#that reads unfamiliar foods as poisonous

[signedjehanne]

people on tumblr will literally post things like “you have to eat vegetables and expand your palate i dont care if you are a picky eater because of autism (if i can overcome it you can too)” and everybody will reblog it being like “yes this is true for everybody no matter what” and think its okay. like sorry but that wont work for everyone and there is no one size fits all and some people will never be able to eat these things no matter how hard they try. im only allowed by my doctors to eat recreationally and not for nutrition, because my ARFID is so severe that i get my nutrition solely from a specially made formula drink. your suggestions of “try vegetables roasted!” or “try them in soup!” and assurances of “i did it, you can too!” don’t work for those of us with more severe mental illnesses and disabilities. stop tying a person’s worth to their diet and stop assuming everybody has the ability to do what you can.

#seb speaks #autism #arfid #disability #i am TIRED. #for me #it’s not just sensory issues it’s a subconscious response #that reads unfamiliar foods as poisonous #this has been confirmed by all the doctors and scientists ive spoken to #actuallyautistic #i cannot have it blended to where i cant taste or feel it because even the thought #of those foods elicits panic attacks #because again. my brain reads them as poisonous. whether i want it to or not #you may say ‘this is sooo unhealthy tho’ #and yes! it is! because i’m mentally ill and disabled and i will never be healthy in this department #for as long as i live #i have done 3 rounds of feeding therapy and 1 support group #and countless visits to doctors and specialists and scientists #and they have all confirmed i will not get better #so the best i can do is to drink the formula and eat my safe foods. it’s the only way i’m physically able to live #and it’s why im not dying in a hospital bed from malnutrition anymore

[lokisgoodgirl]

An Offering [Asgard! Loki x Fem.Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Loki's lack of carnal exploits have caused chaos in Asgard- and something must be done. (w/c 2.7k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Loki POV. Smut. Language. Ridiculous lore.

Loki’s eyes scanned the lines on the page, uncrossing his ankles before immediately crossing them again.

He was restless. His manhood twitched as he re-read words he had missed in one endless, sprawling sentence. An annal of the wars of Muselpheim. It was the least erotic tome in his personal collection. These days, it didn’t take much.

He cast a glance out the window, wondering what carnage his unspent power was causing at the present time. Had a ghostly tidal wave risen and washed out the harbour town? A curse which made food taste like ash? An unfamiliar steed trotting through the mountain villages with an insatiable appetite for the bemused inhabitants worldly goods?

Loki didn’t know. All he knew was that he didn’t want to see anyone.

It was humiliating. His mother’s voice filled his ears against his will, the memory making his ears burn. You must copulate with someone Loki. Anyone; she had said calmly, her cheeks faintly pink. Chaos is building within you, if it is not released...naturally – then your seidr will find a way to expel itself in other ways,’

Loki shook his head, the familiar clench of embarrassment twisting in his stomach. A belch of smoke began twisting skyward in the distance from the market. It was green. He sighed, shutting the book on his lap and placing it to the side of the window-seat. If he concentrated, he could feel magic leaking from his pores like sweat. It bubbled through the air around him, the faint scent of tart spiced lemongrass following him around. Taunting him. Chaos.

And it would only get worse. “What am I to do with you?” he mumbled, staring down at his crotch. It stirred in response.

“Ah, yes, but you see, we want the same thing-” he crooned, as if to a friend. Or indeed, a foe. “The way they talk they would have me thrust you upon any diseased cretin from the alleys by the square.” He looked out the arch, the heavy emerald smog beginning to settle over half of Asgard. “But we are better than that,” he muttered.

A low chorus of coughing had begun to rise and echo around the high towers of the citadel. Loki grimaced. “I do hope it’s not poisonous,” he mumbled to himself.

There was a knock at the door. “Gods…” Loki sighed, letting his head fall back against the wall in frustration. Will they not let me alone.

It had become abundantly clear months ago that taking care of his sexual gratification by hand was not sufficient to quell the tide of magical energy coursing through his veins. Flesh, was what was required. A second heartbeat. An offering of the basest kind.

The instances of chaotic overspill had started small – batches of grain turning to sand, mirrors losing their reflection in the palace; but as the need for release grew, so did his frustration.

There was a reason that his familiar bedfellows had fallen out of favour. He caused too much angst. Too much heartbreak, that much was clear. They were satisfied for a time, but tormented in their limbo for his affection. Or his title. But they could never be her. He could see it in their eyes, the realisation when they felt him leave their cooling beds. It was not their fault.

He could not have her. She did not know or care of his existence, not really. Not outside of his garishly rouged face on a mural. Loki was not interested in breaking hearts. Not anymore. Especially his own. And as time when on, and the leakages grew in strength – people were afraid. There was that, too.

The knock came again. With an exasperated exhale, Loki rose. He crossed the room, smoothing his palms down the front of his tunic. Hooking one thumb in the low slung belt around his hips, he tried his best to look menacing as he opened the door. “What do you-”

The frown of annoyance melted to confusion as he ran his gaze over the waiting form in stunned silence. A woman, her face dipped in a light curtsey. Soft tendrils of hair fell around her collarbone like a nymph. “Your highness.” she spoke, keeping her head down. Loki tilted his head. How curious, he pondered as he reached out and gently tipped the woman’s chin up. His breath hitched at the unexpected sultry darkness of her eyes. Familiar. Impossible. “What are you doing here?” he murmured warily, casting a glance around the otherwise empty corridor. “Don’t you know it is dangerous to-” “May I come in, your highness?” she said softly. Loki frowned at the audacity of her interruption. But there was no hint of fear in her lilt, which he respected – and so the god found himself stepping aside.

The hem of her gown rustled on the stone floor, sweeping in a grand circle as she turned to face him. It was cream, the fastening at her bosom which ran down the centre of its length trimmed in the same dark green as the thick smoke currently blocking out the sun. Loki shivered.

“It has been decided that I am to be an offering,” she said haughtily. Her chin was held high, a beacon of poise and cold elegance. Norns, how Loki wanted to ruin her.

But he wouldn't. He shouldn't. Not her.

He stared back in slack-jawed disbelief, before bursting into laughter. He could feel his stomach clench, the peals of mirth taking a greater hold than the situation deserved. But it had been a while since Loki had laughed, among other things.

“My a-a-apologies,” he gasped, extending a hand to pat down her tangible offence. The lady’s arms had folded, a waft of malice washing over the god like a current. He collected himself, smoothing his hair as she looked on. “It’s not you, you are…” he looked the woman up and down, “lovely. Truly. I just...did not expect my family to stoop so low as to enact a farce such as this.”

The woman began to pace in a wide circle, her finger inspecting the wide wooden curve of his bed-frame. She paused, her chin tilting towards him with a wicked glint in her eye.

“It was my idea, actually” she said, beginning to smile as Loki shuffled where he stood. “Your brother took some convincing, but I think that is only since he had eyes for me himself.”

Loki could not find the words. “The armoury cache has turned to salt, you know” she chirped, smiling while she continued an achingly slow tour of his chambers. Loki groaned inwardly as she peered at the books on the nearest shelf, ghosting a fingertip over the spines.

“You have no idea how difficult it is to get a Prince’s attention,” she hummed. “Especially when he locks himself away and denies the ladies of the court an opportunity to flaunt themselves. Desperate action must be taken,” she purred playfully, the fragrant twinge of stinging sarcasm inflaming Loki’s arousal. Was she jesting? A cruel, elaborate trick? Loki decided he must be dreaming.

He cleared his throat, painfully aware of his cock hardening beneath his trousers. Of all days, why had he chosen the satin?

“You are here of your own free will, then?” he managed to say. She nodded, a closed lipped smile pressing against her cheeks. His eyes were drawn to the heave of her cleavage, rising and falling in anticipation before they rose back to her face. Her lips.

"It is a grave offence to lie to a god of Asgard, my lady" he warned, painfully aware of the slowing breaths making his voice thick. He could feel his tongue move, yet the words seemed to belong to another.

“They say it could be dangerous,” she said matter-of-factly, ignoring his ominous overtones. “-Fucking you, I mean.” Loki stared. He was fully hard now, the urge to free himself and have the woman against the nearest bookcase almost overwhelming. She raised her eyebrows, a mischievous smirk curling at the edge of her mouth. “Personally, I think it’s all rather exciting. Don’t you?” “You’re mad,” Loki mumbled, realising with surprise that he was already halfway across the floor. The woman let out a low tinkling laugh, resting an elbow on the shelf. “You’re one to-” Loki’s lips collided with the siren, crashing against her mouth like a tempest. She parted for him, wild hands twisting in his hair as he pressed her against the wood. Her moans of excitement, her breathy pants into his mouth as he caged her. Loki was undone.

His tongue wrestled hers, hands exploring the curves of her body that bucked against his touch. Meaningless words gasped from his lips as her palm slid harshly against his cock, mastering the slide and squeeze along its length.

“Bold, my Prince-” she teased, as his throat worked in grunts and swallows beneath her touch.

“I take nothing which was not already offered, my lady” he keened, thrusting against her hand. Their lips met again, deep curls of muscle enveloping the other in wet need. “And not all which is offered, either” he groaned against her ear. “Not yet.” The woman chuckled, sliding her hands up the velvet of his tunic. She pushed him lightly, making him stumble back like a feather. The backs of his knees hit the bed, falling and landing on the pristine sheets with a bounce.

“Take it then,” she uttered, laden with ceremony. Her eyes smouldered, wild waves falling around her face. Fingertips worked invisible buttons at the bodice of her dress, the middle section of green parting before she shrugged it from her body. Loki gripped the sheets, thighs trembling. “It is here, for you...my Prince.” Loki wet his lips, hungry eyes staggering up every perfect inch of her naked body. Mapping the trail his fingers would take as he sank into each delicious curve. The god felt his thighs widen, the tight trousers he wore an unbearable constraint. With a flex of his fingers, he was as naked as she. “Norns,” she whispered, her eyes wide. She began to pace towards him, a sudden goddess of love and peace and salvation. “You’re even more beautiful than they say.”

Loki barely heard her, transfixed by the supple legs which now straddled him on the edge of his bed. With a sharp intake of breath he let his hands run over the curve of her ass, squeezing gently. In turn, her fingers wrapped around the root of his cock, tugging as she breathed against his cheek.

“How long I have waited for this,” she murmured softly. Loki groaned. He fell back, bringing her with him in an animalistic kiss. He was being rough, he knew that. But he could barely control the deafening roar of unnatural lust. It flowed from him in waves, a roar of static crisping in the air.

“If you feel you are in danger, leave – immediately,” Loki gasped, throwing his head back with a moan while she ground against him. His mussed hair fanned against the sheets. He could feel the well of magic pulsing inside him with the beat of his cock. Like a drum, louder and louder in his ears. “You need this,” she panted, “we all do.”

Loki was tortuously aware of his manhood dancing at the tight slit of her entrance. He felt as a hound did, told to stay itself before a feast table. She moved it in circles, lapping up her wetness. The god groaned again, lips parted to the ceiling. “For Asgard,” she murmured coyly, before sinking fearlessly onto his cock. The cry which strangled itself from Loki’s throat shook books from the shelves. A ripple reverberated from the bed, making stone from the high arches crumble in dusty clouds.

His eyes flew open, and he knew from the reflection in her own that they were dark as a lemurs. The pupils drowning out any colour in his irises; wide. Wild.

Hands flew to her hips and pushed her down as he thrust up, bottoming out. A ringing cry sounded around his chambers. “Good...girl,” he smouldered darkly, an empty echo of past affairs. “Uhhh...y-yes- good girl.” Loki heard his own voice in singular clarity. As rich and foreboding and potent as a tangled forest by moonlight. There was a squelch as he withdrew, before flipping her over. She lay below him now, her features alight with desire and self-satisfaction. Her pretty moans tickled the air as he filled her sweet little cunt to the hilt. Each slap of his hips scraped the bed further across the floor. Ancient mahogany screeching on rough stone. Had sex always felt this good? Loki couldn’t recall.

All he knew was he needed to fuck to the edge of oblivion. Her fingertips dug into the taut flesh of his ass, pulling him deeper. Loki hissed, curls swinging wild over his brow. Flames nested in the torches hung on the walls snuffed out, plunging the room into inky blackness. All that remained, while the cloud of his unspent lust blocked out the sun, was her body. This temple that would restore him. Loki sucked down, teeth grazing a bruising kiss into her shoulder. “Loki,” she whined, moaning like a whore. “More-” And Loki complied. He hoisted her legs over his shoulders. “My benevolent offering,” he muttered in barbed desire, sliding his wet cock inside her inch by tantalising inch. Loki’s eyes rolled back as he hit bottom. Consecration, surely. The torch flames came roaring back to life, licking the very ceiling above them in a tidal wave of primordial heat. The woman gasped, her pussy tightening. More dust fell from the archways, specks swimming in the air as the god punctuated every thrust with a filthy curse known only to he.

She exploded upwards, hooking her arms around his neck and pulling his mouth to hers. Their bodies writhed with devilish rhythm, each fluid buck of Loki’s hips making emerald stars explode in a dreamy haze above their heads before melting to nothing. “I’m close,” she panted, tightening her thighs around his hips. Loki growled, his breathing heavy. He could feel the animal inside him rear. The bull. The wolf. The serpent. Ready to feast upon her pleasure like a wasted demon. He pressed down, tugging her clit with slow, wicked waves of his hips.

With a howl of his name, the woman came undone beneath him; her hair sprawled and spilling over the bed’s edge like a sacrifice. The room began to shake. Or was it the palace? Loki didn’t know. Trinkets fell to the floor, smashing. Crashing sounded from the next room, plates, jars of ink splattered like dried blood on the stone. Ancient tomes thudded with morose cracks, a sound which at any other moment would fill the god with despair. But not at this moment.

