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musicalchaos07 · 3 months

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🥳 Will Byers 53rd BDay ficlet 🥳

Will can hear his husband rummaging through the hallway closet as pulls his jacket on. He wonders what he could possibly be searching for. Both of their umbrellas are by the door, he already gave him the new Princess Peach game as a birthday present this morning and he’s already wearing his jacket. Will checks his watch again, they’ve got seven minutes before they miss the train.

“Mike come on we're going to be late” Will calls.

“I'm looking for betrayal at the house on the hill, have you seen it?” Mike yells back.

“You seriously think Nancy's going to play board games?” he laughs.

“Well, it is her favorite brother-in-law’s birthday,” Mike argues.

Will is about to defend Holly’s husband but there’s a crash from the hallway before he can.

“Are you-”

“Found It”

Mike meets him in the foyer, wide grin spread on his face and a stack of board games in his hands. Will smiles in spite of himself.

“Besides, Jonathan and Matty definitely will ” He declares before giving Will a quick kiss.

“I thought Matty couldn't make it?” Will asks.

“No, Sammy can't. Midterms. Geez old man keep track of your kids” Mike teases, packing the games into a bag.

“Haha very funny”

“Don’t worry no matter how old you get I'll still love you” he promises with another kiss.

“Remind me again why they can't come to dinner here?” Will sighs, and he swears Mike’s smile fades for the briefest second.

“When in the last twenty years have those two ever come to Brooklyn?” Mike complains with an eyeroll

“They used to for the kids birthdays” Will reminds

“And we were pushing our luck then, Babe” He contends.

“I'm just saying we could stay in, get pizza, crush you in Mario Kart” Will shrugs checking his pocket for his keys one last time.

“If that's really what you want I can text the group chat” Mike offers quietly.

When he turns around, he can tell that Mike doesn’t love the idea and he tries not to feel too guilty about not wanting to go into Manhattan in the rain.

“But Nancy already picked up your cake” Mike entices

Ok, so maybe he’s been thinking about a double chocolate all week but he’s sure they have the ingredients in the kitchen.

“And Jonathan's making lasagna” Mike coaxes.

And sure, no one can replicate Karen’s lasagna recipe like his brother can but pizza is fine.

“Let me guess, Matt’s already there?” Will questions hesitantly, not wanting the answer.

“Yea, but he's spending the weekend. So that's not a big deal” Mike shrugs, and Will’s surprised that he’s coming around.

“Jordan did fly in from L.A. though” Mike admits.

“Just for my birthday???”

“It's a family thing you know how she is with family things and you're her favorite uncle” Mike grins.

“Bull”

“Look, whatever you wanna do it’s fine. We just better decide before it starts pouring” Mike encourages.

Will can tell he’s not telling the full truth. He’s not sure why their niece would fly in for such an unremarkable birthday. But, he would feel a little bad if she wasted the trip. Not to mention that changing the plans means Matt drove into Manhattan from Burlington for no reason. And as much as he wants to stay in he’d feel way too guilty about doing that to his kid.

“Let’s go” he resigns.

Half an hour, one horrible subway ride, and a short walk in the rain later they're standing on the porch in Greenwich Village and Mike is frantically texting.

“Just ring the bell” Will admonishes right as the front door swings open.

“Hey Buddy, happy birthday” Jonathan greets with a hug. Practically pulling them into the house.

They quickly take off their coats and shoes.

“After you birthday boy” Mike insists cheekily and Will rolls his eyes but leads the way up the stairs.

When they reach the kitchen, the lights are completely out and before he can say anything someone flips a switch illuminating the room. Noisemakers and shouts of ‘surprise’ fill the room. He barely registers that Sam is there before El excitedly pulls him into a hug and Dustin, Lucas and Max quickly follow suit. He tries to ignore the tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

“What are you guys doing here?” Will beams with only a couple sniffles.

“We heard there was a party” Lucas jokes.

Before Will can joke back about coming all the way from Chicago for some cake. Matty and Dylan start a spirited, if off-key, rendition of Happy Birthday with his fire-hazard of a cake in hand.

“You going to be able to get all those” Jonathan teases from behind his camera as Will takes a deep breath to blow them out.

Somehow, he gets all fifty-three candles in one go and Nancy swiftly takes the cake away to cut slices at the kitchen table with Jordan. Sammy crosses the room and gives him a tight hug. Will doesn’t even think to chastise him for not being at school.

“I can’t believe you did all this” Will smiles.

“Yea well, it’s not everyday you turn fifty-three” Mike jokes as he places a birthday hat on Will’s head and hands another one to Sam.

He chases down Matt to give him a matching one and Jonathan takes their picture. The four of them must look ridiculous but he’s so happy to be with their family he doesn’t care too much.For the tiniest second, Will worries that there’s no way he’s going to be able to match this surprise for Mike’s birthday. But Mike tenderly squeezes his shoulder and the feeling is gone just as quickly as it came.

“What’d you wish for?” Mike asks once Jonathan finishes his photoshoot.

“Nothing, I don’t need anything else, this is perfect. Thank you” Will admits quietly, trying not to get over-emotional.

“It’s nothing really, just a couple phone calls” Mike shrugs.

“I’m impressed you kept the secret” Will commends.

“The things we do for love” he responds, dramatically.

“I love you” Will responds leaning in for a kiss.

“But I’m still gonna crush you at Mario Kart” he taunts and Mike laughs.

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noneedtoamputate · 2 months

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In a piece of personal news, I officially gave notice that I will not be leading Little NoNeed's Girl Scouts troop next year. LNN decided to dedicate time to other activities, but if I'm being honest with myself, I think I would have quit even if they decided to rejoin.

The relief I feel is already palatable, but I'm sure it won't really hit me until October, when the new Girl Scouts year starts.

I've been a leader for four years. We had to meet on Zoom when I first started the troop, and Daisies on Zoom is as horrible as you can imagine.

I had a lot of fun being leader, but it's also a lot of work. And this year really hasn't been much fun at all for a variety of reasons.

Of course, instead of focusing on the four years I have given, part of me feels guilty for leaving these girls without a leader (I will be shocked if another parent steps up.)

Reading "Lessons in Chemistry" hit at a good time last week. Women are seen as nurturers, carers expected to enjoy things that serve a good purpose but are not appreciated, financially or otherwise.

I am already excited thinking about what I can do with the hours I currently spend on Girl Scouts: writing, reading, yoga, hiking, cooking, cleaning my closets. But part of me thinks I should find another volunteer position, even though I am chair of the school book fair committee, hold an elected position in my village, and fill in when needed for the PTO. That's on top of working (for money) part time, driving to ballet and doctors' appointments and birthday parties, and checking homework, and keeping track of the dozens of spirit days LNN has at school (Dress Like a Pirate Day! Wear Your Favorite Premier League Jersey Day! Who's Your Favorite Band of Brothers Blorbo Day! All of these are jokes, but the last one would be great, wouldn't it?)

I'm great at telling other people they should do things for themselves and find what brings them joy, but I'm still working on that for myself.

Today, I took a walk and cleaned my desk and am writing an absolutely silly little one-off fic based on a short text conversation last night while enjoying an iced chai latte, and I am going to try very hard not to feel guilty.

#personal

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urlocalwhumper · 7 months

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end-of-life care.

the words bounced around in caretaker's head as they carried the tray holding whumpee's breakfast back to them.

it was the finality that got them. their desperate hope for some miracle solution dashed against the rocks when the doctor said there's nothing more we can do, just try to make them as comfortable as possible until the end comes.

they'd taken whumpee home that day. if there was nothing the hospital could do to help them, then at least the familiarity of home could help soothe them in their final days.

god, just thinking like that made caretaker want to throw up. they felt so helpless, so small in the face of the illness that was going to take the love of their life from them.

taking a deep breath, they gingerly opened the door to their and whumpee's room.

whumpee was awake, which was always a good sign. they seemed a bit lost in thought, but the corners of their lips twitched upwards when they saw caretaker.

