Jungkook bit his lower lips to surpass his chuckle at her silly reply “Urm.. I am Jeon Jungkook by the way” he flashed her a charming smile not trying to win her over but that’s just how he smiled.

 The girl was taken aback at first not expecting the guy beside her would introduce himself. This was the start of every conversation, how she hated that. Therefore just to be polite, she replied Jungkook casually “Nari…Son Nari” her eyes gleams.

 “Nari.. Nice to meet you Nari-ssi”

 “You too Jungkook-ssi”

 Interestingly, this Son Nari girl seemed to not recognize him. Not to sound like a superstar, but to be frank everyone knew Bangtan Sonyeondan but for some reason this girl had zero idea of his existence as one of famous idol members.

 After exchanging their names, they fell into silence again. Nari exasperated a sigh of relief knowing Jungkook was not a talkative person, so she could enjoy this plane ride with ease.

 Little did Jungkook know, Jin was actually faking him being asleep. He heard it all up until those little innocent conversation made by Jungkook introducing himself to some random girl. It was a rare sight but he’s proud of his dongsaeng mustering his courage to talk to opposite sex.

 Jungkook stiffened in his seat still contemplating whether to ask questions or kept his mouth shut. Part of him wanted to prolong this conversation as he was curious of this Son Nari person. A soft sigh escaped as his fingers fiddled nervously.

 “You should be thanking me later Jeon” a soft voice whispered awfully low and close to his ears causing him to jerk backwards accidentally hitting Nari again.

 “I AM SO SORRY AGAIN” he looked over at the confused girl and threw a nasty glare at Jin, grinding his teeth together.

 “You seem to have the knack of bumping into others clumsily” she chortled.

 The corner of his lips tugged into an embarrass smile “I thought there was a bug on my seat” he lied. Studying her facial more clearly know, he could tell she’s judging him considering how hard she tried to hold back her laughter.

 “Actually you kinda remind me of one of my friends.. he is..” Nari couldn’t believe with her own eyes that she actually felt comfortable talking to a stranger exchanging their stories and life which was she rarely did every time in public.

 But..Jungkook. Something about him made it feel different.

 Was it his smiley face?

 Was it his perfectly round eyes?

 Was it his giggly side every time he got shy?

 It had always been a start of something new. Nari could use new friends.

Previous | Next: Epilogue  

This work belongs to  Chimswae © 2020. All Rights Reserved

#untoldseries #bts fic #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #jimin x oc #jimin idolau #jimin father au #park jimin father au #bts series #jimin parenthood au

[themalhambird]

fic prompt: student AU: Richard's first time babysitting baby Hal?

Richard groans and swears under his breath as banging on the front door rouses him from his sleep. He’s only just drifted off, having spent the last forty-eight hours awake and on a coffee-fuelled painting spree. But the banging continues, so he climbs off his bed and stumbles down to the front door, rubbing his eyes before unlocking it.

“Richard,” Henry says, fist raised in mid-knock. “Can you have Hal for an hour?”

Richard blinks at him. “Anne’s gone to Prague,” he says slowly.

“What?” irritation flashes across Henry’s face. “I know Anne’s gone home for a bit, I don’t see-“ his eyes narrow. “Have you been drinking?”

“What? No.” Richard rubs his eyes again. “Look- come in,” he says, stepping back, and Henry steps over the threshold, though he doesn’t move any further down the hall. He’s got Hal in a baby carrier, fast asleep and all cute in his baby-grow, and Richard smiles down at him, fondly if a little absent mindedly. “What’s the matter?” he asks, looking back up at Henry, who-it dawns on Richard- is looking more than a little stressed.

“Can you please take Hal for an hour?” he demands again. “Mary’s in the middle of lectures and this fucking group project I’m meant to be doing- I’m late for a meeting as it is because no one bothered to ask me before they all agreed now would be more convenient-“

“But- Anne’s not here,” Richard says again, much more awake and suddenly panicking. “I can’t- Harry, you wouldn’t let me look after your goldfish when we were nine, I can’t look after your baby— “

“Of course you can!” Henry snaps. “He seems to like you more than he likes me anyway half the time just- an hour, at the most! All you have to do is keep him alive and in one peace so will you please just- “

“Fine, fine.” Henry’s yelling is giving Richard a headache, and Hal is stirring a little, tiny face screwing up in mild displeasure. “I’ll look after him.”

“Thank you!” Henry says, more annoyance than gratitude in his tone, but Richard can’t be bothered to pick him on it. He bends down and picks up Hal’s carrier instead, and Henry’s gone again before Richard’s even locked the door.

“Well alright then,” Richard says- somewhat bewildered- to Hal, who seems to be settling back down, rather than waking up, which is good, because Richard has no idea what to with an awake baby without other people’s supervision. “How about you come and have a little nap with Uncle Richard then, hm?”

He carries Hal upstairs, rescues him out of his carrier, and cuddles him against his chest as he lays back down on his bed. He doesn’t go back to sleep- he’s worried about accidently squishing his nephew/cousin-something-times-removed if he drifts off and rolls over, but it’s nice, to have the baby sleeping on him. Restful. He idly strokes Hal’s soft little patch of dark hair. “Aren’t you precious, hm?” he coos. “Precious little baby, all fast asleep…”

 Twenty minutes later, Hal is crying.

He woke up on Richard’s chest and the unfamiliar room, and the absence of either his mum or his dad, clearly freaked him out so now he’s crying like the world is ending, and Richard is frantically dancing round the room and hugging him tight, hoping that the bouncing will calm him down like it sometimes does when Henry and Mary are around. “Please?” he says to Hal, grabbing his phone from his desk and firing off a quick text to Mary. Hal crying, what do I do??????

He flings the phone back down and moves his hand back to support Hal’s head. “C’mon Hal,” he says. “It’s uncle Richard, you like Uncle Richard…”

His phone buzzes. Richard grabs it again. Mary’s replied.  why is Hal with u?

Harry at a meeting Richard sends back. Hal was napping and now crying

And then, a horrible thought occurring to him: is it food time??? i can’t feed him i don’t have breasts

“Please stop crying,” he begs Hal again, and then- lighting on something- reaches back and yanks first the butterfly clip and then the hair band out of his hair.

It falls around his face, tumbling over his shoulders in auburn waves, and Hal falls silent mid squawk, staring in fascination. Richard smiles tentatively. “You like Uncle Richard’s hair, don’t you?” he coaxes. “C’mon Hally. Remember how much fun you have-“ a little hand reaches up and grabs a fistful, yanking hard, “- pulling Uncle Richard’s hair?” Richard finishes with a wince, as his phone buzzes again, a reply from Mary lighting up the screen.

Shouldn’t be hungry yet I can leave class tho and come get him

Don’t worry, Richard texts back, eyes watering as Hal attempts to wrest his hair from his skull. Found a distraction. He swipes through to add a photo and takes a quick selfie to send through to Mary.

Mary replies with a quick x, and Richard elects not to distract her further. Instead, he casts about for a way to get Hal to relinquish his hold on Richard’s hair without bursting in to tears again. “You’re probably too small for paints,” he tells Hal. “Aren’t you? I don’t know, I don’t remember being a baby.” He steps over towards the bookshelves. “No picture books. Lots of books about pictures but I don’t think that’s the same thing.” He presses a kiss to Hal’s head, and Hal laughs and promptly smacks Richard’s cheek. He’s surprisingly forceful for something so little- though at least, temporarily, he’s let go of Richard’s hair. Richard shakes his head, trying to get his hair out of his face without having to loosen his grip on Hal. “…I have flour in the kitchen,” Richard says thoughtfully. “We could go and do some drawing in the flour?” Hal, of course, doesn’t have a clue what he’s saying, but he babbles in a manner Richard thinks sounds rather happy and decides to take that as agreement. He carries Hal back downstairs, and then stops rather abruptly at the foot of the stairs. He looks down at Hal. “…are you even old enough to draw?” he asks. “I don’t think you can clap yet, can you? What can you do with your hands?”

Hal reaches up and grabs at Richard’s hair again.

‘Apart from that.” Richard says. He carries Hal into the front room and sits down on the sofa, plonking Hal on his knee. He pulls a funny face, and Hal giggles. He pulls another funny face, and Hal giggles some more. “You’re supposed to engage with babies. Or something. According to the parenting books I filched off your dad when we’d only just found out that you were in your mummy’s tummy.” Richard says. He wishes he had a picture book. Or Anne. He’d like to play peek-a-boo, Hal likes that game, but Hal can only just sit up by himself and Richard is scared that if he puts Hal down, he might hurt himself. He could always go back into the carrier, but it seems a bit mean to trap him in that. “I could tell you a story,” he suggests. “How about that? Once upon a time, there was a village called…the village, and there weren’t any people in the village, it was just a village of doggies, and…”

By the time the doorbell rings around an hour later, Richard’s throat is dry and his voice is crackling, and Hal remains enthralled by the nonsense Richard is telling him despite the fact that Richard cannot recall anything about the story beyond the last few sentences he just told. Richard pauses and gets up to get the door, opening it to reveal a stressed looking Mary.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, coming in as Richard steps out of her way. Hal immediately leans out of Richard’s arms to reach for her and Mary takes him, cuddling him and giving him a kiss on the head. “Henry should’ve just told them he couldn’t come to the stupid meeting- he sent me a message to let me know you had Hal about ten minutes after you did—”

“It’s alright, Mary, I don’t mind. Hal’s a darling.” Richard assures her, as the darling in question reaches up to try and pull his mother’s hair out of its bun.

“Still.”

“Do you want a cup of tea?” Richard asks, because Mary looks like she needs one.

“Yes please,” she replies, and follows Richard into the kitchen. “Are you alright? You look done in- and you’re in your pyjamas, were you sleeping before—?” Richard glances down at himself, surprised. He had forgotten that he’d changed.

“I, ah, may have pulled a couple of all-nighters,” he says. “Anne hasn’t been here I haven’t really been sleeping, and I had some work I got into the swing of doing.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll take Hal home now- “

“There’s no need to rush, I liked having him.” Richard yawns behind his hand and opens three wrong cupboards before finding the teabags. “You know Anne and I said we were happy to babysit, and we meant it. I mean, a little more warning next time, but Hal and I were good, weren’t we Hal?”

Hal babbles. Mary smiles. Richard makes tea, and Mary sits Hal back down in his carrier so that they can drink it together.

Richard is fast asleep on the sofa before either of them have finished a cup.

#my fic #the plantagenet student au #Richard 2 #bb Hal #Henry IV

[sunnytumbies]

just follow my yellow light (and ignore all those big warning signs)

Warning! This fic includes mentions of depression, anxiety, needles (in a medical setting), and dealing with grief/trauma. Please stay safe should you choose to read! 

A/N: This is also a more plot-heavy fic, with most of the fiendery occurring in the very last sections, so please be aware of that!  Word count: 8499 Title: “Yellow Light” by Of Monsters and Men

The thing about hospitals is that they’re all the same.  

Cal understands why people hate them—really, he does—but sitting here on the exam table, the paper crinkling beneath him, a blood pressure cuff tightening around his bicep, he can’t help but feel...safe. Understood.  

He’s biased, he guesses. He grew up in one, doodling on prescription pads with crayons, running his favorite toy car along the floor (weaving around the nurse’s practical clogs on his hands and knees, look, Mom, look at how fast I am!), his mother Marianne bouncing him on her lap as she updated charts on her computer even though he was far too old for that, stray blonde hair that escaped from her tight bun tickling his cheek. Every once in a while, she’d turn to him with a wide, warm smile.  

The whirring of blood pressure machines were his lullaby. The smell of antiseptic was the closest he got to the smell of home, and was in fact the very smell that followed him home from work with Marianne, permeated the whole house along with her tired sighs and her whispered arguments with his father Henry when she thought Cal was sleeping.  

So, yeah. Cal likes hospitals. Don’t overanalyze it.  

The nurse—Alicia, today—gives him a small, tired smile, the expression of someone who genuinely cares but is too busy to do much about it. “Dr. Moore says everything looks good, Cal. Just make sure to keep an eye on your lungs. Don’t bind for too long and keep doing your injections around the same time each week, okay? You know where to find us if you need something.”  

“Thanks, Alicia,” Cal says, but she’s already whisking out the door. Cal wonders how many patients she has. Alicia oversees the hospital volunteer program, and even though Cal's known her for years, he swears her face is as young and beautiful as it was when he was a child. She’s funny and whip-smart and strong and she likes Cal best, he thinks, but lately she’s looked so tired. 

He wonders if she’s one of the nurses who really cares about all of her patients. He wonders if that kind of thing is sustainable.   

Alicia cares, he thinks.   

He’s walking down the corridor, idly rubbing at the bandage across his forearm—and yeah, okay, if he has to name one part of the hospital experience that he could do without, it’s the blood draws—and he’s so fixated on reaching under the bandage to rub at the stinging skin there that he almost runs directly into Sweater Guy, who reaches out preemptively to steady Cal by the shoulders. 

“Shit, sorry,” Cal mutters reflexively, then looks up to see that it’s him and, well, fuck.  

Cal’s been volunteering at the hospital for six months or so, now, answering call buttons for the nurses and giving directions to confused family members and just grunt work, really, something—nay, anything—for him to put on his resume, and at every single shift he’s volunteered for, he’s seen Sweater Guy.  

He’s Cal’s height but twice as skinny, collarbones jutting out underneath his sweaters (his endless sweaters, usually layered over collared shirts and rolled up to the elbows, no matter how swelteringly hot it gets outside). The sweaters bother Cal more than they should, because they all look expensive, and yeah, sue him, he’s a little bitter, because he buys one new pair of shoes a year and calls it splurging. He’s a candy striper, Cal thinks. He wears a pair of yellow-tinted glasses that Cal cannot for the life of him make sense of, constantly slipping down his nose (and yes the yellow compliments the rich brown of Sweater Guy’s skin beautifully, not that Cal has noticed, thanks). He has what Zara always insisted is sex hair, expression perpetually annoyed, like he always has something better to doing.  

And he avoids the fuck out of Cal.  

“It’s not on purpose,” Zara said one day a few months ago, leaning conspiratorially  over their little table in the hospital cafeteria, mouth full of mediocre tuna fish sandwich, because Zara is a godless heathen who enjoys tuna fish sandwiches. “He’s just...busy, you know? He doesn’t avoid you more than he avoids anyone else.” 