Every muscle in his body was tensed, primed to detonate. His balls tightened as they slapped her skin, the thundering surge of magic in his body threatening to burst in uncontrollable chaos.

He couldn’t. It was too much, too dangerous. Suddenly her fingers clasped around his jaw, drawing his gaze to hers. It was dreamy. Happy. It was trusting. And brave. That too.

“My Prince,” she whispered softly; a calm in the storm. “Cum for me.” He pressed his forehead to hers, his breathing becoming steadier. The fingernails of her free hand scratched gently between his shoulder-blades, down the curve of his spine.

Loki savoured the heat of her body beneath his, the unrelenting grip of her channel around the root of the realms woes. She worked him fearlessly, lilting her hips up to meet the base of his cock with rhythmic grace. “For me,” she repeated, before placing a gentle kiss over his parted lips. She sucked the bottom one as it released. Loki’s mind was blinded by light. Shuddering, incapacitating pleasure searing through his body as his world went dark.

Orgasm ripped through him like torn leather; fierce and merciless and raw. It rose in an eruption, consuming and obliterating and remaking him as he spent himself inside her.

A shimmering pulse of power emanated from the bed, spreading and rippling through walls as the whole of Asgard felt the release cascading from his veins. From his cock. An aftershock that would be felt through the realm. The god's face was contorted with pleasure. A thick, shaking gasp of exhausted relief was all he could muster as he collapsed in a heap beside his saviour. Moments passed. But truly, it could have been an age.

“Did I say anything?” he panted, utterly spent. “I just felt...-” “-my name,” you finished, running a hand up his chest.

You dragged your fingernails gently down his stomach, sighing happily as the first licks of sunlight appeared through the clearing smog. “I didn’t know you knew it.” “Of course I do,” he murmured. A veil of sleep began to descend while he inhaled the scent of your sex damp hair. Was this a dream?

If it was, Loki hoped he would never dream another.

He turned to you with a lazy smile, eyelashes heavy with the bliss of it all. He was free. And she was here. Her. You. “I did not think you knew mine," he said quietly, before sleep took him.

Tags

@meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @holdmytesseract @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @lokischambermaid @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @sidepartskinnyjeans @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @liminalpebble @joyful-enchantress @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @mochie85 @mischief2sarawr @multifandom-worlds @morgan-wolf @thenotoriouserg @november-rayne

#loki x reader #loki smut #loki laufeyson #loki fanfiction #loki x reader smut #loki x female reader #loki laufeyson smut #loki odinson #loki odinson x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #loki fanfic #loki marvel #loki gif #loki imagine #loki of asgard #loki x yn #loki x you #loki x yn smut #loki x you smut

[sharpen-your-hatchet]

What I Feel; What I Do; What I Want || Wenclair fic - Chapter 4

Description: "Frankly, all her life, she has felt separation between what she feels, what she does, and what she actually wants. Being royalty means there's often little room for opinion and desire [...]; Enid wonders how it'll feel to have her ingrained sense of duty be pitted against her unshackled curiosity. "

Six months past her 19th birthday - Enid, princess of The Kingdom of Nevermore, is allowed the chance to travel and explore the world as she sees fit. Unfortunately, it comes with a little caveat... in the form of some unwelcome company for protection. Cue Wednesday Addams, the only knight deemed worthy, and who is now Enid's personal thorn in her side.

Can they work together despite their differences? Or maybe fate has an entirely different plan for them altogether...

Pairing: Wednesday Addams / Enid Sinclair

Rating: Teens & Up

Word Count: 12,322

Click Here To Read On AO3 or read below!

x-x-x-x-x-x

It’s been two days since the ritual Enid had partaken in and Wednesday finds herself feeling full of thought. They’re travelling again now – uphill, on the path to their second main location: a small humble town renown for its farms and food. Wednesday had expected some sort of begging or hopeful negotiation to stay longer in the Siren’s Domain…. Yet here they are, Enid strangely quiet and obedient on following their route. It seems unlike Enid to not dawdle, but Wednesday will not question the thankful silence.

The town they’re travelling to is unfamiliar to Wednesday. Though, thanks to the other knights back home, she understands the place they are heading is rather “pretty”, and that the food is some of the best in the kingdom. Their company was seldom wanted, but Wednesday must admit to herself that knowing about this place due to the other knights makes her less inclined to grumble. After all, knowledge is power. This upcoming town seems bearable, especially when opposed to where they just came from. Not to mention that seeing the Siren’s Domain disappear into the distance as she and Enid travel is a small blessing – To Wednesday at least. She expects Enid to feel quite the opposite, not that she cares.

Something Wednesday recalls of this town is the other knights fondly recounting a bakery there, one with food to ‘die for’. Wednesday is unsure whether they mean food containing literal poisons or food so good it’s worth dying over - which is ridiculous as a notion - but she hopes it is the latter. Alsoit rains a lot in this town, which is something the other knights complained about… Unsurprising though, as she finds many of the knights to be incredibly whiny. They likely were too dumb to realise the large volume of rain contributed to the success of the crops. To Wednesday, such miserable weather sounds wonderful; frankly, it’s been far too sunny for her taste. Not to mention the nice weather only encourages more of Enid’s irritating habit of dropping everything and running off to draw or write. Less of that would be ideal.

Alongside the other knights opinions, Enid also claims this town to be nice, according to the books and paintings she’s seen. Enid says everything is nice though, so Wednesday can’t exactly take that as a glowing review. She spoke greatly of the Siren’s Domain and all it was, was a bunch of carved rocks filled with sirens who would hypnotise you given the chance. Wednesday tried to give benefit of the doubt but between her general animosity towards the princess and the fact she finds sirens to be stuck-up and not to be trusted… well, safe to say, Wednesday will choose doubt from now on. She isn’t sure why she decided to deviate from such a decision in the first place, especially when there are many more places to visit. Fortunately, Wednesday is at least familiar with a few of these locales so she can ignore Enid’s opinions even more-so than usual. Frankly it is disturbing she’d rather believe what the other knights have to say for once.

They should arrive to this next town by tomorrow, and then Enid needs to complete the second task in the list she has been given. Wednesday isn’t sure what it is yet, and she cares not to check. At the moment her main focus is about getting to their next stable stop and blocking out whatever ramble Enid is speaking at her. She really does not shut up.

Though, Wednesday must concede something seems different about Enid now and it is piquing her curiosity. Despite her usual unending commentary and passion for wasting time, it seems… Duller, perhaps? Like Enid had a metaphorical spark above her head that fizzled out slightly. Not that Wednesday cares – she is simply intrigued at what has brought the change about. People are puzzles sometimes, and Wednesday does find it quite interesting to poke at them until she figures them out, even to the point of annoying them. Especially to the point of annoying them – it’s more satisfying that way. Enid has been quite easy to figure out so far – excitable, excessively friendly, has an opinion on everything, and is overall the picture of privilege… but now, and after that ritual in particular? Something is different. It is most curious.

Again, Wednesday does not care – If Enid is suddenly less enthused than before, it can only be a positive in her eyes. Wednesday is here to do her job and that is it, so anything that lowers Enid’s friend-making attempts is welcome... but there’s just something following that first task that’s made Enid shift a little, and it’s got Wednesday’s brain ticking tremendously.

Wednesday wants to think a little more on it. Fortunately, Enid seems completely unaware of Wednesday not listening to a single word she says, and considering they are on a rather straight bit of path, there’s no better opportunity to have a bit of a think back…

Okay. So… Following Enid’s return from the ritual, she seemed tired; quiet. It seemed unusual but not unexpected… Wednesday can only imagine such a task is momentous. Mostly, the quiet was welcome. An evening where Wednesday can have peace and quiet seemed unheard of since beginning this journey, and Wednesday wasn’t about to ask questions about the ancient waters or what process Enid had to go through. Despite her curiosity, Wednesday had and still has zero desire to take a personal interest in the princess and her life.

After some time settling, Enid had appeared in the doorway that connected their rooms at the inn. Wednesday had previously stated that unless it was an emergency, they were not to talk until the following day. If her days belonged to protecting and watching the princess, she at least deserved a modicum of peace at night. So when Enid appeared, Wednesday simply stared at her.

Go away, her mind said.

“What is it?” Her lips had said instead, in her usual stoic drone.

Enid remained quiet for a moment. She fidgeted with the hem of her sleep shirt. An irritating habit.

“I understand how it feels now.”

Wednesday remembers her brow raising, perplexed by the princess’ sullen state. She did not respond, still wishing Enid to leave. She did not care (still does not) for whatever dramatics she was being invited into.

Enid mumbled something nearly incoherent afterwards. With her voice quiet and her words uncharacteristically stumbled, Wednesday can only remember the word ‘duty’ and something about having to do things you don’t like amongst the angst-ridden words before Enid disappeared again into her own room.

It was a short interaction, no longer than maybe a minute… The following day Enid said nothing of it, and continued to emit her sunshine personality as though nothing was different.

And now, the day after that, the same can be said. Enid acts as though nothing is different with her, but there is… and with no other stimulation to keep her busy, Wednesday cannot help but needle away at it.

She stares into the back of Enid’s head. Wednesday has never been good at people; never really wanted to be good at them, either, but they do make good puzzles. With this latest change, Enid is certainly a little more intriguing. Not enough for Wednesday to be invested personally… more so like a scientist probing a specimen.

“It’s starting to rain.” Enid announces, her concerned voice pulling Wednesday from her thoughts. They’ve moved a fair distance uphill and closed in on some rain clouds above them, turning the sky grey and dreary. Water droplets bounce onto the leather of Enid’s gloves as she holds her hand out, and seconds later, Wednesday feels water drip onto her head. It’s ice cold and feels like misery as it seeps into her scalp. Perfection. This is exactly what she had been hoping for.

Enid glances back, her face screwed up in discomfort. Wednesday is not surprised that the princess cannot handle a little bit of rain water, but feels inconvenienced by it nonetheless. It’s ironic, considering she adored the Sirens. Alas, this likely means she is going to request to stop… and their progress will be halted once more.

Be quiet. Be quiet. Be qui-

“We should find somewhere and take shelter from the weather.”

Unbelievable.

Wednesday glares daggers back at Enid, annoyed at the prospect of having to slow their progress even further. They cannot stop. It’s just a bit of rain; there is no need to slow down. They can dry themselves when they reach the next stables and warm up with whatever poor excuse for food they are serving. Better yet, there’ll be a warm fire to dry their clothes… If they stop then they have to sit in cold, wet clothing and whilst Wednesday relishes in misery, even she does not enjoy the idea of sitting in a damp tunic. Her knight gear is heavy enough as it is.

Wednesday responds to Enid with a firm “No.”

Enid’s discomfort changes into something Wednesday recognises as… Upset? Anger? It’s a bit pouty and a bit how she imagines a scolded child would look. As noticed before, these negative expressions sit on her face in a way that’s awkward and pathetic, like a kicked puppy. Though, it ignites further annoyance as opposed to the sympathy Wednesday suspects Enid is vying for. Enid should know her well enough by this point.

“But it’s cold.” Enid says.

Wednesday stares at Enid. Oh, how she stares. Of course you’re cold she thinks, still glaring. You will be colder if we stop moving. Someone educated like a princess ought to know better… and yet. Here she is, watching Enid pout like a baby. All because of a little rain. Ridiculous.

“Keep going.”

Wednesday pulls her horse ahead and brings up the pace, hoping taking lead will encourage Enid’s silly display to be silenced… or at the very least, it stops her seeing said display. Wednesday doesn’t see the point in being pouty, even moreso when someone else is doing it. It’s childish and admits weakness. It is much easier to be objective and tackle your goals without allowing emotions to affect your stance. Alas, this is not a lesson people are taught, nor apparently a conclusion they reach themselves – as evidenced by Enid’s sudden and diversion from their path only seconds later.

“Enid.” Wednesday grunts, feeling a lick of pain as her teeth clench in displeasure. She whips on Nero’s reins and – to her behest – chases after Enid. Wednesday had hoped whatever minor change in Enid would qualm any adventurous, rebellious spirit. It would’ve made for a much easier journey... but it would seem those hopes are dead in the water. It’s saddening that Wednesday cannot even take happiness in such a death.

Regardless, she follows Enid as she is paid to do, withholding the urge to yell the princess’ name a second time as she watches Enid and Sol disappear into the mouth of a cave. It is pointless, and Wednesday does not stoop to pointless things.

She slows, staring blankly at the cave.

She will die in that cave like the naive fool she is, Wednesday grumbles to herself. The idea is quite delightful… though, admittedly not as delightful as she’d hope. After all, it is technically her job to care about the princess’ well-being. Whether she actually cares or not is nothing to do with it. Enid stays alive; she gets paid; she gets to stay in her high-up position amongst the knights. Staying in a high rank is important regardless of how she feels about her peers. After all, it’s about holding the cards.

Sigh. Wednesday knows she must follow. Gently, she directs Nero into the cave, noting that Enid has (surprisingly) done the smart thing and left Sol close to the entrance. Otherwise, there is little to note about the cave – there is some greenery, dirt and stone. Light penetrates maybe 20 meters or so before petering off towards the back of the space. The cave is not particularly large, but spacious enough to provide shelter… not that it is needed. Too much time has been wasted as it is.

Wednesday squints into the darkness, noticing a figure shuffling around. Enid.Of course, the princess does not have the means to create torches and she’s much too eager to wait for assistance. So naturally, she has plunged herself into the darkness; practically asking for a wolf or bear to come attack. Now, that would be entertaining…

“There’s nothing in here!” Enid calls back to Wednesday. Her voice is smug; aggravating. “We can make a fire and keep shelter until the rain stops.”