"morning, sleepyhead." caretaker said, rustling whumpee's unruly bedhead and doing their best to keep their voice even and chipper.

whumpee gave a quiet hum in response, leaning into caretaker's touch.

caretaker helped prop whumpee up in bed, then set the tray down in their lap.

they held out the fork to them. "think you can do it yourself this time?"

whumpee accepted the utensil. "i can try." they said in their weak, crackly voice.

whumpee had a month. maybe two, according to their doctor. they were only in their mid-twenties, and they wouldn't live to see their next birthday.

they managed the first few bites on their own, but eventually their hands shook too much and they dropped the fork, unable to keep a proper grip on it.

they huffed out a frustrated sigh, while caretaker squeezed their other hand and kissed their forehead in consolation.

"it's alright. you wanna try again?" caretaker offered, but whumpee shook their head.

"i'm only gonna drop it again." they mumbled, and caretaker conceded, feeding whumpee the rest of their meal while they hung their head in shame, no matter how much caretaker told them it wasn't their fault.

after that, they carried whumpee to the bathroom, and waited outside for them to be done, to at least preserve as much of their dignity as possible.

if caretaker were to tell themself from two years ago that they'd be able to carry whumpee with ease one day, they'd probably be called a liar.

whumpee was a good head taller than them, and before their illness left them wasting away, they were strong too. once, when they were in school together, caretaker had twisted their ankle, and whumpee had carried them all the way from the running track to the nurse's office without even breaking a sweat.

now, whumpee struggled to lift a water bottle on their own, and caretaker could carry them like it was nothing. what a horribly ironic world they lived in.

once whumpee was finished in the bathroom, caretaker helped them dress and gently set them down in their wheelchair.

"it's nice out today." caretaker said. "and i know you hate being cooped up inside all the time. we could go hang out on the porch for a while?"

whumpee made an affirmative noise, so caretaker pushed their wheelchair out the front door, then transferred them into one of their porch chairs. if nothing else, they'd do their damndest to help whumpee feel as normal as possible, even through something as small as sitting on a shitty wicker porch chair.

it was one of the first proper days of spring, color and warmth starting to return to the world after the frigid winter. it was beautiful, in a way, but caretaker couldn't help but feel like it was mocking them.

day by day, beauty and life returned to the world, just as day by day, whumpee faded a little bit more.

they were snapped out of their increasingly bitter spiral by the sound of a quiet sniffle by their side. they looked over to see whumpee, eyes fixated on the environment in front of them, tears rolling down their cheeks.

"whumpee?" caretaker asked, slightly panicked. what if whumpee was in pain? had they accidentally put them down in an uncomfortable position? did they forget whumpee's pain meds? did they-

"i'm so scared." whumpee whispered, so quietly that caretaker almost didn't hear them at first. "i'm scared, caretaker. i don't wanna go."

caretaker felt their heart shatter into a million pieces.

"whumpee..."

"why- why do i have to go? what did i do? i- i'm so young, i've barely even lived yet." they hiccupped, steadily increasing in volume. caretaker grabbed their hand, and they clung to it desperately.

"caretaker, i'm scared." they sobbed. "i don't wanna die."

caretaker almost knocked their chair over with how fast they stood up, rushing to whumpee's side and gathering them up in their arms, hugging them tightly and peppering kisses all over their face. they were crying too, they could feel it, but they were focused on comforting whumpee as they released all the fear and despair they'd been bottling up from the moment they'd been told their condition was terminal.

"i don't want you to die either." caretaker said. "it's not fair. you don't deserve this." they buried their face in whumpee's hair, inhaling the familiar scent of their shampoo. "why is the world so cruel?"

the pair just held each other and cried for what felt like forever, clinging and finally letting out everything they'd repressed for the past year.

"will you be with me? when... when it's time?" whumpee asked, sounding so, so small.

"of course." caretaker whispered, holding whumpee impossibly tighter. "i'll be right here. i'll never leave you."

"thank you." whumpee murmured. "i love you." they paused. "...i'll miss you."

caretaker let out a tear-filled, mirthless laugh. "i'll miss you too. so much."

"i'll wait for you." whumpee said, before leaning back to look caretaker in the eyes with a mock-serious expression. "but don't get there too quickly. then i'll be mad."

caretaker laughed for real that time. "of course, of course. i'll try to stay on schedule."

whumpee smiled, then suddenly started coughing.

"eugh, now i'm all mucus-y." they complained.

"we should probably go back inside and clean up." caretaker looked down. "you kinda got snot all over my shirt."

whumpee sniffed. "my bad."

"eh, whatever. i have more shirts." they unfolded whumpee's wheelchair from where they'd left it and moved their partner back into it, before pushing them back inside to get cleaned up, as promised.

their problems hadn't gone away, but they'd at least managed to let all their bottled feelings out, and their hearts felt a little lighter for it. whatever came next, they'd face it together.

#whump #dying whumpee #terminal illness #caretaker x whumpee #mine #i don't have much commentary for this one #yeehaw or smth idk

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nyxthejinx · 2 years

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Ok, my English is horrible (only warning, sorry).

I found this curious and entertaining reality. And I love it.I'd like the idea of seeing Little Scarlet (Diluc's now not sister or brother) interactions, having a crazy but comforting family with the heralds.

Whether Harlequin asks her to cook for the children at the orphanage who call her aunt.

The other female heralds kidnapping her from Dottore's older brother, for a day of shopping.

Big brother's weird relationship with Dottore, where he loves to teach her all about his work, like homeschooling. (sleeping in each lesson because although he says things like blood and others, his voice is very soothing to his past anguish and pain)

Pantalone as the older brother with the far-fetched plan to give his little sister a good life, hoping that Diluc will die single and get the vineyard.

Childe being the crazy lover who conquered her and every day deals with the obstacles of the older brothers who do not want her idiocy to spread to her girl.

Capitano being the proud guy to witness the large number of enemies killed by his little monster.

Pierro, the loving and attentive father.

The Czarina being the mother or grandmother with good advice.

And far away...

Diluc lamenting every day on his little sister's birthday, feeling worse than the worst scum for what she did that day. It would be quite a coincidence that the disaster happened on the day of the little scarlet's birthday.(I can't think of anything else... lol)

THIS, this is some juicy stuff.

Arlecchino will probably ask for help at the orphanage sometimes, both because it's a "quiet" place that almost looks normal, and because it's easier to teach reader the basics of survival. They burnt the kitchen at least twice but it's fine, at least it didn't blow up.

Then along with Signora, Columbina (bestie, tho she scares me) and sometimes Sandrone they'll literally drag them around Snezhnaya because BRO YOU CAN'T GO OUT DRESSED LIKE THAT- Signora will DISOWN you if she sees you with those clothes again.

Dottore ends up feeling all pissy about it, they're dragging away the only person who actually understands what he's talking about, though sometimes Little Scarlet (aAAA IT'S SO CUTE) falls asleep during his lessons. Don't worry, his 60cms iron ruler never fails to wake them up -and leave some lumps on their head but hey, we don't talk about it.

Pantalone funds their shopping sprees, and if he's free he'll join them. No Signora, that colour doesn't highlight their eyes, try this purple shirt he personally chose because it's his favourite colour . I can read it in his closed eyes, he's a fashionable man. Secretly keeps track on the winery's income, waiting for the day it'll go into Scarlet's pocket, upsie.

Childe, poor man. Risked his life for about five times a day while courting reader. He's fine though, he likes challenges, the other Harbingers trying to murder him getting in his way are part of the experience. Scarlet may or may not snitch him sometimes just to enjoy the sight (sadistic little shit).

Capitano who brings reader around with him, and is so chill about it. Meanwhile every other recruit is about to faint because holy shit both Capitano and the deadliest kid they've ever seen are walking their way? Scatter before they challenge you and kick your soul to the moon.

Pierro is Pierro, that's it. That's the post. Ultimate father-grandpa. While Pulcinella is THE grandpa. He canonically visits Childe's siblings soooo.

Scara hates them. Mostly because Scarlet loves to throw his hat like a frisbee. They almost blew up half of the HQ cause he wasn't having any more of their shit and started throwing lightnings LOL.