“Except he does,” Cal muttered, toying with the bottle cap from his soda. More than once he’d made eye contact with him in the hall, and then watched him completely switch directions, head ducked down low over his shoulders.  

Not long after that, Zara--who had, until then, occupied the third room in he and Amy’s apartment--left school to attend a community college program for mortuary science, because Zara is, in addition to being a godless heathen, a chiefly ridiculous person, and now Cal doesn’t have anyone to complain to about this.  

It shouldn’t bother him, except...Cal is likeable. He is. He charms nurses as though that’s what he’s getting volunteer credit for. Babies smile at him on the street. He’s likeable.  

So what the fuck, you know?  

“I apologize,” Sweater Guy says now, and Cal is hyper-aware of the guy’s chapped lips, of his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down nervously in his throat. He makes himself look away.  

“You apologize? I’m the one who didn’t see you, dude,” Cal says, and God damn does that yellow sweater he’s wearing look nice on him. It shouldn’t. Yellow is categorically the worst color. Cal’s pissed.  

Sweater Guy actually cracks a smile. “Yes, well. I’m glad we avoided a collision.”  

And just like that, he’s walking off, and Cal doesn’t know what he’s supposed to make of it, if it means anything at all, but surely first contact after six months of silence means something.  

“Hey,” he calls out before he can think better of it. “What’s your name?”  

Sweater Guy stops and blinks, surprised, then pauses for a minute like he has to think about it. “Oh. My name is Quincy Washington.” He swallows. “What’s yours?”  

“Cal.”  

“It’s nice to meet you, Cal,” Quincy says softly, and Cal watches him walk away until he disappears around the corner.  

* 

Cal has a routine. He’s never been particularly organized, never been the type of person with color-coded planners or who lays out his outfits the night before, but he has a routine for check-up days: after picking up his inhaler refills and testosterone from the hospital pharmacy, he’ll treat himself to an iced chai tea latte with almond milk, hot if it’s cold outside or he’s feeling adventurous. He shifts his weight from foot to foot as he waits in line to place his order, his lips flicking up into a small little smile as he pulls out his phone, realizing he finally has an update, deciding to send it to the group chat he still has with Amy and Zara: 

I figured out his name!!  

Amy texts back immediately, and Cal’s little smile splits into a full-blown grin. ???????????

Sweater Guy, Cal types, shifting forward as the line moves. It’s Quincy Washington, apparently. 

Cal grins when he sees a message from Zara appear: r u sure he gave u his real name? that sounds pretty made up ngl :* but hey u finally talked to him!!!! told u it wouldn’t be hard!!!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 

Cal rolls his eyes a little, but good-naturedly. Zara was always convinced that Cal has a crush he’s not addressing, a conspiracy theory that has infected Amy as well, because no one fixates that hard if they DON’T have a crush, Cal, come on. Cal maintains that while he isn’t blind, there are about a million things more interesting about Sweater G--Quincy than how attractive he admittedly is. 

Cal: In my defense, he talked to me first, and it’s only because I ran into him. 

Zara: charming! did u gaze longingly into his eyes? did he gaze longingly into urs?

Cal rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. Well it wasn’t his EYES I was looking at. ;) (I  was looking at his stupid yellow sunglasses.) 

Zara: silly! u should’ve asked him if he needs roomies. it would be an honor if my old room went to The Cause :)))

Cal’s lips droop, the smile sliding off his face as he pockets his phone. He knows Zara meant nothing by it, but he’s been compartmentalizing the roommate situation until now, and it’s not something he can particularly deal with at this moment. He doesn’t have to, as it happens--at that moment, an impatient “--sir? Sir, may I please take your order?” breaks through his mental abstraction, clearly not for the first time, and he shakes his head to clear it, cheeks flushing as he approaches the counter, mumbling apologies. He orders his drink, iced chai tea latte, please,  making sure to leave a hefty tip in the jar. 

Eager to spare himself further social anxiety, Cal grabs his drink as soon as it’s placed on the counter, mumbling another apology as he grabs a straw and walks briskly out of the exit closest to the parking lot, sipping eagerly at the drink (he swears it’s even better than usual) and what do you fucking know. 

“Quincy,” Cal says when he reaches his car, clamping down on the little thrill he gets from knowing the name. He swirls the drink a little like some kind of movie character with a glass of wine. He’s chill. He’s cool. 

“Oh. Hello, Cal,” Quincy says sheepishly. He’s standing at the front of a car—not just a car, the car—its hood propped open in a universal sign of defeat. “I seem to...be having some car trouble.”  

“No fucking way,” Cal breathes out, because some things are too strange to be coincidences.  

“I’m...I’m sorry?”  

Cal shakes himself. “No, you’re good, sorry. It’s just that, uh. This is your car?”  

It’s a Mercedes AMG, and it’s been parked next to Cal’s car every day for a couple months now. Cal’s awe hasn’t dulled with time. He figured it belonged to some paranoid doctor, rich and extravagant and scared enough of car crashes to buy a luxury armored SUV. The fact that it belongs to Quincy isn’t strange all on its own—because sure, whatever, Quincy is well-off, that’s a thing that happens to people—but the odds of the day he realizes it belongs to Quincy being the same day he learns Quincy’s name after months of wondering and silence?  

Well.  

“Yes. It’s practically new,” Quincy says sadly, “but I’m hopeless with cars. It’s probably something rather foolish.”  

And then, because Cal is a masochist, he finds himself saying “Well, I know a thing or two about cars,” and yeah, okay, this is happening, apparently.  

“You do?” Quincy’s expression is nothing short of hopeful. “Cal, I would be incredibly grateful.”  

“Of course,” Cal says, already moving toward the car, because who is he to say no to a beautiful boy in a yellow sweater, to a beautiful car with its hood propped open? “It’s no trouble. Keys?”  

“In the ignition.”  

Cal forces himself to focus on the task at hand, even though sitting in the driver’s seat makes him feel downright giddy. He tells himself it’s the car’s immaculate leather interiors, the sheer novelty of sitting in a ridiculous, extravagant vehicle, and not the boy standing in front of the hood with his arms folded across his chest in defeat. He takes a breath.  

Although, he thinks as he twists the key in the ignition, surely this is an acceptable thing to be intrigued by. Why is unassuming Quincy, who looks no older than Cal, driving an armored SUV—and not just any armored SUV, but one that can sustain machine guns and hand grenades?  

He guesses people could say the same about him and his car, because the upkeep of classic cars is a bit of a bitch, but Cal’s beat-up inherited ‘59 Chevy Apache isn't machine gun proof, and it certainly isn't new. She's valuable, of course, but she was passed down to him, not bought fresh off the lot, and that value is probably tempered by years of dings and scratches. She's not a symptom of extravagance the way this absolute mammoth must be. So. Not the same, actually.  

When he tries to crank up the car, it makes a horrible grinding sound that he knows well, the needles on dashboard instruments shuddering. Cal takes great pains to compose his amused grin into something more sympathetic.  

“Good news and bad news,” he says, slamming the car door behind him reflexively before cringing. This isn’t the Apache, with its squeaky doors and stubborn latches, and that door alone probably cost more than Cal’s college tuition. “The good news is it’s nothing serious. You’ve just got a dead battery.”  

Quincy slumps a little with what Cal assumes is relief. “That seems manageable.”  

“The bad news, though,” Cal says. “Do you have jumper cables?”  

“No,” Quincy replies, ducking his head like he’s embarrassed.  

“See, that’s what I was worried about.” Cal gestures to his own car. He sips at his latte, and is genuinely alarmed to realize it’s almost empty. It’s delicious, but still, he’s only had the drink for twenty minutes at the most. “I don’t have mine either. I--” Cal considers the location of his jumper cables, in a heap in the living room of the apartment, leftover from a Skype debate with Zara centered on a story her classmate insisted was true concerning jumper cables and nipples. Cal doesn’t regret the use of a visual aid--he won the debate, after all, because seriously, have you seen jumper cable clamps, there is no way--but he decides this is not something he needs to share with Sweater Guy. “They’re at home. I can go grab them and come back to give you a jump, though? Our place is literally right around the corner.”  

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Quincy hedges, a little desperately. Cal sees him battling internally between the need to be polite and the need to get his car running again.  

“You’re not imposing,” Cal says, “because I offered. Seriously. Apologizing to me when I ran into you! Thinking you’re an imposition after I offered you something! You’re too nice for your own good, Quince.” The nickname slips out without Cal’s consent, and he feels the tips of his ears warm.  

Quincy looks at him, tilting his head curiously. “I have an anxiety disorder,” he says after a moment, very plainly, and Cal feels like the biggest asshole in the world. He feels like an even bigger asshole because his knee-jerk reaction is to laugh, because what a mood, really.  

To his abject horror, the laughter actually bubbles out, warm and genuine and fuck, he needed it, but he can also feel himself blushing crimson, because Jesus Christ, Cal, this is not the kind of reaction you should be having to this information. “I’m sorry,” he manages after a too-long moment. “I’m so sorry, oh my God, I promise I’m not laughing at you. It’s just...fuck, we’re not allowed to be that blunt, you know?”  

Quincy inclines his head again, an unspoken question, and yeah, okay, you made this bed, Cal, now lie in it.  

“I just mean, like...okay. Example. I’m chronically ill, right? I have asthma, thanks for that, genetics, but anyway the point is that I tell people I’m sick and they’re like, get well soon! They don’t understand that I don’t...want that. They don’t get that I’m sick, and that it’s okay! That’s fine! If you’re sick, you either have to be dying, or you have to be overcoming it or some shit. I just…I wish I could introduce myself like hi, I’m Cal, I have depression and my lungs don’t work very well. But I can’t, because that’s weird, that makes healthy people feel awkward, and our whole lives are about making healthy people feel better about our fucking lives.” He takes a breath, a little more painfully than he would prefer because it's goddamn cold out. “I just mean...I don’t know. It’s refreshing.”  

Well, okay. Emotional intensity with Sweater Guy is not what Cal banked on happening today, but Sweater Guy is Quincy Washington, and now that he’s looking at him up close, he kind of feels like he’s demystifying him or...or something. The expensive sweater, he sees, is fraying at the sleeve from being picked at nervously. That annoyed expression, the one Cal always interpreted as aloof, is the face Quincy makes when his glasses start slipping down his nose. His sex hair is just...really good hair, perhaps a little mussed at the roots from a tendency to run his hands through it with the air of an exasperated father in a movie, and what’s wrong with that, really? 

Sweater Guy, as it happens, is just a guy.  

Anyway, Cal’s shifting his weight awkwardly from foot to foot, feeling the full force of the straight-up monologue he’s just delivered, but then Quincy is saying “That’s exactly it” in this relieved goddamn voice, so maybe things are okay after all.  “What is that? Why do they make it so weird? It’s not as though it’s contagious.”  

“Right? I don’t know. I’m just kind of exhausted of healthy people.” He inclines his head, toward his car, moving to the driver’s side because, again, it’s cold as shit and his lungs ache and he really should get Quincy that jump. “I’ll go grab those cables.”  Something in the pit of his stomach grumbles at the movement, and he frowns, a reflexive hand coming up to rest on his belly. Weird. 

“Oh, yeah,” Quincy says, like he’s forgotten what the whole point of this was (and doesn’t that just make something warm pool in Cal’s chest, God, he’s so screwed), and casts a withering glance toward the hospital doors. Cal looks at him for a second, shivering underneath his layers in front of his out-of-commission car, and before he can think about it any further than that he’s saying “You can ride with me there and back, if you want? It’s awfully cold out.”  

Quincy positively beams. “I would like that very much, Cal.”  

Okay then.  

* 

Amy is doing an honest-to-God tarot reading in the middle of the living room when Cal gets home, complete with candles and a red cloth draped over their coffee table, and isn’t that just their whole relationship summarized. He throws Quincy a put-upon glance over his shoulder, and Quincy bites his lip to keep from laughing. Has Cal mentioned that Quincy is attractive? God fucking damn it.  

“Permission to enter the divination room?” he says in lieu of a hello, and Amy startles, nearly knocking over one of the candles. 

“Cal!” Amy says, scandalized, staggering to her feet. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming! I would’ve gotten rid of these!” 

Cal can’t help but chuckle. “I’m not going to have an asthma attack from candles, Ames.” 

“You could! Go--go stand in the kitchen or something! Make your friend help me!” 

Cal gives Quincy a look, a sort of see what I have to deal with? shrug, and Quincy responds with an amused smirk. “I’d be happy to help,” he says in a tone that sounds like he’s honest-to-God fucking with Cal. “What tarot deck is that?” 

The kitchen is essentially attached to the living room, the two only separated by a narrow doorway, but Cal shrugs and takes this opportunity to wriggle out of his jacket and grab a soda from the fridge. He has a feeling he’s gonna be here for a while. As he reaches into the fridge, however, that strange little twinge deep in his belly makes itself known again, and he grimaces as a cramp seizes his insides. He closes the refrigerator empty-handed, leaning a suddenly-clammy forehead against the cool stainless steel. This does not bode well. 

“So how do you know Cal, again?” Amy is saying just as he’s composed himself enough to re-enter the living room. Quincy has migrated to the couch, at least, albeit with his back ramrod straight, Amy apparently having been satisfied that Cal is not in any immediate mortal peril. 

“He volunteers at the hospital with me,” Cal says before Quincy can say anything, and when Amy glances over at him, Amy mouths Sweater Guy over Quincy’s head. Amy’s eyes bulge, so Cal forges ahead before she can say something to embarrass him. “His battery died, so I came here for the jumper cables.”  

“Riiight, the hospital,” Amy says, a barely restrained grin in her voice, and God, when Amy tells Zara that Cal brought Sweater Guy home he is never going to hear the end of it.  “Did you put up the fliers, by the way? We’re really gonna struggle this month if we don’t get it figured out soon,” and Cal looks up sharply, idly placing a hand on his stomach when it protests at the movement. Why is Amy bringing up the roommate fliers now?  

“I know,” Cal says slowly, trying to communicate please don’t do this now with just a glance.. He sits on the couch next to Quincy, careful to leave a socially acceptable distance between them. “I know, Amy. But...no, I didn’t.” He wipes sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve, his stomach starting to churn in earnest. 

“Cal,” Amy chastises, and Cal thinks he would prefer anger to disappointment. “Did you talk to anyone, at least? It’ll be easier if it’s someone we know for, like, negotiating rent and stuff.”  