Enid returns with a bundle of sticks in her arms, procured seemingly from nowhere. Wednesday stares at her. She scowls. Enid rolls her eyes. Gods, Wednesday despises this attitude. How could she be so foolish as to believe Enid’s spirit had been even slightly broken?

Whatever Enid had claimed to sullenly understand the night prior seems to do little in hindering her skill at being perfectly annoying.

“I am protecting you from yourself,” Enid hums. “Sometimes you need to slow down and rest.”

Incorrect.

Enid builds the sticks in a clumsy pile, trying to imitate what Wednesday assumes is a typical campfire. Wednesday watches, eyeing the wood as it collapses for the umpteenth time. As Wednesday broods, her mind wanders. Those sticks...there’s something off about them. They’re uniform; shaved of their bark. At a squint, they look crudely sharpened – not with a knife but perhaps with a rock. It dawns on her that they are too perfect for randomly found wood. No – these are not just sticks. They feel intentional almost. Crafted.

They clatter to the ground again; the noise echoes amongst Enid’s frustrated huffs.

“You can hate me all you want – but at least help so we’re not both freezing.”

Wednesday’s eyes do not meet Enid’s desperate gaze. They fall behind the princess, widening slightly as her adjusted vision spots a modicum of movement. There’s a quiet pitter patter; a scuttle of noise. The rain? No. Something different. Too erratic.

We shouldn’t be here.

Enid frowns, turning her head. The scuttling grows closer; becomes footsteps that contain a heft. A figure lurches from the shadowy depths. Wednesday’s hand falls to the sword sheathed at her side.

And as Enid’s shaken breath cuts through every other sound, Wednesday does not even think as she plunges herself and her weapon into the darkness.

#Wenclair #Wednesday x Enid #Enid x Wednesday #fanfic #Fantasy AU #Zelda inspired #Slow burn #enemies to friends to lover #Sorry this took 6 months #Life gets in the way #But I Lived Bitch

[ethereousdelirious]

For Ace Attorney fics, I would love to read about Miles violently puking from food poisoning and being cared for by Phoenix. Any form of emeto story about Detective Gumshoe would also be appreciated.

Can’t wait to read your stories, so pumped to see AA sickfics! :)

*CLAWS MY WAY OUT OF HELL AND EMERGES, FIC IN HAND* IM HERE I HAVE IT ARE YOU STILL HERE I HAVE IT FOR YOU

I am. SO SORRY. it took me so long to get this done skdhshhd

I couldn't think of anything for Gum/shoe this go around, but here's the Nar/umitsu! Feel free to drop another request for our favorite detective and hopefully I'll be in a more ✨️creative headspace✨️ upon receipt

CW: emeto (if that wasn't obvious lmao)

This was not how the evening was supposed to go.

When Miles had suggested a date, a proper date, he'd had his heart set on fine dining and privacy. No distractions. Just a quiet restaurant where he and Phoenix could finally, finally emerge from the smoke of their tumultuous lives and learn who they each were when the world wasn't on fire.

Of course, nothing could ever be so simple.

Miles had, at first, attempted to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. Phoenix had that unfortunate effect on him these days, particularly when he lost that hard look in his eyes and remembered to smile. It made him look younger, more vibrant.

The smiles had come more freely as the wine flowed, but tapered off as the sensation in Miles’ stomach grew stronger and stronger— not butterflies, but nausea.

Now, as he clutched the siding of Phoenix's run-down little rental, Miles could only pray that Phoenix's loyalty, which had withstood so much over the years, would hold up.

He stared down at the bark mulch as the warm evening breeze kissed his skin, cooling the sheen of sweat on his face.

“Oh, uh. Is it happening?” Phoenix asked from somewhere behind him. Or beside. Hard to tell with his hair in his face.

Miles swallowed down a wave of brackish saliva with difficulty as his stomach turned over. It wasn't that late. With the porch light on him, any passing neighbor could glance over and witness the scene.

“I mean…” Phoenix's house keys jingled. “Can you make it inside?”

Miles’ stomach gave another sickening lurch and he tried to shake his head, and pitched forward so hard his muscles burned and still, and still—

The first dry retch was so violent it made his ears ring and he nearly lost his balance from that alone. Phoenix caught him under the other shoulder just in time to witness Miles vomit properly. He almost gasped at the sensation of his stomach slamming inwards on itself, could do nothing but cling to Phoenix as wave after wave of bile and acid forced itself up his throat.

Somewhere beyond the misery, beneath the squeezing agony in his stomach and the burn in his throat, something cool brushed the nape of his neck— Phoenix's hand, steadying him.

Miles coughed up another wave of stomach acid and keened, the sad little sound forcing its way past his gritted teeth.

The weight of Phoenix's unanswered question sat at the bottom of his belly, unperturbed by the nonstop retching. The night breeze cooled Miles’ sweat-slick cheeks. Anyone could see them out here. “Ye— es,” he coughed, and forced himself to straighten. A deep breath kept him on his feet, that and Phoenix’s vice grip on his shoulders.

They shuffled over the threshold and the unfamiliar scent of Phoenix’s home washed over him— Although not wholly unfamiliar. Phoenix… Phoenix smelled like this, his suits… Under the cheap cologne he sometimes remembered to splash on, yes, Phoenix smelled like this.

The gentle scent was wasted on Miles and his aggravated stomach, but it was… It was nice and it was Phoenix and the taste of bile choked it all out as his stomach gave another feeble heave. His lips parted and his body wrenched, but nothing came up, and thank God for that.

“So I guess the oysters were off,” Phoenix mused, and Miles couldn't stifle the nauseated groan that crawled out of him. He managed to direct it a little, into a pained, “Do shut up” and promptly had to follow his own orders to keep the product of another retch from staining Phoenix’s cheap laminate flooring.

“Right,” said Phoenix, and pulled Miles forward. Miles stared at the scuffs on Phoenix's dress shoes, watched the ratty laces flick with the motion of his legs. And Phoenix muttered something that sounded disturbingly like “...just cleaned the toilet, too…” and Miles fell to his knees.

…In Phoenix’s defense (ha), the toilet was remarkably clean. Miles promptly defaced it with a mouthful of— Well, better not to think about it, actually. His forehead hit the seat; he fumbled for the lever to flush the damned thing and Phoenix made a little noise and guided his hand.

Once the roar had died down, Miles opened his eyes and watched the ripples his breath made in the water. He couldn't move. Didn't want to. What was the difference? Either way, he was stuck on his knees in Phoenix Wright's bathroom while the man himself hovered behind him, coughing awkwardly and clearing his throat like he couldn't stand the silence.

“I'm sorry,” Miles said into the toilet.

“Oh, it's no big deal,” Phoenix said. “A little bleach and it'll be good as new.”

Miles groaned. Half out of exasperation and half from the crescendo of cramps squeezing his abdomen. “The date, Wright. I'm sorry I ruined our date.”

“Oh!” Phoenix shifted slowly, bringing his heat and his weight closer and closer to Miles’ side. “You didn't ruin anything.”

“You're not… not that good at bluffing.”

“Okay, well. I'll admit, this isn't my first choice of evening activities. But I don't think you have anything to apologize for.”

This level of grace was not something Miles would have extended in the opposite direction. Not without a good deal more huffing and crossed arms, anyway. Lesson learned.

His stomach having settled somewhat, Miles shifted his weight backward until he found the wall. Cold sweat crawled on his skin— everywhere. His face, his back, his chest, all of it slick with sweat. He must have looked disgusting, and there was Phoenix, ever by his side.

“Bet you didn't plan on staying the night so soon, huh?” Phoenix said, and got to his feet. “Sit tight; I'll get you some water.”

Miles began to shiver in the time that Phoenix was gone, and by the time Phoenix returned, he'd started shaking so hard that could barely hold the glass. This was the worst part about being ill. Not the vomiting, though that was unpleasant. No, it was the weakness.

Phoenix had to help him raise the glass to his lips, help him stand, help him to bed.

They both stayed quiet throughout this process, save the occasional murmur from Phoenix, requests and intentions. And through it all, Phoenix had a look on face that said almost as much as any words could, the sort of tender pity generally reserved for loved ones.

Somewhere under all the pain and nausea, butterflies filled Miles’ stomach.

Phoenix knelt beside the bed now. He reached out a hand and brushed Miles’ cheek, like something out of a dream. “How are you feeling now?”

Sick, embarrassed, wrung out beyond belief. But safer now, too. Miles studied his hands where they rested atop the duvet (Phoenix's duvet). “Better,” he said. “A little better.”

Phoenix had him, after all. He'd be okay.

#im still working on my characterization of these 2 so i hope this was to your liking!!! #emeto #ethereous writes

[letmereadherbertwestfics]

Combstober Day 8

Prompt: Campfire

Character: Mr. Brooks (I Still Know What You Did Last Summer)

Warnings: None

You had never understood why people liked to travel alone. Really, the idea terrified you. Being in an unfamiliar place with nobody else to share the experience with? What was so great about that?

But that was before this trip. 

At the last minute, your friend got a violent case of food poisoning and had to cancel your trip to The Bahamas. While your friend had no choice but to not go, you couldn't afford to pay the fee it took to cancel your flight, and had been looking forward to the trip for so long that you couldn't bring yourself to cancel it. So, leaving your friend behind, you took the trip by yourself. And you had a fantastic time.

You still did everything that you and your friend had planned to do together, except without the stress and annoyance of having to drag someone else along with you. Sure, it was scary being alone at first, but after a night of hanging out at a poolside bar and then not having a wasted friend to drag back to your hotel room, your fears quieted down a bit. 

And now it was your second to last night at the resort, and you were dreading the journey home. Not only because of all of the packing and preparation and the god awful boat and plane rides back to back, but just because you didn't want to leave. Not when you still hadn't gotten to talk to the mystery man behind the check in desk. 

He was a few years older than you, cold and slightly rude, from what you could tell he was your average 'manager who hates his job but still runs the establishment like it's the Navy' types. And his name tag read Jay Brooks. And in your week and a half here, that was all the information you got out of him. 

The two of you had exchanged nothing but casualties and a room key when you checked in, aside from his brief questioning of why the booking was listed as for two and you were only one, and whenever you smiled at him on your way to the pool he would react with either a dismissive stare or even an eye roll. But that didn't sway your interest in him in the slightest. If anything it only encouraged you to keep being pleasant towards him. Maybe before you left he would crack a smile. Or maybe not. Either way, you weren't going to be giving up. 

Today the hotel had banners and fliers put up all over, advertising a bonfire out on the beach. There was going to be music, sparklers, and free drinks. It sounded like the perfect opportunity to waste an hour or two before heading back to your room, so you decided to go. 

When you got to the beach you were only half surprised to see that it was thirty minutes past when the bonfire was supposed to happen and nobody had shown up. If there was one thing you noticed about the guests at this resort, it was that they kept to themselves. The karaoke machine at the bar remained untouched, and the pool was almost as silent as a library aside from the occasional drunk or unruly child. Finding out nobody else had decided to attend this party wasn't too surprising when you thought about it. 

You were about to turn around and head back to your room when you realized there was someone sitting by the bonfire. And it only took a few more seconds for you to recognize the suffocatingly neat dress shirt and tie, and the annoyed scowl of Jay Brooks. This realization made your heart skip a beat, and you approached the bonfire a bit faster than before.

"Am I late to the party?" You asked, immediately cringing at how your voice sounded. Brooks looked up at the sound of a voice, looking you up and down before his gaze returned to the fire. 

"Can't be late when there isn't an event." He said bluntly. You slowly lowered yourself onto the log across from Brooks, the bonfire separating the two of you. 

There was an awkward yet slightly serene silence, the only sounds being the crackling of the fire and the crash of the waves. Brooks continued to stare into the fire while you stared at him, thinking you were going unnoticed until he interrupted your thoughts with a stern look in your direction.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer."

Though Brooks didn't look like he was joking when he said this, you couldn't help but crack a smile. You shifted your gaze to the sand, tucking your hands in your pockets. 

"Sorry." You muttered. Brooks sighed, unsurprisingly going back to looking at the flaming logs. 

"You're the one staying in the Junior Suite?" Brooks asked suddenly, making your head snap up. Before you could ask him how he remembered, he gave you a nervous, almost shy smile and explained without being questioned. "You're the first guest to smile at me in weeks. That made you memorable."

His words made your smile widen. Was Brooks, the mysteriously cold resort manager, actually being nice to you? He actually noticed your acknowledgement instead of brushing you off? The realization that you had read him all wrong made your heart beat just a bit faster. 

Relax, Y/N. You don't even know the guy. 

But you wanted to. That was enough to get you to push any anxiety or insecurity out of your mind and get you to move one log over, closer to Brooks. Once the two of you were sitting directly across from each other, you held out your hand. 

#jeffrey combs #i still know what you did last summer #jay brooks #mr brooks #i will finish this #combstober is alive and well

[my-name-is-bunnyfoxy]

TW: Eating disorder

Disclaimer: I am NOT a professional or a psychologist or anything like that when it comes to topics like these. If I do happen to make a mistake or leave or miss or look over something when it comes to talking about these things or mentioning them or depicting them please correct me or give me criticism

Okay I'm gonna try and keep this short and simple. But one thing I feel like everyone forgets when it comes to Unfamiliar Familiar is that Torable gave 2012 Mikey an eating disorder. It's something I and many others have kind of just glossed over and I feel like talking about it because I have already talked about it

Apparently from what I understand, 2012 Mikey starved himself for validation from Splinter. And from what I remember when I tried to read the fanfic it was possibly hinted in the chapter where Mikey eats pizza with the Rise characters.

I don't think I need to explain why giving Mikey an eating disorder just sucks and is kind of disgusting. There is nothing wrong with portraying eating disorders or people having problems with eating food or also possibly having unhealthy and problematic diets which lead to them just starving themselves or not eating properly. But here is why Mikey having one doesn't make sense and is blatantly another way to baby him and make him look like a sad UwU protect the bean boy.

