#The reader is delusional...like me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

The most popular pages on Tumblr are about Minecraft, GIFs, and David J. Peterson.

#The reader is delusional...like me

lenores-2nd-wife · 11 months

Text

Pairing: Lenore Vandernacht x F!Reader

Info: Very self-indulgent oneshot. I find lovers kissing and spending time together in a forest very appealing. Especially a forest that has a gloomy atmosphere and rain. The reader is delulu.

You lay in the middle of the rain-soaked forest, gazing at the sight of the lush green leaves glistening in the hard rain. As the drops continue to fall, you take a deep breath of the cool, moist air and hear the faint rumbling of thunder in the distance. Being in such a state was far from healthy. You knew this, but you couldn't find yourself moving.

As you finally sit up and look around, you feel a presence behind you. You knew it was of course Lenore. Who else would be crazy enough to come looking for you in such weather, or in such a place. You look over your shoulder to glance at her face. She was drenched in the rain and leaning against a tree, a small smirk painted on her lips. Her short hair sticks to her face, framing it in a way that makes her unfairly handsome considering how you must be looking in comparison. Without a word, she comes closer and wraps her arms around you, holding you tightly getting on the forest floor as well.

You both had to be deranged. Not that you cared of course, since you were quite set on having this woman all to yourself that day. Her lips were like liquid fire as they brushed against yours. You savor the taste of her and passionately kiss back, completely ignoring everything around you. She pulls you closer and you can feel the warmth radiating through both of your wet clothes. She smiles against your lips, and you knew very well that meant trouble.

Lenore finally pulls away from the kiss, her lips still lingering on yours. She looks down at you with a mischievous glint in her eye and shakes her head gently. "What were you thinking running off like this? Do you have any idea how dangerous it was to be out here in such ghastly weather?" She asked, her voice dripping with playfulness. You simply flushed and looked in the other direction, refusing to answer any of her questions.

Lenore, still on top of you, leaned down and kissed your neck. Her lips felt like a soothing balm against your skin, and you could feel the tension in your body slowly start to melt away. You sighed contentedly and rolled over so that you were facing her. She looked down at you with an amused expression, clearly enjoying this game of cat and mouse. You tried to look serious but failed miserably since Lenore's smile was infectious.

"Can we get you of the mud now? You're dress is ruined. Or would you like the two of us to catch a cold out here for a few more minutes?"

You reluctantly agree, nodding, and get out of the mud, still looking a bit upset about having to leave the forest. Lenore takes your hand as you both slowly make your way back to reality. Walking through the rain-soaked trees, you take in all the beauty that this forest has to offer. You feel like you're vision was getting hazy and you try to remember how you got there in the first place.

"Lenore, where are we?" You ask hesitantly.

"I haven't a clue really, your guess is better than mine." Lenore stops and looks around. She seemed just as confused as you were, her eyes growing ever wider as the seconds passed. Before either of you could say another word, everything around you shifts and suddenly you find yourself back in your dorm room. You blink a few times, trying to make sense of what had just happened. You look down at yourself and see you're still wearing soaked clothes from when you had gone out into the forest earlier in the day.

You groan in frustration, realizing that it had all been a dream. The forest was nothing more than an illusion created by your own mind. Your heart sinks, a weighty stone in your chest as you come to the realization that the only way you can have Lenore all to yourself is in a dream. You lay back down on your bed and sigh heavily, feeling utterly disappointed that it had all been for nothing. You close your eyes and try to remember the details of the dream, imprinting them into your memory so that you can revisit this moment again someday when life, or the afterlife rather, seems too mundane and dull.

#lenore vandernacth #x reader #forest setting #I just love lenore #yes i am obsessed #I wrote this for myself in all honesty #Lenore can get it /pos #The reader is delusional...like me #Lenore is so fine #lenore nevermore #lenore vandernacht x reader

25 notes · View notes

yaksha-lover · 8 months

Text

You were made in the image of the angel.

That’s what Rollo believes when he spots you, a speckle of light, amongst your tainted peers. You’re truly captivating to him; one so untouched by all the disgusting, dark miasma that swarms you, swirling it’s depraved fingers through your hair.

Despite magic’s presence in your life, it’s never taken root inside of you. For that, you are beautiful; the antithesis to the wicked fae that he so loathed.

He should have known Malleus would try to corrupt you. The dragon was alluring: dark tresses spilling around his broad shoulders, his piercing green eyes, and those magnificent horns upon his head. As gorgeous and charismatic as the fallen angel himself; that was what made him so dangerous.

It’s not your fault you gave into Malleus’ temptation. Rollo knows even he could have strayed from his righteous path had he been less disciplined than he was.

Still, he can’t end the burning rage when he sees the way you’ve been seduced by that man, the mark he’s begun to leave upon you.

He calms himself for a moment.

He’ll have to deal with it. For every drop of himself that Malleus has put into you, Rollo will have to cleanse you by doing the same.

Every kiss, every nip at your neck, every skirting of hands across your thighs will need to be replaced with a touch of his own, that of a pious man.

He’s sure you’ll understand - it’s only the price to pay for salvation.

#i despise him (he consumes my every waking thought)#me writing this even tho i barely know this man (sorry if it’s ooc) 💀#idc ab canon he’s depraved and weird and wants both yuu and malleus to me 🙄#also him just being delusional and lying to himself ab his true motivations #wym he likes yuu?? no he’s only doing the ‘right thing’#rollo flamme x reader #rollo flamme #malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia #twst #twisted wonderland #yandere #(ish)#tw: yandere

2K notes · View notes

leviachansbaka · 22 days

Text

married ! leviathan

Some people think Leviathan would be neglectful, but this is an otome game! I'm going to gush about him

ะ Maybe I'm being too delulu right now, but I think Leviathan would be super devoted towards MC's needs and wants because of his low self-esteem. Levi would fear their partner is unhappy with him, so he'd always try doing little things to make MC feel happy and safe ♡

ะ He'd make their favorite soup (he did that in the OG already), buy the things MC seems to be interested in, cosplay MC's favorite characters, make playlists for them, help MC with house chores just to be close, and try helping MC with whatever they seem to be struggling with because he wants to be there for them

ะ I bet he'd watch MC's favorite shows just to cuddle with them and pay attention to their reactions. We know he has a soft spot for MC, so he'd spoil them for sure

ะ And since Leviathan tries to look good for his faves, imagine how much he'd try to look good for MC 😩 His dedication is so adorable

ะ During intimate moments, Levi would still be shy but less anxious. He'd be very caring and worry more about his partner's pleasure than his own. And Leviathan would enjoy watching how much MC is enjoying themselves. He'd cuddle with MC afterward and think about how cute they are and how lucky he is to have them

ะ I don't think Leviathan would be perfect, but he'd try to be for MC, and that's the most important thing! He'd want to have a healthy and long-lasting relationship with them

ะ At first, Levi would want to improve himself because he wants to feel worthy of MC's affection. Then, he'd try to heal so he and MC can enjoy the relationship as much as possible

ะ Also, one of Leviathan's best qualities is that he wouldn't lose himself trying to please MC. He's loyal to his hobbies and passions

"Obey Me! One Master to Rule them all" and its characters belong to Solmare.