“Um,” Cal says eloquently, but then Quincy is saying, “Actually, he talked to me,” and alright then, that took a turn.  

“Oh,” Amy says, skeptical, but her face has brightened nonetheless. “Really?”  

“That’s part of why I brought him with me to grab the cables,” Cal says, because he’s rolling with this, apparently. He really is never going to live this down. “To show him the room.”  

“I wanted to see it for myself,” Quincy says sagely.  

“Uh, yeah,” Cal adds lamely.  

Amy is giving him this proud goddamn grin, and Cal is having trouble looking at it, because seriously, it shouldn't be like this. Amy has left this whole roommate search up to him, which is a nice gesture—Amy could live with anyone, with her natural inclination toward small talk and her compulsive baking which is the least unwelcome coping mechanism and her goddamn optimism, but Cal, with his bound chest and testosterone injections, has a lot more to lose here. The thing is, Cal, for all his charm and his mock-flirting and his wolfish grins, has a hard time with people, so him bringing home a coworker (or whatever he's supposed to call Quincy—coworker doesn't feel right, and Cal's trying really hard not to overanalyze that) isn't exactly a common occurrence. Amy is a proud parent smiling at her kid for making friends on the first day of kindergarten, and Cal loves her for it, he does, but it also chafes against him like his chest binder on a hot day.  

"Well, go ahead," Amy finally says, breaking what could have turned into an awkward silence. "Don't let me stop you! I'm Amy, by the way. What's your name? I’m not sure I caught it." She glances at Cal as she says with a terribly unsubtle wink.  

"Quincy Washington," Quincy says in that same quiet way he told Cal. "It's wonderful to meet you, Amy. I’m a fan of tarot myself and you have an excellent eye for ambiance."  

"Thanks!" Amy beams, and Cal wrenches himself off the couch and ushers Quincy down the hallway before Amy loops him into a conversation about the history of tarot or some shit. Cal loves her to death, but knows she’s practically chomping at the bit. He won’t be surprised if she’s  texting Zara as he speaks. 

"You did me a solid, there, Quincy," Cal says quietly when they're far enough down the hall to be out of Amy’s earshot, hyper-aware of how sluggish he is. "We can just waste a little time and then I'll get you that jump."  

"May I see the room?" Quincy asks, and Cal's heart just about stops entirely. "I'm glad to have done you...a solid, but I do happen to be looking for a room to let." His voice catches strangely and unfamiliarly around the slang.  

Cal stares at him for a second. "Seriously?"  

"I am very serious. If you'll have me, of course," Quincy says then, rushing through the second sentence and looking self-conscious about it.  

"No, I just..." Cal says in something like disbelief, then shakes himself off. "Anyway. I guess I'll show you the room, then?"  

"Please," Quincy says, so Cal leads the way.  

"It's kind of small," he says apologetically, pushing open the door and flicking on the lights. They're Edison bulbs, and they cast the room in buttery yellow. "And obviously we'd move this stuff out of here if you moved in."  

Quincy doesn’t say anything, and Cal turns to see that his face is frozen in genuine, slack-jawed awe. It's more than a little endearing, and Cal tucks his fond little grin away before he speaks. "You're a book guy, huh?" 

"You could say that," Quincy breathes, and moves forward a little. "May I—?"  

"Go for it," Cal says, and Quincy reaches out to touch one of the bookcases.  

The room belonged to Zara until she moved out, the smallest room by far but also the one with the most windows, all against the far wall looking out toward the main road. Pushed against the opposite wall are three wood-paneled curio cabinets that Henry once used as bookshelves, packed tight with the books he cared about most in this world. Many of them are leather-bound and there is more than one special edition, all of them older than Cal's grandparents.  

"They're beautiful," Quincy finally says after a moment, "but why do you have rare books in your apartment?"  

Cal snorts, because it is so contrary to what he was expecting, but also because this is a valid question. "Honestly," he says, "I just couldn't bear to part with them. They were my dad's." The words are out before he realizes he's just dropped the dead dad bomb, so he forges ahead. "Uh, like I said, we'd get them out of here before you moved in."  

"Or you could leave them," Quincy murmurs, eyes darting back and forth as he scans the titles. "God, is that a livre d'artist?" 

On some level, Cal registers that this a very pretentious question, and also that there is just something strange about the way Quincy speaks, like everything he says has been polished beforehand. On another, baser level, he finds it frustratingly hot. "Uh, that sounds like a question I should maybe know the answer to, but honestly, these were my dad's thing. I haven't opened up any of the books since he died. I keep the shelves dusted, but I'm not much of a literature person."   

"Are you a book person?" Quincy asks.   

"Come on, you can be one or the other. People can like books without liking capital L literature," he says, turning to look at Cal with this ridiculously excited expression. It's kind of heartwarming. "You know, people who hate Hemingway but loved Twilight."   

Cal may or may not have the entire saga on the much smaller, far less decorative bookshelf beside his bed, but Quincy doesn't need to know that. "Interesting distinction. Yeah, I guess I am."   

"I knew it. Team Edward or Team Jacob?"   

"Wow I hate this conversation."   

Quincy smirks and turns back to the shelves with a quiet sort of reverence that makes Cal smile. It also makes his heart ache a little because it reminds him so much of his dad, but it's an ache that has dulled with the passage of time.    

"So," Cal says, trying to sound casual, "Are you a student?"  

"Yes," Quincy replies, still scanning book titles with a feverish intensity that skirts perilously close to lunacy. "I'm a senior. Are you?"  

"Yeah," Cal says thinly. There's still a chance, he tells himself, and has to catch his breath as his stomach cramps again. A low rumble has begun deep in his gut, like someone set it to simmer, his stomach doing lazy barrel rolls that make him swallow hard.  "Senior, too. Pre-med."  

"I'm a double major. Classics and Theology. Not the most practical, I know," Quincy says, sheepishly, like he's used to people reacting poorly to it.  

Fuck. God fucking damn it.  

"Oh!" Cal says, forcibly infusing his voice with something akin to enthusiasm. "That's really cool. Um. Side note, just by the way..."  

Quincy looks at him inquiringly. Fuck.  All at once, his stomach cramps harshly enough to have him seeing stars, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead again, and he can’t quite stifle a pained moan, clutching at his roiling insides, leaning against the doorframe for support. 

“Are you okay, Cal?” Quincy takes a step toward him, evidently not too worried about whatever Cal was going to say, looking more concerned than Cal would expect from someone who avoided the fuck out of him prior to today, and he gives a pained nod, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. Something bubbles in his lower belly painfully, and it hits him all at once. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, noticing all at once how his stomach is puffy, poking out under his shirt and over the waistband of his jeans, how the cramps are accompanied by a near-constant rumble and oppressive waves of nausea. “Sorry, I’m--I  just forgot to ask for—” He swallows again, hardly able to think about the damned chai tea latte, presumably made with full fat milk, churning around inside him. “I’m...lactose intolerant,” he manages, painfully aware that this is happening in front of Sweater Guy of all people. “I forgot to ask for almond milk instead of regular.” 

“Are you alright?” Quincy sounds alarmed, eyes darting from Cal to the door and back again. “Should I get Amy? Is it an allergy, or—?” 

“No, no,” Cal manages, laughing lightly. “You sound just like her, though. It’s just—” He grimaces, clutching at a twinge of nausea— “Just a pretty gnarly tummy ache. I’ll be okay.” He allows himself to rest a hand on his belly, straightening up through immense willpower. “Seriously, let’s just...move on, if that’s alright.” 

“Of course,” Quincy murmurs, still looking rather concerned. It’s endearing, Cal thinks, even  through the fog of nausea and the embarrassment tinging his cheeks red. “I believe you were saying something?” 

“Oh,” Cal remembers, and looks at the floor. "My dad's name was Henry Kline?"  

Quincy freezes. To his credit, he reigns in the incredulous expression relatively quickly.  

"Cal," he says instead, very sincerely, turning to look at him with sad, sad eyes. "Cal, I am so sorry."  

"Don't be," Cal mumbles, looking down, rubbing at the back of his neck. His stomach lets out a loud, angry rumble, and he flushes an even deeper shade of crimson. "I just, uh, wanted you to know from me. 'Cause if you live here, you gotta understand that people are gonna talk. They always do, about us. 'Specially when they hear our last name."  

"Cal Kline," Quincy realizes all at once, and then, with that painful sincerity again, "I wouldn't listen."  

Cal smiles despite himself. "Thanks, Quincy."  

Quincy clears his throat, straightening up from where he's been crouched to pour over the books. Cal is sort of impressed at the sheer muscle tone it must’ve taken to forget he was doing a deep squat. "Cal, I have something to tell you as well."  

This is it, Cal thinks. He doesn't want the room. Doesn't want to live with the bereaved Klines. It's too much. Just give him the jump and go back to never speaking again. The anxiety stirs up his upset stomach, and he clamps down forcibly on a burp that tries to burble up. His stomach lets out a low groan in response to the air being forced back into it.   

"I was studying under Professor Kline," he says instead, and oh, okay. Which is to say, what the fucking shit, how many motherfucking coincidences can there feasibly be in one 12-hour period, but okay, it's better than what Cal was expecting. "I was a teaching assistant, and I was helping him restore his book collection." He glances back to the shelves. "I should have recognized them immediately, but I never saw them on the shelves..."  

Cal's glad Quincy isn't looking at him anymore, because he can't vouch for what his face is doing. The ache Henry left is healing, dulled with the passage of time, but it still hurts if Cal picks at it. Quincy studied with Henry. Quincy knew him in a way Cal never did, never will, his brain screams, and something about that is just, well. His stomach flips, something cramping low and urgent in his belly. 

Quincy is beautiful, and he is wearing a yellow sweater, and he likes Cal's car, and the only reason he cares that Cal's last name is Kline is because he doesn't want to be inconsiderate to Cal.  

So, fuck.  

"Well, now that we've got the awkward parts out of the way," Cal says, and Quincy flashes him a genuine smile that  is positively blinding. He recovers from his seven consecutive heart attacks before continuing, "I can show you the rest of the apartment."  

“Are you sure?” Quincy glances dubiously at Cal, who still has an arm curled around his belly. “You’re awfully pale.”

“That’s, uh—” Cal laughs nervously, feeling sicker and sicker by the moment. “Yeah. Maybe you could just...show yourself around?” At that moment, a low whine fills the apartment, a sure tell that Amy has gotten into the shower, and Cal’s stomach tightens. “Minus the bathroom, I guess. Sorry, our pipes do that when we use the shower. I’m just gonna, uh, have a seat in the living room.” 

Quincy doesn’t question this, and Cal sends up a silent cry of gratitude to whoever may be listening. He settles into his favorite crease on the sofa, looking furtively over his shoulder to make sure Quincy is occupied with checking out the patio before pressing both hands to his grumbling stomach, feeling irritable movement beneath his palms. Oh, it hurts, cramps squeezing at his lower belly like a vice, a sticky, hot nausea plaguing his tummy.  He tries in vain to soothe the ache, rubbing his hand across his bloated stomach as gently as possible, but the touch only sends up a dangerous belch that leaves him panting, hanging over the edge of the couch, the taste of chai and stomach acid coating his mouth revoltingly. 

Quincy’s self-guided tour doesn't take long; their three-bedroom student apartment doesn't exactly contain multitudes. Cal has thankfully composed himself before Quincy pokes his head into the living room. “I have seen what I need to see, I believe,” he says with that stiff formality that seems to crop up occasionally. 

"Yeah, that's the place! Nice and straightforward,” Cal says brightly, as convincingly as he can without moving around too much. “Any clutter you see is mine because Amy is an android, probably."  

Quincy smiles, and Cal's cardiac health continues to worsen, God those fucking smiles. "Can you prove it?"  

"Irrefutably. Evidence: runs for fun. Consumes spinach, also for fun. Wakes up and goes to bed at the same time every day. Possibly irons her clothes, but I'm still not sure on that one."   

"She sounds...pretty human. Perhaps you're the android."  

"No, I just have depression," Cal says before he can stop himself.  

Quincy throws his head back and laughs, and it makes Cal feel so fucking warm. Has he mentioned recently that he is completely screwed in a way that has nothing to do with his cramping stomach? 

"God, Amy hates when I joke about it. It'll be nice to have someone who understands around here when you move in."  

Quincy straightens up. "When I move in?"   

"What can I say. You sold me. If you want to live here, I want you to live here." He smiles, small.   

It was kind of a done deal when you said you worked with Henry Kline, Cal doesn't say. The way you talk to me like I'm a normal person and the fact that you're fucking gorgeous are just bonuses. 

"There is one more thing," he says, steeling himself. Much of his life is spent steeling himself. He pauses, waiting for Quincy to make a joke, to grin another heart-stopping grin, but he just looks at Cal curiously. "I'm trans. I wasn't born a male but I am and always have been a boy. I bind my chest and live as a male and use he/him pronouns. If you don't understand it, that's okay, but I will demand a certain level of respect in my own home, and it'd be preferable if that respect was voluntary." The speech is well-oiled from use, but Cal's voice still shakes.   

"Is that all?" Quincy says, and Cal feels his entire body slump in relief, straightening back up a little when his stomach protests. "I mean, of course, Cal. I'm not ignorant."   

"Oh, yeah, right. Thank you, gentle cis man. I worship at the holy altar of your allyship." He says it like a joke, but it takes effort to get out, because despite everything, it's taken him years to give this speech to a receptive audience and not feel like he's been granted a favor.   

It's taken him years to say I'm here and not have it come out as I'm sorry.   

When he told Zara, it was this whole thing, Zara reaching across the table to clasp one of Cal's hands in both of hers, you know I'm here for you, right? Cal's Facebook messages are full of Zara sending him every post she sees with the word trans in it, and like yeah, Zara, you're very sweet and supportive, but sometimes Cal just wants to be Cal, you know?   

It's just that Cal's known Quincy for all of a few hours and he already feels so goddamn understood.  

"I'm happy to pay whatever Zara’s share was," Quincy says, "And if you would be willing to leave Professor Kline's books, I would be honored."  

"Consider it done," Cal says, smiling a little. He’s almost able to forget about the slow, sinister ache in his stomach. Almost. "Though get ready for Amy to talk about it all the time. She’s really not on board with them being here."  