Mikey literally devours almost everything he eats. We have seen he doesn't care that his brothers find something gross or disgusting when eating something that is rotten or just blatantly gross. For example he ate a literal rat pussy pizza he made and ate all of it with no hesitation or problem. Bro is constantly hungry and looking to eat absolutely anything. That sounds like me sometimes- ANYWAY- Also Mikey's first thought is literally food, mainly pizza. Also in that one episode where they go to Mikey's brain, we see a fat version of Mikey that keeps saying feed me. Literally showing how he has a huge apetite and just how much he loves food.

Also, we have NEVER seen any of the brothers say Mikey can't eat or even Splinter doing that. They never shamed him for eating or anything. Also it's literally a thing to tell someone to not eat something that could literally give him a stomach ache, poison him and also probably give him explosive diarrhea to the point he stinked up the entire damn lair. Also also also one of the comments said that 2012 Splinter deserved death after saying he was the reason Mikey had an eating disorder. What the fu-??

Another reason why Unfamiliar Familiar literally sucks ._.

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt fandom #tmnt 2012 #rottmnt #tmnt 2k12 #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt mikey #tmnt 2012 mikey #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt rant #unfamiliar familiar #tmnt unfamiliar familiar #unfamiliar sucks #unfamiliar familiar hate #unfamiliar familiar slander #I wanna start a new tag~ #eating disorder

[theneighborhoodwatch]

Sorry for mentally ill thoughts this evening but I've always wondered how this is going to end. To me, welcome home has been a story about changing. And because of a certain music artist's album and WHs popularity being around the same time, I can't let go of my interpretation of what change will look like at the end of this project. (1/?)

(2/?) I've always found what characters a fandom gets attached to QUICKLY to be a marker of what a story is going to do with these characters and what metatexually that is gonna mean for the story...

Let's start with the big one: Wally himself. THIS GUY HAS SO many interpretations! He is simultaneously the most dangerous and fascinating character out of all of them. To analyze him (and some of the neighbors I'll talk about) I used tarot cards, btw I'm @pretty-in-possible but this is my reblog alt

Wally was Judgement which is intresting because its definition includes

When The judgement is in the upright position, it represents the realization of one's calling, realistic thinking and gaining a deep understanding of life through self-examination.

(3/?) When reversed, it can represent refusal of self-examination and growth, self-doubt, regret, and blame. In my eyes, change and (what I think will happen to the puppets) transformation is only possible with that kind of thought. Which, coupled with your own analysis of wally and home spells as disaster. Whats particularly affecting MY brainworms is Barnaby. His card is the Magician: The Magician is an artisan and the ideas person.  It is a very action oriented card. It represents learning and using knowledge in creative and unorthodox ways, and seizing the day by displaying resourcefulness. Barnaby is definitely an open-minded person just with his behavior shown through just visuals.

(4/?) I am also invested in his pipe which I know just has bubbles in it, but it adds to this stoner read to his character that *I* see??? There is just something about him that tells me he will have the easiest time with this Existential crisis as to him (based of the tarot reading) this knowledge is incredibly freeing, cuz it would just mean there is More in the World to Discover. In my experience reading past life regression therapy testimonies, I've heard of how some people encounter this place in the afterlife people under hypnosis describe as a soul cleansing, a place where gem-colored rays of light shine through every inch of your soul, cleansing your spirit of the trauma it had experienced during your last lifetime. And I feel like Barnaby will experience those same feelings (NOT THE SAME PROCESS). (I might ramble more about this later, in ask box or in dms if thats okkkk)

my sincerest apologies for sitting so long on this one, i wanted to make sure i had time to really, like. sit down and Process it. and then shortly after i started writing this response i got food poisoning so. lol.

because of of how in-depth this ask gets, i wouldn't feel right neglecting any part of it, so i'm just gonna write down my thoughts bullet by bullet as i go through this. under the cut for convenience:

how welcome home is going to end .... obviously, i cannot offer anything conclusive right now (if i can offer anything at all) given how early we are, but i have always had the vague impression that whatever the ending of this story is, we as the audience may never be able to see all of it. it feels like so much has been given to us already. i assume we will be given much more, regardless of how willing to give or receive anyone involved is. we owe it to our neighbors to let them decide which parts to give and which to keep, at the end of the day. i think that's the best way i can phrase it. but as always, only time will tell.

agree about Change likely being a big part of welcome home, whichever form it takes.

I WOULD VERY MUCH LIKE TO KNOW THE NAME OF THIS ARTIST. i am Dreadfully unfamiliar with a lot of 70s musicians outside of the biggest names - my first thought was either connie converse or daniel johnston, but iirc most of converse's music was recorded in the 50s-60s and johnston only started recording music in the late 70s. i don't know if bruce haack was ever super popular back when he was actually making music.

the idea of which characters fandom gets attached to being indicative of what canon does with them...? i'm not so sure about this one, honestly. fandom can get attached to a stale piece of toast that shows up for a single scene if so desired (which, for the record, isn't a bad thing.) of course, i say that based off of my own experiences, but fan reception has never really been a Factor in speculation for me either way.

calling wally dangerous doesn't feel inaccurate, but i think it's more like. i do not think he is inherently dangerous but he absolutely has the Capacity to do dangerous things. i think it is interesting that despite this (or perhaps because of it?) he appears to be more vulnerable with us than he Ever was with the other neighbors? but a.) that may not be saying much and b.) it is Also largely rooted in speculation + the fact that home and the audience are currently the Only two entities wally has been seen interacting with directly, as opposed to his interactions/relationships with other neighbors that have so far only been briefly described by the WHRP or showcased in brief snippets of concept art.

grinning so so so wide at the judgement/inverted judgement descriptions. i wish i had more to say but i'm having a hard time coming up with something that isn't just pointing to the inverted judgement description and going "yeah that's almost Exactly what i'm getting from wally so far."

again, agree about the possibility of Change playing some kind of role here, eventually - more specifically the fear of change even when it may prove to be beneficial, whether that be on wally's part or the neighbors' or the WHRP's or the staff's or the audience's or even the very setting of home itself. i imagine some grotesque hodgepodge of all of the above. something something points to that post i reblogged about sitcoms as horror.

context for the aforementioned wally and home analysis for anyone reading: 1, 2, 3

BARNABY, HUH... for the record my personal hc regarding his pipe is that whatever's in it changes depending on what would be the funniest answer at any given moment. if tobacco is funnier, then it's tobacco. if bubbles are funnier, then it's bubbles. looney tunes logic.

on a more serious note: i'm a little worried i won't have much to say about barnaby that i haven't said already! i think it may be too early to discern the Specifics of his personality from website art/descriptions alone but i do get the distinct impression that he's meant to be a lot more down to earth than wally, which of course is an interesting contrast to the nature of wally's whole [gestures vaguely] Everything. from this, i think it is Reasonable to assume that he's also a lot better at rolling with the punches as well, although i never did consider the possibility that learning about The Bullshit would be liberating for him, in a sense - i don't know about it being a cleansing experience, unless you count the recontextualization of things that didn't previously make sense as a sort of cleansing in itself, in which case it could absolutely be that. something about the parallels to cosmic horror... the relationship between the Fear of change and the Catharsis of change...

oh, but wouldn't this also put him at odds with wally, who seems to be on the Exact Opposite End Of The Spectrum, even when they understand each other like no other? Much To Think About... very exciting potential for Conflict there.

i'm cool with whichever method works best for you if you wanna talk more in the future! my dms are open too lol.

#ask #its ya gay boi luigi #welcome home #wh speculation

[alexiethymia]

celebration

summary: [Pre-SS] The girl – Rangiku – doesn’t smile.

Gin doesn’t know why it bothers him more than it should.

[read on ao3]

The girl, he learned seven days since they started staying together that her name was Rangiku, doesn’t smile.

Gin doesn’t know why he gives it more thought than he should. It should be enough that he was feeding her and that she was some semblance of alive. Until now, he still doesn’t know what came over him and why he suddenly picked her up. It was a whim, like most of his actions tended to be driven by. It’s not as if he had a purpose. It was enough that he was eating and some semblance of alive.

But now, he actually had to plan for things. The first time he went outside to get some food for them, he thought she was asleep. When he felt a small hand gripping his arm tightly enough to bruise, he was only mildly shocked. For the first time there was something different in her eyes aside from blankness - panic, desperation. And he feels something unfamiliar rise in response, something sharp and poisonous before it subsides. Patting her golden hair, he reassures her, not minding her bruising grip, “It’s fine, Rangiku. I’ll come back.” Huh, that was new. He’d never had anyone to comfort before.

Her grip loosened, but her liquid eyes still gripped him. Her name suited her. She was a white flower stuck in the mud.

Her expressions don’t change much in the days, eventually months, that they stay together. But there is a spark in a brief moment. It’s as if she’s been reborn when he tells her the day they met would be her new birthday. She doesn’t seem to mind sharing that with him just as she didn’t mind sharing his favorite persimmons. Or maybe it became his favorite with how often they ate it together. Something he only ate for necessity turned into something he actually liked.

He looked at her eating persimmons. It wasn’t enough. This wasn’t enough for her.

Every time he thought he was giving her something, it turned out she was giving him something much more precious.

By the time her birthday came around, in other words the anniversary of the day they first met, he decided to try for something more special.

By the time he arrived back at their place, he was licking a cut on his thumb. He hid the gash on his forearm so he wouldn’t worry her. He was a bit sloppy this time around, getting caught before he could escape. He still saw the black spots as the burly man pressed meaty thumbs onto his throat. Luckily, he had two bottles in his hand. He smashed one over the man’s head. 

Later as he stood over the bleeding bastard, he could only think, what a waste. At least there was one more to share.

“Rangiku.” Strange, the smile he wore now was the same, and also not. He thought she’d be happy to see him, or at least her own version of happy, where she’d be awake, eyes wide and open, instead of burrowing under the covers.

He wasn’t fazed by anything, but he had to admit to being surprised at suddenly finding his arms filled with girl. She was still a bit weak but she still pounded furiously against his chest.

“Where were you?! Gin, it’s been a week.”

He makes sure to hide his arm further behind. He doesn’t mind her anger. It’s the most spirit he’s seen in her in a year. And oh, how strange, before her he wouldn’t have even known if an entire decade had passed. That must be why she was so angry at a week.

He doesn’t mind the anger, but he does mind the tears. Even back then, she hadn’t cried. But for some reason, her tears also make him…happy. He wonders if there’s something wrong with him to think that. He doesn’t mind other people’s tears, whether he stole from them or they begged him to stop. It would be more accurate to say that he didn’t care about them. But Rangiku’s tears made him happy.

Still it would be bad if she didn’t stop crying. She’d get dehydrated and water was hard to find.

“I’m sorry, Rangiku,” Sure that that would be enough placate her, he suddenly places the bottle in her hands to distract her, “I got you something. Happy Birthday.”

“Huh,” she asks, tear drops still clinging to her eyelashes, “What’s this?”

“It’s sake. Let’s celebrate.”

It’s a paltry celebration, with only sake and persimmons. Rangiku even scrunches her nose at sniffing the contents of the bottle, but Gin takes a hearty gulp showing her how it’s done. Rangiku still looked unsure but she still followed after him just like she always did. When she hiccups, he grins, teeth showing.

Between the both of them, they polish off the small bottle. She seems looser somehow, eyes more liquid than ever as she looks at him with her chin on her wrapped knees. Suddenly, miraculously, she laughs.

It is bright, it is loose, it is free.

Gin opens his eyes in shock.

“You’ve got such pretty eyes, Gin. Why don’t you show them off more,” she says smiling slyly.

Getting a hold of himself, he pats her on the shoulders. “Looks like it’s time for sleep, Rangiku.”

“Nooooo,” she whines, clinging to him, “I want to talk to Gin more. If I sleep, you’ll go away again.”

He laughs. “How about this? It’s your birthday. Why don’t you make a wish?”

She pouts, thinking he wasn’t taking her seriously. “I wish you’d stay with me forever. I wish you wouldn’t leave me behind and go to wherever it is you go off to.”

He smiled softly down at her, easing her down the cot before she noticed. He couldn’t promise her that. He’ll leave her as many times as it takes as long as she survives. But it was her birthday, so he could promise her tonight. “I promise I’ll still be here in the morning,” he pats her over the hand holding his in a death grip, “Go to sleep, Rangiku.”

Finally satisfied that he wouldn’t go anywhere, she drifts off to what he hopes is a dreamless sleep. Left alone, he plans and calculates.

That was Rangiku, bright and playful. She should always be smiling and laughing. He’ll tuck away his selfish desire for her tears in the recesses of his soul. It makes him happy, but he also hates the sight of them. But for her to be happy, he had to tuck away his own. It would blunt him if he forgot himself in this comfortable life with her. Someone had turned her into that shell. Someone had been responsible. Opening his eyes like slits in the darkness, he lets the smile fall as he stared at the firelight.

He would never forgive anyone who made her cry.

He replayed her tears from earlier in his mind.

Even himself.  

…

“How rare, taichou. I didn’t know you drank sake.”

“What d’ya mean, Izuru? I have some once in a while. It goes perfectly with persimmons.”

Kira tried to hide his distaste for his captain’s preferred snack, before remembering something, “I almost forgot, Ichimaru-taichou. The vice-captains are having a get-together. Looks like it’s someone’s birthday.” He was still a bit new at this and knew only his peers from back at the Academy. It might be a chance to find out more.

A subtle pause before smoothly picking up another piece. Ichimaru-taichou turns one of those enigmatic smiles right at him. “Take the rest of the night off, Izuru. Enjoy.”

“Hai!” Kira bows energetically. How generous of his captain.