The Tsaritsa is the stoic motherly figure ofc, that meme "I only had Scarlet for a day and a half, but if anything happened to them, I would kill everyone in this room and then myself". Don't fuck anything up tho, cause she won't be mad, no. She'll give you the "I'm not mad, I'm disappointed" look and you're not sure you can live with that shame.

Diluc should take some brotherhood lessons from these guys LMAO.

I know, it's a bit messy, but it's so much stuff, I can't not post it. Thank you for the ideas, I'll organise them in a more serious post someday (maybe sdhejeh) and don't worry about your English, I don't know what I'm doing most of the time either 💃

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cow-stealin-gal · 1 month

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More general ideas

Dream parts [9-13]

[9]

Dear diary, it’s been so long since my last entry about the caves.

I have been writing about other things throughout a month, like the time that I’ve carried a large cake home for my sister’s birthday. I nearly fell many times, but it was delicious.

Oh right, there were a lot of relatives and friends that came over. It was a party for my younger sister’s 15th birthday.

That’s why the cake was large.

Embarrassingly enough, almost everyone knows about how I spent a whole day in the pitch black cave.

Some of my cousins and uncles boast that they could survive for much longer, teasing me for crying during the time I got lost.

My aunts gave me way too much food, telling me that I must’ve been starving for so long. Even if I ate lunch earlier.

One other thing, my room was swarmed with younger relatives and a baby sleeping on my bed.

I couldn’t write anywhere.

But the music was fun, I was dancing a lot, a few girls were dancing with me for some reason.

But I finally managed to find a quiet spot to write this diary entry.

Anyways, I’ve been planning another trip to the cave for one reason.

Some time ago, I’ve had a dream…ok a nightmare….a weird nightmares.

I couldn’t quite remember what it was about but the part that still stayed with me was the sparkling lights that rushed past me, then the wheel.

The different pieces were spinning around until stopped one by one, almost as if I was trying to solve them.

But when I was getting close, the wheel shook and quivered with dust falling everywhere. I felt like I was going to get crushed.

And then I was woken up by my siblings.

“Levántate, Luis”, my older sister said.

Now that my dream was interrupted, I couldn’t remember nor understand what the letters on the wheel said.

Worse still, is that I had to clean the stable. Where the horses were.

Yuck.

The smell was horrendous.

On the bright side, I managed to hide the map from my parents. I uhh…buried it behind the stables.

Oh right!

Speaking of which.

I had to work so many hours getting the money to pay for a new replacement oil lamp because after I broke it during my panicked running spree.

Not to mention that the oil lamp was an expensive tool that my father needed for work.

Which was part of the reason why I was grounded for a month.

The amount of work required to felt like it took forever…

I often came home tired and sore.

My hands have had bumps on the palms, my older sister told me that they were “callousness”.

Whatever they are, they didn’t feel bad. But I often see them when my hands are hurting.

Anyways, I’ve been keeping track of the amount of time I have left before the grounding ends.

It ends in like four days!

I’ll see you soon!

— to be continued -

[10]

Dear diary,

I made a horrible mistake.

Remember the party I mentioned?

Because when I was dragged back into the party because I have to be in the picture, I spotted a blue and white vase.

All I managed to see were blue blob-like shapes on the vase as I am forced to stand next to my sisters for a group photo in fancy clothes.

After the party, I took a closer look at the vase.

It was tall and thin.

The blue blobs were actually flowers painted onto the vase, they were probably as big as my hand.

Based on the assumption, I tried to place my hand as close as I could.

However, a relative of mine immediately stopped me, somewhat harshly telling me about the origin of the vase.

In her words, the vase was crafted by our grandmother when she was 14, but the painter was our grandfather who was 15.

This vase existed for decades, peacefully 'living' with them.

But our grandparents decided to gift my younger sister the pretty vase as a 'blossoming gift'.

I didn't know what it meant.

In my eyes, it was either an antique or a hand-me-down treasure.

But my sister loved it, she hugged them with all her might.

I thought it was boring and went to pick up stick to play with.

That's the backstory, I'm getting butterflies as I'm writing this...

Twos day after my last entry, I was running around chasing my younger sister in a heated game of tag.

I was THIS close to tagging her to the point that I tried to jump over a table and knocked the vase onto the ground.

It made an ear-splitting shatter.

I stared at the pieces in horror, I didn't know nor did I understand how much it mattered to my sister or my mother until I looked back at her gaze.

She had an immense amount of tears streaming down her face, she was trying hard not to choke on her sadness.

Upon the sight of such despair, I couldn't utter a single word.

I was such a shock that I couldn't hear my mother running into the kitchen until she yelled at me to move aside.

I still couldn't utter an word, even after she gasped at the sight of the now shattered vase.

At this point, she began screaming at me.

For five minutes.

Later on, as she picked up the pieces, she began to shed tears as well.

Then when my dad arrived, he also shouted at me.

Then he dragged me into the kitchen where he berated me repeatedly, then he told me.

At the time, I couldn't begin to comprehend what he was telling me.

"If you don't do something for this family, we might as well forget you. Huh? Look at the gift you broke."

"It was made with love. But you, I can't even begin to describe you."

"Starting this morning, you better get a job to pay for the most elegant vase to replace it. OR, make your own vase to replace the one you broke."

Right now, as I'm writing this under the moonlight, , the only words that I'm writing are as follows:

"pinche pendejo"

"burro"

"a mistake"

"a burden"

"burro"

"pinche pendejo"

"forgotten"

"never existed"

"I shouldn't exist"

All that I'm thinking about is the fact that I may never be able to fix this.

We didn’t have a lot of money to spend.

Which makes the mistake I did even worse.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to it better.

Now I have to work and I’m grounded even further.

Why did this even happen?

Why am I so dumb?

Is it because I’m different from the others?

I'm crying right now.

I'll just leave this here.

For now.

- to be continued -

[11]

Dear diary,

I’m exhausted.

It’s been 3 weeks since I’ve had more than enough time to write this passage.

I started my jobless journey running around town looking for someone to hire me.

But I was turned down by five shopkeepers in the town within the first three days.

I honestly wish I didn't know why.

Word had got out that I broke a beloved family vase, which piled on top of their comments about my condition that made me "different from them".

The constant ramblings had drained me immensely to the point that I just had to loaf around the rooftop of the local library with my favorite fantasy series, Grounded in Basalt.

On top of being my favorite past-time, it became the most personal to me because I was granted permission by the librarian, who was one of the few people kind enough to give me a quiet spot with a few books to read.

Anyways, the series is about a young goat-folk who swore to defend their homeland, an island that held a gentle volcano, from the destructive trespassers from far away countries.

I had caught up to the part where the goat is struggling to rally an army to rise up against the oppressors, who wielded large cannons from their ships.

I had taken a break from the book at the time.

I looked around the town, taking in the sight of all the houses and shops that I could see.

But I began to harbor a bleak outlook on the view, "I really don't want to keep searching for jobs", I said.

It's bad enough that people didn't understand me, but the fact that I've overheard gossips about me makes it worse to the point that the shopkeepers actively avoid making eye contact.

The librarian on the other hand had allowed me to volunteer to make a small portion of the paycheck that libraries are able to muster, which wasn't a lot.

That being said, I've also been drawing a few sketches of the wheel...

By that I meant, I drew a circle in the middle with three more circles surrounding it, I then turned the circles into chunky rings by widening the inner circles and adding lines going to the center circle.

To keep myself from getting confused, I drew the lines with the same pattern as wooded planks, no "x" marks.

As for the letters or symbols...I didn't draw them.

I could hardly see them when I first arrived, so i had no chance of drawing a close picture of the gigantic wheel puzzle.

However, I still had this burning question to find out what symbols went on which wheel, so I picked up my books and returned to my volunteer shift.

Three hours went by as I stacked shelves with the books that people returned or left behind, making careful inferences about the correct sections that the books belonged to.