"I mean...religion isn't my cup of tea either, believe it or not, but I saw an original King James Bible. That alone has to be worth at least twenty grand. Literature person or not, that's...a really valuable thing to be keeping in your rented apartment."   

Cal's eyes flit to the tiled floor, and he can feel Quincy's gaze on him, and he knows he's biting his lip, something he does often enough that one side of it is slightly larger than the other.   

"Oh...Cal, I apologize. I didn't mean to intrude." It's that stiff formality from their almost-collision at the hospital again, and when Cal glances up, Quincy is backing away from him, hands folded behind his back. "I'm sure they're insured, or...even if they're not...I just mean, it's your business, of course. I apologize."   

"No, it's fine." Cal clears his throat nervously. "You're right. Zara and Amy just kind of went a little crazy helping me get rid of his stuff when he died, and they wanted to donate them to the university. I probably should have let them, but..." He shrugs, wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans, presses his lips together around another burp that he forces down, wincing at the added pressure. "It's not like these are even all the books he had. There are probably hundreds in the storage unit. But I'm ridiculous, and they were just his thing, and for some reason the thought of them just sitting in a dusty room with boxes of his old clothes and the lawnmower and literal cobwebs just didn't sit right, so."   

"So you brought them here." Quincy looks at him like he understands, and isn't just that the worst fucking thing? "I get it."   

"I kind of do want to donate them, as it turns out," and wow, okay, Cal didn't realize that until he says it out loud. "I'm just a little worried because I haven't exactly been...maintaining them, or whatever. I wouldn't even know where to start. If I'm going to let the university open up the Henry Kline Memorial Library or whatever the fuck, I don’t want to give them dusty books with cracked spines, you know? He would've hated that."   

Quincy clears his throat, licks his lips a little, and wow, okay, Cal's feeling things again. "I don't know if this is something you'd even be comfortable with, but...I could continue the work I was doing with Professor Kline. We were in the middle of restoring his collection, and I learned his technique well. I still have access to the labs. I could take it one book at a time. With your approval, of course."  

Cal blinks. "Um...yeah. Yeah, okay. That's super cool of you, thank you."  

"Are you kidding?" Quincy blurts, and then scratches the back of his neck a little like he's embarrassed. "I mean, it's just that you're doing me a favor. Henry Kline's book collection...I'll admit that I've missed them."  

Cal can't help the little smile that tugs his lips up, and seriously, he has to get these feelings under control, God, the guy hasn't even moved in yet.   

Before he can say anything, Quincy's face softens into that aching sympathy again. "And Cal...I miss him, as well. He was a good man."  

Cal kind of wants to cry, so suddenly and desperately that it takes his breath away for a second. His stomach churns audibly, and Quincy looks at him in alarm. 

"Quincy," he says when he gets his voice back, "How soon can you move in?"  

Quincy beams. "How soon will you have me?"  

* 

When Amy gets out of the shower, Cal is sprawled across the couch, openly groaning, clutching his stomach with both hands.  

"What happened to Quin--Cal?” Amy blurts out as she enters the living room, rushing over to the couch when she takes in Cal’s sickly pallor. 

“Finally drove him back and jumped his car," Cal groans, still marveling that he was able to hold it together long enough. He may or may not have had to pull over on the way back, heaving up a trickle of stomach acid and chai tea latte onto the side of the road, at least as much due to anxiety as it was to lactose intolerance, but Amy doesn’t need to know that. "Says he'll take the room…" 

“Okay, that’s great, we’ll unpack that later,” Amy says, sitting gently at Cal’s feet, “But what’s going on with this?” She doesn’t wait for permission, laying a soft hand on Cal’s bloated belly, kneading gently at a cramp, ushering up a soft burp. Amy is sort of a miracle worker.

"’S gonna pay Zara’s share,” Cal murmurs, leaning into Amy’s touch, grimacing as the pressure ushers up a burp that brings up a wave of stomach acid. He swallows hard.  

"Again, that’s great, but,” Amy says, rubbing his belly in wide arcs, maintaining a steady pressure that does wonders for the cramps. “What the hell?” 

“I got anxious getting my latte,” he mumbles, letting his eyes slide shut. Amy’s ministrations are easing the worst of the nausea, and he is so, so thankful for her. “Forgot to ask for almond milk.” 

“Cal,” Amy says, all faint disapproval and warm concern. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“You were showering,” he whines, then whimpers a little at a particularly strong cramp, and Amy moves closer, applying a bit more pressure as she kneads at the cramp, massaging her other hand gently over the burbly places in his lower belly. “I made him show himself around. He didn’t even mind.” 

“Sounds like a dreamboat,” Amy says, her voice light and teasing. 

Cal doesn't know what to say to that that won't be self-incriminating, so he just says, "He really likes yellow."    

"I noticed that,” Amy agrees. "When does he move in?"  

Cal keeps his eyes shut, studiously avoiding eye contact. "Tomorrow."  

"Oh, wow, so soon! I can't wait to get to know him." Amy’s tone is completely genuine, probably working out what she can bake that properly conveys a message of thanks for living with us! She applies a bit of firm pressure unexpectedly to the bloat beneath Cal’s ribs, and he groans, feeling a flutter in his stomach as it tries and fails to expel a rush of trapped air. “Oof--please don’t do that again,” he manages, clutching at his chest. 

“I’m sorry, honey,” Amy says, sounding genuinely sad, and Cal slowly opens his eyes. “Just seems like you’ve got quite a lot of air stuck in there. Would you like some tea? Not chai, I guess...” 

Cal groans, shoving a couch pillow over his face. “I know. I’m an idiot. Oh, my tummy—” 

“Let me make you that tea,” Amy says lightly, giving his tummy a little pat before wrenching herself off the couch, and Cal loves the fuck out of her, has he mentioned? 

"I think you'll like him," Cal calls as Amy moves into the kitchen, deciding to take this opportunity to drop the bomb, adding more quietly, "Oh, and, small world, he worked with my dad."   

The rustling in the kitchen pauses, then starts again almost as suddenly as it stopped. "Does he...?"  

"Yeah, I told him. Didn't seem to bother him. He really likes the books."   

"The books," Amy murmurs, and oh God, not this again, but Amy is already following up with "Have you thought any more about what you're going to do with them?"   

Cal takes a deep breath and feels it stutter a little in his chest, reminding him he's been binding for a bit too long. "Yeah, actually. They were working on restoring the books when Dad died. He said he'd help me get them back into shape and I think I'll donate them to the university."   

"Oh," Amy says, pleasantly, and Cal reminds himself that Amy is good, that Amy is only doing what she thinks is best, what Zara told her would be best, that most rational people would question the wisdom of having cases of books worth thousands of dollars in an apartment not known for its impenetrable security measures. "That's really cool. He sounds like a really neat guy, Cal."  

Cal thinks of yellow-tinted glasses, of that scar on his face and the way he looked at Cal like he understands him. "Yeah," he says softly. "He really is."   

“Ginger or mint?” Amy calls, and Cal is thankful for the change of subject. 

“Ginger, please,” he calls back, carefully cupping his stomach with his palm, and takes a very deep breath. 

 *

A long while later, Amy has fallen asleep on his shoulder, a hand still splayed across his slightly-less-bloated belly, old episodes of The Twilight Zone streaming at a low volume on the TV. Cal can’t be bothered to move, too comfortable, too deep in thought, the churning of his belly finally soothed by Amy’s ministrations and a few shamefaced trips to the bathroom. 

Cal thinks about his dad every day, and that is no euphemism. He sometimes drifts past the extra room (Quincy's room, he thinks, something blooming in his chest in a way he doesn’t want to deal with right now) and sees his books, or catches sight of the scar on his knee he got the first and last time he and his dad went fishing when they were supposed to be studying for Cal's math test the next day, when a stray hook went straight through and he needed stitches, remembers the ice cream after, I'm not going to say don't tell your mom, but I'm going to say I won't if you won't, and he smiles, just a little (he didn't tell his mother). Every night he lays in a bed across from a desk that's been flush to the wall underneath the window since the day his dad built it, the one they picked out together at IKEA before Cal moved in, the one that had him muttering profanities for three hours on a blisteringly hot day in August while Zara’s mother, Virginia, poked her head in intermittently, how are those PhDs treating you, Dr. Kline?  Cal thinks about his dad all the time.  

It's just that he can't remember the day he died.   

It's just that he knows that he's the one who found the body, that he's the one who, somehow, called 911, who clung to Amy when the ambulance came, but he knows it the way you know stories about your fourth birthday party or your first day of school—more retelling than memory. Something you know because you're told.   

If he tries hard enough, he thinks he can remember what his uncle was wearing that day, what the perfume of the hospital secretary smelled like, but he can't for the life of him remember his dad's face, what the last thing he said to him was. And when it comes down to it, maybe he doesn’t remember what his uncle was wearing at all, maybe he just remembers him saying at the funeral, he bought me this tie, you know.   

You'd be surprised how many people come to a funeral for a professor, how many handshakes and hugs Cal got just for losing someone. How many looks of pity he got (gets) when they hear his name: Cal Kline, the guy who found his dad dead.   

And he can't even remember it.   

Psychogenic amnesia, Dr. Hodge told him in one of their first sessions, because yeah, when you're trans and you find your dad dead and can't fucking remember it, the one thing you spare no expense on is a really badass therapist. His brain couldn't handle what happened. He repressed it. It was the emotional shock, was the trauma, was the pain, yeah, Cal gets it.   

It's just that the one thing you should be allowed to hold onto are lasts, and Cal can't even remember his. He thinks of his dad and sees fishing, sees the lectures he sometimes sat in on, sees a receding hairline and eyes just like his and of course I still love you, sweetheart, daughter or son, you're family, and it aches.   

He wonders if Quincy's lost someone, if that's why he looked at him like that, eyes soft and understanding but not pitying. I get it, he said, and Cal believes him.   

Cal rolls that around in his head like a marble.  

I get it. I get it. I get it.   

Yellow's an awfully pretty color. 

#timeline #Cal #Zara #Quincy #Amy #okay yeah i forgot to write a bio for zara we'll get to that later #i. did not proofread this #belly rubs #spot the myx shoutout :P

[butchlilith]

something missing; a cheers fic

summary: "well, frasier, ever since i was a little girl, i've led a very disciplined, regimented life. but in the back of my mind, i always had this nagging feeling that something was missing. i tried to fill the void with achievements scientific awards, marriage to a prominent man. but deep down inside, i still felt empty." (or, in which lilith is a lesbian and not half as cold as everyone would like her to be.)

words: 5k

rating and warnings: pg-13. discussions of not-great-but-consensual sex, coming to terms with one’s sexuality. feel free to message me with any questions about specific warnings if needed.

notes: finally releasing this into the world for femslash february after allowing it to gather dust for several months. if you’re into taking sitcoms too seriously and writers who pretend to know more about psych than they do, enjoy. if not, you will probably not care for this. also available on ao3.

Lilith is a child when she first feels it: There is something inside of her, different from the others. The kindest will call this genius, and, when they do, Lilith chooses to believe them.

At this age, Lilith’s mother enrolls her in a dance course. The whole endeavor is frivolous at best, but Lilith never does quite unlearn the posture. At twenty-eight, she holds herself as rigidly as if the instructor is watching her still, drawing the other girls’ eyes to the line of her back. “You need to separate the body,” she would say, hand guiding arm and eyes watching legs. The habit is useful, so Lilith keeps it long after she persuades her mother to terminate her lessons. There is more to know, and Lilith cannot be kept from it.

(It will take eighteen years for Lilith’s mother to make another concession.)

Sixteen is the year that she learns to terrify, and the fear is just another award she collects. Twelve years later, it is no wonder that she is still being told to make herself easier to consume. The wonder is when she accepts.

The woman who offers, Diane, is soft in all but opinion, and her touch is no exception. Lilith has never loved a woman like this, but she has loved few women. She does not love Diane, of course, or feel any attraction to her at all, but she recognizes in her a potential Lilith has seldom seen.

(Dorothy tells her that she cut off her hair the moment her mother’s eyes left her neck, and Lilith should have known it then.)

Her hands are the critical detail—delicate, steady, precise. Lilith could use hands like these working alongside her. With the right training, these hands could do great things. Far more, at least, than tapping pigment on skin in imitation of a youth never possessed. When all is done, her fingers trace the edges of Lilith’s face, stopping just below the jaw, then tapping thrice on either side.

“Something’s missing,” she says, fingertips still light against Lilith’s neck. Lilith knows these words, has known them best in her more reckless days, but the touch is unfamiliar. A few more inches and she would reach the carotid, and Lilith knows that she will before they part; already, she can feel Diane’s perfume creeping serpentine in the air—not so oppressive as Sam’s cologne, but suffocating in that familiar, cloying way.

“My professional integrity, perhaps.”

Diane swats her arm, and even this is soft. “It is not!”

Foregoing the polite pause she would typically grant following such contact, Lilith distances herself. “Of course not,” she says. “I lost it the moment I accepted this absurd—“

Even her interruption is gentler than Lilith can bear. “Dr. Sternin,” she says, and there is a warmth even in this formality. “You remember that this is a rhetorical strategy. We’re not sacrificing an ounce of respectability with a little bit of lipstick.”

“It isn’t my usual tactic,” Lilith says, and Diane’s touch returns. Her hair, this time. Diane’s fingers have located one of the u-shaped pins securing her bun, and Lilith knows that they wait only for her permission. “But it would be foolish not to seize such a readily available advantage.”

Diane removes hair pin after hair pin, until Lilith’s hair is loose. “That’s right.” At last, she procures a bottle of perfume with a dull pink hue. “And, you know, a touch of mascara even offscreen could provide all kinds of advantages…”

Though not particularly grateful, Lilith thanks her. With this, Diane does what Lilith has known she would do all along, raising a freshly perfumed wrist to her neck. One moment, artery to artery, radial to carotid. The next, they are apart, and Lilith smells like her.

In this way, she prepares herself for the intimacies that will follow.

Lilith has spent eight years kissing men as nothing but the first in a string of pearls. Frasier is no different. He recites Eliot in the early days, another of his dead-end habits, and she wonders whether he knows that she counts the breaths in a minute, calculating how to proceed. There is a correct way of approaching such matters, and Lilith approaches all things correctly. The man in the poem is a coward, of course. It would take a fool to read these words in earnest, to find anything worthy of emulation, but Frasier remembers this only sometimes, and Lilith cares too little for Eliot to think it of any significance. She raps her index against his neck with each exhale and knows precisely how the evening (and all others) will proceed.