Absentmindedly, Gin waves his lieutenant off. Alone in the dark, he drinks his sake in celebration.  

#ginran #ichimaru gin #matsumoto rangiku #bleach #bleach fic #this may be my first fic of them #ramblings about bleach #slightly dark because well it's gin #though I think it's still pretty mild by his standards #a birthday fic of sorts #pre canon #a character study of sorts

[berristreasuredlibrary]

For Me

Fem!ReaderxYandere!Tanjiro, Fem!ReaderxYandere!Zenitsu, Fem!ReaderxYandere!Inosuke (all in different parts)

TW:kidnapping, implied stalking, poisoning, obssessive behavior, I believe that's it!

If anything stated above makes you uncomfortable, please do not read/ interact!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yandere!Tanjiro:

You're so tired. You can hardly keep your eye open, much less speak properly. Words slurring together you're not even sure you're speaking English at this point. "Are you sure you're alright, y/n?" A soft voice brings you back from your scrambled thoughts. Oh no, you've ruined the night out.

You were supposed to go over the breathing techniques, not be half-asleep. "'m sorry, Tanji. I guess 'm just tired." You can only mumble at this point, your eyes half-closed, and you fail to see his slight smirk. "Why don't we just meet up another day? You seem to be very tired."

You only nod as he gently grabs your hand and leads you out of the small building. You only follow as he holds you close to him and starts walking. You only trust in him as he leads you down the dimly lit streets of the town. You can only trust.

However, you still fail to see the growing smirk Tanjiro has. He's been working hard, stealing vials from Miss. Shinobu, practicing on poor Inosuke. It's not his fault he eats a lot though! Besides, Zenitsu trusts Tanjiro, if he says it's probably a food coma, then it's a food coma.

You stumble but strong arms wrap around you quickly before you can fall. "Careful!" Worry laces his voice as he picks you up, "I'll just carry you the rest of the way." You try to get down, not wanting to be more of a burden than you already are, "T-Tanji....'m fine, I can walk." The redhead only shakes his head in response, "Nonsense. Don't worry, we're not too far anymore."

He's so warm. So comfortable. You give in without much of a fight after that. He smiles to himself as you snuggle into him, and he keeps walking. To his house.

He holds you tightly against him as he walks into the quiet house, kicking off his shoes that he'll put away properly later. He walks to the back of the house and slides a bookself over, holding you up with one strong arm. You take in the unfamiliar surroundings and frown to yourself, but you're out before you can even speak a single word.

It worked.

Tanjiro makes quick work of everything. From walking down the stairs to chaining you up on the bed in the make-shift room he's built underneath his house. Everything quick but precise.

I have you.

I have you.

I have you.

You wake up in your bed, in your room. Stairs? There aren't any stairs in your room, though. Perhaps you're sitll dreaming? No, you're very much awake, groggy, but awake. You try to get up but something heavy stops you. A weight, chained to your ankle, makes your heart beat wildly in your chest.

You can hardly lift your foot, the weight of it crushing your ankle enough to leave a bruise. You look around frantically, but everything looks the same as your room, except for the stairs of course. "Do you like it?"

Your head whips around at the sound of Tanjiro's voice. Smiling at you, he takes a few steps to your bed and sits down, "I made it just like your own room. Since you spend so much time in there." How? How would he know that?

"It was difficult at first of course, trying not to get caught by you or anyone else, but I managed!" He smiles proudly at you, but you're frozen in fear. He's been watching you. How long? Why?

Questions are racing through your mind but not a single one comes out. Tanjiro chuckles quietly, amused by your expression, "Don't worry honey, I was never in the house for too long. Just to see what I was missing." He's been in your house?

Warm calloused hands cup your face and wipe the tears you didn't even know were falling, "Aw honey, don't cry. I'll take care of you. I got you." He coos softly as he presses his lips to yours, soft, warm. Like his hands. "I have you now."

"All for me."

#kny x you #kny x reader #tanjiro x you #tanjiro x reader #demon slayer x reader #yandere tanjiro #kimetsu no yaiba #yandere #what have i created #i love him #k im done #byeee

[it-happened-one-fic]

A Companion Quite as Enjoyable - Jade

Author Notes: Hiking with Jade with a dash of daisies. That is honestly all there is to this one. Simple but I enjoyed writing it and I hope you'll enjoy reading it. Reader is, once more, gender-neutral.

Type: Fluff/Platonic or Romantic

Word Count: 1303

I paused, resting a hand against a tree and breathing heavily from exertion. Up ahead I could clearly see the young man I'd been trailing after what seemed like hours. His eyes were bright as he knelt, finishing a quick sketch of what was no doubt a mushroom. 

His book shut with a snap and he stood, slipping the book into his pocket and turning to look at where I stood in one fluid motion. “We’ll be at a good resting point soon… Do you believe you can make it?”

At first I couldn't decide if his grin was simply amused or mocking but the closer I drew to him the more I felt it was the latter. “You know Jade, when you said hiking I didn’t realize you meant an excursion quite like this one.”

He tilted his head, mismatched eyes glittering with poorly concealed amusement at my evident fatigue, “Yes, well. I suppose I should have warned you that I have grown quite used to such exercise.”

Mocking, Definitely mocking.

He turned, leading me further up the invisible path he seemed to know by heart. It made me wonder exactly how many times he’d gone hiking up this mountain. But I followed him with no complaint because, despite the fact I was alone in the woods on a mountain with Jade Leech of all people, I wasn’t concerned. 

This venture had, to my surprise, turned out to be quite enjoyable. It was true that the walk was exhausting but I’d learned quite a bit about my infamous classmate. 

He was an avid lover of plants, especially mushrooms and the poisonous variety. He also was an exceptional landscape artist. His little sketches were both accurate and attractive. He could also be quite the chatterbox as I'd learned when I'd questioned him about one mushroom that had been glowing an ominous orange color.

I smiled to myself as I thought about the almost charming quirks I’d discovered about my current companion. It was hard to view him as quite so scary or intimidating now that I’d seen him geek out about mushrooms.

“Y/n, we’re here,” His ever calm voice caught my attention, sending my gaze sliding back to where he now stood. He held a branch just slightly out of the way to reveal a sight that immediately made me smile. It was a veritable field of daisies.

What it was doing out here in the middle of nowhere I had no clue. But if my time at NRC had taught me anything it was to enjoy life’s little delights. So I did, trotting out into the clearing with a bright smile.

“My, you do look pleased.” I turned at his words, vaguely startled to see Jade smiling at me as he unloaded our lunches from his oversized yellow backpack. I’d honestly completely forgotten about Jade’s presence. 

His butler persona was back in full force but I hardly cared. Instead, I found myself trotting back over to him as gleefully as ever which only seemed to further amuse him, “I take it you like these flowers?”

 I nodded almost immediately at his question, “Yeah, I guess they remind me of home.” Something familiar in a largely unfamiliar world. 

I smiled at him, refusing to let such thoughts dampen my current mood, “When I was little I’d pick bundles of daisies and present them as bouquets to my mom. The stems were so short she’d have to put them in juice glasses.”

I chuckled slightly at the memory and shook my head slightly, “Poor things never lasted very long since I would always squeeze them half to death before getting them to her….” 

I trailed off, realizing I’d been rambling when I noticed his smile. I hurriedly turned my gaze to my food, clamming up in embarrassment.

 I hadn’t actually talked to anyone about home since I’d gotten here and I certainly hadn’t expected the first person who would hear about it would be Jade.

“I see,” He sighed slightly and I glanced over at him to see him looking out across the field with a singularly odd expression. “I suppose these flowers are quite common since they even grow where you’re from.”

I tensed slightly at the direction the conversation was taking. It would be awkward if he asked where I was from. Especially since I’d been keeping the fact I was from an entirely other world a secret. 

“Do you like them?” The question spilled from my mouth in a desperate attempt to steer the conversation in some other direction. My attempt was a success considering he turned to me with wide-eyes as if he were surprised by my sudden question.

“I… I hadn’t ever really thought about it. They are nice enough I suppose.” I hummed, half-way amused by his faltering reply. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him falter save for in extreme situations.

“They’re edible, you know. I’ve never eaten any so I don’t know if they’re any good, but they aren’t poisonous or anything at the very least. Ruggie might have some recipes for them.” I thought out loud, recalling something my mom had once told me years ago when I was small.

I glanced over in time to watch as his expression brightened  with sudden interest. He leaned forward, intrigued by my fun facts, “Are they? I may have to collect some to try at the Monstro Lounge.”

I snorted at his newfound scheme, Azul would likely have a fit, “Like I said, I don’t know if they’re any good so you might want to try some for yourself before putting them on the menu.”

He hummed thoughtfully, probably thinking about how he could bully his housewarden into putting them on the menu, tasty or not. I almost felt bad for telling him but I found myself grinning as he put down his lunch as went about collecting flowers. 

I kind of felt bad for Ruggie too since I’d mentioned him. Jade would probably harass him about getting some recipes…..

“Y/n,” My head snapped up to see Jade looking down at me, a bundle of flowers in each hand. He wore a polite smile, one that I now recognized as a mask that he frequently wore around customers. That wasn't strange. What was strange was that he was holding out one bunch of flowers in front of me, “For you.”

I stared wide-eyed at the dainty flowers just in front of me, I certainly hadn’t expected this. I looked back up at him, confusion likely showing in my eyes since his smile changed from carefully crafted to amused in a blink and you’ll miss it instant.

“As thanks for accompanying me. It’s difficult to find anyone interested in joining me on a hike, much less a companion quite as enjoyable as you have been.” 

I hesitantly accepted the bouquet, my hand brushing his surprisingly warm hand as I took it. I don’t know why but I’d thought his hand would have been cool to the touch, instead it was warm, just like any other hand.

Something else that made him a little less intimidating and a little more approachable. I smiled up at him as I pulled the bouquet close to my chest, “Don’t mention it. I had fun.”

He straightened, his amused smile still in place, a tiny glimpse into his actual thoughts, “Then can I expect your company on my next trip?”

I grinned outright at his oddly playful question, nodding my head without hesitation, “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

He nodded, apparently pleased with my response, “Then I will look forward to it, Y/n.” I didn’t respond but as I watched him pack away our leftovers and his bunch of flowers I realized that I too would look forward to our next outing.

#Twisted wonderland imagines #Jade x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #gender-neutral reader #Jade Leech #hiking #flowers #fluff #platonic or romantic #you choose #reader's mom is mentioned in passing #Jade x y/n #Jade x you #twst #Twisted wonderland x y/n #twisted wonderland x you #twst x y/n #twst x reader #twst x you #reader insert #I hope you like daisies #I do

[delphiniumarchangelmoon]

Something that gets me about the whole “don’t let kids read xyz” bullshit is at some point I read a book that genuinely freaked me out and gave me nightmares.

It was one of those historical fiction diary type books (I was OBSESSED with them)

The thing in that book that got me all shaking in my third grade boots?

A scene in which a girl is foraging for food and mistakes a poisonous plant for an edible one (this was an Oregon Trail themed book so they’re unfamiliar with the local plants due to never having been in this location before) and a boy eats it and gets ill, and they make him eat charcoal to not die and he vomits.

He didn’t die, everything was fine.

And I still could not finish the book. I was crying, shaking, having nightmares. I couldn’t even pinpoint a reason the imagery just hit me so viscerally that I could not handle it.

And I read warrior cats, this was baby shit in comparison to that. Hell there were similar scenes in those books and characters DID DIE and I was FINE READING THAT!

So whenever someone tries to pinpoint a book being too violent or too mature for a young audience I think back to that relatively tame historical fiction book, aimed at my age group and containing content I had already seen in other books, that STILL fucking traumatized me because brains are fucking weird.

You’re never going to win. Even if you’re right, even if children shouldn’t read things that fuck their brains up, this isn’t a fight you’re ever going to win. There’s always gonna be something. It might not be rational. It might not make sense. But even the calmest, softest fucking media will inevitably trigger something bad for a kid somewhere.

Even if these people were theoretically correct, their goals would completely impossible to accomplish. It’s futile.

[emmanuelscastle]

i don’t post a ton about my life here but i do music writing occasionally and have started doing it again after years and years. anyway, here is the most recent one on Beauty Pill’s Blue Period reissue, written for Post-Trash. if you’re unfamiliar and read the review, i hope you’ll check out the record!

http://post-trash.com/news/2023/5/11/beauty-pill-blue-period-album-review

https://beautypill.bandcamp.com/album/blue-period

an excerpt if you’d like one:

While the subject matter is weighty, the band’s consistent tunefulness permeates even the darkest sentiments. Take “Prison Song,” which features Rachel Burke’s voice, the musical keystone of the record, over simple acoustic strumming and the musings of lovers estranged by incarceration and a love that’s curdled into obligation, or “Such Large Portions!,” which has some of the most indelible guitar playing on the record in the form of the lush, whammy barred chorus riff, pure kinetic energy before all tension releases and Burke’s voice comes out from the black. When she sings “The food is poison here, you can’t eat it / but in such large portions!” the sentiment is somehow even more biting when paired with the sweetness of her voice.

#beauty pill #dischord records #ernest jenning record co #post punk #indie rock #post-hardcore #music writing #album review #chad clark #the unsustainable lifestyle #you are right to be afraid #beauty pill band

[detectivereads]

Spooky/Fall Season TBR 2023

Hi Everyone,

I wanted to write down my TBR for the fall/spooky season and mention some of the new books that are coming out this year. These titles are the ones I read every year and I highly recommend them to anyone who is looking for a spooky book to read (or really any murder mysteries, it feels like this is the prefect season to read Murder Mysteries).