Going from floor to floor, I went through various aisles, skimmed countless labels, and double-checked every book I returned in order to properly return them.

After my hard work was finished, I asked the librarian for any references about strange symbols.

He made a friendly gesture that was akin to thinking hard before he asked if I could elaborate.

At first, I told them of the dream I had with the wheel and explained the rotation of three of the wheels, the glow of the strange symbols, the colors, and the background.

To be honest, I think I was pretty close into telling him that I found the underground wheel from my trip, even when I said that it was dream.

They nodded with a warm smile and told me that they may have a book about ancient symbols that were "dated" to be about hundreds of years old.

They sound beyond old.

I will stop here for now.

-to be continued-

[12]

Dear diary,

Last time we spoke was five days ago, where I managed to land a job...seven blocks away from the town entrance.

It's soooo long.

For starters, I landed a job in a small grocery store, where I cleaned the floor, put away vegetables (or produce I think), and carried crates to and fro the trucks.

It was way more exhausting than the comments that I've received.

I also can't help that the owner had only let me work for him because of a selfish reason.

There were other people working for him every day.

They were more taller, sweatier, meaner, and most of all, they told me to pick up the pace every time I was trying to understand how to do things.

They've tried telling me to ask the boss for a pay raise, but I've ignored them ever since I saw their faces turn to laughter as I turned around in confusion from my first attempt.

Speaking of which, when I first asked him, he scoffed at me and told me, "kid, do your fuckin job first."

After that, I've been following their orders with silent disdain for them, thinking to myself, 'I care not for them, I care not for them".

After I finished my weekly shift, I was handed a letter by the boss.

"That's your pay, do what you want with it" he muttered.

That was it, a plain letter with a red circle.

As I left the store, I kept an eye on the co-workers to make sure that they didn't do anything.

Once I got onto the street, I held the letter with my hands close to my chest as I made my way through the crowded street.

As I bumped around the people, I felt some eyes following me, so I ran laps around the block to shake the feeling.

I looked around the block and decided to run to a walking guard to keep them from attacking me.

I looked up at the muscular man in silver armor and asked them if they could take me to the exit.

"Beat it, kid," they said at first.

But I told them that I feel like I was being followed.

He looked around, then gave a long sigh.

"I don't see anyone," he spoke with a slight frustration.

From a last ditch effort, I showed them the letter.

Upon seeing the letter, they let out another long sigh, then told me to follow them.

The short trip was tense to say the least, but the guard kept people from stealing money from me.

Overall, I got home to count my money.

And I found out that I was given....$60 [in fantasy money ].

I jumped around with my newfound money, because it felt like a lot.

I ran to my parents, saying that I got $60.

I must've had so much joy in my eyes because what they said next deflated my entire view.

"Ok, you made money. Still not enough to fix the vase."

I went back to my room to sulk.

That's it.

[13]

Dear diary,

I'm so mad.

I'm furious.

I WANNA SCREAM AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS.

Here's what happened;

After another long week of cleaning, carrying crates, and putting away stuff to sell, people are STILL not easing up on my mistake.

Customers were on my back about precious vases, my co-workers made jokes about family honor, and my boss still scoffs at me.

Day after day, the comments began to drive me mad, I nearly punched another worker about their distasteful comments.

But on one particular day, I overheard another co-worker talk about how much they've been to afford just from three weeks.

I looked at my letter in my left hand and felt the chunkiness of the bills inside the letter as I walked around and daydreamed about the number of things I could buy.

But as I carried my letter of money through the busy street with ideas of glamour, a group of teens surrounded me to get their hands on my letter. My money. My hopes.

This whole thing snuffed out all of the ideas I had, haunting my mind even now.

It started like this:

"Whatya got there?" a boy with a green hat asked.

"a letter" I said.

"We know you have a letter, stupid. But what's inside?" the same boy asked.

"Nothing." I said.

I figured that they were ones following me and tried to steal it earlier.

Of course I wasn't going to give it, so I tried to walk away.

But one guy put their hands on my chest, saying, "where are you go-"

I immediately punched their face.

Shocked at my own fist, I looked at the other boy...

Their nose had begun to bleed, where the blood began to trickle onto to their lips.

And then I ran like hell, shoving him as he tried to grab me.

But the others grabbed onto my arms.

As two boys tried to pull the letter from my hand, the other two began punching and kicking.

AS I FELT MY GRIP SLOWLY BEGIN TO LOOSEN, I REELED MY ARM WITH THE LETTER AND CHOMPED ON THEIR FINGERS.

"OOOOWWWW!!!" they screamed.

Once they immediately let go from shock, I ran like hell.

Even before my trip to the caves, I didn't have too much trouble running for a long time. But with the kicking and punching, I ran with less speed than before.

Still, I ran around the bustling street, brushing past ladies and gentlemen, some of which nearly knocked me over, all in a desperate search for a guard.

But as soon as I found one, he took one look at me and immediately scowled at me.

'Beat it" he yelled.

I stared at him in disbelief, I was aching, I had a letter with a circle, and he's still telling me to get lost?

So I trudged back to the exit where the guards took one look at me and gave me a towel.

I stared into their eyes for a solid moment.

All that I could say was a muttering 'thank you'.

After the walk of pain, I was greeted by half-pity and some relative care for my stomachaches.

I've told to them how it went and they went, 'ok, then fight better.' my dad retorted.

"Fight better? Why do I need to fight better? Why do they go after me for money that's not theirs?" I said.

"Look, you got money. They don't. They want your money because you just have it in your hands." He said.

"But I don't have a bag" I said.

My dad got up with an angry sigh, walked to their bedroom and then came out with a bag.

"Now you have one" he announced.

After this, I've tried talking with my younger sister...who simply told me that she hated me.

I hate this day.

-to be continued -

#belly dancer lizard #story

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gwenbrightly · 11 months

Text

(Re)Building the Future Chapter 1

A mixture of ideas I’ve had rolling around in my brain since Ruin came out. Please enjoy.

"I'm so sorry…"

"I love carrot cake. Happy birthday, Cassie…"

There's a click accompanied by sobbing, and then……. Nothing…

……..

……….

Beep. Beep. Beep.

"Reboot complete."

Roxy regains awareness with a groan. What happened?

She tries to sit up, but something heavy is pressing down on her. Great. Just great. It feels like one of those vehicles humans use to get around the Pizza Plex. Inferior to her golf carts, of course, but also dreadfully inconvenient to be trapped under. And Roxy would know. This isn't the first time one has fallen on her since she lost her eyes to that stupid boy, Gregory. That horrible awful loser. How she'd like to get her claws on him…

"Roxyyy"

Roxy tries to ignore the obnoxious voice in her head. Plotting revenge is much more appealing right now than dealing with Helpy. Unfortunately, Helpy doesn't seem to feel the same way.

"ROXANNE WOLF!" He blasts. If she were human, the volume would probably be painful.

"What? I'm a little busy here." Roxy finally replies, giving the vehicle another shove to prove her point.

"You're needed down below. That silly girl showed up out of nowhere and I… May have shown her how to deactivate all of M.X.E.S's security nodes. There's nothing keeping It from getting out now!"

"Oh, Fizzy Faz. Why would you give a child that kind of power?" Roxy really wishes cursing wasn't against her programming.

Helpy is right (for once). This is very bad.

"I’ve been feeling a little glitchy today, okay? Anyway," Helpy says, clearly avoiding responsibility for his mistakes, "we've got a HUGE problem, so get down there and do something."

"What exactly do you want me to do? Beat it in a race?" Roxy asks, finally managing to dislodge her good leg.

"Beating It is an option. Just not in a race. Don't worry - I'll be here to guide you, since, you know, you can't see! I'll be like your seeing eye bear!" Helpy says enthusiastically.

Roxy sighs. Normally, she hates spending time with Helpy. He's an annoying little digital know it all who doesn't know how to shut up. (and he did just insult her). But without her eyes, she doesn't really have a choice. Her Number 1 Twice is somewhere down below and has no idea what she's unleashed. She has to save Cassie. And taking It down is also important, she supposes.