#obey me leviathan #leviathan obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #leviathan x reader #leviathan x mc #“no he wouldn't be like that” he would in my imagination okay? let me be delusional 😫

105 notes · View notes

fittsythesnail · 6 days

Text

your honor they're married and hes her biggest fan

a lil present for @emmyrosee for indulging all of my silly tall!reader fantasies and writing some fun reading material for the masses! osamu definitely holds bunny girl events at ongiri miya explicitly so he can see his wifey wearing a cute bunny costume if you think im wrong argue with the wall

#art #my art #it me #commissions open #artists on tumblr #haikyuu #osamu miya #miya #osamu miya x reader #emmyrosee #digital art #i dont mean argue with wall in a rude way #i mean it like im too busy being delusional and psychotic to be listening to anyone #also emmy didnt know i was making this HEHEHEHEEHEH #GREMLIN SEASON BAYBEEEEEE #haikyuu fanart #haikyuu!!#haikyū!!#miya osamu

74 notes · View notes

temp-fg · 27 days

Text

Had the urge to draw Sans comforting Y/N

...totally not because I recently read an angsty cheating Sans fic mhm yeah everything's fine-

What? Do I get jealous of a certain goat lady being shipped with the funny skeleton man? Nuh-uh–! Who told you that????

I'm lying- I don't like that ship for a reason hhahahahahahaHAHAHAH–

I'm fine with people shipping themselves with him though, that one I very much encourage (⁠ﾉ⁠◕⁠ヮ⁠◕⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧

#undertale #sans #sans undertale #sans x reader #classic sans #sans x y/n #sans x you #ok but fr those cheating fics hurt like hell if you don't really be careful #Ah jealousy.#Call me delusional I'm down bad for the skeleton #temp-art #it's genuinely fine if you like that ship though hwehehehe

84 notes · View notes

nyxwanderland · 9 months

Text

♡ boyfriend iwaizumi hajime

pairing → iwaizumi hajime x reader genre → fluffwarnings → none word count → 611

• boyfriend iwaizumi is usually rough and blunt in his actions and words, but he tries to be as gentle as possible if it's you. • you don't mind because you know he's trying to be better and you appreciate him his efforts.

• boyfriend iwaizumi loves doing skin care with you. • he is going to complain the entire time, like "ah shit, it's too cold." or "how long will it take for this to dry?" and also "don't peel it off! it hurts!!" • but he will certainly join you for another session again.

• boyfriend iwaizumi sends you memes at any time of the day, whether it be in the morning before leaving for work or at 2:30 am. • "this you lol." • and you HAVE to send another one back to match his energy.

• boyfriend iwaizumi crashes at your apartment whenever he has an exhausting day and doesn't feel like driving to his place. • one reason may be that his workplace is closer to yours than it is to his. • but you surely know that the main reason is your company and the meals that you feed him yourself. • he sometimes stays the night as he demands your cuddles and featherlight strokes on his back before going to sleep.

• boyfriend iwaizumi wakes up way before you and just stares lovingly at your sleeping face, chuckling a bit as he wipes off the drool from your chin. • he takes some photos of you before you wake up from your slumber as well.

• boyfriend iwaizumi doesn't know how to cook, but he just watches you prepare breakfast for both of you in the kitchen, occasionally kissing your neck whenever you walk past him. • once, he tried to make breakfast while you were sleeping. • and... he burned the eggs. • you do teach him some basic recipes from time to time so that he doesn't starve himself to death when he's at his own place.

• boyfriend iwaizumi identifies as the 'sunshine protector' and his pronouns are protect/atallcosts. • not the oh-so-protective type; he knows you can take care of yourself and trusts you wholeheartedly. • the protective mode is on when he finds anyone looking at you with unholy intentions or harassing you. • he WILL punch the living hell out of the said person.

• boyfriend iwaizumi is used to getting his ass smacked by you every now and then. • he doesn't really understand why you're obsessed with his butt, although you try your best to explain to him that his ass is delicious you just can't help it. • you find yourself touching his biceps and chest as well. • "...you good, y/n?" "excuse me? it's not my fault you have insane body proportions."

• boyfriend iwaizumi is super touchy. • he just can't walk with you unless he's touching you. • your arms brushing past each other, holding hands, his arm around your waist or shoulders—he just has to keep touching you otherwise he won't function.

• boyfriend iwaizumi melts when you take the initiative to kiss him first. • it's usually the other way around, but when you suddenly kiss him out of the blue, his face turns as red as a cherry. • he may show annoyance, but of course he loves it so much. he just hates to admit it.

• boyfriend iwaizumi will leave everything behind just to tend to your needs if you're having a bad day. • he buys you your favourite snacks and other stuff to cheer you up. • he lets you cry on his shoulder; it doesn't matter if your tears or even your snot is ruining his shirt.

• boyfriend iwaizumi goes above and beyond just to see you smile. he loves you more than just to the moon and back.

#someone give me an iwaizumi hajime #he's so hot and handsome and gorgeous #delusional #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader hc #iwaizumi x reader #like and reblog #like and follow

204 notes · View notes

suguwuus · 5 months

Note

Could you write a connor x daughter of Athena. Where she has been at camp for a year, but they have known each other for about two weeks and he flirts a little too much in training and she thinks he is being mean. but in the end they make up.

★ nice

oh em gee my first req i feel like spongebob on his first day with his shiny lil spatula and squeaky shoes

p.s. so sorry this took so long i was so very sick when you sent it in and then exam week left me bruised and broken and so sleepy 😭

wc: 2.4k words

Who the Hades is this guy? Or more like, who the hell does this guy think he is?

You stared at the hunched-over figure wiping your bronze weapon down with a cloth, whistling as he went. It was too casual for someone like him to be doing something like that, especially with your weapon.

You recognized him as one of those Stoll brothers. They had been at camp for almost as long as you had, yet it seems that he's been popping up and about into your business these past few days. And he had been doing it a lot. Offering to carry your things, greeting you good morning and good night, even going so far as to try and make your bed for you. It was strange. Suspiciously strange. And you didn't trust him. From what you've heard and seen around camp, he was a prankster, an awfully resourceful two-faced troublemaker who could ruin your day with two paperclips and a cup of orange juice.

You thought he was no match for you, though. After all, you were equally crafty and clever as well, if not more than him. You thanked your mother, Athena, for both those skills and the grace to notice the signs this early on.

Gods, what was the purpose of all of this? You couldn't figure him out. You had some ideas, some guesses, but you couldn't pinpoint anything exactly. You needed direct contact with him; you needed to observe him up close so you could finally see his true intentions. Did he get bored and were you his new target? Was he doing this for a bet? Did you do something recently to catch his attention?