~Books that are on my TBR~ : (Pretty much I recommend everything on this list)

Coraline by Neil Gailman

Halloween Tree by Ray Bardbury

Pumpkin Heads

Nancy Drew (This and the next few are perfect for the cozy weather)

Judy Bolton

Dana Sisters

Connie Blair

Hardy Boys

Scary Godmother

Edgar Allen Poe

The Invisible man

Nightmare Before Christmas Long Live the Pumpkin Queen

Bunnicula

Dracula by Bram Stoker

Frankenstein by Mary Shelly

Garlic and the Vampire

Garlic and the Witch

Halloween Party by Agatha Christie (first time I am going to read this)

Sherlock Holmes

Then there was none by Agatha Christie

Addams family

Goosebumps books

Mirror Lake By Juneau Black

The House of Lost Horizon Sarah Jewell mystery

Sleepy Hallow by Washington Irving

Harry Potter (I also read these around Xmas time too)

~OP Books I recommend~

The Shady Hallow mysteries. I love this series and it feels like you can read this series no matter what time of year but the big ones that I recommend from this series are Cold Clay & Mirror Lake.

I love Mirror Lake the most out of the series and the description of food and the autumn ambience is wonderful.

~Soon to release books (I hope)~ :

DeepHaven by Ethan M. Aldridge- I saw the artwork that this author has been posting and I thought it was gorgeous. I did some digging but did not really want to spoil it too much for myself. I am getting very Eldritch horror vibes from the artwork.

Unfamiliar vol 2 by Haley Newsome- I am in love with this series, it has magic it has witches it has food. What more could I ask for.

Twilight Falls by Juneau Black- This is one of my highly anticipated books that are coming out this year. I love the Shady Hollow Mysteries series, this come out after November, but I am still super hype for it.

 Tim Burton’s Nightmare before Christmas the Battle for Pumpkin King by Dan Conner- I have been collecting anything really Nightmare for a few a years now and when I saw this I freaked, I can’t wait for it.

Bookshops & Bonedust by Travis Baldree- I loved Legends & Lattes and when I found it there was going to be a 2nd book, I was thrilled I can’t wait for it.

Catch me If you Candy by Ellie Alexander- Recently I have been wanting to get more cozy mysteries and this series is like one of the biggest series I have seen. I am hoping to start collecting the series soon.

~New Books~ :

Most of these books are going to be Cozy Mysteries. I love Mysteries and Cozy Mysteries are right in my alley. First of all, I will not spoil mysteries for anyone if I can help it, so I will keep description vague. Most of these books are new to me and I am keeping myself blind incept for like the over storyline. (These are not new releases they are just new to me)

Fatal Fudge Swirl by Meri Allen- this is the third book in the Ice Cream Shop Mysteries books, I am trying to collect the others and read them in order. So, this mystery takes place around Halloween and there is a wedding, and tragedy strikes at the wedding.

Murder at the Pumpkin Pageant by Darci Hannah- this is another cozy that takes place around time Halloween time. Halloween time is here, and our MC Lindsey is not really jazzed about it, because she lives in the town spooky haunted lighthouse, so teenagers make it a test of courage to come up and scare each other silly.  However, this year her best friend asked to do a spooky episode for her social media what was supposed to be a night of ghost hunting and fun scares turns sinister.

One Poison Pie by Lynn Cahoon- Now this one doesn’t take place on around Halloween (as far from what I know I haven’t not read this book yet, so I fix this later if I am wrong) but it’s having to do with witches and what’s better she is an amateur detective kitchen witch. Mia is our main character and right now she has hit a rough patch in her life when boyfriend has left her greener pastures and she is now jobless. So, she heads back home to her grandma’s house. It’s the first book in this series so I don’t know too much about it.

A Batter of Life and Death by Ellie Alexander- the only thing I know is that this book takes place in fall and I just starting to get into the Bakeshop Mystery series. So, I am keeping my self-blind and I can’t wait to read it.

No Parm No Foul by Linda Reilly- this is the second book in the grilled cheese shop mystery, and it takes place around Halloween. I read the first book and I like it, so I want to try to get the second to see how it is.

#books recommendations #mysteries #horror #graphic novel #cozy mystery #fantasy #tbr #halloween #spooky #cozy #a bakeshop mystery #nancy drew #hardy boys

[juwellyn]

Imagine getting isekai'd

Part 1

Growing up, you're burned-out. You're the "perfect" child your parents could only dream of. Your sole purpose is to make everyone in your own surroundings happy and not to disappoint them.

Can't do this, can't do that. You lost yourself.

What are the things that makes you happy? What are your likes and dislikes? You don't know anymore. You're past the point of being frightened by losing yourself.

Here you are as you walk inside your house. There are a lot of greetings from the maids but not a single presence from your parents. 'As if this is something new' you thought to yourself.

As you are reading a manhwa recommended by a cousin, you heard a knock from your door and before you said anything, your mother went in.

"I heard you're second in class" she said with a disappointed look on her face that she didn't bother to hide.

You unknowingly bit your lower lip to hide your dismay.

'I am tired of all the expectations. Constant complaining, constant comparing. I'm fed up with everything.' You thought to yourself.

With a feeling of discomfort, you brought yourself to smile in the presence of your mother.

"I'm sorry, mother. I promise to do better next time" you smiled bitterly.

"Tsk, why can't you be like your cousin? I heard they placed first in their overall performance" your smile didn't falter.

'What am I even expecting?'

After the nagging, you were finally left alone as you feel your eyes starts to water.

"You're not sad. You can't cry" you said as you tried to calm yourself.

"How about I finish this book first before studying?"

Behold, it was your cousin's favorite book.

You spent the rest of the day binge reading. You always read whenever you feel sad as it is the only thing that brings you comfort.

You woke up as usual to be surprised with a different ceiling. You look at your surroundings only to find out that you're not in your house.

Baffled, you quickly stood up to look outside the house.

'This isn't my house and most certainly, this isn't my clothes. Where am I?!' Freaking out by the new creature you saw outside your house, you quickly went inside and saw a glimpse of your reflection from the mirror.

The person looking back to you from the mirror is certainly you but with a longer hair but how on earth did you get there?

Still trying to figure things out, you slapped yourself and to your dismay, it seems that that is the reality. This is no dream.

You tried recalling what could possibly happened for days but to no avail. You're stuck in a different world where magic exists.

"Is this a blessing or a curse?" You said faintly, almost like a whisper.

"I can't just sit here waiting for my death. I need to do something. I mean, I'm running out of food!"

You head out with your bag and looked around. You're surrounded. The back of your house is full of big trees meanwhile, the front is a waterfall.

'What kind of a lunatic would live here?'

"Just who on earth-" 'of course, me'

With the few weeks trying to figure things out, you started to familiarize yourself with this unfamiliar world.

Sure, you have read thousands of fantasy books but this is still beyond the reality.

You created some potions from herbal plants that you found in the area. You learned how to make one from the books that you found inside the house. It's actually surprising that it's easy for you.

"I guess studying medicine for years finally became an advantage for me" you're solution as of the moment is to create herbal medicines and sell them.

You are actually fascinated by the growing amount of herbal plants in the forest though there are some poisonous ones and unfamiliar ones that you didn't touched.

'I guess I should thank my parents for forcing me to go study abroad to become a doctor.'

You're from a family of doctors. Choose something else as a profession and you will be labelled as a disappointment.

Not only that, but for your internship, you have to go in a battlefield to tend to the wounded which is why your father hired an instructor to teach you how to fight and to defend yourself. He also said to worry not because your older cousin will be there.

You marked every steps that you take so that you can still go back home.

"But still, a rural life like this is relaxing" you thought that this life is better than the previous one you have.

Unsure of the possibilities. You want to live your new life to the fullest.

You can almost see a town when you notice a man in a sleeping position from your peripheral vision.

'Mind your own business. Mind your own businesses.' You said to yourself as you pay no attention to the man.

"H-help" the man can barely speak but you heard him clearly.

"Oh! Come on! New world, new life! Can't I even start one without getting into trouble?!" You look behind and you smell trouble. Once you got closer, you knew that the wounds are not an accident.

'I'm a future doctor. I don't care about my patient's background. My job is to help them so pay no mind to the certainty' you chuckled nervously.

You gave a first aid for the injuries before giving him the potion you made. You're not sure if it will be effective.

'In exchange for helping you, you should pay me back by becoming the first person to try my potion. I'm sorry but be my guinea pig for once!'

"This is a high quality healing potion. W-where did you get this?"

"Seeing that you have the energy to talk nonsense, I'm assuming that you'd be fine" 'is my potion a big deal?!' You hid your smile.

"What's your name?"

"How rude, shouldn't you introduce yourself first before asking for mine?" You tried to be an ass.

'I don't want any unwanted sentiments here. I just want to live alone in the forest' you have accepted your reality there.

"I apologise, my lady. My name is Theodore"

"My name is Y/ N" did your parents didn't told you to not trust a stranger?

"Thank you for your help. I owe you"

"Oh, please! It's nothing but wait! Why do you speak like a noble? Or much higher than one? Don't tell me, you're a prince? Haha!" He remained silent.

'Sure, he is handsome. Blond hair, green eyes, noble clothes with a sword that looks like the excalibur-' of course, you're smart to know it.

"YOU'RE ACTUALLY A PRINCE?!" you shouted in pure disbelief while he chuckle.

'OMG! I know I laughed when I thought that the sword looks funny because it remind me of the excalibur, but this is still too much!'

"Please keep it a secret, my lady"

"Wait, don't call me a lady. Do I look like a noble lady for you?"

The pieces are finally coming together. You have been transmigrated to a different world and this is your first encounter with the male lead.

The story you have been transmigrated to is about a forbidden love between the male lead which is the crown prince and the female lead who is a commoner who soon will be given a title due to her outstanding swordmanship skills. It was the last story you have read and is recommended by your cousin.

'This can't be happening!'

Your character is the prince's assistant who have one-sided feelings for him. You will watch as the two main characters develop feelings towards each other.

Of course, where there are protagonists, there will surely be an antagonist.

To protect the female lead, the male lead shielded her with his own body and you being the extra, protected the couple with your own body.

"That won't happen!" Determined, you shouted, forgetting that the prince is still there.

'It won't happen as long as I don't fall in love with him. What the heck even is love?!'

With that, it is decided. You will change your destiny.

'Stupid destiny! Why is it always bad?! No, this time it's way worse! This is terrible! This is just a sense of responsibility for me!'

"You can take care of yourself"

"Wait!-" you left him alone.

The town was bustling and it was not hard to go to the shop with the map you purchased with the gold coins you found in the bag.

You're quite fascinated to yourself because you were able to sell the potions for a high price. The people also complimented it! The herbs that you brought also sell for a good price.

'If it was this easy, I could do this everyday!'

Fortunately on your way back, the prince is not there anymore. There's also a trace of other people being there.

"He really thought, I'm a fool"

You noticed that he was using a communication device that he was hiding in his back. Meaning that your conversations were heard. At least I know that he's in a safe place.

You took a rest in your bed before starting to cook for breakfast. You learned how to cook thanks to your nanny who taught you. She is always the one taking care of you.

"Now, how to change my destiny?" You brought a pen and a paper.

Once you opened the first book, the letters just suddenly started to fill your brain. In a few minutes you can speak their language and write their alphabet.

"As I thought, it's weird."

'How can I possibly do things?'

You chose to write your plan in your first language so that no one will be able to read it if it were to be discovered.

"If I were to make a deal with the king, the prince can't interfere."

'Alright! This should be enough!'

Tomorrow, you shall meet the king.

#royal family #manhwa #isekai #historical #imagine #fanfic #fantasy #royalty #reincarnation #transmigration #main #story #reader pov #point of view #y/n #relatable #headcanons

[mongooseblues]

Delhi Belly in Bangalore

Sicktember #18: Nausea/upset stomach

Thought I would participate in a few of the Sicktember prompts this year, and by that I mean use it as an excuse to post a couple things involving my OCs that I'd already written, that are not snz related but still sick/whump related, because I will have no other occasion to ever post them.

My love of fevers and vulnerability knows no bounds, and thus I’ve written some little moments of an instance of food poisoning that occurred when the betajis, along with Ayush’s sister Shravya and Naveen’s brother Vijay, went to India together.

I don’t think it’s particularly graphic but while not extensively described it does involve vomiting so CW: emeto, and if that is not your cup of tea don’t make yourself read it!

- — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - —

They’re told at the pharmacy that pepto bismol is the last thing they should be buying for Caliph. Apparently he just needs to let his body rid himself of it.

“Make no mistake,” the pharmacist says, “‘Delhi belly’ is a misleading terminology. It’s not because of unfamiliar food or drink—your friend is sick with food poisoning. Likely the bacteria E. coli. He will most likely be fine but it can be serious in some cases. You need to watch him for dehydration.”

They text him immediately.

A: Caliph how are you feeling?

It takes him over an hour to respond.

C: I’ll spare you the details but suffice it to say I’m really sick.

N: :( Do you want us to bring you anything?

C: Actually yeah, if it’s not too much trouble. If you could pick up vegetable broth (something shelf-stable, sealed and commercial), mouthwash, and maybe some ginger ale

A: For sure, no problem

C: Thank you so much. No rush. Don’t interrupt what you’re doing, just whenever you come back.

An hour later he adds:

C: Hey, I have another request if you haven’t gone to the store yet but no worries if you have

N: No we haven’t yet. what else do you need?

C: the kind of aspirin that comes in a liquid/gel capsule but (I’m sorry this is annoying) if you can check the ingredients to make sure it’s not made of gelatin. C: (tmi but) I keep trying to take it and throwing it up again before it dissolves >:-(

It’s dark by the time they return, Ayush and Naveen venturing into the bedroom where Caliph’s supposed to be asleep but is not.

“Caliph?”

They try the bathroom, knocking a few times to no response.

“Just try to open it?” Naveen suggests.

“Should I?”