Roxy is built for speed and agility. The next few minutes pass in a blur. Down the stairs - she loses track of how many flights. The elevator has already left. She takes another route. One covered with debris she must navigate. (If Helpy is leading her to her death, she'll kill him first). There are places she has to tunnel through planks and concrete rubble to make her way. But she does it. It's damp. She can hear water nearby and the ground makes a squishy noise when she steps in certain places. "Oh hey! There's an underground waterfall over there!" Helpy informs her at one point.

"Focus, Helpy. We're not here to sight see." Roxy reminds him.

"Riiiiight. Well, we're getting close. I think. Just through this door and down a few more flights of stairs!"

As she treks down stairs and through the halls of a structure she didn't even know existed until just now, Helpy continues to give her, well, 'helpful' suggestions.

"There's an automatic door exactly 2.345 feet to your right."

"No! Not that door!"

"Be sure to watch out for the burners on the floor in here!"

This particular piece of advice confuses Roxy to no end. "Why the Faz are there burners on the floor? Do you know how many safety regulations that violates?!"

"Don't ask me. I just work here. Digitally, of course."

After the weird burner rooms, and another round of stairs, Roxy suddenly runs out of floor. Without thinking, without waiting for Helpy to confirm that it is safe, she jumps. Luckily, the space beneath her is not very deep. Rolling into a stand with both legs more or less intact, she scrambles around until she finds a small hole in the wall. As she crawls through, she hears a small voice in the distance say, "You're not Gregory."

Cassie is close. She can feel it.

-~-~-~

The thing Fazbear Entertainment keeps trapped beneath the Pizza Plex doesn’t go down without a fight. Neither does Roxy. Unfortunately, she isn't able to hold it off for long before it's able to shove her aside and continue after Cassie. To make matters worse, Helpy is giving her conflicting directions, leading her in circles. It is probably interfering somehow. She's on her own if she wants to get anywhere with this. She stalks forward, listening carefully. A faint creaking, scaping sound catches her attention. Then a whimper.

Roxy dashes to her right. Right again. Forward. In the distance, the elevator doors slide shut with a grinding crunch. It struggles for a moment, seemingly caught in the door. This gives Roxy just enough time to pull the creature into a choke hold.

"Leave her alone!" she growls at It.

"But she came to rescue me!" It protests in a voice that sounds a little too much like Gregory.

Whatever actually prompted Cassie to come down here, Roxy is pretty sure the kid didn't come to save It on purpose. Cassie is smarter than that.

"You tried to kill her!" Roxy shrieks in anger. It struggles against her. She refuses to let go. With a little luck, the elevator will finish its journey soon and Cassie will be safely back at the surface in no time.

Luck, however, is a fickle thing. Rarely do things turn out as luckily as we would prefer. Roxy knows this. She's never relied on luck to win races or make crying children smile. Deep down, she knows she can't always win (though she still tries to, often at the detriment of others). But that doesn't make it any less horrifying when the elevator begins to plummet instead of going up. When she hears Cassie's panicked screams. Or the shattering crash of the elevator splitting apart at the bottom of the shaft.

"No…" Roxy nearly lets go of It in her panic.

"Now she can stay forever," It says gleefully, once again mimicking Gregory's voice.

"One more word and I'll tear your head off," Roxy threatens. She drags It away from the elevator.

"Lock It up!" Helpy screeches. "Lock It up!"

"Where?" Roxy asks reluctantly. She doesn't want to leave the elevator's ruins. Cassie is in there somewhere.

"M.X.E.S wants you to put It in one of the extra containment rooms to your left," Helpy starts, "No one is safe until you've done that."

As much as she hates to admit it, the annoying little bear is right. If Cassie is still alive, leaving It to roam free will put her in danger.

"Okay. Let's do this," she finally agrees. Hoping Helpy's instructions ring true this time, Roxy lets him guide her to It's new containment cell. Her threats seem to have worked; the creature doesn't fight her as hard as she knows it could. She shoves the thing into the room and grabs the sliding door, ready to shut It away forever, but she thinks better of it.

"I'll be taking these," Roxy says. Then she reaches for It's face and yanks on the eye receptacles. They give way with a pop. She haphazardly connects the wires to her own eye sockets, blinking as the world flickers into focus for the first time in a long time.

"My eyes!" It complains. "You took them!"

#fnaf sb ruin spoilers #fnaf sb ruin #fnaf cassie #fnaf fanfiction #fnaf fanfics #Roxanne wolf #Cyborg Cassie coming soon to tumblrs near you #rebuilding universe #myfics

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dove-da-birb · 11 months

Text

~ ⚘ About Me & Blog Rules ⚘ ~

⚘ Name: Dove ⚘ Age: 22 ⚘ Birthday: 06/30 ⚘ Pronouns: They/Them ⚘ Gender: Non-binary & Genderqueer ⚘ Sexuality: Aromantic Asexual (flux & oriented) ⚘ Nationality: Canadian ⚘ Ikevil ID: P26UVZVL7 ⚘ I do have a job, so I'm not as active as I once was

Busy girlbossing and Pomefioring but is a Trey-kinnie (Saki's words but they're fitting)

Got blocked? Contact tech support!

Character Bingo

⚘ Mutuals & Guide ⚘ My OCs ⚘ Some Assorted Items (Dove lore, favourites, etc.) ⚘ My Writing Blog (mutuals get special privileges when my asks are open) ⚘ My Hoard ⚘ Tell me your birthday | Favourite Colours? ⚘ Messenger Safety ⚘ Beloved Anons ⚘ My Natal Chart ⚘ Which One of My Favs Could I Pull?

See my writing here

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Some Tags that I Use / Came Up With

⚘ dove rambles ; just rambling ⚘ dove's polling station ; where I host silly polls ⚘ gremlin hours ; when I decide to be a horrible gremlin and cause chaos and shenanigans for my own amusement ⚘ dove's edits ; where I make cursed edits to inflict +10 psychic damage to people ⚘ apple tater x spaghetti ; tag I made for Auburn ⚘ twinkle twinkle little train ; tag I made for Auburn, electric boogaloo ⚘ there's more but I don't keep track of them

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Do Not Interact (will unfollow and/or block)

⚘ The basics; homophobes, transphobes (terfs), racists, xenophobes, misogynists, sexists, ableists, pedophiles (MAPs <- same thing) / people who sexualize minors ⚘ Facists and Zionists ⚘ Proshippers (falls in line with sexualizing minors, but also incest) ⚘ People who just want to cause discourse; I don't have time for you ⚘ Bullies; also don't have time for you ⚘ People who plagiarize or promote AI ⚘ If you are under the age of 16, UNLESS you are a preexisting moot

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As a note, I do not censor tags; it's a pain in the ass to filter all of them, and is also an accessibility thing as well.

⚘ For typed content warnings I use cw followed by the subject (ie. cw blood) ⚘ For gifs I use tw followed by the subject (ie. tw flashing lights)

I will not be reblogging content that contains slurs, no exceptions.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

⚘ Land Acknowledgement; the land that I live on is the traditional home and territory of the Anishinaabek, Haudenosaunee, and Huron-Wendat people since time memorium.

Picrew credit; cherrybeez's character maker <- picrew does not belong to me

^made by Saki

^made by Vivi

#blog housekeeping #pinned post #intro post #enjoy the show people

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aesteraceae · 8 months

Text

Boiling Over

Pairing: Minho/Chan, Minho & Chan

Rating: Gen

Summary: Chan has a nasty habit of throwing his health to the wind, and when his mind finally cracks under the pressure, Minho is there to help him through it.

Word count: 4.1k

Tags under the cut!

Tags: SFW, Age regression, hurt/comfort, stress relief, Chan is overworking himself as usual, Minho has Things To Say about that, angst, little Bang Chan, Caregiver Lee Minho, stim toys, panic attacks, crying, autistic Bang Chan

Also posted on ao3 here.

Notes: This will be part of a series of Chan age regressing because I am contractually obligated to project on Chan whenever I can. This is also for his birthday. No I'm not 2 weeks late shut UP.