So, it was strange. Strange that you two have been skirting around each other for the past few years, not talking unless forced to and if you did, you only exchanged small talk. Why was he now all up in your business? Was he plotting something? You remembered when he put a tarantula in your half-sister Annabeth's bunk. You thought that was the last time you'd see those two boys.

"You look like you're plotting to kill him."

You jumped. Said Annabeth stood behind you, holding a plastic bag full of something you could only guess was your cabin's deposit of trash. Every other morning someone would do this to keep the cabin clean—and every morning Connor would greet you. Today, he added an offer to wipe your weapon down. You reluctantly agreed, vulnerable at 7 in the morning.

You knew you shouldn't be driven by rumors and gossip, shouldn't judge a book by its cover. But your overly paranoid self just refused to try and get to know the boy.

You pursed your lips and turned to Annabeth, sucking in a breath. "What's he like?" You asked.

"A little shit," Annabeth replied, and your heart sank. "But," she continued. "He's a reliable little shit. He's not evil or anything like that. He just has a talent for getting on people's nerves, him and Travis. It's a Hermes kid thing. Why?"

You glanced nervously to the side. "He's been doing the absolute most for me recently. Asking if I need help with anything, greeting me every time we see each other. We're not close. We're not even close to being close."

Annabeth took a few moments looking over at him as well, a small smile on her face. "Hmm. Well, I can't say anything for sure. But there's a very low chance he's doing this out of malice."

You cringed. "So..."

"Just wait and see where this goes," She advised, swinging the plastic bag. "If he hurts you, beat him up." Then she went away.

You scratched your head, starting to walk away from your cabin. That was...sort of helpful? No worries. You could handle this. It wasn't everyday you dealt with someone with the first name Connor and last name Stoll, but it wasn't everyday that you climbed the lava tower, either, no? And you survived that. So how hard could a boy be?

Quite hard, as it turned out to be.

You watched him stand up, stuffing the dirty cloth in his pocket. He then looked around the camp, walking in circles as if searching for someone. You knew he was looking for you, so when he turned in your direction you reluctantly waved a hand, but not enough to be obvious or easily noticed in the bustle of the camp.

When he spotted you, he jogged up to you like an excited dog, haphazardly swinging your weapon. He held it out with calloused hands. "Here!"

"Thanks. Erm, Connor." You added his name for good measure and took your weapon back. You inspected it quickly. No tampering, as far as you could see. It was clean, too. You looked back up at him and nodded. He had done a decent job. An honest, decent job?

"Did you just wake up?" He blurted out, sporting a smile that made you feel...what, self conscious? His words didn't help.

"No, I've been doing errands while waiting for you." You kept your answer plain and simple. "Why?" Without realizing it, you smoothed out your shirt.

He saw where your hands were going and chuckled, his eyes crinkling as if you just cracked a joke that amused him twice as much as the average pun did. "Don't worry, sunshine, you're not the ugliest thing I've seen in my life."

And the he walked away whistling, probably going off to tie someone's shoelaces together to trip them up. What the fuck? You thought, still processing what had just happened. What was that all about? Don't worry, sunshine?

You bet Apollo was laughing at you from Mount Olympus with the way the sunlight was shining right onto your face as Connor walked away, blinding you as you stood there in confusion.

You eyes searched the assortment of campers for Annabeth, some tiny bit of support you could anchor yourself to. She wasn't there. No striking grey eyes of hers among the orange shirts. You grit your teeth, accepting your defeat.

Well, not exactly your defeat. Not yet, at least. Hopefully not.

You gave Connor your best glare as he walked up to you in the middle of the arena. He swung his sword in his hand back and forth as if this was a game to him. Luckily for you, you also saw it as a game. A fun game to try and get to learn a thing or two about him. You wanted to observe him, close up? Here was your chance.

Sword practice. Sparring. Percy as the instructor overseeing the match. Perfect.

"Shake hands, guys," He said, standing between you and Connor. He then nodded at the boy. "No cheating, alright? No extra tricks."

"Yeah, yeah," He said, tapping his foot. You saw how he seemed almost giddy, but when he met your eyes, his smile melted and he cleared his throat.

You held a hand out. He shook it, not taking his eyes off you. He had a serious expression on, devoid of all humor or teases. "Nice shirt," he mumbled. And then he was off, stepping backwards until he was a reasonable distance away from you.

Shaking the confusion out of your head, you got into position, holding your weapon as you adjusted your stance.

Percy gave the signal and you two were off, celestial bronze clashing against one another. Your ears rung and you tried to not let the sun blind you.

Frustratingly enough, you couldn't observe much except for his physical traits (a light spray of freckles across his nose bridge, a nasty looking scar on his knee and a bruise on the other one, a hand with only one fingernail painted cherry red; unsurprisingly enough for a son of Hermes, he seemed to be ambidextrous) and that he was awfully talkative.

"I might have trouble focusing, but I'm multitasking right now, see? Your face is distracting, but I can handle it." "You're nice to look at when you're cornered like this, you know? Cute and mad, I should piss you off more!" "I really like your lack of enthusiasm all the time!"

Parry. Strike. Slash. Clang! The tip of his sword grazed your jaw and you swiped at his shins. Contrary to his blabber, you stayed silent except for grunts and the like, determined to finish him off.

Someone in the audience of campers yelled for Connor to focus. Instead he laughed. Soon you ended up with your weapons pressed against each other, screeching as the material of each grinded against one another. You were face to face with him now.

"You seem a little rusty, maybe you should consider practicing with me—"

That was your last straw. You pushed him back, so hard that you ended a few feet away from him, and charged, but at the last second swung to disarm him from his waiting sword instead of striking. With your momentum, you wrapped an arm around his neck, pushing his head upward, and stepped behind him, holding your weapon to his throat.

Victory.

"You know, I'd say something, but I don't think it's very audience friendly, I think it should be reserved for someplace without overbearing coordinators or nine year olds," He giggled.

You released him after Percy gave you the signal. Of course, you had to be somewhat polite. So you maneuvered his body so he was facing you, standing properly now. You took his clammy hand and shook it, looking him straight in the eye.

"Good duel," You said, nodding, chest still rising and falling from the intense practice match.

"Yeah, yeah, good duel," Connor replied, stumbling over his words. "Percy didn't...didn't have any comments for us, y-yeah, that's...that's good, right?"

You nodded again, and he let go of your hand, swallowing and glancing at the floor. He wet his lips, as if there was something he was itching to say, something stuck in his throat.

"You...you have nice eyes." He walked away with something you might have called a scurry.

Tilting your head in utter confusion, you heard a voice and felt a hand tap your shoulder. You turned around to see a little girl of about 12 years old. Strands of her dark hair stuck to her chubby cheeks from sweat. "Return the compliment. That's pamahiin, you know." She shot a cautious glance at Connor's turned back.

"It's what?"

"Superstition where someone curses you in the form of a compliment. He's been saying all kinds of things since the start of your match!"

"That doesn't sound like a Greek superstition to me. Where'd you hear that?" The girl left before you could finish. You shook your head. Silly kids.