“Caliph? Are you decent?”

No answer. Ayush slowly pushes open the unlocked door to find Caliph on the floor, back against the wall, knees hugged to his chest, huddled in a towel and fully asleep with his face pressed to the sink cabinet.

“Oh my god,” Ayush says, unable to keep the panic from his voice as Naveen kneels next to Caliph and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey hey, Caliph, bhai, wake up,” Naveen prods, shaking him.

Caliph groans a confused, “Mmn?” opens his eyes drowsily. “Oh hi,” he says, giving into a full body shudder.

“Are you okay?”

“Think so,” he says, closing his eyes again, resuming his original position, leaning his head against the cabinet.

“Why are you on the floor?”

His eyebrows raise at the question, eyes still closed. “Nececessity,” he says, and Naveen stifles a laugh.

“Do you feel like you’re gonna still… need to be here?”

“Mm… not presently.”

“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in bed?”

“I’m be honest,” he slurs. “My body’s very weak right now. My energy’s reserved for interacting with this toilet.” He reaches out a clumsy arm to touch the side of it, fingers briefly brushing against the porcelain he’s clearly become overly familiar with.

“Do you think you can stand?” Ayush asks, and Caliph fixes him with an unfocused gaze. Glassy eyes underscored by dark circles that remind Ayush of what Shravya looks like some mornings when she fails to fully remove the kohl from her eyes the night before.

He shakes his head almost imperceptibly and suddenly sounds as if he’s bordering on emotional fragility. “No, I’ve been sort of crawling around to get places. I’ve been really dizzy all day.”

It’s completely involuntary, the cooed “Awww,” that spills from Ayush’s lips, but he’s not the only one.

“Ohh no you poor thing,” Naveen says, extremely casually, and brings a hand to his forehead. “Jesus, Caliph, you and your fevers…”

He turns to Ayush with worry and Ayush places his own hand on Caliph’s face. “Oh you’re burning up,” he says softly, and if he didn’t know better he’d think maybe he detects the faint ghost of a smile quickly tug at the corner of his mouth.

“Would you want to be in bed if we helped you there?”

“I would love to be in bed right now,” he says, and they each take one of his arms and pull him to his feet. He helps carry his own weight but he’s fumbling and it’s clear he does need their help to properly stand, and with Caliph’s arm over his shoulder like this Ayush realizes just how much he’s shivering.

Naveen must be having the same realization because he says, “You’re really shaking, huh? Let’s get you some drier clothes.”

They park him on the edge of the bed, Ayush’s arm lingering on his shoulder as his weight lulls forward.

He looks disheveled as hell and Ayush thinks to himself that surely, surely there’s something universally attractive about a man who looks as if he’s been to war, even if it’s his digestive system he’s been to war with.

“Can you take that shirt off, Caliph?” Naveen prompts, digging through his suitcase for a clean one.

Caliph complies, with some difficulty, briefly revealing a sweat-sparkled chest Ayush tries not to look at as he shrugs on the new shirt, attempting immediately to lie down.

“Hang on a second, you gotta drink this.”

“No thank you,” he mumbles.

Ayush clarifies, “It’s like… Indian pedialyte. You really do need to drink it though, the pharmacist says you probably lost a lot besides water.”

“Oh I lost so much,” Caliph smirks, and they laugh as he takes a moment to wipe the sweat from his face with his shirt.

Ayush unscrews the cap and hands it to him and Caliph hesitantly takes it with a shaky hand. “I might throw this up immediately. I can’t even drink much water at a time or it will jettison back out of me.”

They laugh again and he smiles a little and takes a couple conservative sips of the formula, wincing as he does.

“Does it taste gross?”

“Nah, my throat just hurts from puking.”

Ayush wants desperately to touch him, and this would be an appropriate enough context for it, but he’s finding himself stopping just short. What he really wants to do is to be capable of doing what Naveen does with no weirdness and surprising grace.

It’s something about being so thoroughly straight that allows Naveen to do things like brush Caliph’s hair from his forehead before he feels for fever with an open palm, to let it linger there as he speaks to him, to return it to his hair with affectionate strokes afterwards—it allows him to do all of this with no ulterior motives, therefore feeling no awkwardness himself, not worrying what conclusions others might come to because those conclusions would be inaccurate.

It’s hard to touch someone casually when you actually are attracted to them. Harder still when you don’t exactly want the world to know you even harbor the capacity to be attracted to men in the first place.

It’s unsurprising considering the noises coming from his stomach, that Caliph does end up puking up the pedialyte, jolting upright a couple minutes later while Ayush and Naveen are in conversation, stumbling to the bathroom, managing to push the door closed behind him, which Ayush is grateful for because it dampens the sounds of painful, extensive retching that doesn’t feel commensurate with the amount of liquid he drank, ending in fitful coughing and desperate gasping for air.

“I’m getting really worried,” Naveen says and Ayush nods distantly in agreement, meaning it but distracted all the more by the sudden unmistakable sound of nose blowing and sniffling. He experiences a simultaneous jolt of attraction and pang of sympathy, and instantly feels bad about the former.

When Caliph finally ambles clumsily back out of the bathroom, he’s greeted by two very worried faces.

“I drank that stuff too fast,” he sniffles, leaning drunkenly against the door frame and looking like he’s about to fall as Naveen grasps his arm to help him to the bed, nearly knocking over a pooja mandir in the process.

“You slowly sipped it…”

“Evidently not slowly enough,” he says, collapsing back on the mattress.

“Haye ram,” Naveen says.

“Haye ram indeed,” Caliph mumbles, muffled by a pillow.

“You’re worrying me, bhai,” Naveen says, more insistently. “You should try to drink this stuff again, even if it’s just a single sip every few minutes.”

Caliph holds out his hand for it, squirms into a sitting position, wincing in pain at the movement. “Could you maybe pass me the advil first? I want to prioritize that.”

“Okay, take a sip of the rehydration thing too though.”

“How many advil can I take at a time?”

“Four.”

“Maybe you could set a timer to take a sip every ten minutes?” Naveen suggests, as Caliph struggles to tuck himself under the covers before Ayush and Naveen both wordlessly move to help him and then curls himself into a ball, one protective hand on his stomach.

“…Caliph?”

He rubs at his eyes, suddenly looking heartbreakingly boyish and sleepy as he fights through the blanketing haze of fever trying to reach what was said. “In ten minutes?” he sniffs.

“Probably you’re falling asleep and then trying to drink too quickly when you’re awake and if you spaced it out more maybe it would help.”

“That’s good idea,” he says, closing his eyes again, sinking easily back towards sleep.

Ayush and Naveen give each other a look.

“Hey,” Naveen says, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Kya?”

“Tumhen alarm lagaana hai. Let’s set you an alarm.”

He says, “Haan,” in agreement but still does exactly nothing.

“…On your phone, Caliph.”

“Acha,” he mumbles, reaching blindly for his phone and sending it tumbling off the bed.

Ayush catches it, says, “How about I’ll do it.” He goes into Caliph’s alarms and sets several.

As they get ready to leave again to join the others at whichever club on the list they’ve made it to, the first timer goes off, and Caliph is too deep in sleep to even hear it. Naveen goes into the bedroom to wake him up, but all he does is turn off the alarm and turn back over to sleep again. Naveen has to instruct him to sit up and talk him through drinking a sip, but not more than a sip, of water.

The second time the alarm goes off is no different.

“Yeah this alarm thing isn’t going to work. I don’t think Caliph has the energy or the wherewithal to take care of himself right now.”

“I’m gonna stay with him,” Ayush volunteers, surprising himself.

“I feel bad though that you’ll miss out. Maybe we can take turns?”

“Okay yeah that’s a good idea. Maybe tomorrow we can just all take turns checking on him, if he’s still feeling like this.”

“Good, that’s good.”

When Naveen leaves Ayush feels strangely nervous, as he looks at a sleeping but still visibly pained Caliph.

The plan for the cold washcloth was established in his mind the second Caliph had stumbled out of the bathroom and sat next to him that morning, but implementing it suddenly felt weird. Maybe because eleven hours is an absurdly long time to be thinking about a washcloth.

But his breathing is so labored and restless, the discomfort so obvious that Ayush has to do something, so he gathers enough courage to find a towel, second guess how cold the water should be, finally wet it, kneel next to Caliph and press a palm to his sweaty forehead.

“Jesus,” he whispers, still a bit alarmed by the heat of his fever, raging silently but rendered visible in the sweat continuously beading up on his face, in the ruddy tinge to his brown skin, blooming through his cheeks and across his neck. It’s a strange mixture—gay panic and normal panic.

Finally he spreads the washcloth over Caliph’s forehead, and is rewarded by a half-conscious, very grateful moan, like he’s been craving it for hours himself.

It emboldens Ayush. He uses the cloth to wipe over each of his glistening cheeks, drawing from him more tiny moans, slight whimpers, and desire pools heavily in Ayush’s stomach, flashes through him, makes him very glad Caliph is not awake enough to see whatever must be happening on his face right now.

It’s that sense of almost anonymity that finally lets Ayush do the other thing he’s been longing to do—to reach over and sink his fingers into Caliph’s sweat-soaked hair to stroke through it, rewarded with another sound of sorely needed pleasure and Caliph tipping his head towards Ayush to an angle where he’ll have better reach.

For some minutes Ayush just revels in being able to stare at him, watching the unfolding microexpressions of an achingly handsome face in distress—the vaguely pained pleats that keep folding on Caliph’s forehead before relaxing again, eyebrows subtly furrowing and twitching.

He hears himself quietly saying, “You’re in a lot of pain aren’t you?” and feeling, amongst all the other complicated emotions he’s currently fluctuating between, that familiar mixture of intense sympathy and warm fuzziness that characterizes his every interaction with people he’s attracted to specifically while they’re having a hard time.

‘Is this helping?’ he might ask, if he had Naveen’s sweet-natured, strictly-hetero-based confidence. Or if Caliph was someone he knew intimately in a very different sense, ‘Does that feel nice?’

Even thinking of saying something like that has Ayush flooded with perverse guilt over being turned on by any of this, his sureness about the gesture petering out, about to stop.

But then there is a quietly spoken, “Ayush?”

He freezes, starts to pull his hand away. “What’s up?”

Caliph’s eyes flutter open and he asks, with uncharacteristic timidness, or maybe just a fragile voice, “Could you maybe keep doing that for a little while longer? Do you mind?”

“I don’t mind,” Ayush says, unable to bite his bottom lip hard enough to keep himself from breaking into a smile as Caliph closes his eyes again with a smile of his own.

With a contented exhale he says, “It’s very comforting.”

Ayush contemplates a verbal response for so long that he ultimately doesn’t say anything at all. Just continues to work his fingers through Caliph’s damp hair, as soothingly as he can, until he falls asleep.

#cw emeto #tw emeto #also hi hi hello sorry I've been MIA - life has been a little bad #I have so much to catch up on and I fully intend to #so if you haven't heard from me please know I'm not ignoring you! #also speaking of India my ex-roomie is getting married in Uttar Pradesh next spring and !!!! #I’m going to an Indian wedding IN Indiaaaa I have never been so excited for anything in my entire life #sicktember 2022 #sicktember day 18 #mongoose writes sometimes #Cal #Cal/Ayush #the betajis #I feel like almost no one here is gonna read this lol #but if u do I hope you enjoy it #Cal as Caliph

[hansomeskz]

I’d Bleed Myself Dry Chapter 3

Jisung is used to living in monochrome. Since the day he was born, he’d felt like the world consisted of shades of grey, and as he grew older the alcohol blurred the lines so the world consisted of nothing at all. That’s how he ended up here.

Read on Ao3 | Read On Wattpad | Talk to me on Twitter | Chat on retrospring

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3

CW: Swearing, Alcohol consumption, insecurities, anxiety

By the time Jisung finds himself back in the studio, after several weeks and several angry phone calls from the company, the storm inside of him is raging stronger than ever before. He rents out his own room to work and write in but with his luck he finds himself only a few doors down from his usual room with Chan and Changbin. He spends days locked in this new room, writing anything and everything he can think of, surviving off of convenience store food and caffeine. The words spilling from his pen are honest, maybe some of the best things he’s ever written.

I feel left alone in the world, will I get better by deceiving my own heart?

I lived like I was dead and suddenly I’m all alone and far away.

Everything is quiet except for the sound of our breaths, Everything that hurts me is blown away.

Jisung wants nothing more than to show these lyrics to Chan and Changbin. He knows they’d appreciate him showing a part of himself that people don’t often get to see. A wave of nausea rolls over him when he realizes he won’t be able to share these songs with them. The person Jisung hasn’t been able to think about is Minho. Any time Minho has crossed his mind, Jisung finds himself completely sick. The guilt about how he’s treated these people who have done nothing but care about them eats away at him.

He’s still thinking about them when he steps out of the room into the main hallway. He catches a glimpse of himself in a window’s reflection as he steps into the fluorescent lighting and grimaces. He looks tired, pale, and defeated. As he turns in the direction of the elevators, clutching his laptop, he stops in his tracks. There, a few doors down, Chan and Changbin are emerging from their room. They look okay, Jisung thinks. That is until he locks eyes with Chan. The cold, humourless laugh that Chan lets out alerts Changbin of Jisung’s presence and they both turn to look at him, and he can see the warm concern hidden behind their cold stares. He turns on his heels, bolting down the stairs instead. When it rains it pours, of course, and stumbles across Minho on the second floor. He’s filming content for the company’s social media accounts, all bright smiles until he spots Jisung.