Also, this fic isn't explicitly romantic in any sense beyond Chan calling Minho pretty like once, I wrote it with the implication that they like eachother (bc I'm a minchan truther at heart) but you can 1000% read this fic as platonic with no trouble at all.

Tags: @simpracha @sunnyville36 @toastyseungmo @sstarryyoong @decaffedthoughts @bunnypig18 @xcookiemonsteer

This is not going well.

Chan forces himself not to slam the studio door behind him, slumping down into his desk chair and shoving his hands into his hair.

His entire morning was spent talking with department executives and marketing managers and other producers, all asking him the same question; when will the next title track be ready.

And Chan has had to tell every single one of them, multiple times, that no it isn't finished and yes he's working on it and no he doesn't need any help.

It's almost finished, is the thing. He has the guide, tentative lyrics, he's even shown it to the other members, but he doesn't like it.

He's been doing this a very long time, he knows what a good song sounds like, knows what he's capable of making, and this is so far from his best he's terrified to show it to anyone.

The other members said they liked it, of course, but Chan knows better than to take their words at face value. He doesn't think they'd lie out of malice, of course, but they can all see the way Chan has been... Strung a little tighter than usual, lately.

He wouldn't put it past them to just say the song is good to not anger him or stress him out further. And he can't even blame them, really— if anyone said anything about the song to him right now, positive or otherwise, he doesn't know what he'll do.

Break something, probably. Or cry.

He wants to do both right now, but he shoves the urges away and opens up the editing software. He grabs his headphones a bit too hard and knocks over their stand, and he just watches it clatter to the floor, loudly.

He leaves it there.

Maybe kicks it a little, just for good measure.

It's probably not good to let this anger simmer underneath the surface like this, especially if one of the others comes to check on him, but he doesn't have time to go blow off steam in the gym.

Instead, he puts his headphones on and opens the file, shoving his anger into a box to be dealt with later.

· · ────────── ·𖥸· ────────── · ·

Chan's anger never lingers, at least not when it's because of stress.

By that night, nearing 2 in the morning, all of his anger has fizzled out into bone-deep exhaustion.

His ears ache under the headphones, but he left his earbuds in the dorms so he ignores the pain. Similarly, something in his back keeps sending sharp pains throughout his body every time he shifts wrong, and it's unpleasant, but it fades after a moment so he doesn't bother worrying about it.

He's listening to a new version of the track when he feels the anger starting to bubble up again, except it's decided to show itself in tears this time rather than violence.

He will not cry over a song, he won't.

But it's horrible. It feels like every change he makes somehow makes the song worse, even the tricks he's relied on in the past. He's searched for inspiration, looked at old songs, even rewritten entire sections but it's still wrong.

He claws the headphones off and presses his hands into his eyes until bright colors flash behind them, forcing the tears back. The burn of it forces his brain to reconnect with his body, and he realizes that he hurts all over.

How long has he been sitting here?

Shakily, he reaches for his phone.

There's a few messages in the group chat, an email from the project designer that he swiftly ignores, and 3 missed calls from Minho.

Fuck.

He's trying to calculate the math of how long he's been in here and how he missed his ringtone 3 times in a row when someone knocks on the door.

Chan considers not answering, pretending the room is empty. He can't let anyone else see him in this state, he cant. tears are clinging to his lashes, he's in pain, and he doesn't even remember the last time he slept.

There's a moment when he thinks it will work, if he stays very still, but then the door clicks open.

Minho pushes into the room, placing his key card neatly back into his bag.

He looks like he just got out of the shower, hair still damp and fluffy, cheeks still a bit flushed from the heat. He's pretty, because Minho always is, and Chan almost says so before he gets a hold of himself.

"Minho!" He says, instead, running hands through his hair both to tame the rat's nest it must be and to hide how wet his eyes are.

Fuck, his back hurts. When did just moving his arms over his head start to hurt this badly?

"Chan. It's like 2 in the morning, why are you still working?"

Minho has that disapproving look in his eyes, dark and unquestionable. He must be here to drag Chan back to the dorms, but he can't go back yet, not with the song like this.

"Oh, you know how it is. I, uh, got in the zone, I guess."

Minho shoots him an unimpressed look and reaches into his bag, pulling out a bottle of water.

He must have grabbed it from the breakroom downstairs, and the tiniest sliver of affection breaks through the panic buzzing through his veins.

He doesn't wait for Chan to take the bottle, just uncaps it and forces it into his hand. Chan knows better than to fight when Minho gets like this, so he drinks.

And... Fuck.

The water feels like heaven in his mouth, cool and refreshing and perfect. His head relents in its pounding, and he slumps down into the chair.

Minho passes him another bottle and takes the empty one, and Chan doesn't have to look at him to see his disapproving look.

"How long have you been working in here?" Minho asks, picking up his headphone stand from across the room. Huh, he'd almost forgotten about that.

"Couple hours," He lies, trying and failing to figure out the real answer. For some reason he can't wrap his brain around the numbers, the passage of time — he isn't sure when he even got here, just that it was daytime... Maybe morning? Noon?

"Bullshit. None of us have even seen you today, and you missed dinner. What's going on?"

Chan ducks under the anger in Minho's voice, trying to hide the tremor in his hands.

"Nothing's going on," He tries, "I promise I'm fine. I grabbed something from downstairs a little while ago." It's a flimsy lie, and he knows it doesn't land the moment he finishes speaking.

Minho just clicks his tongue and walks over to the trashcan in the corner, perfectly empty. The studio is immaculate, no trace of a wrapper or package.

Minho is silent for a long moment, only speaking when Chan starts to squirm, practically burning alive with the awkwardness and disapproval. He doesn't know why it's bothering him so much, but Minho looks upset, upset with Chan, and it almost hurts worse than his back.

"I thought we agreed not to lie to eachother, Chan." Minho finally says, and there's a hint of pain, there, under the anger.

Chan honest to God whines, trying to curl in on himself and stopping with a wince. He doesn't want to lie, especially not to Minho. He doesn't want to be a disappointment, doesn't want to be bad.

Minho doesn't like being lied to, he hates it, they've had so many arguments over little white lies that Chan or the others didn't think we're important but hurt Minho deeply. Chan knows Minho hates being lied to, but here he is doing it, without a second thought.

He's horrible.

"M' sorry," He mumbles, twisting his fingers into his jeans. He's being bad, and Minho is disappointed in him, and he has every right to be.

Part of Chan is screaming to correct the issue, but a far stronger part wants to sit in this discomfort, squirm under Minho's pained and angry gaze. He deserves it, Chan thinks. It's a fitting enough punishment, this gnawing ache in his chest that begs for praise forced to receive the opposite.

It hurts, but Chan deserves it for being bad, for hurting Minho.

... Wait.

Chan blinks, vision refocusing on a spot on the wall. Being bad?

No. No no no no no-

"I'm really okay," He says, a little bit frantic, heart rate picking up, because this cannot be happening.

The only reason he'd be thinking like that, thinking he deserves punishment or that he was being bad is if he was slipping, and that cannot happen with Minho in here.

"I'll be back home in an hour, okay?" He says, spinning in the chair so he doesn't have to look at Minho. Something about him being here is making Chan slip, hard, And maybe looking away would solve the issue. He just has to get Minho to leave, then he can handle this on his own and everything will be fine.

"No, you've been here long enough. I'm taking you home."

No.

"Min, I'm not-"

Minho just holds up a hand, pulling Chan's chair away from the desk and back to face him.

"This isn't a discussion. I won't let you weasel your way out of it, either— you've been in here for at least nine hours, that's enough. You need food and sleep."

"I'm fine. I'll grab something from downstairs, alright? But I really need to get this finished."

Minho doesn't answer— he just reaches over the desk to save the file. Chan doesn't realize what he's doing until his hand shifts to the power button, clicking off his laptop.

"Minho!" Chan snaps, trying to swat his hands away, but Minho just closes the laptop and shoves it into his bag, zipping it up tight.

"Are you seriously— Minho, give that back!"