You decided you had some business to attend to, so you jogged after Connor, following him down the path to the archery range.

"Hey," you called. "Connor!"

He slowly turned around, looking anxious. "...Yes?"

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

"You're being strange. You kept talking during sword practice—you never do it that much, and you keep offering to do things for me. Are you following me around? Why did you compliment my shirt out of the blue right before we started?"

His brain seemed to load. And then he smiled. "You watch me during sword practice?"

"Sometimes, when there's nothing else to watch. The point is, you're acting off!"

He cleared his throat. "Well, erm, you know, I've just been seeing you around and I wanted to get to know you more. Wait, I complimented your shirt? We're all wearing the same ones."

You stepped closer. "No, are you up to something? Trying to get under my skin? Everything you say is somewhat backhanded and it feels like you're planning to get me in trouble, or both of us in trouble. If you don't like me, just say it straight to my face." You clenched your fists as you finished.

His expression morphed and looked horrified. "Oh, my Gods. No, I'm sorry."

You stared hard, waiting for him to explain himself.

"Shit, Y/N. That, uh...that wasn't...oh man, I didn't mean for it to come out like that. I mean, I am mouthy all the time, but I didn't want you to think of it like that! I do, I'm complimenting you, I guess we just don't match up in terms of what's a 'nice' gesture or not.

"I'll say it straight, then. I'm being nice to you, trying to say nice things. Because I think you're nice."

You raised a brow. "...Nice?"

"Yes, nice. And I really liked practicing with you. And greeting you in the morning and at night. And you. I like being nice to you even if you don't understand my little pickup lines sometimes."

"So you weren't trying to be mean?"

"No, absolutely not."

"Ah...okay. I see. That's...fair. I guess I was just paranoid." You slowly nodded, understanding his defense. You could see him nervously putting his thumbs through his belt loops.

"Mhm." He looked to the side. "Oh, and by the way, maybe the thing I said this morning was confusing, you're not ugly at all, I think you—everything about you, is very, pleasing to the eye."

You chuckled. "—Is nice."

He let out a relieved laugh at how you had caught on. "Yes, exactly that. Oh," He perked up, looking behind your shoulder. When you followed his gaze you saw some campers walking towards him, and they did not look very happy. He put his sword back into his scabbard and tied his shoelaces, which had come undone.

So he was a prankster. Obviously. But he wasn't as bad as you thought. Not mean, just a little mischievous at times. You definitely were just paranoid. It's not everyday you got that many compliments. Puzzling ones that needed comprehension, yet still compliments. And he was easy to talk to. Not mean at all. Come to think of it, you hadn't fallen victim to his or Travis's pranks lately, not in a long while—

"That's my cue," he reached over and awkwardly patted your shoulder, averting your gaze. Despite that, he was smiling ear-to-ear. "See you sometime, okay? Bye!"

"Bye...!" And he dashed away, leaving you beaming in amusement. Wait, pickup lines? Those were pickup lines to him?

Nice? Nice as in flirting?

#— suguwuu's posts #connor stoll #connor stoll x reader #pjo #pjo oneshots #pjo x reader #OCHO MENTION 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 (no one here knows who she is)#merry christmas sorry this was saur late omfg #connor kissed me under the mistletoe stay safe yall xx #me when im delusional #guys im going delirious actually #charlie bushnell is so fine but i feel like im cheating on connor #girl that is NAWT your man that's his antagonist older half brother

86 notes · View notes

twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 8 months

Text

in the dream i don’t tell anyone, you put your head in my lap ; shoko ieiri

synopsis; ever since the battle in shinjuku came to its conclusion, nothing’s been the same as it used to. but you don’t think anyone is doing quite as badly as shoko.

word count; 4.5k

contents; shoko ieiri/reader, gn!reader, canon-typical mentions of death (iykyk), angst, hurt/comfort (but not very heavy on the comfort), jjk spoilers (up to chapter 236!!), mild gore (mentions of blood, autopsies and general gore-ish imagery? nothing too bad tho), shoko ieiri deserves better, includes gojo slander (stay safe gojo nation)

a/n; first of all i just wanna apologize to the shoko girlies for writing angst when we’re already so starved of content, i have like 50 fluff drabbles planned for her but chapter 236 threw me into a mental angst pit so </3 yeah. i love my wife!!

shoko hasn’t been herself for a while.

the thought sneaks its way into your subconscious, as your feet carry you to her morgue — a rotten thought you just can’t seem to rinse away.

it’s not very hard to notice. she doesn’t talk as much, for one. not that shoko was ever much of a talker, but now the silence around her is deafening. thick and heavy like the spine of a knife. and she smiles even less.

you can’t remember the last time you heard her laugh.

the crescents beneath her eyes are darker than ever, darker than you thought possible. a murky purple that you’d find soothing in any other context, but like this it’s just revolting. her eyes are deep and dark, the same as ever, but now they’re glazed over with something you can’t quite put your finger on.

apathy, maybe.

or bloodlust.

the scent of cigarette smoke that follows her is suffocating. indistinguishable from her natural scent. you don’t know if she’ll ever be able to scrub the tobacco stench off her skin.

(you’ve given up on counting the exact number of cigarettes she smokes each day. you’re not sure you want to know the answer.)

she doesn’t even look alive, anymore. like some part of her already reached its expiration date. a spectre, wandering the hallways, filling the air with the slow, ominous clacking of her heels.

shoko hasn’t been herself for a while — and it’s so obvious. her grief is so heavy, her sleep-deprivation so severe. you’d have to be blind not to notice it.

so why hasn’t anyone said anything?

you gnaw at your bottom lip, trying to suffocate the bitterness swimming inside your veins. it’s a dumb question, really, because you already know. you don’t want to acknowledge it, because it’s so unfair, but you know. of course you do.

no one has the time to. it’s as simple as that.

no one’s doing well, anymore. not since shinjuku.

not since gojo died.

shoko’s grief is a fickle thing. always with her, tucked away within those eyebags, in the pockets of her coat. in that smell of tobacco, never-fading, always lingering. it follows her like a ghost, like something she’ll never quite be rid of.

(like something she doesn’t want to be rid of.)

shoko’s grief is a fickle thing, and it always has been. but recently, it’s been downright overwhelming. it used to be subtle, the kind of thing you notice if you look close enough. if you squint. if you even care enough to try.

but now, it’s more like a haunting than a simple ghost.

(geto. nanami. yaga. and now gojo, too.

how many people does she have to lose before whatever’s watching is satisfied?)

shoko hasn’t been herself for a while, and it’s obvious, and it’s sickening. she still does her duty to a tee, but she isn’t quite there anymore. gaze always forlorn, as if she’s trying to convince herself of something.

and yet no one says a thing.

everything is one big mess, right now. you don’t want to blame anyone. everyone’s exhausted, completely and utterly spent, but they’re still planning it all out. even in the midst of their mourning. because they don’t have any other choice.

this is not the kind of situation where you should be pointing fingers. a part of you is angry, livid even — but you know the others are doing just as badly. it’s not like you aren’t, either.

still, though. isn’t this just too unfair?