He will tell her later that this is the best sex of his life, and Lilith will act as if this comes as a surprise. As men do, he will compare her to the other women, and the list will be shorter than most, but Lilith’s name will be at the top.

For six years, this will be enough, and Lilith will embrace every moment he gives himself to her. In return, she will give someone to him.

She bests his most careful arguments in minutes, and with this Lilith knows: He craves nothing so much as a termagant. This is why he wants her. This is the only reason any man ever does. Few men do, of course, but this is of little significance; she wants fewer still.

The first time is in college, eight months after she meets Dorothy and later than the statistical average by several years. Positively correlated with achievement, negatively with marriage. Her mother grows impatient, her brother cruel. Being with him is the pragmatic choice, so it is the one Lilith makes. Four months into what must be a relationship, he interrupts her, smirking: “This is just what I like about you, Lil. You’re a challenge.”

Lilith supposes this means she is something to be overcome. With this, their romantic relationship ends. Each man who touches her later will construct a fantasy of turbulence as she plans her body’s every move.

It is like this that she finds herself married. It is like this that she finds herself a mother. None of this is so fast as it feels. Frasier performs that tired, requisite reluctance, first toward cohabitation, then marriage, then children, all so expected of his sex, and Lilith pushes him forward in the only manner she can, the manner he needs. She gives him ultimatums, tells him every truth she can express to herself, and convinces herself this is what a family is. She knows he has already convinced himself of the same. She loves him for this.

She loves him for more than this. His jokes are charming, when they’re not repulsively chauvinistic in one of his frequent if futile grabs for male camaraderie. He seldom uses the strength his size affords him. And sometimes, when he his willing to listen and she to speak, their conversations will be some of the best Lilith has ever shared.

He’s Frederick’s father. This is the most important detail and the only one that is unconditional.

She knows, reasonably speaking, that the feeling she identifies as love before Frederick is capable of any expression deserving of it is an evolutionary necessity. She knows that the traits she assigns to him in these days (cleverness, ebullience, kindness, curiosity) are little more than a reflection of her own hopes for him. But he will be some of these someday, and Lilith knows this, too.

So, she loves them both. She feels a love for them she has kept herself from feeling all her life, so deep that she understands why she has kept herself from feeling it.

(Dorothy kisses her when they are twenty-four and more accomplished than women twice their age. For just over seven seconds, Lilith forgets the second half of this. She cannot afford seven more.)

The love has such strength that even her recklessness returns. The day Frederick is born, she remembers at once the words she had buried: It is the happiest day of her life, and Lilith is certain that something is missing. One day, she will love them both enough to find it.

But recklessness is unsustainable, so she buries them once more. She seeks out missing things in music and writing and research, and she finds them. Frasier reads Freud these nights, fixated on that letter from Rolland, and Lilith entertains his talk of it. Still, the oceanic feeling of which he speaks eludes her, and she says so. With this, Frasier drags a hand from her elbow to her hand and cradles it there. She knows that he does this with the desire to unite them, but Lilith’s conviction only deepens: She is wholly separate from the world that surrounds her. The touch comforts her anyway.

In mid-March, Lilith spends three days on a retreat in Maine to finish her latest book. This is, at least, what she tells Frasier. In actuality, she has long since finished it; she spends three days instead visiting an old colleague in Maine to—in her words, not Lilith’s—reconnect. Ordinarily, Lilith would do anything to avoid such an invitation, but she remembers the woman better than most. Theresa. Polished, curt, well acquainted with Bekhterev. One of the few people with whom Lilith could bear to spend such time.

The first night is dinner, and Theresa describes her most recent publication in fifteen precise words. (At the seminar, years ago, where she and Frasier first met, he spent an hour describing his recent case study remarkable only for its utter insipidity.)

She invites Lilith to her apartment as they’re waiting for their check. Her unadorned hand on unadorned wrist rests on the table well past its midpoint, and Lilith supposes this means something. (On his fourth drink, he came far nearer to Lilith than she cared to experience and said, “If you’re interested in hearing more, there’s this truly charming little haunt of mine on Beacon—say next Friday?”)

Theresa opens the door to an apartment illuminated only by the full moon. “We’ve spent all evening discussing my work,” Theresa says, though they have not. She flips a switch positioned awkwardly behind the door she still holds. “Please, tell me: You’ve just done a study on women who pursue unhealthy relationships with men?”

Lilith steps inside. “I have. You intend to relate this to my marriage?”

“I do.” She reaches past Lilith, presses her palm to the door, and, with this, closes it. Then, “I’m mistaken?”

“Not entirely,” Lilith says. Theresa’s eyes move once down Lilith’s body, then return to her face. A small change, almost imperceptible, so Lilith gives no indication of having perceived it. “You see,” she continues, “Frasier represents the antithesis of these—you will forgive my use of my editor’s crude phrase?”

“I will. I may take your coat?”

“You may,” Lilith says, and Theresa does. “As I was saying, Frasier is the antithesis of these ‘bad boys’ whom these women come to seek in their act of self-sabotage.”

“And this takes but one form?” she asks. Ordinarily, Lilith would consider such questioning among Theresa’s best traits, but she knows already what she is suggesting.

Lilith does not entertain it. “Variations upon the one.”

“You’ve found this over four years of work?”

“Four years, three months. I’ve also had a child.”

“The book takes precedent?”

“It was harder to deliver.”

After a smile of a polite duration, Theresa asks, “Certainly of less personal significance?” The suggestion here is easier to deny, and Lilith is thankful for it.

“Certainly,” she says. “Frederick has already surpassed mimicry and is moving well into response-based communication. He should grow to be an exceedingly capable boy.”

“You’re well, then?”

“I am.”

“Happy?” The word is sharp even by Theresa’s standard. One could almost call it bitter—a suitable pairing, Frasier would say with that particular smugness of his, with the Zinfandel Theresa has already poured. Perhaps too much so.

Lilith nods and takes a single sip from the overfilled glass, for she has known nothing if not restraint, if not the art of letting one taste fill her up. Then, she has never wanted anything so badly as she wants her, and it is too easy to feign absence of intention with a glass of wine in hand. Of course, Theresa is above believing so facile an excuse, but she has a stronger grasp of courtesy than Lilith has ever cared to develop. (“I’m glad,” she says, though Lilith is certain she is not.) The whole thing could pass without so much as a word.

(She and Dorothy speak for three weeks about their misstep, Mondays and Wednesdays from one o’clock to three. It is excruciating, of course, to discuss feelings that Lilith does not intend to have, and more so to discuss those that Dorothy does. The second Wednesday is the most difficult; Dorothy says aloud the word that Lilith has been holding for thirteen years.)

But Lilith knows this: When she wants, she devours. She has been called cold more than her own name, but Lilith knows herself too well; someday her body will burn everything in sight. A single spark and the flames will spread for miles, eating up the world until she runs out of air. All this to say, Lilith cannot let herself want.

(Lilith straightens her arm and stretches out her hand, fingers together. Dorothy accepts the gesture but moves no closer, so that Lilith’s arm continues to reach toward her long after their hands are together.)

It is three hours to sunrise when Theresa drives Lilith to her hotel, and they have touched but once—a single handshake, fleeting and impersonal. There is a promise to meet again tomorrow. In her room, Lilith lets her hair from its bun, unbuttons her collar, and studies herself in the welter that is hers alone. Longing crashes inside of her, makes itself known in each curl of her hair, but Lilith has won. She wears the pearls herself tonight.

A betrayal on the Ides would have been a cliche, and Lilith is too well read to let herself become another tragedy.

On her return, Frasier fails to produce more than the tired facsimile of the long-suffering husband. A more impetuous Lilith would hate this about him, would hate that look of satisfaction he gets at the drone of a chuckle he receives in response. She would hate the transparency of its origins, hate knowing that all of this was in some quest for masculine validation his father never granted, hate more than anything that this makes them the same. But Lilith has outgrown her impetuosity; she is a mother now. She recalls instead the manner in which Norm speaks of Vera and wonders when she will attain the same luxury of absence when her husband chooses to deride her. A moment too late, she joins the laughter, then meets Frasier’s gaze, ice-cold, every bit of the woman they want her to be. He pantomimes suicidality, and a greater bout of laughter follows.

The moment they are alone, his breath encircles her neck, the humid suggestion of suffocating summer days to come: “God, I’ve missed you.”

Lilith counts to ten and empties her mind. She wraps her arms around his neck, closes her eyes. She says, “I’ve missed you, too.”

Lilith has long expected her body to betray her before her mind. Lately, she has been less certain.

(Of course, she has also written no fewer than half a dozen papers rejecting Cartesian dualism, but this is no matter.)

It takes more focus now. Lilith drums her fingers on her own arm this time. Four of them, rolling from the index out, a slower, steadier rhythm than their custom. Her own breathing, not his. She stops, recollects. Frasier’s hands move to her shoulders, pushing her just far enough away from himself to observe. He calls her some dreadful hypocorism, as if this could be an aphrodisiac even to the woman who did enjoy sleeping with him, and asks what could possibly be the matter.

He has not asked her this before tonight, and she has not thought to prepare the answer. For once, Lilith is without a plan. She tells the truth, or half of it: “We’re out of practice.”

“Finally,” he says. “A problem I can fix.”

Briefly, the image of Theresa’s hand flickers into being. Then, the touch of Diane’s upon her face. Then, a stranger’s to her back, small but certain. The guilt will last longer than any of these.

(For Lilith knows, as a scientist, that the mind is nothing without relation to the body. Were she to subscribe, as she had in her youth, to a more radical view, she could end that sentence five words sooner. She does not, but, still, as a wife, she knows that relation and oneness are wholly distinct.)

For once, for now, her breathing matches his.

She relearns the precision with which she was once able to discard the mind altogether—to study it, then say that it does not exist at all. She has softened, since then, since extolling Skinner above all others, but there remains a comfort in the acknowledgment of only what takes form in action.

They are content together, like this, when Lilith’s mother visits with a complaint. This activity is nothing unusual, of course, for Lilith’s mother often has complaints, but Frasier has resolved to make the visit different. As simply as this, both are entirely yielding to each suggestion that follows.

They’re meant to wed again—before her mother, of course, but before their colleagues, before the people from Cheers, too—and they do, for Lilith does all that she is meant to do, and Frasier has sworn to her to do the same. This is why she is willing to swear herself once more to him.

But she must first look like a woman must. The whole evening, Lilith has known from the first suggestion, is the question she never gave her mother the chance to pose and the only one she would fail to speak even had the chance arisen. It relies upon the knowledge she will never share. So, she answers it with certainty. She is happy to be somebody else for the sake of her family.

Lilith, of course, is no stranger to makeup. She knows, from the comments of seldom-well-meaning acquaintances, that this would surprise some. Even before Diane intervened, Lilith has known how to make herself beautiful, how to present an image of professionalism that is never expected of a man. Lilith allows her mother to do it all, until she no longer looks like herself.

And when Frasier sees her, he lets his compliment take the form of a question.

She smiles at him. He had always intended to resolve their relationship this way, Lilith knows. Waiting for her to find the strength for herself, prodding when his inaction was too little to spur her into speaking. A joke, even, that comment about her appearance. A play on the absurdity of the archaic gender roles that have driven her discomfort since childhood. She knows, now, that he knows her, and she has never loved him more.

For a moment, she intends to reenact their marriage as happily as if she had wished for it herself. Removing the makeup, freeing herself from the dress, pulling her hair into the bun she prefers—all such simple things—and her marriage would be hers, her mother’s question answered. There is not enough time for any of this. The music begins, slipping through the crack of the shut door.

At once, she and Frasier decide that the ceremony can wait. She reapplies her lipstick before it begins.

(As students, she and Dorothy would scoff over the very idea of dualism together. A category mistake, they’d say, as if they were the only two people on Earth to have read Ryle. There was always something about Dorothy that made Lilith feel they were the only two people on Earth at all. When they are together, a part of her feels it still.)

The next time she visits, Dorothy brings a woman with her, a postdoc whose shoulders slump with what almost seems to be intention. She is five years younger and—this is minimized by her deplorable posture—six inches taller than Dorothy, and, when Lilith tries to shake her hand, she gives half a nod without any further acknowledgment. With this, Lilith knows that Dorothy has told her everything. She is certain that not all of it is kind.

Frasier joins them only once, for dinner, before dismissing his failure to appropriately engage as a lack of familiarity with—the women at the table exchange a glance at this, surely confirming his misguided impression—girl talk.

“What was it?” asks Dorothy’s companion. Her name is Margaret, Lilith knows, but she is not yet so familiar to warrant the natural use of it. She grins, and Dorothy is transfixed awaiting her next words. Lilith has seen the look before. She was once accustomed to being its focus. “I’m having trouble remembering. It was you who began our conversation on aromatherapy, wasn’t it? And the local antique shops we might wish to explore?”

“Well, yes, I suppose it was, but you must understand—“

Margaret does not allow him to continue, and Dorothy grows still more enraptured. “The only subject that comes to mind is, I believe, our dispute over Romantic composers—Schumann, et cetera.”

Frasier here seems prepared to interject. Margaret, in a bold if unnecessary feminist act, elected to direct her praise to “Schumann and her husband” with an unfaltering nonchalance that forbade any further question. In the moment, it resulted in the same expression Frasier typically reserves for wine procured from the supermarket—in Lilith’s opinion, his fourth least flattering. With the wound reopened, Lilith is certain that he will at last verbalize his frustration, but Margaret leaves him no time.

“Then, there’s my overwhelming aura of femininity. All of ours, really.” She nods once more to Lilith, again unnoticed by Frasier. "We could do nothing more than recite the periodic table, but the simple girlish quality to us all would bestow upon our conversation the title of girl talk regardless of circumstance.” She leans across the table, still smiling, and, for the first time, pauses. “Was that it?”

From this Frasier knows that he can make no recovery, so, mercifully, he suppresses the reappearance of that tired expression and says simply, “My apologies.”

Frasier interrupts their arrangement of breakfast with an excuse for his absence the moment he invents it (“A dreadfully demanding case, this one!”). Only he feigns disappointment at the news.

“You’re unhappy with Frasier,” Dorothy tells her that morning.

“That’s very astute.”