Minho ignores him, grasping his arm and pulling. Chan stumbles out of the chair, and any other day it would be perfectly fine, but his back immediately protests at the movement.

He collapses down to his knees, trying to breathe through the pain and keep himself from crying. He will not cry in front of Minho, he won't.

"Chan? Hey, what's wrong?" Minho is crouched in front of him, anger entirely forgotten in favor of worry.

And Chan tries, he really does, but his back hurts and he knows he's already crying, and he can feel his grip on everything sensible slipping away.

"Leave," He begs, even though he knows it's futile. Minho won't leave him like this because he's a good friend, and he cares, and right now that care is going to burn Chan alive.

"I'm not going anywhere, Chan. I'm right here. You're safe, I've got you."

Chan whines against his will, listing forward, further into Minho's arms. He takes him easily, sitting completely on the floor to pull Chan into his lap. And Chan goes, because Minho feels so much bigger than him right now. He doesn't stand a chance at resisting, and he wants to sit in Minho's lap, wants to cry into his shoulder and know that the world won't end once he's done.

"Min..." He mumbles, wet and pathetic and sad, and Minho makes a noise like a wounded animal.

"Come here, Chan." He urges, even as Chan tucks his head into Minho's neck.

He puts a hand on Chan's neck, gently playing with the hair curling there, and the other slips underneath his shirt to rub massaging circles into the small of his back.

Chan doesn't even stand a chance— he drops so hard and so fast that he has to blink his vision back into focus.

His eyes slip right back closed, though, because Minho is still massaging him, both his neck and back, steadily loosening the knots and aches there.

It's good, it's blissful, and Chan lets his mind go entirely blank.

· · ────────── ·𖥸· ────────── · ·

The thing with Chan is that he never knows when to quit.

Well, that's not quite true. Most of the time, he's perfectly happy to quit, when necessary; scrapping a song or going back to the foundations of a dance, but sometimes, like now, he gets so caught up in finishing something that he can't even fathom the idea of stopping.

Minho knew Chan was spiraling, he’s known since this morning when Chan refused breakfast and left the dorms in a hurry for a meeting. He knew when he didn’t respond in the group chat, he knew when Chan missed three of his calls in a row.

Guilt settles deep in Minho's stomach as he holds Chan, shuddering and shaking and hurting. He talked himself out of dragging Chan back for dinner because he thought he was worrying too much, but now he cant help but think that he didn’t worry enough. There are headphone marks around his ears, for god's sake.

“You’re okay, I’ve got you. Just relax, Chan, I’ve got you.” And god, Minho didn’t think it was possible to feel fondness and fear at the same time, but here he is. Chan nuzzles further into his neck, trembling all over, and Minho has absolutely no idea what to do. Chan rarely cries in front of them, and even if he does the very last thing he wants is to be comforted.

It makes Minho’s chest hurt, sometimes, how insanely solitary Chan gets when he’s upset, but this is almost worse. He’s so far gone that Chan cant help but cling to him. Minho blinks tears back.

“Let’s get you to the couch, yeah? Come on, Channie, it’ll be more comfy there.” Chan whines, unwilling to move, so Minho does something a bit stupid.

He shifts Chan just enough that he can loop his arm underneath his legs, settling the other around his back.

Chan is heavy, but not too heavy for Minho to carry a few feet. He settles them back onto the couch, lying down so Chan can stretch his back a bit. The new position seems to switch something in Chan, and his sobs quiet, somewhat. He slips one of his arms up to cup Minho’s neck, like he’s… Oh. Like he’s feeling his heartbeat. His ear is pressed right over his heart, as well.

God, Minho is going to explode from all of this sympathy one day.

“That’s it,” He soothes, “I'm here. Feel my heartbeat? Try and breathe with me, okay? Can you do that for me?” The words come easy — Years of helping the other members through panic and anxiety attacks make things like this nearly second nature. In any other scenario Minho might feel awkward about speaking to Chan like this — not condescending, exactly, but something akin to it — but right now, anything else feels like a cardinal sin. Chan needs softness, right now; he needs a gentle voice to guide him, to remind him that its okay for him to relax.

It takes him a while, maybe 10 minutes, to completely match Minho’s breathing, but he’s so determined that it's almost cute. His voice hiccups every now and then and Minho can see the frustration on his face, but he just tries again with the same determination.

Minho is besotted. He knows it, and he doesn't really try to hide the love in his eyes as he looks down at Chan, whispering sweet encouragements into his ear as his breathing steadily evens out.

“Good job, Chan,” he whispers, when the last of the tension drains out of his shoulders. Chan hums and shifts to look up at him, eyes wide and glossy and vulnerable, and Minho forgets how to breathe.

“I was good?” He whispers, voice rough from crying but still somehow higher than normal, so sweet that Minho has to take a long, deep breath before he can respond. “So good. Look, you’re breathing smooth again, right?”

Chan nods, settling his head back against Minho’s chest, and Minho almost feels bad for being relieved, but Christ. That look, his eyes, so trusting and soft and loving, its—

It’s a lot.

It’s good.

“Breathing with Hyung,” Chan says, sweet, almost sing-song, and Minho…

Hm.

Minho starts to pet Chan's hair again, smiling when he melts against his chest, and takes advantage of it to think.

Minho knows a lot of things. He’s researched a lot of things, either for Jisung or Felix or Jeongin, ways to deal with stress or handle panic attacks or sensory overloads, anything he might need to make sure he knew what to do if one of the members needed him.

This… Minho thinks he knows what this is.

It would make sense, really. Chan joined the company at 13, barely a teenager and still very much a child, put into a stress-filled environment in a new country alone. It would make perfect sense for Chan to cope with that stress by regressing into a younger age, where he wouldn't have to think about training or producing.

That guilt pokes at him again — Chan has been stressing over this song for ages, and Minho knew, but he thought Chan could handle it, or at least that Chan would ask Jisung or Changbin for help.

None of that mattered now, though. Now Chan needs him, and they can talk about asking for help later.

“Hyung?”

Minho has to bite his lip to keep from cooing at how cute Chan sounds, schooling his expression into something calm and attentive.

"Yeah, baby?"

Chan takes a moment to preen at the nickname, but takes a deep breath and sobers. Minho can't help but frown— the serious expression, while familiar, doesn't seem to suit Chan, right now.

"I'm sorry for lying. 'was mean. I know you don' like it, but I was scared. Sorry."

Minho's heart breaks.

A million microscopic pieces, each and every one sucked into Chan's eyes, big and just the slightest bit teary.

"Oh, Darling. It's okay, I understand. It's okay to be scared." He bites his lip before continuing, but... well. It did hurt, and Minho would only feel worse about it if he didn't even express it.

"But, baby, in the future, you can just tell me what's wrong. I promise, I won't judge or be angry with you for telling the truth, okay?"

Chan nods, crawling up slightly to tuck his head underneath Minho's chin.

"I will, promise."

Minho can't help himself, he presses a soft kiss against Chan's hair. "Thank you for apologizing, baby. You're very sweet."

Chan is silent for a moment, and then—

"Chan?" Minho yelps, gasping a little, because Chan is... sucking on his collarbone?

He jerks back, already babbling out apologies, but Minho pets his cheek to soothe him. "It's okay, it's okay, I was just startled, baby, that's all."

Chan quiets, staring down at his hands in his lap, and there's something in his eyes, a hint of awareness, and... well. Maybe it's a bit selfish, but Minho doesn't want Chan to come out of this headspace just yet. He seems relaxed, less worn down by racing thoughts, more willing to be honest and ask for what he needs.

And Minho wants to provide. He wants to keep helping Chan like this, and maybe it does make him selfish, but Chan needs this, and Minho won't deny him.

"Here, can you hop off of me for a moment, little one?" The nickname does the trick— Chan whines a little and backs up so Minho can move, leaning against the couch like he can't sit up on his own. It's adorable, and Minho moves quickly so he can hold Chan again.