”i brought you coffee!”

making sure your voice doesn’t waver is tougher than you initially assumed. just the sight of her sends a tremor running through your ribs; sunken down in her chair, papers in hand, eyes scanning the pages methodically. papers of what, you’d like to ask — but you already know.

(she’s reading through the post-mortem examination report, again. searching for something you don’t understand. you’re not sure she does, either.)

and she looks exhausted.

try as you might, your voice ends up sounding a little stale, as it flows from your lips and reaches her ears. but the attempt is there — the attempt to sound cheerful, calm. normal. to give her something to hold on to.

shoko looks up at you, and her lips curl in a way you think is supposed to form a smile. it doesn’t. her eyes look into yours but it’s like she’s not seeing you at all.

when you go to give her the cup of espresso, your fingertips touch. only for a second, before she curls her fingers around the ceramic handle. she receives the coffee with a small murmur of thanks, but you don’t notice because you’re too busy thinking of how cold her skin feels.

(cold like a ghost. cold like death.)

shaking away the shivers down your spine, you allow your gaze to trail over the morgue. it looks the same as always. cold, empty. foreboding. today, you think it feels just a little chillier than usual. matching the temperature of the outside world, where everything lies buried in heaps of snow and frost.

hesitantly, you plop down in the seat right next to hers. with such a narrow distance, you can smell the tobacco sticking to her clothing. it makes you want to throw up.

(you try not to look over at the couch in the corner of the room, where a certain someone used to slack off. his awkwardly long limbs would dangle off the edges, and shoko would pretend that she didn’t enjoy his company. you were more than content with silently admiring the smile she was trying to hide.)

shoko doesn’t look at you, professional in the way her eyes run across the files. cause of death: damage to central intestines, subsequent loss of blood. from a cut to the stomach, right below the liver and spleen.

you look away before your eyes can read another line.

leaning back in your chair, you exhale a tiny sigh. desperate to fill the silence with something, anything at all. you scramble for topics, racking your brain.

(what could you possibly tell her that she doesn’t already know?)

”the others are still planning everything out,” you speak, playing with your fingers idly to distract yourself. ”i think it’s going well.”

shoko hums, unaffected. ”that’s good.”

she’s speaking to you, but that feeling of unease still won’t go away. her voice sounds still, flat. empty of emotion. but you can tell she’s trying to be polite.

that’s no surprise. shoko isn’t the type to ever show how she’s truly feeling. she’s not the type to ask for help, either. people come to her for help, not the other way around. that’s all she’s ever known.

(in that sense, the two of them were alike.)

but that just makes it all the more important for you to be there. even if you’re a little awkward, and even if you can’t do much. even if it’s only for a moment or two, you want to see her smile. you want to feel for yourself that she’s really there.

looking over at shoko, you wring your hands together, the cold air of the morgue nipping at your sweaty palms. she’s drinking from the cup, one finger around the handle as her other hand flips through the papers.

”does it taste okay?” you ask, softly. if only you could ask her that under better circumstances, with cups of espresso made with better coffee machines than those at jujutsu high. ”i made it myself, so…”

”it’s fine.” shoko takes a sip. dragging her syllables out, as if mustering the will to speak. ”don’t worry.”

short sentences. almost cold, but you know better than that. she just doesn’t have it in her to pretend that everything is normal, anymore.

and it makes you uncomfortable. this silence.

a couple months ago, it would have felt comforting; a quiet, peaceful kind of solitude shared between the two of you. nostalgic, like the smell of morning dew. or the way moonlight feels on your skin when the world falls asleep.

the silence you had with shoko always felt so tender. a single moment of peace, before the other shoe dropped. just that one moment was enough to give you the hope you needed to make it through another day.

you loved being silent with shoko. you loved her silence, the way she could soothe your very soul without saying a thing.

but now it only stings your skin. you fear that you might drown in it.

there is nothing to say. you want to ask her how she’s doing, but you already know. you want to ask her why she’s still reading the files from gojo’s autopsy, but you already know.

you want to ask her if she can still keep going, like this. but you already know.

she doesn’t have a choice.

(something crumbles, deep inside your chest, like ashes cast into the sea.)

”hey. shoko?”

she hums, again. weak. quiet. absentminded, acknowledging your words but not really hearing them.

you take a deep breath.

”i think i’m going to quit being a sorcerer.”

silence.

for a moment, nothing happens. nothing moves, or speaks. the air is cold and crisp and carries no meaning, no words, nothing at all.

like time is frozen. frozen like all the bodies shoko’s had to dig inside these past few months. frozen like gojo was when she found him in the snow.

frozen like your youth, a glass marble kept in your pocket for moments when you feel as if the ground beneath your feet is about to slip away. then you’d take it out, and look deep inside it. watch the swirling of greens and blues and purples. that streak of indigo right in the middle of the glass. memories of the past, to give you comfort.

to remind yourself of why you’re doing this. to give you a reason to keep moving forward.

(south or north, it doesn’t matter. stay as you are or move forward, look to the past or to the future — none of it matters if you aren’t alive. that’s the conclusion you came to.)

shoko’s expression, too, is frozen. it doesn’t change, even as you let those loaded words fall from your tongue. you watch her carefully, out of the corner of your eye. she doesn’t even look at you, gaze still glued to the tiny letters detailing exactly what gojo’s pulse was at when he got cut.

but something flickers, in the depths of her irises, so fast you barely catch it. something you can’t identify, but it’s still something. it’s movement. it’s alive.

”not right now, obviously,” you elaborate. suddenly a little nervous, now that the words have been made manifest. ”but… you know. once all this is over.”

not sure what else to say, you trail off, fidgeting with your fingers again. voice wavering pitifully towards the end of the sentence, because deep down you know it’s not a question of once, but a question of if.

(if this ever ends. if i don’t die tomorrow, or the day after that.)

you swallow the lump in your throat, and look at her. trying to find her eyes. trying to keep her alive for as long as you can, this sequence of motion, this moment frozen in time.

trying to reach her.