Margaret looks up from her coffee, to which she’s added more sugar than any person could possibly enjoy. “It’s the money, isn’t it?”

“My prolificacy offsets the wage disparity typical between sexes, and I hardly indulge in—”

“Anything?” Margaret suggests. She grins again, this one unlike that she had produced at dinner. Lilith suspects that it is a premature gesture of affection meant to foster a sort of camaraderie between them, but Dorothy nudges her, and she takes up a new expression. Affecting some approximation of a transatlantic accent, she says, “My apologies.”

“That was funny,” Lilith says. “You know, I’m something of a comedian myself.”

They spend the morning like this, and, in these hours, Lilith waits for a feeling that does not come. She will think of the irony, later, when the feeling returns, but, for the moment, she must admit that she is without the impression that anything is missing at all.

She has been thinking of this, in the weeks leading up to the summer. The night before it begins, Lilith kisses Frederick goodnight, and she leaves the way her father did, without warning.

Unlike her father, she keeps close. Lilith remains unmoved by impulse; she has accounted for every possible emergency. For each of these, she is present. Even her planning cannot predict the ease with which she finds a home: Before Lilith can begin to justify her situation, Sheila has already offered up space in her apartment. The place is too large for one person anyhow, she says, and she’s laughing while she says it, reaching a hand to Lilith’s arm. She, of course, can mean nothing by it. They are colleagues, and to pursue any sort of relationship beyond the platonic would jeopardize the department’s function. It is nothing more than a much-needed source of light in the two-windowed apartment, no different from the piercing lemon yellow of her skirt.

Still, in her leaving, Lilith has unleashed something. However unrealized, desire surrounds her. She loves the feeling as immediately as her own son, and more primordially. At the realization, guilt grazes her shoulders, then passes; a poor mother is made in the suppression of the self. 

She catches sight of herself in the bedroom mirror three nights later. (She has looked in the mirror already; she has no fear of her own reflection, but all of these looks have been with intention. This one is not.) Without knowing what observation is to come, Lilith’s shoulders are more relaxed, her face her own.

Lilith has stopped wearing makeup since deciding to leave, and it feels the way a more sentimental woman, or perhaps a woman with a less complicated relationship with her family, might describe coming home. She was taught, years ago, that the halting of such grooming is a behavior often indicative of depression.

(Lilith is not depressed. She has simply made, as she always has, a choice.)

Her colleagues cease asking her whether she is suffering from a particularly longevous strain of influenza the same week Frasier makes no fewer than fifteen presumably empty threats ranging from recycling back issues of Forced Exposure to suicide. Lilith does not entertain them, and he allows her to visit Frederick with little more in way of theatrics. Already, he seems to have grown.

Lilith has found much in her life easy, and it is easy, now, seeing him, to want to return. Of course, she knows that Frasier is a satisfactory father. A good one, even, and surely a better parent than she, even before she left. But she sees that Frederick has grown, and she knows that she is his mother, and both of these will continue, but she has chosen to miss both.

Frasier watches her with their child in a way he never did, when Lilith was the stable member of their partnership. Rather, when she participated in such a partnership at all. It isn’t something she wants to do again, in the same capacity.

Lilith leaves, again, and tells no one of the decision.

She attends a conference that month. She knows who she is here, and returns to her at once. A skirt suit, dark lipstick, a polite smile shown even (indeed, especially) to those of little competence. She watches presenters most closely in the moments after she poses a question. All but one hesitate. The exception—Nancy, her research on phantom limb pain—finds her later and offers a drink ticket.

“For a wonderful question,” Nancy says.

“I already have one.”

“I have two. I have an undergraduate assistant. Would you like his?”

“No, thank you. One drink is sufficient. If you wish to speak with me, however, you would be welcome to do so.”

Sitting beside her, Nancy gives another of her too-warm smiles. “I do,” she says. “I’ve been thinking that someone so good at asking questions must do some interesting work herself.”

They speak for too long. Nancy invites Lilith to her hotel room, and Lilith suspects that it is an invitation for something other than conversation. She doesn’t ask, but she accepts.

Nancy leans against the closed door of her room. The unpleasant warmth of her smile has dissolved. It’s charming, now. Encouraging, perhaps. Lilith counts her own breaths.

One. Five moles form a miniature Cassiopeia on Nancy’s neck. Lilith could extend a hand and touch them all, and not a single one would burn. The angles are wrong for Cassiopeia, if one is familiar enough with the shape, but the image remains. A woman chained to her throne, arms spread out to the world. She’s told this story to her son once already, lying under the stars that do. Like most, it is one of hubris. What is it that gives her reason to boast? What writhes naked at the water’s edge for her sin?

Two. In the myth, they are the same, the treasure and the captive. Lilith cannot become another tragedy; under more thorough examination, she suspects the monster would be Cetus no more. Cassiopeia, Andromeda, Cetus—all one.

Three. She could come home tonight with the intention of staying, come home and tell Frasier of the thought between his words of hate and love. He would divide them into clean parts, not caring that action could envelop it all. Ego, superego, id—all one.

Four. There is a truth in the way something inside seems to ache with the delight of everything primal, and Lilith has sought nothing if not what is true.

Five. Lilith has spent seventeen years closing her eyes to keep from seeking anything at all.

Six. Her breaths haven grown closer together, an undeniable manifestation of everything she has refused. She must recollect herself.

Seven. The problem is this: If Andromeda is the perfect and beautiful thing inside her, there must too be a Perseus. Lilith is the kind of woman to save herself, but she cannot slay Medusa; it is already too much in her nature to turn to stone.

Lilith discards the analogy. She wants. She seeks.

Consequences are for women with something to lose. Lilith has surrendered all of herself already. The last time she sees the red stain that spent years on her mouth, it sits on Nancy’s skin like a bruise. Her hips are the first place it has ever belonged.

The flames spread.

#cheers #lilith sternin #cheers fic #fic* #this is a cheers fic but if you haven't seen it you should still mostly get what's going on #i reference a few canon cheers characters but lilith is by far the focus here

[wheelthefridge]

in honor of last night having been my last ever shift dishwashing at the same restaurant i’ve been at for the past four years here’s an absurdly long list of random chaotic moments that literally no one asked for that i’ve been compiling since day one:

bj, with a half full gallon of orange juice: this expired two months ago. *pours down drain* that was a long time ago

sam: YOU! I HAVE A BONE TO PICK WITH YOU!! *carries on normally with no explanation* bj: smack that! that too! smack those vegetables! punch that burger in the nose! chop that bun! bob: no, flick the bun. you have to flick it. 

*bad and boujee playing* bj: walks into kitchen, singing bj: you better know when to hold em, know when to fold em, know when to walk away, know when to run bj: walks out of kitchen, still singing

me: hey can you put the wet floor sign out for me dylan: sure dylan: *slips while putting the sign out* me:

sam: get this- i haven’t smoked pot in like three days and my brain is ready to roll! yeah!

joe: ha! oldest trick in the book i just started writing 

dude @bar: ten percent of people are over 6'1" other dude: what about 6'2"  dude 1: what? no. ten percent of people are OVER 6'1" - so that includes 6'2" dude 2: idk I know a lot of tall guys. taller than me dude 1: what? i’m saying- just- ten percent of everyone in the whole world- you know how many people there are in the world? 7 billion– dude 2: i thought it was six billion  dude 1: no, 7 billion- ten percent of 7 billion—

joe, digging through the trash: i’m just gonna peruse through here,, aaaaannnd….. nope not here me: what’re u looking for Joe: …..a book

didi: is eating a pistachio  katherine: is that sour cream

sam: some dirty whorebag wants two pickles 

joe: sam she am. that’s right. dr seuss wrote a book about her 

katherine: oh my goddd this song is always on i’m so tired of it joe: is it? i don’t think i’ve heard it before carolyn: eh it’s all just one long brazilian song to me

katherine: look at my straw i put it in the pencil sharpener 

sam: i’m on crack cocaine. you heard it here

sam, aggressively putting silverware in the tray: just the way the cookie crumbles me: yeah? sam, fake crying: yes

adele: if you’re ready- sam: what if I’m not bob: too bad. she only cares if she’s ready

something: *breaks* sam: time for the mop. and by mop i mean… this thing *holds up dustpan*

mike: you should go on junior master chef…. and only make fries 

sam, quietly as she speedwalks by me: panic panic panic panic panic panic panic panic

sam, beginning of the night: my goal is to make at least forty bucks tonight. hopefully sixty sam, later that night: i’ve made five dollars

sam, pouring a drink into the trash right next to the sink: you know, im not sure why i poured that in the trash. i’ve had a very off day

katherine, after accidentally spraying salsa on herself: i just sprayed salsa all over myself bj: i feel like that too sometimes. i love salsa so much

sam: can you imagine if i did like hardcore drugs how messed up i would be- i’m messed up soberly

someone: what’re you supposed to feed twenty kids  kerry: pizza bj: vodka 

sam: will you let bob know there’s gonna be seven in the snug bj: seven in the snug? that’s my band name. we’re really good

edson: *spins cover on counter and stares at it for solid thirty seconds before putting his finger down to stop it* edson: good. 

sam: what should i draw bj: you should draw casey, hanging from a cliff, with a pterodactyl flying towards them who is on fire, but, seems optimistic about it 

bj: life is too short for low fat cheese. remember that. 

sam, beginning of night, in a really good mood: guess what i’m drunk and high right now  sam, later that night: i was just pouring a beer and i dropped it. like my hand just let go of it sam, end of night: i’m never doing this again 

joe: you know who didn’t clock out yet?? i have two thumbs! joe: ……wait joe: you know who has two thumbs and hasn’t clocked out yet?? this guy!! me: there ya go buddy

bob: i’ve slept fifteen hours in the past four days me: that’s not good bob: yeah

edson: look edson: *holds out hand with top spinning in his palm* *giggles*

sam: i cannot wait for this day to be over  me: it’s barely started  sam: i took a shot before i got here. i have more in my car

bob: hi sam sam: hi bob  didi: hi sam sam: fuck off

joe: her? oh yeah her name is sarah whitaker  katherine: oh i think i know her joe: that’s funny because i just made that up. i’m willing to bet money that she’s nineteen tho me: why joe: bc i overheard her say that she’s nineteen

joe: i’m gonna send you a video but you can’t watch it now it’s needs full attention with headphones and the lights off 

bj: if you lose your hand, don’t replace it with a fork. that would be a bad choice. i know it’s probably the cheapest option, right up there with stick, but just spend the money. 

bj, on a different day: i think if you were to get your hands cut off, getting them replaced with plates would be a very bad idea. you can dig. and you can toss. but that’s about it. no playing the saxophone.  

colby: *doesn’t show up to work* bj: maybe i should leave him a message of just me crying 

katherine: i think an old man just asked me to live with him

sam: wait *pulls celery strings out of her mouth* that just came out of my throat

bob: i’m such a grump tonight. i’m in a good mood i’m just so grumpy.  bob: maybe i’m not in a good mood…

bj, after sending christa downstairs to get liquor for the bar: i put a live cobra down there too so… if she comes back with it dead in her hands…. she’s a champ. and that’s that. 

bj: i had a dog today did you have a dog? me: no bj: oh. well. 

dylan, holding phone camera at joe: hey joe can you pull ur shirt down joe, pulling the collar of his shirt halfway down his chest: yeah like this? dylan, taking picture: yeah thanks 

bj: HI-YAH carley: you’re a ninja!! bj: yes. don’t be alarmed. i only use my powers for good. 

bj, with one bottle in each hand, pouring water in the sink, mimicking cow milking motions: it’s like a cow. mooooooeeeeeeuuuuuhhhhhhgggg aaaaaauuuuuueuejhshhsii. that’s what cows sound like right?

bj: we have a dog, and we’re getting chickens. i’m not really sure why were getting chickens. do i consider myself a farmer? not really. 

bj: we should make a youtube channel of just me saying really random things to you and you not responding to me whatsoever me: mhmm

nancy: I’m sleeping

sam: *pours drink out on counter next to sink* sam: wHAT the FuCK was that!? why did i do that?? i’ve lost it! i’ve hit rock bottom!!

sam: *bends over* ughhhhhhhhhhhhh *straightens up* ok i’m fine

bj: yum! that’s how i rate the soup. two yums up!! *laughs for like a full minute*

sam: i got my motorcycle license over the weekend and now all everyone’s saying to me is “no don’t get a motorcycle they’re so dangerous” like shut the fuck up if i die i die it’s my choice 

bj: i think if i were to be turned into some kind of commercial type of food, if i got turned into a nugget, i think i’d be indignant. i’ve lived my whole life and now i’m a nugget??? “oh i was a great roasted-“ i was a nugget. i was eaten with fries out of a box with a small soda. 

bj: hello everybody. i have arrived. please remain calm.  bob: *screams*

radio: the fastest lawn mower in the world goes up to 150 miles per hour! bob: …….why??

sam: i just meowed in scotty’s face and he was completely unfazed by it. like a full on Meow. 

bob: lemme just touch these live wires with my wet hands  bj: bob has gone offline

katherine: i totally forgot to put their order in for i don’t even know how long me: ……..i’m sure it’ll be fine katherine: i mean, nothing matters, right? right. nothing matters. 

bj: hey did you guys hear that kate: yeah what was that bj: oh i was just yelling……….. about the soup kate: me: katherine: bj: i’ll try to keep it down next time

bob: you sleep a lot when you’re old. it’s just practice for death. getting ready for The Big Sleep. let’s see how do i wanna go out? on my back?? nah not for me. on my front babey! 

didi: hi sam sam: SHUT UP didi, quieter: okay…… sam: i love you  didi: no bj: so you’re a grownup now. that’s means you have to do grown up things, like, pay for dinner and stuff? me: uh huh bj: it’s all downhill from here 

bj: pon pon the van poco. right? me: mhmm bj: probably. i mean. i’m no doctor, but

random woman @ bar: we are the matrix. We. Are. The Matrix. 

bj, to the tune of frosty the snowman: clunkity clunk clunk clunkity clunk clunk look at all this stuff. clunkity clunk clunk clunkity clunk clunk making casey’s job tough! pretty good right?? i just made it up 

bj: *walks into kitchen* YES! that’s all i have to say. that’s it. BOBS killing it. DIDIS killing it. casey MURDERED it. you’re welcome. *walks out of kitchen* bj: today is the second day in a row my dog has eaten my lunch. yesterday and then today. it’s my own fault really bob: well you know what they say about men who like floppy french fries. *doesn’t elaborate*

sam: there’s a toy baby in my section. like just a toy baby taking up a seat in my section. what do i do like do i move the bitch? do i leave her there??