He brought his bag up here because he suspected that Chan would need some things— water, earbuds, painkillers— but there's also a little pocket full of stuff for Seungmin. Noise-canceling headphones, a few stim toys, and what Minho's after now, chewable toys.

Headphones are probably a bad idea now so he leaves those, but he takes out everything else and spreads them out in his hands.

The chewable toys are brand new— they're in the bag for emergencies, but Seungmin is just as overly prepared as he is so they're hardly ever needed — so he opens one of the bags and offers it to Chan.

"You can bite and suck on this for now, okay?"

Chan takes it tenderly, looking awestruck. "But... this is yours?"

Minho puts the other toys on the side table and sits beside him again, suppressing a smile when Chan immediately burrows back into his side.

"They're for whoever needs them, and I think you need them right now. I can... get you something else later, once we've talked about it, but if you just want something to do with your mouth, that should help."

Minho adds a few more things to his list of Things To Talk to Chan About When He's Big Again. Pacifiers, maybe, and Minho specifically caring for him, definitely.

Chan eyes the toy warily for a moment, like he doesn't believe that he can actually have it, but eventually he bites down on it.

His eyes light up.

He doesn't really chew it so much as he sucks on it, but his eyes droop a little and his shoulders slump.

Maybe Minho doesn't entirely suck at this, at least.

"There we go. Is that better?"

Chan nods, eyes slipping fully closed.

"Good. Come on, I'll put on some music, how about that?"

Chan perks up at that, slipping the toy out of his mouth to babble, "Can you sing? Please, Hyung? I'll be good!"

Minho blinks, "You don't have to be good." It comes out without his permission, but he doesn't backtrack. "I don't want you to worry about being good or not disobeying. You're perfect, Chan."

Chan stares at him for a beat, and then he breaks. He whines, high in the back of his throat, and tears flood over his cheeks in waves.

"Whoa, baby, baby, it's okay," Minho is on him in an instant, pulling Chan into his arms and rocking them like he did before.

"M' not, not perfect, not-" He cuts himself off with a painful-sounding hiccup, and Minho's heart aches.

"Shh, little one, it's okay." He says, growing frantic, because it isn't working. Chan is trembling, and instead of hugging Minho back he's covering his face, sobbing into his hands instead of Minho's chest. This is different, this is new, and Minho needs a different approach.

So. He sings.

It starts out shaky, because he's on the verge of tears himself and hasn't sung at all today, but he settles into it easily.

It's a song Chan wrote for him months ago, unreleased because he hasn't had the time to record it. It's short, unfinished, and Minho prays that it'll work.

He's on the second chorus before he notices any change, and it feels like the first sip of water in a desert. Chan shudders, cries quieting, finally tucking his head into Minho's neck.

He tightens his grip, remembering that Chan liked tight hugs, and he breathes.

He sings through the end of the song and Chan finally stops sobbing, just tiny little whimpers against Minho's chest, and he leans them back against the couch.

"I've got you," He murmurs, thinking of the first lines to Chan's favorite song, "I've got you, baby."

· · ────────── ·𖥸· ────────── · ·

Chan wakes up a few hours later, cheeks itchy with dried tears and more relaxed than he's felt in years.

He's... hm. He's lying on Minho's chest.

Minho is asleep, long eyelashes fluttering as his eyelids shift, and Chan can't help but settle back against his chest.

Minho hums, readjusting his hand to hold Chan a little more securely.

"Go back to sleep, little one," He murmurs, voice thick with sleep and fondness.

Jesus. He hasn't slipped up like that in front of someone since he was a trainee.

Chan flushes pink, hazy memories flooding back. He remembers crying, a lot, calling Minho hyung...

Chan can feel mortification creeping up on him, but Minho must notice that he isn't relaxing, because he tightens his grip. One of his hands comes up to hold the back of Chan's head, guiding his ear over Minho's chest.

The steady thump-thump thump-thump of Minho's heartbeat makes Chan melt, against all his better wishes.

"...thank you, hyung."

#stray kids #dahlia writes #bang chan #lee minho #skz #skz fluff #minchan #this was a bitch and 3 quarters to post tumblr my beloathed

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nostalgic90s · 9 months

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I was just going to leave part of this in a comment on Infected Unicorn but I changed my mind

Your take on Jeremiah's warped perception of time is really making me think lol. I love it though, don't get me wrong. I'm really interesting to see how this pans out.

But, applying this idea to the actual show: I hadn't considered him fully believing even parts of his own lie (the story about Jerome taking a cake knife to his throat on his 10th birthday and trying to light his bed on fire) because from what I was seeing it appeared that he was full aware of what actually happened, and more importantly for this, when it happened.

But if he truly believed he was still at home by the time he was 10, despite having being taken away when he was 7, I have to rethink a few things.

He would be suffering from a dissociative disorder, specifically a type of derealization, likely as a response to trauma. It could also be a potential coping mechanism to keep himself from realizing how long it's really been since he lost Jerome.

The fact he kept contact with Lila meant he didn't feel as removed from her, he still had that link to his mother until he left the Wildes (it's unclear whether this would have been at 12 when he started college or at 16 when his bunker was completed) but presumably those letters were dated in some manner, even if just indirectly through whatever schedule they were sent on. You could easily use them to figure out how long Jeremiah had been with the Wildes, and the birthdays and holiday wishes would keep track of the years. Regardless, there was a record of how long they'd been apart.

But he had no contact with Jerome, and he knew the kinds of horrible things their mother would do to him, and he had been the only one there for his brother, and, and, and.

To keep himself from spiraling down that train of thought, he would have began lying to himself about how long they had been apart, and it's fully possible that he started believing his own lie. In fact, as a kid, it is so much easier to ignore a painful reality and just believe in a lie. Even of your own creation.

And that would play into his antisocial behaviours. Anyone could tell him he was wrong, anyone could make him see the truth, because in the early stages of a delusion like this it's fragile and your mind does everything in its power to protect it. So he shut out everyone.

Until Ecco came into his life. Someone was picking on Jeremiah, and he didn't fight back. He couldn't, he didn't know how, Jerome had always either stood up for him or was enough discouragement to the other kids in the circus. He didn't have Jerome at St. Ignatius though. He was alone. Until someone did stand up for him, a girl he'd maybe seen in a few classes, Ecco. She offered him some kind words and protection from the bullies, and although he tried to push her away at first she was persistent. Who else in his life had been persistent? Jerome. He saw the same first spirit in this girl as he'd seen in his own twin. Slowly, he let her in more and more, and the more time he spent with this girl the more he saw his brother.

And I'm sorry this is irrelevant and off topic and I'm just rambling. But uh... yeah, I'm basically doing Harley's job myself atm and I wish I could talk to her even more now because I have so much I could tell her, and she can probably get some information that I couldn't from two measly episodes and Jerome's pining rambling about his twin, and yeah. Basically everything in Jeremiah's life revolves around Jerome. Ecco, Bruce, even the mazes and labyrinths, it ALL comes back to Jerome and their separation, and you've just added another layer for me

Don't say sorry, this is great! Thank you for feeding me Valeskacest content. I will devour it unapologetically. 🥰

You're blowing my mind right now when you compared Harley to Jerome, at least from Jeremiah's perspective. That's such an interesting twist! And one I hadn't considered. I can see why it'd be easier for Jeremiah to trust a doctor who, in some ways, reminds him of Jerome. He would still have to give up his authenticity in order to develop that attachment to Harley though.

You're right about the letters, and I wonder if Jeremiah would keep them? But in doing so it's just another record of time, and I don't think he'd like the reminders. Maybe he has Ecco dispose of them, or take them to another location (security box at the bank maybe?). OH! Jeremiah never said if he wrote back to his mother. He received letters but he never explicitly stated he wrote back to her. What if the letters were going to the Wilde family? Or another source? Like if he used a PO box address. Because this guy wants to be unknown, undetectable, untraceable.

The way you wrapped that up at the end *Chef's kiss* Jeremiah's life revolves around Jerome, and he can't escape it, no matter how many lies he tells himself (and others).

#valeskacest #jerome valeska #jeremiah valeska

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