”you won’t ever have to worry about me dying,” you throw in, like the words are light and not heavy as bricks. but you know she needs to hear them. ”i’ll leave, and then — and then…”

staring down at your lap, you link your hands together. exhaling, a little breathless. sheepish, in a way. ”… well. i don’t know. i haven’t thought that far ahead, yet.”

you never had the chance to. you didn’t even really think of it as a possibility, as something you could do. and you know it’s not a possibility for shoko. the choice to be a sorcerer was never hers, from the very beginning.

a user of the reverse cursed technique. capable of healing almost any wound, more power and capability than a child should ever have. invaluable. she’s saved so many lives you’re sure she’ll be reborn as a god.

but the choice was never hers.

a soothing kind of ache blooms in both your palms, as your nails dig into the soft skin. hard enough to form crescents, like the ones under shoko’s eyes, that she’ll never be rid of no matter how much she sleeps. the choice was never hers.

isn’t that just too cruel?

they don’t deserve her. none of them do. the elders didn’t, the jujutsu world doesn’t — not even the students. no one deserves it; everything she does for everyone, day and night, just slaving away in the morgue or her office. cutting up curses and old friends. every second of the day, always that same buzzing of her name being called.

shoko, someone needs healing, come quick!

shoko, i know it’s 2 am and you have work tomorrow, but there’s a curse that i need you to dissect.

shoko, i think i got a paper cut, would you mind taking a look?

none of them deserve her.

you think of gojo. a flash of white hair, a grin brighter than the sun. a bloodstained smile — one shoko had to wipe away.

something ugly claws its way up your throat.

none of them deserve her. especially not him.

what were you thinking, leaving her all alone like this? so much for being the strongest. you couldn’t even stay alive.

why would you die with a smile on your face? do you have any idea how cruel that is to her?

you idiot. don’t you know how much she missed you?

— yeah. none of them deserve her. gojo doesn’t, the world doesn’t, and neither do you. no one does.

what shoko deserves is to live a normal life.

and she never will.

it’s foolish. it’s naive, a juvenile daydream. but you wish for it so, so badly. so much that even just the thought alone feels like too much to bear.

you wish you could bring her with you.

you wish you could take her hand in yours, and run away. leave it all behind, every single thing, without caring about the consequences. you’d hold her hand and never let it go, and then you’d run and run until you were both high on adrenaline and breathless laughter.

maybe you could go somewhere, together. somewhere better. outside of japan, where there are less curses. money wouldn’t be an issue, you both have more than you know what to do with — one of the perks of having a job that’s bound to kill you. you could settle down in some smaller town, peaceful, maybe a little secluded. just to make sure no one finds you.

maybe you could open up a little shop, together. or spend all your days tangled up beneath the blankets, catching up on lost sleep. talking and whispering, like you’d do back at the sleepovers you used to have. you’d make her coffee every morning, and tea every evening. you’d spend the rest of your life trying to make her laugh as loud as possible.

there’s nothing you want more. absolutely nothing. there never will be.

— but you can’t ask her.

you can’t ask her to come with you, no matter how much you want to. that’d be the cruelest thing you could possibly do to her.

she would never agree. you’d only be hurting her more. so selfish, all of these wishes. it was so much simpler back when you were just kids. when you didn’t have to care about duties or responsibilities. when your cognitive empathic abilities were just a little more lacking.

a sigh flows from your lips. resigned, but somewhat hopeful, all the same. tainted with the murmurs of a memory that’ll never happen.

”maybe i’ll open up a bakery, or something.” you tap your fingers against the desk, smiling a little to yourself at the thought. or trying to. ”then you could come visit.”

shoko looks into her cup of coffee. watching the swirling of the vortex, the abyss that gazes back at her. she doesn’t look at you but you can tell she’s listening. then she puts the cup down, and you glance at her now-empty hand.

shoko’s hands have always been pretty. even when they’re covered in grime, or stained with blood. thin, a little bony, smooth skin obscuring clear blue veins. moles litter her hands like stars in the sky; one right beneath her pinkie, another by her wrist. the more you look, the more you find.

tentatively, you broach the distance between you. curling your fingers around her slender ones, where they rest on her lap. linking hands. it’s a slow movement, drawn out and careful, accompanied by the heavy beating of your heart.

(her skin is cold to the touch. your skin buzzes with unease, but you don’t let go.)

then you smile. a small thing, not really optimistic, but the attempt is there. something for her to hold on to. looking deep into her eyes, admiring the hazel glow that never quite left them.

”i’ll give you free pastries.”

a moment passes. shoko’s fingers squeeze around yours — weakly, but it’s there. movement, motion, life. a way of reaching out. a way to hold on.

her eyes continue to trail over the page, but you know she’s not reading any of the contents. you’ve caught her attention. a small victory, but you’ll take what you can get.

”i don’t like sweets,” she reminds you, leaning back a little in her chair. allowing her eyes to flutter shut, at last — and it’s not much but it’s something. a moment of relief for those tired, tired eyes. more tired than any 29 year old’s should be.

”i’ll change your mind,” you promise, mustering up enough will to sound smug. ”my pastries will be out of this world. you’ll get a sweet tooth in no time, sho.”

she exhales a breath, vaguely amused. your smile widens, hopelessly. her happiness was always the root of yours, wasn’t it?

then she looks at you, one eyebrow raised in lazy scepticism. ”can you even bake?”

”nope,” you deadpan. ”but i’ll learn. you’ll see.”

this time, shoko almost chuckles — and it’s more than you’ve gotten out of her in recent memory. god, you missed that sound. a little raspy, from all the cigarettes, but still so honeyed and smooth. hearing it makes you feel as if everything will turn out fine, in the end.

(what a powerful thing, for a voice to do. one so lovely it anchors you to the earth.)

a faux pout curls its way to your lips, and you squeeze her hand lightly. ”don’t laugh, i’m being serious!” your pout shifts into a soft grin, a little teasing. ”i’ll get you addicted to sugar instead of nicotine.”

”haha…”

shoko laughs. shoko laughs and it’s beautiful.

shoko laughs, a genuine laugh, and it’s so beautiful that you almost don’t notice the tears in her eyes. almost.

and then you realize your mistake.

a memory comes to you, then. you recall a hushed conversation, beneath a cloudy summer sky. the air was heavy with the scent of lilacs and cigarette smoke. two people were beside you, and all you cared about was listening to the tilt of their voices. that, and nothing more. a time before everything and everyone went south.

(”you know, shoko. you really should drop those death sticks of yours.”

”i don’t want to hear that from the guy who needs 40 grams of pure sugar every day just to function.”

”rude! and as far as addictions go, sugar is a cut above nicotine, don’t ya think?”

”whatever. just worry about yourself, gojo.”)

by the time you realize, it’s already far too late. the tears have already begun to fall. little droplets of grief, sticking to her skin.

they trickle down the contours of shoko’s face, and fall onto the paper in her hand, smudging the letters. she clutches it tightly, crinkling it, just to make the damage worse. her other hand is still holding yours, chipped nails digging into your skin gently.

but she keeps laughing. low, hazy laughter — pained. she sounds like she’s in pain, and that’s because she is. even if no one ever cares to mention it.