bob, talking to himself: if you get sick tomorrow, just remember. it’s your own fault for eating food off the floor. 

bob, to katherine: no, you don’t have to mop the carpet

bj: cheeeesy. 

laura: if i get through tonight without a heart attack it’ll be incredible. if i do have a heart attack tho just let me go

caldo: *unintelligible yelling* SELLING my BODY for SEX *more unintelligible yelling*

bob: my fathers brother sent all his kids to australia. i guess he figured at least one of them would make it

caldo: i don’t trust people who go out to eat tuna fish

bob: can you make some more guacamole soon we’re running low laura: pulls five (5) avocados from her pockets 

bob: he looks like jesus. well. he looks like what white people think jesus looked like

sam: yeah. Please. eat some more mother Fucking crackers. 

bj: i feel like i gave birth to the eggplant stacks tonight. and honestly? if my child looked like that? i’d be proud. proud to have an eggplant child

bj: alright everybody let’s get the fuf out of here!! i said fuf not f- it’s safe. f u f starts and ends with soft letters no one gets hurt. any word that starts with a soft letter and ends with a hard letter is bad news… i feel like every time i come in here i annoy you guys. casey’s one dumbass comment away from killing me. “hey so what are your thoughts on grass?” “that’s it” *mimics shooting a gun*

ilia: -and the dogs gonna get diabetes- katherine, indignantly: i cleaned it really well!

mickey: i’ll tell you one thing. crack is good. 

sam: some lady just rolled up to the bar, no bra, nipples beamin through the shirt- LETS GET IT!!!!

caldo: *speed walks into kitchen and shotguns a beer over the trash* ok i’m back. i should not have smoked this morning

dom: little kid just picked up a knife and went “oh cool i can stab someone” me, katherine, and sam in unison: good dom: yeah the dad took it away 

sam: my friend was like “why is your go to dance move just to snap” and i was like “i don’t know, i’m white” *shrugs*

bj: someone just asked me if i’m having fun. am i having fun? i don’t know if i’m having fun. there are certainly other things i’d rather be doing right now, but i don’t know if i can definitively say that i’m Not having fun. 

bj: some jobs require Only a ladle bj, thirty seconds later, after walking away and coming back: sometimes, also a funnel

bj, @ laura who’s eating cornbread: you cornbread eating chef!!!  laura: bj: laura: bj: i’m just saying facts in a weird way. you know like you’re in trouble. 

sam: *war cry* *spits out gum* *walks away*

bj: what kind of smoothie? Soup Smoothie!!

katherine: so this woman ordered some hot water so i gave it to her and her husband says you know what that’s for right and i’m like ….to drink? and he says nope! and doesn’t explain so i’m just like ………..okay! and walk away bc i don’t even want to know 

bj: there’s no shame in it! A Grown Man Can Bathe In Yogurt!!!

bj, leaning down very close to to-go box: i love you

bob: anyone want a drink? brian: whatever’s your strongest bob: milk it is

guy at bar: sUE HIM?!?!??? oh i’d sue him yeah

sam: who orders something extra cold?? like, you need to Die now thanks. 

sam: do you dare me to drink this buffalo sauce me: yes laura, walking by: snort it

sam: one more day. just one more day laura: of what sam: waking up

bob: *is trying to explain easter to jewish laura* laura: wait so he died… then he came back to life?? then he died Again??? bob: he died. then he came back just to tell people he was alive. then he said SEE YA and ascended to heaven

sam: i HATE margaritas. i don’t know why i just made myself one. 

bob: wow. i have this overpowering urge to just go home. 

bj, putting back a slotted spoon: this is a bad choice for dressing. a bad choice. 

me: *catches a plate about to fall* bj: woah! smooth moves!! spider-man? maybe. 

danny: so you know how at my other job everyone calls me daddy?

sam: *dumps out two full wine glasses* i fucked up. tell no one. 

me: remember when we used to be able to leave early? bob: no. i think we imagined it. 

danny: i didn’t realize we served DICK here -a few min later- danny: sorry i just got out of work and i’m all fired up

sam: my moms drunk and she won’t go home

bob: hey wasn’t that slang for mari- bj: cocaine. 

bj: *kicks kitchen door open* YEE-HAW!!!!

danny: sorry casey  me: what for  danny: for having to deal with me me: yeah *shrugs* danny: they should pay you more me: yeah

didi: i kill you ilia: do it now didi: no ilia: do it i wanna die

danny, about a burger: we’ve got ourselves a squirter!!

sam: is that a chicken patty  sydney: it’s my dog

sam, on my last night with her: lets get casey TRASHED tonight

sam: are you gonna go dancing in new york didi: yes laura: whore it up

#this is insanely long #feel free to scroll past but you might get a chuckle #mickeys is not a restaurant it’s a den of chaotic energy #also if ur curious bj is a bartender and basically a manager #bob is the head cook and kitchen manager #sam is a waitress and bartender (and lesbian) #didi (pronounced gigi) is the buffest man i know and also gay and brazilian #oh and he’s a cook lmao #i got too caught up in describing his buff and gayness i forgot to mention his role in the restaurant #and katherine’s my sister #i think that covers all the main people #my post #feel free to rb but i doubt anyone would want to???? #things heard at mickeys

[croakings]

tags masterpost

someone asked me to do this and whoever u are im coming 4 u but here u go

* about--- tags i relate to similar: oh worm, worm, me, literally me, god me, me rn, same, relatable, mood, big mood, that’s a mood, yeah/ yup, me 2, me 2 buddy, hard same, god same, aesthetic, story of my life, who took this picture of me in my private home, picrew, how im tryna be, word, so true bestie <3, tbh, writing, drawing

* rip--- negative tag similar: lmao, the struggle, mental illness, ah., yeah., god, god., this is irrelevant, tw, alas

* the happening--- stuff about tumblr’s new “nsfw” ban, or whatever related: hellwebsite, tumblr, i hate this place, i hate this website, i hate this fuckin family, stop, no, tunglr.hell, tunglr dot hell, i hate it here, i fcuking hate it here, everything happens so much

* the end of times--- bad stuff happening in the world related: fuck that guy (trump), its guillotine time babey (eat the rich), good (sometimes good news), usa tag, texas, chicano tag, opinion on main, dear cia this is a joke, psa, political bullshit, what the fuck, yikes, jfc, the discourse, 9_9, politics, the protest, reagan hate blog, uspol, coronavirus, donations, that other thing i always yell about (american schoool system) , cannot emphasize enough how much i hate it here, new tags for individual debate and election cycles

* rekt--- someone got owned similar: get rekt, obliterated, absolutely obliterated, its what she deserves

* ha--- i laughed related: pft, i snorted, i snorted i’m/im sorry, legendary, im crying, holy shit, oh my god, iconic, truly

* i am in love--- something i liked a lot related: i love, clothes, jewelry, makeup, beauty tips, favorite, tunes, want, need, pls/please, goals, ideal, the fires of my jealousy cannot be contained, dance, nice, actual art, good lines, i love him, cool, tattoos, god i wish that were me, a friend

* fun fact--- a fact i thought was fun similar: history, science/science!, science?, useful, adult tag, that thing i always yell about, academic bugfuckery, mythology, folklore, greek mythology, how to, language, languages, tech, plants

* reference--- a general reference for something related: writing, writing reference, art reference

* cute--- something cute related: this is cute, dogs, cats, baby, birb, bun, pretty, flowers, shaped like a friend!!!!! (animals in general), pets, under the sea, a friend, my heart

* story time--- a story similar: kids, that thing i always yell about (yet again), this isn’t a story but i feel like it is, tell me a story, people, poetry, my writing, lines of a form fashioned

* amazing--- usually a meme this is a pure wholesome meme (bongo cat), why did fireflies become a meme, tbh, 2 tru, tru, art, cursed, kill me, ominous bullshit, i, the absurd, thank god, i love this meme, i love this post, i think about this post all the time, legendary, incredible, if i had to see this so do you, cursed, bless, ? , today (for all the daily/calendar-specific memes)

* fandom stuff (etc.): somebody once told me--- smashmouth/shrek related rollin around at the speed of sound--- sonic hey gamers--- stuff about video games in general, but mostly nintendo stuff reel talk--- movies disney--- disney stuff no capes--- super heroes venom 2018--- stuff about venom, 2018 undertale--- u get it probably lmao. deltarune lives here also poyo--- kirby! i love hozier honestly--- hozier’s shenanigans ghibli--- ghibli stuff books--- books billiam spearmint-- the works of shakespear, or something pjo--- percy jackson and related series night in the woods spop--- she ra tdp--- the dragon prince dp--- danny phantom atla--- avatar the last airbender, and the few korra things that don’t fill me with boundless rage war of stars--- star wars hp--- harry potter (now a hate tag) loz--- zelda (perpetually in my brain rent free)(mostly moved to @zelda-posting!) su--- steven universe spange--- spongebob gravity falls megamind over the garden wall alien meme--- anything about or in the spirit of the “what if humans were the space orcs” universe, ft stabby the roomba an idiot sandwich--- gordon ramsey currently in love with this stupid video--- bill wurtz childhood/ i love this show--- mostly cartoon stuff, may contain other things (edit: now there is a separate “cartoons” tag as well, for more recent stuff) dragons--- stuff about dragons rip vine--- vine compilations animation hollow knight twilight—- twilight, but i’ve never really watched the movies or read the books, so it’s just memes owl house 500 miles--- into the spiderverse kipo anime man bdg--- brian david gilbert unsolved--- shane and ryan my king arthur hate continues--- anything about king aruthur and also bbc merlin i love riverdale. i love it so much. i love taking shots thru it it is a superb drinking game--- riverdale, which i have barely watched spn--- supernatural but i never watched it. as w twilight: just memes fandom--- meta! talking about... fandom.

tropes

literature

misc.: village witch tag--- stuff about how i want to be a witch in the woods, or that general aesthetic don’t do drugs kids--- stuff about my experience doing stuff i probably shouldn’t what a wonderful world--- stuff i like about the world * --- something i, personally, have made, written, or commented on (edit: now subdivided variously, but all of them will have *) answered/mutual tag--- an ask that i answered/a mutual's ask i've answered/about mutuals war flashbacks--- triggered a memory god bless--- thanks thank you--- someone said something real well zap--- dash/rb game wizardposting--- just tumblr wizard things™️ sounds about right--- it sure does accurate/that's fair--- a horoscope or something that was on point double-dog dare you--- one of those ask prompts fuk u--- fuk u also/ so/ okay i’m done now/ anyways/ anyway/ well/ i mean/ like--- i probably rambled in the tags it got better/ did i put this here already/ again--- this is already on my blog somewhere but i lost it/i like this version better/i simply Love it that’s fair--- most of my tags are reactions. this is one of them testing 1 2 3--- a personality test usually tag--- a tag game this is a callout post/ this is a shoutout post--- drags and thanks @/ friends--- something i think someone i know would like sorry friends--- i do something badly and it’s probably inconvenient on it coach/ok/sure--- this is a joke but also a reaction stop dragging me/ don’t call me out like this/look/look.--- i was called out and i didn’t like it roygbiv--- LGBTQA+ stuff the saga--- ongoing drama or stories here on tumblr dot com my wife--- the moon (love letters--- art of her <3) hero/king--- someone who did something i like, support, or think is funny college/school--- stuff about college/school, or would be helpful to a college/school student we go forward--- postive stuff mental health--- stuff about maintaining a happy brain later--- something 2 come back  later to do--- see above puns how to--- tutorials etc words--- someone used words well, or just a word a like ah--- something nice hm--- a post that made me go hm 🔪--- stay away from me tag/ has a knife in it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯--- post that made me ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. sibling t—- a sibling mood or about my siblings a horse of course--- horses! will probably be ominous oh worm?--- worm on a string posts perfection--- frogs effervescent--- snails sewing tag--- all textiles/fiber craft spooky/its october--- halloween etc merry--- christmas i still don’t have a religion tag: anything about religious beliefs tags that i stole:--- i liked the tags from the person i reblogged it from/the source! they are not mine

that’s it and if i forgot something. pls tell me lmao. i forget about my tags all the time n i have NO idea how or when any of these will b used but this SHOULD help some w filtering. ideally. probably. godspeed out here tbh

#* #chatter #i've been updating this sporadically so. it should have. most things? i use so many tags.

[jvnckles]

hello!!♡♡it’s me- jenny, your professional taehyung, bangtan, puppies & bubble tea lover!!ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ I want to start off by saying thank you- thank you for always supporting me and for being so kind to me/being such caring friends whom I cherish a whole lot. 

And with that being said.. thank so much for helping me reach 1k followers!! asdfghjkl; i still can’t fathom how this happened.. this blog started out as a fandom blog for supernatural and then i abandoned it before deciding to revive it again a couple months ago and i think that’s one of the best decisions i’ve made in 2017. bc if i didn’t.. i wouldn’t have been able to meet all of you♡

i love you all so much but i’m sure you already know that but again, thank you for staying by my side and sticking to me through it all. i will continue to do my best to post quality content and be active. i purple you!!💜💜

Key

bolded - precious & beautiful soul i love you v much

italicised - lovely mutuals

💜 -you hold a special place in my heart

🌹 - i appreciate your existence

🎀-your work is inspiring & i love what you create!

✨-i hope we can get to know each other better!

☾-you make me smile!

✏️ - scroll to the end for a special message!