The look on the older boy’s face makes Jisung feel like he’s drowning. He doesn’t stop running, his feet carrying him as far as they can. He passes the convenience store he first ate with Minho at months ago, past his apartment building, past the bars he spent too many nights drinking at. He only stops running when his chest burns, not with exhaustion but with realization. Minho was wearing one of Jisung’s black hoodies. Jisung sinks to the ground, sitting against the wall of a building in the middle of a street he doesn’t recognize. The feelings swarming in his head are unfamiliar, too. He feels like he’s poison. His whole life people had just ignored his behaviour, they never let it get to them, too. This time his storm has surrounded his friends.

Jisung thinks back to Chan, who always had his back. He thinks of all the late nights writing music with him, Chan working hard to make sure everything sounded exactly like they’d imagined. He thinks back to Changbin, who had always protected him. He remembers all the times Changbin stayed with Jisung to make sure he got home safe and to make sure he didn’t feel alone. Finally, he thinks back to Minho. Minho was a special case for Jisung. He’d never wanted anyone around him more, never known anyone so willing to drop everything to make him feel heard and loved. He checks his phone, not sure how long he’d even been running for.

Chan

Missed call (1) 2:38 PM

I think we need to talk.

Changbin

Missed call (1) 2:44 PM

Jisung’s heart sinks. The storm inside his head grows impossibly loud. How could he possibly find the words to express how sorry he is for what he’s done? How could he even explain that he feels so irreparably damaged that he doesn’t even know how to begin fixing it? The thoughts in his head die down a bit when he remembers the laptop held tightly to his chest. The songs he’s working on might be a good start, at least. He calls an Uber to take him back to the company knowing he has a long few days ahead of him.

Jisung spends the next few days working his ass off, the music and melodies he crafts feel like they might help explain what he’s been going through. He doesn’t worry about perfection, just puts the songs together well enough to convey what he has to say. When he thinks he has enough to work with, he heads home to clean up. He takes a long shower, letting the water wash away sweat and tears from the studio. He has music playing to keep his thoughts at bay. When he’s changed, wearing one of Minho’s yellow hoodies he’d left behind one of the last times he saw him, he texts Chan.

Hanji

Yeah, we need to talk.

Are you free?

Chan

We’ll be there in 15.

Jisung has never been so nervous to share his music with anybody and he never thought he’d worry so much about what his best friends thought, but he’s beside himself now. When they knock at his door he takes one deep breath before letting them in.

Chan and Changbin are understandably cold, stepping in past Jisung and sitting rigidly on Jisung’s loveseat. He stands in front of them, fiddling with his fingers. He feels like he could throw up, sweating from their unwavering stares. “I don’t really know…” Jisung trails off, gathering his thoughts. “I don’t know how to talk about my feelings, you guys know that. Since I didn’t think I’d be able to just tell you what’s on my mind. I thought maybe I could play you some of the songs I wrote. It won’t explain it all, but maybe it’ll be a good start.”

“That sounds good, Han,” Chan says softly, his arms are folded across his chest but his concern is cracking through his mask. Jisung swallows thickly before hitting play. He watches his friends’ faces as the few songs play through, their anger dissolving into sadness and worry as the songs walk them through what happens in Jisung’s head. They hear so much they’ve never heard from him before, the lyrics chronicling Jisung’s struggle to fit in. Explaining how he is afraid of breaking down and letting people in lest it causes their dreams and everything they’ve built for themselves to fall apart.

The last song is the one that means the most to him, and by the looks on their faces, Changbin and Chan can feel it too. It’s a song, though Jisung would never openly admit it, about how he knows how far he is from them and Minho. How he tried to just wish them back into his life despite knowing the distance between them was growing larger and more permanent with every passing day. When the music stops playing the silence is heavy, crushing Jisung more with every passing second. “I just wish you could’ve told us that’s how you were feeling, Hannie.” Chan is looking at him, misty-eyed. Jisung shrugs lightly, crossing his arms and looking at the ground. “I was just worried if I started letting it out I wouldn’t be able to stop, and then everything would fall apart.”

“Why would it all fall apart because we know what you’re thinking?” Changbin asks, his gaze burning straight through Jisung. Jisung runs a hand through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut in hopes it will make it any easier to open up. It really doesn’t. “I just… I thought you would get sick of it. Of hearing how fucking sad I am all the time. I’ve never not felt like this, and throughout my entire life, everyone just ignored it. Even you guys.” Jisung takes a deep, trembling breath. He’s afraid of the weight of the words to come, but he knows it has to be said. “And then I met Minho, and no matter how hard I tried around him, I couldn’t keep it in anymore. It kept spilling out over the edges every time he dipped his toes in, you know? And it leaked into every part of my life.” He curls his fingers into the fabric of the yellow hoodie, the scent of Minho’s cologne still lingers on the fabric. “I hurt you guys and I hurt him but I don’t even know how to fix it. Any of it. When people try to get me to open up I just shoot to kill, that’s all. The way to avoid it is just to remove the person trying to help me entirely.”

“We just want to see you be better,” Chan says quietly, pushing himself off of the couch so he can wrap his arms tightly around Jisung. “We want to see you happy. You deserve it, Hannie. Even if you don’t think you do.” Jisung feels a second set of arms wrap around them, the smell of Changbin’s cheap aftershave swarming Jisung’s senses. “You have to stop pushing us away. Treating us like shit because you feel bad.” Changbin’s voice is soft yet firm, shooting chills down Jisung’s spine. “I want to try to let you guys in.” Jisung means this, even if he sounds unsure to the other two boys. “I want to get better.”

“We’re patient guys, Hannie. We can wait.” Chan presses a kiss to Jisung’s temple and swipes his thumb gently against his cheek, brushing away tears he didn’t even know were falling. “We‘ll stay right here with you if you let us.”

“Please, I can’t do this by myself.”

“You’ve got us, kid,” Changbin says, and Jisung feels a bit lighter.

The two stay the night at Jisung’s. They lay on the floor of his living room with blankets thrown underneath them for padding and Jisung tells them as much as he can. He tells them about how low he had been when they met in university, and how badly he’d needed friends like them. He tells them about the nagging voice when Changbin and Chan are hitting a really good flow where Jisung wonders if they need him at all. In return, they tell him everything they thought. How they’d known there was a missing piece in their group before they met Jisung, and how even during the past couple of weeks they struggled to write anything at all without him. With the help of his friends, Jisung is able to lift the weight of the world off his shoulders.

“So what are you going to do about Minho?” Chan asks suddenly, rolling over to look at Jisung. “I don‘t even know. I don’t think I can even fix it.” Jisung’s chest tightens at the thought of Minho’s face the day he tore him down. “He still asks how you’re doing, you know” Changbin chimes in, propping himself up on his elbow. Jisung keeps his eyes fixed on the ceiling, shaking his head. “Why? Why would he ask?”

“Because he cares about you, Hannie.” Chan pinches Jisung’s cheek gently. “He just wants to know you haven’t drank yourself to death or worked yourself into a coma. He said you looked really upset that day you almost pushed him down the stairs”

“The day I- hold on- is that what he told you?” Jisung sputters, looking at Chan wide-eyed. Chan is grinning and Jisung realizes he was just trying to lighten the mood. “Ah- fuck you, Chan” he mumbles, looking back at the ceiling. “I think you should just talk to him,” Changbin says simply. Despite knowing he’s right, Jisung shakes his head. “He doesn’t want to hear from me.”

“I think you might be surprised to hear that’s not true.”

“I’m a poison. He’s so good, even if he wants to hear from me... I’d poison him. Eat away at his good parts until the rotten parts are all that’s left. Maybe he’s better off without me anyway.” Jisung hears Changbin scoff from beside him. “He just wants to see you happy, too. Talk to him, Han. But not tonight, I’m fucking tired.” Changbin lays back again, rolling so his back is to his friends. Chan lays back too and pulls Jisung in close. The touch of his friend makes it a little easier for him to get some sleep.

Hanji

Minho can we talk?

We can meet at yours if you want

Or mine

Whatever is easier for you

I just have something I need to say to you

And I should say it in person

But if you don’t want to see me again I’ll understand

Minho

I’ll be home at 8.

Jisung shows up at 8:15, standing outside the door. After a long few minutes of thinking about how this could be it for them, he knocks. When Minho opens the door, Jisung notices he’s wearing grey. “Come in,” Minho steps aside. There is none of his usual warmth, it makes Jisung’s blood run cold. He follows Minho into the living room, sitting iin his usual spot on the couch. Minho sits as far from Jisung as he can, arms crossed. He just watches Jisung expectantly, trying and failing to mask the hurt on his face. “The first thing I have to say is that I’m sorry, Min.”

“Do you really think all of that about me? After how hard I’ve tried to be there for you, you seriously think all that?” Minho’s hurt is so apparent in his words. It pierced through Jisung’s heart more than any anger could’ve. “No, Minho. When…” Jisung sighs, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes until he sees spots. “When I feel like somebody is trying to get me to open up, I will do anything to get them to stop. I’m great at picking out people’s insecurities to use against them, and I’m so fucking sorry you had to experience it. I don’t think any of that shit about you.”

“I just wanted to help you, Jisung.” Minho sounds like he’s choking up and Jisung can’t bring himself to look at him, tears burning his eyes, too. “I didn’t want help. I wanted somebody who would drop everything when I was hurting but would never mention it.”

“I want you to get better, I can’t just watch you hurt like that and do nothing to change it.”

“I know, Min…” Jisung takes a deep breath, tilting his head back to look up at the ceiling, blinking hard. “I want your help, now. I know it won’t be perfect, that I won’t be perfect, but I want to let you in. I just don’t know how.” Jisung hears Minho stand and come closer. His heart jumps into his throat when Minho sits directly beside him, pulling him into a tight hug. “You can’t treat me like that again, Ji. I want to help you but I can’t sacrifice myself for it, okay?”

“I know, Minho. I’m sorry.” Jisung wraps his arms tightly around Minho, squeezing. They stay like that for a long while, Jisung quietly sniffling into the older boy’s shoulder. Minho rubs gentle circles into his back and tells him it’s going to be okay. That as long as they stay together, they’re going to make it through this. When he’s regained his composure a little, Jisung pulls away. The warm concern on Minho’s face breaks his heart, but he knows he hasn’t said everything yet. “Minho, I think part of what held me back from letting you in is that I’m scared of the way you make me feel.” He squeezes Minho’s thigh gently, watching him. “You turn my brain off in a way I’ve never had before. When I’m with you, sometimes the thoughts just stop. When my feelings are storming, you bring a sun strong enough to break through the clouds. You bring me peace in the loudest moments.” Jisung is struggling to read the look on Minho’s face. He watches the older boy process that, watches the way his face twists in confusion, then into something much fonder. “I want to be your peace, Jisung.” Minho cups his cheek, pressing their foreheads together. Being this close has Jisung’s heart hammering against his chest, so he closes his eyes to try and escape it. They stay like that for a long time before Minho pulls away. Jisung looks at him, and he’s glad to see that all the coldness from earlier is gone from Minho. “I’m so sorry I hurt you, Min.”

“We’ll work through it together, Jisung.”

Jisung really puts the work into letting people in after that. He steps into the studio Monday morning and Changbin has an iced americano waiting for him. He sits in his usual spot, warmth spreading through his chest. For the first time, he feels like he belongs here. They work on Jisung’s songs, turning several of the partial works into something more, something they can hand to the groups for their next comebacks, something they can share with the world. On their lunch break, Jisung brings takeout to Minho, knocking gently on the practice room door. Minho lets him in and Jisung smiles lightly at Minho’s yellow tank top. “You brought me lunch? Ah, Ji…” Minho is smiling, taking the food Jisung is handing to him. “Are we eating together?”

“Only if you have time, I don’t want to interrupt,” Jisung says sheepishly. Minho laughs a bit and takes his hand, pulling him to sit at the back of the room. “I always have time for you, Jisung.” The two of them stay huddled together while they eat, whispering and giggling while the other choreographers work. Jisung feels much lighter now that everything's out in the open. When Chan starts to text him asking him if he’s ready to get back to work, Jisung excuses himself. “Promise you’ll walk me home later?” Minho is smiling up at him and Jisung smiles and nods before returning to work.

Night after night Jisung finds his limbs tangled with Minho’s in one of their beds, and on the nights his brain thunders and the thoughts swarm, Minho is there with Jisung, listening to his worries. Tonight, they are sat on Jisung’s balcony. Jisung can’t find where Minho’s yellow t-shirt ends and his own starts. He buries his face in Minho’s neck, tears soaking his face. Minho rubs his back and kisses his hair. “It’s gonna be okay, Ji.” Minho is speaking softly enough that Jisung has to focus hard to listen. Minho knows this helps push his thoughts to the back burner, Jisung thinks. “Do you want to watch that new drama?”

“Please.” When they two are situated on the couch, limbs tangled together, Jisung lets himself get lost in the TV show. Minho is warm against him, and Jisung knows there is nowhere else he would rather be. A warmth he’s starting to get familiar with spreads through his chest. They don’t say anything else for the rest of the night.

The music is loud, and Jisung is definitely drunk. The album release party he and his other pieces wrote together is in full swing, and he is getting celebratory shots from almost everyone in the building. Minho has their fingers intertwined, and Chan and Changbin are standing across from them. They’re all talking loud and fast and Jisung can’t understand a word, but he’s never felt so safe. “Are you alright?” Minho asks as Jisung presses further into his side. He nods dumbly, unable to wipe the smile off his face. As he looks around at these people who know him better than anyone, all he can think about is how he’s finally found his home. Their group is loud, they’re messy, but it’s beautiful to Jisung. A familiar warmth floods his whole body, and all he can think about is how he’s found his place. Minho lets go of Jisung’s hand, opting to snake an arm around his waist.

Jisung feels safe, he feels heard, and he feels loved. He’s home.

#Minho #minsung #lee minho #jisung #han jisung #lee know #han jisung and lee know #han and lee know #stray kids #skz #stray #kids #angst? #idk #minsung fic #chaptered #fic