(how cruel, for her to be born with the reverse cursed technique. capable of healing any physical wound; leaving her with too many mental ones to count. never to be healed or acknowledged, in this life or the next.)

you can only stare. helpless to her sadness. her eyes are a little red, and she’s biting down on her lip hard enough to draw blood — a drop of scarlet falls onto the paper, and you think of gojo again.

you think of shoko finding him. running to his side. doing all she could to heal him, to patch him up — getting blood all over her hands and clothes. red everywhere, staining the pure white of the snowfall. like something out of a painting.

she did all that she could. pressing down on his chest, positive cursed energy pouring out from her fingertips in tandem with the snow. pressing two shaky fingers to his pulse point, just in case. just to find any sign of life, absolutely anything. hoping so tenderly that she’d feel the flutter of his pulse. that he’d get up, and laugh obnoxiously, and ask her if she really thought he’d leave her behind so easily.

you’d never seen her look so scared. so desperate, a primal kind of fear you’ve learned to associate with self-driven survival. the way some animals can claw their way out of a predator’s stomach if they’re swallowed whole. but she did that to save him. trying to claw him out, herself. from the belly of the beast.

she did all that she could.

but gojo didn’t do anything. he just laid there, split in two. frozen in time, eternally young. watching the sky. smiling.

(what a wonderful way to die. what an awful thing for an old friend to find.)

before your mind can catch up, your body acts. muscle memory, in the way your arms curl around her midriff to bring her close. tucking her into your side while she sniffles and cries. still laughing, like she’s still trying to convince you that she’s fine. like she’s isn’t falling apart at the seams.

the dam breaks. the ice shatters. everything comes crashing down — and you’re there to pick up the pieces. despite everything.

it’s not enough, it never will be. but at least it’s something.

it’s heart-wrenching, the way she clings to you. like you’re the only thing she has. the dry laughter that spills from her throat devolves into sobbing, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath, nails clinging to the fabric of your clothing like she’s trying to anchor herself. broken sniffles fill the space between you as she hides away, in the crook of your neck.

(the sound makes you feel like someone drove a knife from your sternum down to your stomach.)

all you can do is hold her. quietly, delicately. as if she could break if you squeeze her too hard. as if she’d shatter like a sheet of glass if you were to say the wrong thing again.

you hold shoko like she’s fragile. because she is, regardless of what anyone else says. because she’s a human being, and she’s grieving, and she needs this.

eventually, she musters up the will to speak — and it’s awful, raspy, broken syllables she has to force out of her throat.

she chokes on the words like they’re poisonous. like she’s been carrying them around for decades, bubbling beneath the surface, waiting to be let out.

“don’t — don’t end up here,” shoko pleads, voice wavering through the syllables. full of fear. “please.”

you know what she means. she doesn’t have to say it, because you know.

don’t end up in my morgue. don’t end up on my autopsy table.

shoko sounds meek. she sounds close to falling apart. you’ve never seen her like this before, clutching onto your sleeves as if begging you to stay.

“you’re — you’re the only one i…”

she doesn’t finish, cut off by a broken sniffle. but she doesn’t need to.

you’re the only one i have left. i can’t lose you, too.

please don’t die. please don’t leave me behind.

a shaky inhale. your arms tighten around her waist, tugging her closer. praying that she’ll feel the steady beating of your heart, the undeniable proof that you’re alive. that you haven’t left her yet.

you blink away the tears in your eyes, grasping for control over your wavering voice.

“i won’t.”

and maybe it’s cruel, maybe it’s the cruelest thing you could do to her — making a promise you know you might not be able to keep. but you do so anyway. helpless to her sadness. at the complete mercy of her grief. you’d do anything to stop the tears from falling, to soothe the turmoil in her chest.

“i won’t let you be alone, shoko,” you murmur into her hair, with all the comfort you can possibly muster. ”not now, or ever.”

three words yearn to be spoken, resting on the tip of your tongue. three little syllables, desperate to be heard after living in the back of your throat for so many years.

and for a second, you think you might say it.

you think you might say it, breathe life into the statement. you can almost taste it, can almost hear it. can almost see what her expression would look like.

but shoko sniffles, and hugs you tighter. protective, like you’ll leave if she doesn’t. so tightly that it hurts a little.

and you swallow the words, once more.

right now, this is enough. it’s enough that you’re alive, that you’re here. that’s what shoko needs, right now.

she doesn’t need your love. she just needs you to stay alive.

so you will. you decide that you will, no matter what. you’ll leave, and you’ll open up a shitty bakery that won’t get any customers — and you’ll give her free pastries for the rest of your life. you’ll get her so addicted to sweets that she’ll have no choice but to come back for more.

shoko cries like a child. filling the silence of the morgue with her shaky breaths and quiet sniffles, little hiccups and whimpers. the tears never seem to stop, and you wonder how long it’s been since she last let them fall.

you hold her in your arms, smoothing a palm down her back, counting the bumps of vertebra — and don’t say anything. there’s no need to.

for now, the soft patter of your heartbeat is enough.

ijichi stands just outside the morgue, unmoving. not saying a thing.

it’s muffled, hushed and quiet, but still audible. the sound of childlike crying. the kind all sorcerers do their best to keep to themselves.

in his arms lie a bundle of papers. the final pages of gojo’s autopsy report. it’s important that shoko sees them — vital, according to her. something about the six eyes, the possibilities they hold. the hope that maybe, just maybe…

— he clutches them tightly, and then walks away.

#the wlw urge to leave everything behind and start a bakery together……#idk how to feel abt this i just!! needed to get some shoko thoughts out!!! she’s my fave jjk girl and i love the way her grief is portrayed #i just hope gege does her justice but i have a good feeling that he will!! if not its on sight #she’s so special to me. the airport scene hurts sm because she really is all alone now :(( its so fucked up i SOBBED into my pillow #well i mean. she still has ijichi. and i love him dont get me wrong but like. STILL #im delusional tho so i think next chapter shoko will use her rct to heal gojo #and then we’ll get a scene of him leaving the airport with shoko. trust me gege and i are like this🤞#sorry for basing all my titles on siken poems. anyway go read ’i had a dream about you’ its so shoko #shoko ieiri #shoko ieiri x reader #shoko ieiri x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk spoilers #jujutsu kaisen spoilers #jjk 236 #jujutsu kaisen 236 #…. i think. thats all the tags…….

93 notes · View notes

nezumeanie · 1 year

Text

♡⃣ v a l k y r i e ’ s simple affection is shown by…𖥔 ˑ ִ ֗ ִ ۫ ˑ 𖥻 ִ ۫ ּ

….basking in your presence. mika is content anywhere as long as you’re the person beside him. running errands with you goes beyond being a favorite pastime of his, it’s a genuine honor of his to be allowed to spend the most mundane hours of life with you. holding your grocery bags while talking about the colors in the advertisements you’ve seen in store windows, making up names and stories for puppies seen tied to cafe tables outside, predicting the weather, discussing how intelligent humans are for inventing things for even the smallest of inconveniences—in the silence between topics mika thanks that god over and over again that someone could love a half broken product like him. he feels truly blessed by you, especially if you find the right time to rub his head or scratch under his chin. in the small times you spend together, he blushes so much around you that you begin to believe he really is just a cherry cheeked kind of boy