(if you didn’t get an emoji it doesn’t mean I love/appreciate you less! It just means we’ve probably never interacted/rarely interact ;; ) & i’m also gonna still tag new mutuals!♡

#-d

@4agstd🌹☾ / @97-ed /@aesthetcjeon✨☾ / @agust-rush💜🌹☾ / @jungkookio💜🌹☾ /  @apgujeon 🎀 / @b-taeh-s✨ / @baekeyes✨/ @bamlisa / @bangtanata💜🌹☾✏️ / @bangtanssea💜🌹✨☾ / @bbyboyjiminies / @bwisou 🎀 / @catladyjaebum✨☾ / @chanbaekaritz🌹☾ / @chimchurro🌹✨☾ / @chogiyeol-utopia / @clairelions💜🌹🎀☾✏️ / @comeherejimin 🎀 / @cryjeon💜🌹✨ / @cyphergguk💜🌹☾ / @cyphersjay🌹☾ / @cyphertaehyungie💜🌹🎀☾ / @daegucrew 🎀 / @deboracorrea25 / @deletaed🌹/ @dreamytaehyungx💜🌹☾✏️

e-i

@eatijn💜🌹✨ / @endearkim🌹☾ / @flowerjimin🌹/ @green-tae-latte🌹✨ / @gukbae💜🌹☾✏️ / @gwenchanamjoon / @hardcorehobi🌹✨☾ / @hihello-youngk / @hobijoon✨/ @hobislobster✨ / @hobisuki / @hoeseok / @honeyyjeon🌹 / @hopeworldbitch / @icetaelemonade💜🌹☾✏️ / @infivel💜🌹🎀☾✏️

j-l

@j1nsgf✨ / @je0n 🎀✨/ @jeonbus💜🌹☾ / @jeonisbored / @jeonsberry💜🌹☾✏️ / @jiinkookie💜🌹☾✏️ / @jimeenee / @jiminblackhair / @jiminiedimple / @jiminparke🌹✨☾ / @jiminparkl💜🌹☾✏️ / @jinandtxnic🌹✨☾ / @jjks 🎀 / @jjnkook / @jkks💜🌹🎀☾✏️ / @jungshiii💜🌹☾✏️ / @jvngkcckie / @kc-junghsk💜🌹☾ / @kkultae💜🌹☾✏️ / @kookiez💜🌹☾✏️ / @ktheaven💜🌹☾✏️ / @kthsv💜🌹☾✏️ / @lavendervantae / @liquidkook / @listentohopeworld💜🌹✨☾ / @longlivekookie✨ / @lovesmilk✨☾

m-p

@majinstic💜🌹☾✏️ / @megjin🌹✨☾ / @minkyungii💜🌹☾✏️ / @minsbutt🌹✨☾ / @misohobi🌹✨☾ / @mnkook / @mxxnlightjimin💜🌹☾ / @my-aerible💜🌹☾ / @namj94n💜🌹☾✏️ / @nochuie 🎀 / @omfgbts🌹☾ / @parkbagelboy / @parkjiminbiased / @pocketofjeonbunny💜🌹☾✏️ / @pocketofyoonmin💜🌹☾✏️ / @prince-seokpink💜🌹☾✏️

q-t

@rea1love💜🌹☾✏️ / @religion-agustd🌹✨☾ / @s-s-sugaplum🌹☾ / @samwol 🎀 / @sarangtaee🌹✨☾ / @seokjinstaehyungs / @seouljjk / @shook-kookie🌹☾ / @slayykook💜🌹☾✏️ / @sonatines🌹✨ / @soonyoung-my-love / @sugahyung / @sugahyungg🌹✨ / @sugaidc💜🌹☾✏️ / @sugashopedat / @sullii / @sweaterpawsjimin 🎀 / @taeboos / @taehyhungie / @taehyungtrsh💜🌹☾ / @taekookiesandcream/ @taesflower💜🌹🎀✨☾ / @taeshik💜🌹🎀☾✏️ / @taetle💜🌹✨☾ / @taetaetrashhh💜🌹🎀☾✏️ / @taetaez💜🌹☾✏️ / @taev-gucci🌹✨☾ / @taezever🌹☾ / @teacupjm

u-z

@ur-a-wizard-bts / @vanillalattaes💜🌹☾✏️ / @viatae💜🌹☾✏️ / @volandoentrelibros 🌹✨/ @wenhz💜🌹☾✏️ / @wowjeon✨ / @xseokjiin🌹 / @yoongitrsh / @yoonkia🌹☾ / @yourstrulytaebwi💜🌹☾

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆♡

messages!

♡ @bangtanata - halo bubs hahahah ur sucha fun person to talk kek klo ngobrol ng pernah bosen gitu i suka bgt x)) apalagi bisa ngomong bahasa wakakak but bubs!! ur so talented i love ur drawings and your writing is so creative♡♡ keep doing what u do and semoga sukses yahh!!

♡ @clairelions - queen of gfx/edits/gifs hello♡♡♡ your creations always inspire me sm and i still look up to you :’> i still remember the day i freaked out when you followed back i stopped breathing for a bit lmao ;; but ur sucha sweet and genuine person!! ilysm chiara!

♡ @dreamytaehyungx - nareeee!! one of the most beautiful and cutest ppl i’ve seen on this site♡♡ every time you post a selfie i’m blown away and you’re so SWEET i just want to protecc you (っ˘̩╭╮˘̩)っ ty for always tagging me in posts i love it sm it makes my day. i hope ur doing well ilysm!

♡ @gukbae - MY pRECIOUS BUN BUN♡♡one of my closest friends but i miss you so much ;; i hope you’re doing well and that life continues to improve as it goes on bb. you deserve the universe and so much more tbh you deserve everything good life has to offer. ilysm luna♡♡

♡ @icetaelemonade - hello kaneee♡♡ :> you are a cutie!! and thank you for tagging me in posts of tae asdfghjkl; i always get excited when i get tagged hahah i hope life is treating you well bc u deserve it!! and i hope you achieve great things in 2018!

♡ @infivel - SAYANGGG!! my #1 support system, the most talented writer out there, a lit dancer, i love you i love you i love you soooo muchh bubs♡♡ur always there for me when i have issues and such a dear and caring friend so close to my heart ilysm don’t forget tht!! excited to see u tmr in school again and geo case study buddies heheheh but overall ur wonderful queen of soft ranting aduh bikin gw emosi sumpah tpi gpp deh once in a while gua boleh nangis tntng tae ;; wkwkwk

♡ @jeonsberry - ASYYAAA♡♡ one of the sweetest people i’ve met on this site and also one of my first friends :’>> thank you for being such a caring friend and always tagging me in cute appreciation posts or anything rlly! i’m glad that we met bc you’ve been such a blessing♡ i hope life is treating you well and i hope it continues to present you with love and happiness ilysm~

♡ @jiinkookie - hi kattt!!♡ ik we haven’t spoken in a while but ur one of the first mutuals i’ve made on this site :’>> you’re so supportive and always hyping up my selfies ahikjglnalg tysm for showering me with love and kind words♡ you are very sweet and ily!!

♡ @jiminparkl - MY SNAPCHAT BUDDYYY!!! precious soul you are the cutest i s2g your messages make my day so much especially in the morning :’<< i always read your snaps when i’m otw to school and they make my morning easier♡♡ i love you so much jules i hope life isn’t too hard rn and i hope u have strength throughout all ur exams!! you got this bb!! ty for being such a caring friend and for being such a good listener and for being so patient/understanding :’>>♡♡♡

♡ @jkks - ryuuuuu~♡♡ one of my first mutuals/friends here!! you make lovely edits i love seeing them and if they ever pop up on my feed again i will hype them!! i hope life is treating you well and i hope u meet kookie one day ;>> ily!

♡ @jungshiii - MARTIIIIII♡♡♡ ighakjlndgjlakn so freaking talented with gfx and gifs i cri erytim they pop up on my feed. always posting good quality content- i will make sure to shower all of your upcoming ones with love ;>> you are so sweet and caring i can see that you truly love your mutuals. thank you for tagging me in cute posts & i hope life is treating you well bb ilysm!!♡♡

♡ @kkultae - lynnnnn!! the talented artist♡♡ and one of the cutest ppl i’ve ever seen ^-^  i love your blog sm tbh you deserve more and more love and i hope u do receive it soon!! you’re so easy to talk to and ur so kind :’>> i hope 2018 is filled with success and happiness♡♡ ily~

♡ @kookiez - sidddarrrrrr ;;;;♡♡ my first friend i’ve ever made on this site. i still remember the first time we spoke i was so nervous and shy i was honestly shaking uakjlnkga but you’re so sweet and soft and so freaking pretty!!! i cri- post more selfies and bless us *^* ♡♡ heheh but ty for being so kind from day one til now and i miss u bb!! i hope ur doing well ilysm as always♡♡

♡ @ktheaven - MY PURPLE SOULMATE HELLO!!💜💜(purple hearts just for u hehe) ty for being such a good friend and talking to me almost every single day and sending me so many cute posts on instagram?! i love looking through all of them and it makes me day :> we haven’t spoken much recently bc of rl situations but i hope life is giving you all the love you deserve and just positive vibes in general. your messages make my day, love♡♡ i love you so muchhhh nad xx ;;

♡ @kthsv - daNII my precious bubs♡♡ u are such a supportive and understanding friend ilysm :> your gifs are A+ quality and you are so talented!! i forgot how we first started talking but i’m glad we did bc we have become close since we first started speaking. you are one of my dearest friends and i hope life is getting better as time passes by bb♡ ilysm!!

♡ @namj94n - nissaaa ;> hahahah we live nearby each other even tho our we’re like countries apart iajlndglka i hope to see you soon bubs i’m so freaking excited i cannot wait!!! i’ll see you in around 2 weeks i think hehe♡♡ you are such an understanding person and so FUN to talk to!! i genuinely laugh whenever we chat it’s so funny whenever you tell me to put on body armour bc i always get injured but ik u say it bc u care :’>> ilysm u are precious!!

♡ @pocketofjeonbunny - HIIII BB♡♡ long time no talk but you are one of the sweetest ppl i’ve met ;;; your gifs are lovely too your colouring is always on point and you are GORGEOUSSSS!! your ig feed is a blessing whenever you post a selfie- you are stunning, the literal sun♡♡ the sun is sh000k. igajldkgna i hope to meet you soon when i go to oz :>> ilyy~~!!

♡ @pocketofyoonmin - ZAINAB MY PRECIOUS AND ETHEREAL ANGEL♡♡ you are so beautiful inside and out i’m so lucky to have a friend like you! so supportive too always commenting on my ig posts and making me smile ;;; the cutest. you slay me every time you post on ig and especially in selca tags!!♡ so freaking cute to see you next to your bias like i ship it hard- to the ocean okay. ikajlkngal but i love u so much i hope to meet u this summer bb!!!

♡ @prince-seokpink - kAEEEEE♡♡ one of the many talented writers ik and love. you are such a sweet person i love talking to you even though our timezones are whack and so wide hikjglnadlgkdan and yet we still find time to talk to each other :>> i hope to meet u one day so i can hug u ahhhh ty for being sucha good friend to me ilysm xx

♡ @rea1love - SUHHHAAAA♡♡ or is it suho? hmmmm >u< haha just kidding bb! you are gorgeous and you are also very fun to talk to~ we like similar groups and i think it’s cool we bias the same man in nct- we are confirmed to be soulmates lmfao asdfghjkl; but u are a cutiepie and u deserve the world ily♡♡

♡ @slayykook - HELLO BUBS♡♡ ty for being such a good friend and talking to me literally everyday even though we often reply each other late bc of timezones :’>> it’s nice talking to you and i wish nothing but the best for u♡♡ i hope life is blessing you endlessly and i hope happiness is all you’re having rn hahaha ily~~!

♡ @sugaidc - you are my sunshineee my only sunshinee you make me happy when skies are gray ;;; i miss u so much lils. ik we talk outside of tumblr but i still miss seeing your name pop up in my notifs here :’> i’m so glad we started talking you are one of my closest bestfriends i love you so much my goal is to meet you one day!!♡♡ lt’s make it happen but for now let’s make a facetime call happen amidst our busy schedule ;w; ik life hasn’t been the best but you are strong and you will get through this! and u are also very pretty and a whole cutiepie which is always a plus♡ ilyilyilyilyily always!! xx

♡ @taetaetrashhh - ahgjlnalk momommomo♡♡♡♡ SUCHA SUPPORTIVE FRIEND AND A WHOLE BEAUTY ;; your makeup is goals can u pls teach me?? ;;; and ur also a talented writer like AGH you are a whole package i am cri 5ever ;; hahaha but you are such a sweet friend and the ask you sent in yesterday/couple days ago made me tear up srsly ur the best :< ilysm i hope life is treating u v well my love♡♡

♡ @taeshik - momo... i just realised today that you aren’t on tumblr anymore… but while you were here you were one of the nicest ppl i’ve spoken to and you very sweet & kind to me ㅠㅠ i’m sorry to hear things in real life haven’t been the best but i hope everything sorts out soon and you are filled with happiness to the brim♡♡ i love you bb! sucha beautiful person inside and out, keep being you :>

♡ @taetaez -  giiiOOOO where do i even begin?! one of my dear friends and one of the sweetest people i’ve ever met ;n; we don’t talk often but when we do i always feel bubbly and cheerful in an instant- you radiate positive energy and that’s what i love abt u♡♡ thank you for always tagging me in so many posts they srsly make my day and i often times only open tumblr to check if you’ve tagged me in anything :’>> i love them! pls continue to do so♡ i will try my best to tag u too~ i love you sososos much i hope life is treating u well bb

♡ @vanillalattaes - hiiii fahreen♡♡ ^-^ we haven’t spoken in a while but you’re one of the very first friends i’ve made on this site~!! i’m still a huge fan of your selfie gifset i will never forget that masterpiece iajlngldakn♡ you are so beautiful! i hope life is treating u well bubs and ily :> xx

♡ @viatae - viaaaaa!! my fellow tae enthusiast and stan♡♡ your instagram posts are A+++ quality i love them you slay in every single one and ur smile is the cutest omg ;^; i hope life is treating you well and i hope all is good. sending u all my love and good vibes~~!!

♡ @wenhz - anannannanannanaaaaaa ;;;♡♡♡ hi bb!! i miss u and i miss our long chats that are all in caps lock and i remember that long paragraph you sent me to help cheer me up when i got hate :’>>> ik you’re not on here often anymore but i hope everything offline is going smoothly and pls remember to take care of yourself and your health♡ i love you soooo muchhh i could never forget you and you are one of my dearest friends.

#ff #ya'll are the best i s2g i don't deserve any of you ;n; 💜 #this took so long!! AGH #but it was worth it ;;; #i love you all- gonnna keep saying this over and over again tbh ahahah -- jenny xx #this is so long omg i hope it doens't mess up your notifs!! #and i also hope everyone receives the notif ;;; #the gif is something i posted a while ago but it flopped so :'))) #i might repost the set but idk ualndglakn #it's almost 1AM I HOPE I DIDN'T MAKE ANY MISTAKES IUJLGNALKGNDA ILY