….pinching your cheek and clicking his teeth. only you can hear the care in shu’s nagging, the softness in his correction. only he can see the hair on your head that’s out of place, the tag sticking out of your shirt. brushing a hair out of your face while your hands are full, fastening your necklace for you after you’ve fumbled with the latch for a minutes or so, retying your shoes for you mumbling about how childish you truly are—shu can’t admit it but he really does enjoy just taking care of you. you’re a precious artifact to him, something that needs delicate hands and a proper home. taking note of the colors you wear often, the times of year you sneeze the most, the kind of drinks that you cringe at, whether or not you enjoy the guitar and if he should find ways to incorporate into his work..even in his own little world, there remains a spot for you. somehow you’re approval has also become vital to his projects, knowing you believe in his genius gives his a sense of pride like he’s never felt when he’s done this alone. after so many years of safe and cold porcelain skin, shu never realized how strong his craving was to feel something so warm and inviting until now

#hello……..not me having issues writing itsuki again 🥴 hi #but i said before itsuki’s affection is all corrective….well thts all i can find it in me to say rn #kagehira is both catlike & golden retriever-like in a way i can’t put into the right words #like ‘eager to please’ but ‘throughly enjoys parallel play’ hahah #idk i think he’s sweet is all #i think he’s a little stingy w money though i think he would turn bright red and ask to split the check hahhaha #but itsuki would pay even if he didn’t have the money bc he’s delusional (doesn’t know how money works) (or doesn’t care abt how money works #very very removed from reality….ah okay no more talking abt itsuki 😵‍💫#idk i don’t have anything else to say #things written #ensemble stars #enstars fanfic #valkyrie enstars #enstars fluff #mika kagehira #mika kagehira x reader #shu itsuki x reader #valkyrie x reader #shu itsuki #valkyrie ensemble stars #enstars #itsuki shu #kagehira mika #enstars headcanons #mika kagehira fluff #shu itsuki fluff #mika kagehira headcanon

197 notes · View notes

cieric-of-chaos · 6 months

Text

i love Wanda Maximoff but not in the way wandastan love her "she's sooooo powerful she could beat ur fav actually 🤓☝️" and not in the way Kevin Feige wants you to know her "she is crazy and can't control her powers🥴🙄" but in a way I see her "she was a kind and soft person who hated conflict and violence but was born in a shitty country and she is (unwillingly) gifted a power bigger than her so she was exploited by everyone....and she wants to be love and accepted until she find someone who is an outcast (vision) like her and then he died and she's lonely again she try to move on but she can't until she had a breakdown and finally her loneliness and Years Mental turmoil finally take a toll on her and she finally breaks"

#this post doesn't make any sense but oh well...#I love wanda Maximoff more than i love my own family...#shes literally me #i have powers too ( i can draw anything in a shitty cartoon style)#Were both delusional and lonely #i am weirdo like her...jbol #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #mcu #marvel #wanda maximoff did nothing wrong #wanda maximoff x reader #rant #wanda ramblings

125 notes · View notes

gepazu · 7 months

Text

imagine the boys taking you on your first ever date … lars would be sure to recite everything he’d get you in the front of a mirror as he fixes himself up with a smile and sing-song pitch to his voice. would definitely give you a bouquet of roses with your favorites accentuating the deep greens and reds. he’ll pull a cheesy pickup line that makes you giggle a bit before smiling fondly, holding out his hand—and telling you how darling you look at this very moment <3 also.. if you look closely… you might see a type of longing in his eyes once you catch him staring at your hands and lips. you won’t tell him he got caught or something.. but you will kiss him on the cheek after your date and wave goodbye—not knowing the hand you’re waving with now loudly jingles with the keys to his heart <3.

clarence, on the other hand, would be the fidgety type—hands never seeming to pull his tie right (he almost choked because he didn’t realize he pulled too tightly). despite his stoic expression in front of his dress-mirror, his ears to his nape are flushed a cherry-blossom pink; breathing a bit erratic as he imagines the expression on your face when you seem him prim and proper at the cafe. would you smile? be amazed? be as fidgety as he is right no—wait, he wasn’t fidgety! he isn’t, he tells himself with a cough before looking at his watch, seeing his reflection in it, and groans inwardly. okay… maybe he is a bit flustered.. but it’s probably because it’s you he’s going out with. he’s utterly infatuated with you… and the problem is he wasn’t taught anything about love (until now—until you, that is) <3.

and cael.. oh cael. you’re heart is going to feel like bursting multiple times mid-date from his actions and antics! he knows you inside and out, having taken care of you after you were entrusted into his arms from a young age. despite having seen and known you for what feels like a sweet forevermore—his heart stills manages to spill all over you in some rare moments when your hand slips between his, lips covered with bits and pieces of cotton candy he can’t help but want to kiss to get a taste of you. his thoughts grab ahold of him and reel him in by the baited hook; leaning in to kiss the uplifted corner of your mouth. blue silver strands dawn down at your shoulders, a wave of stiffness and doe overcoming your entire body. a quiet apology snaps you out of your daze, the feeling of daylight dappling heated skin becoming a familiar kiss. you think the sudden apology was strange and out of place, but your fingers entangled with his wasn’t. it was right, and perhaps a silent word of “forgiveness” that the man was grateful for, truly. what else did he realize he felt truly? his growing love for you <3.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — i feel like i should tag @lovebrushed bc she gave me the inspo for writing this (I AM SO SORRY IF U DONT LIKE THE TAG) (plus the fact there was indeed an x reader tag for lbc KBDKDHDKHD) so yea! take this as a sign of me joining the lovebrush chronicle writing fandom! KHSLSJSLSKAKS

129 notes · View notes

thebloodredraven · 1 month

Text

The "why are people criticizing romance tarot readers, I don't want to do shadow work readings" shit I saw on here a few months ago did a lot to my psyche, mostly make me realize I should not be consuming that content as much as I have been over the past few years.

I also learned that anyone who has a problem with doing shadow work or self reflection readings but obsesses over romance are probably suffering with limerence like me and that snapped me tf awake

Edit: also what the FUCK do you mean "if this pile just sounds like it's describing yourself, that just means your person is mirroring you!!" NO???? THAT MEANS YOU NEED TO FOCUS ON YOURSELF BEFORE YOU DO ANYTHING ELSE WHY ARE WE SAYING THIS TO IMPRESSIONABLE PEOPLE

#viri talks about things;#pick a card #pick a pile #tarot #i say this without meaning to project but think about how most of us stumbled into spirituality #it was heartbreak or trauma right #so what do you think happens when you alchemize that trauma into a future spouse that doesnt exist in reality #what if the energy in readings is just giving you a snapshot of the energy you have and that energy is delusional #like....this was actually so dangerous for me because i only JUST fully snapped out of a limerent obsession #and i know others who have also trusted yt “”“spiritualist”“” tarot readers that rarely ever have realistic views #i really had to go inward cause why am i as a black person depending on white women for spiritual guidance #especially when most of them cant differentiate between manifestation privilege and manipulation #this rant is solely about my experience btw argue w your mama but these spaces need a revamp

37 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

alunasky-blog

Alunasky

alunasky-blog

Alunasky

dreamerwithapen1

everythingships

rory black

olivcrstone

WAR WITH YOURSELF.