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lovesickeros · 4 months

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☆ decadence divine [ act I ]

{☆} characters arlecchino, neuvillette, furina {☆} notes yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings yandere content, stalking (implied), kidnapping (implied) {☆} word count 2.3k

ARLECCHINO

Arlecchino was wont to leave social gatherings to her subordinates– the private meetings were where she thrived. It was so much easier to lure your prey into a trap when you didn't have prying eyes and ears waiting for the barest hint of blackmail.

She clicked her tongue in distaste, her eyes narrowing beneath the mask of the fox as she set down her cup sharply. It was difficult as it was to draw them from the safety of their bubble– at the slightest hint of danger, her quarry would run. A chase would be fun, but she couldn't risk getting caught here. The political nightmare it would cause..it already gave her a headache. She had to be discreet.

They weren't making it easy, however.

Which is why she never liked crowds. But this chance didn't come by every day. She wasn't going to simply let it pass by because of a little danger. She'd have them eventually, it was just a matter of how. There were already numerous of her own lingering in the crowds, hidden beneath the masks that every patron bore. It was difficult to stand out amongst the flurry of masked patrons constantly shifting around the room, moving from one conversation to another, gliding from one dance partner to another.

Her heeled boots clicked sharply against the tile as she stalked through the crowds, keeping a wide berth yet always lingering nearby– she was sure they could feel the vague sense of being watched, but with the huge crowds..her lips quirked into a grin with the barest flash of teeth. There were a great many ways to break them in– she'd spent a great amount of time and mora to get anything she could for blackmail, if she so wished. She had the backing of the Fatui as well if she played her cards right– it wouldn't be difficult to convince them that they were a valuable target, and none of them would dare to question just what she did with them afterwards.

Perhaps a bit of play, first. Test the waters. She was familiar with playing the polite gentleman, despite her status as a Fatui Harbinger. Stage something for her to intervene, perhaps, to look the hero. The look of shock when she revealed the wolf beneath the wool..she could see it already. That wide, doe-eyed look as they realized the monster they've followed blindly like a lost lamb..she was beginning to see the appeal.

All it took was a few hushed words and subtle signals before the tiles started to fall in place, her hand gliding along their lower back as she leaned over their shoulder with a thin, predatory smile. She'd have to organize for the agent to be released later, her eyes following as the Gardes dragged him out of the room in a flurry of curses, but for now..she tilted her head to peer down at them, polite and almost apologetic.

"You aren't too startled, are you? Now now, there's no need to look so..scared, poor thing. I won't let another lay a hand on you," She cooed in a sickly sweet tone, the husky rasp of her voice whispered in their ear like dripping honey. "You have my word. Now, why don't we get you some fresh air? Come. Allow me to escort you."

Her lips pulled into a jagged grin at the relief in their eyes– the blind lamb following the shepherd as it led them into it's maw. Just a little longer, and she could finally have her own caged bird– a pretty thing to admire, to protect, to possess.

Something no one else would ever touch again. Something hers.

NEUVILLETTE

Neuvillette was not one for parties. The intricacies and delicate handling of public relations he oft left in the capable hands of Furina, rather then himself. It was only at her behest he even attended at all, but he still felt rather..out of place amongst the bodies constantly shifting through the ballroom like a constant rush of water from one end to the other, no rhyme nor reason to the flow. The only thing that kept him afloat among the tides was the mask of the deer obscuring his face– even if it was exceedingly difficult to truly hide himself among the crowds, most passed over him without second thought.

Though he had to be honest with himself, even if he couldn't bring himself to admit it to Furina despite her insistence that his attendance was mandatory. He had his own reasons for coming– selfishness that left a sour taste in his mouth. It was purely by chance he'd seen the briefest glimpse of them prior, and he..was intrigued, that was all.

He refused to let his thoughts linger on the sleepless nights he spent prying every piece of information he could from loose tongues and obscure documents, every moment he managed to squeeze in between trials spent lingering in their most favored locations– cafes, stores, restaurants, the like.

Now a masquerade.

He tried not to let the guilt gnaw at his conscious, but it lingered like an age old scar that still ached.

So he relegated himself to simply residing in the further corner, nursing a goblet of water like a fine wine, trying not to let his eyes stray to the brief glimpses of them through the ever moving bodies filling the center of the room, dancing like puppets in music boxes.

Still, his hand twitched in an instinctual desire– a need to clasp his hand in their own, to touch his lips upon their knuckles, to indulge in a moment of reprieve and unshackle himself from the mantle that bears heavy upon his shoulders. He seeks reverence, worship, but not of himself– but towards the one who had drawn the eye of the dragon amongst the waves of humans he'd seen come and go for a great many years.

No one could compare, he is certain. None have left him as breathless, as hopelessly infatuated, as the one who made him wish only to kneel at their feet in senseless reverence until he could no longer speak. A hopeless man, indeed, if he has never even truly met them.

Instead he's spent his time prying into their life from the shadows. Caution, or simple cowardice?

He dares not ponder.

Yet in his ceaseless pondering he'd blocked out the world without, failing to notice the figure stepping up beside him until their hand brushed against his elbow– just the briefest touch, but it had his pupils narrowing and his entire body tensing like a coiled spring. That touch..bliss. It left him breathless and lightheaded as he tilted his head to regard them, his lips parting in a shaky sigh. They are as beautiful as he remembers– even with their face obscured beneath the mask, he would never forget them.

"Greetings, Monsieur– I hope I didn't frighten you too much." Their laugh made him feel rather faint, just the sound of their voice making his hand tighten around his cane. "..Not at all. I was simply lost in thought." He admitted apologetically, trying to reign in the urge to cup their face between his palms. A dangerous thought. He didn't want to scare them off when they'd provided him a priceless opportunity.

"My apologies, you must have needed something. It was rude of me to have been so absorbed in my thoughts to have ignored you." He continued, gently turning to set his goblet down– offer them his full attention, be a gentleman. The words rang in his skull like a ceaseless alarm, blaring and rattling his thoughts as he gently took their hand in his own. It was a split second decision– an indulgence, but he could simply not help himself. Even with his gloves between them, he felt like he was going to lose his composure just from such a brief touch..

He truly was a hopeless man before an altar, praying for a salvation he intends to bury deep beneath the waves– to keep it hidden in the darkness of the depths that only he can reach. A selfish man, he must be, to even think of it, but it is an itch that he cannot scratch. A need that must be satisfied. He cannot allow any hands but his own to tend to them, to know what it feels to touch them, to hear their voice and see their eyes as he prays– prays like a man starved, devotion born of desperation.

"I hope I did not make you wait too long." He smiles, soft and affectionate, like the bloom of spring beneath the winters chill– yet just as deadly, only masked by the sweet fragrance of flowers.

He had waited too long.

No longer.

FURINA

Furina was right at home amongst the crowds– where the masks obscured the identities of most, it was impossible to not recognize the charming banter of the Hydro Archon beneath the mask of the lamb as she graced the masquerade with her presence, speaking with a silver tongue to any who would listen. A truly enthralled audience fitting for the grandest of performers in Fontaine.

But her eyes lingered not on the people who's praise dripped from their lips like honey– yet so very bitter upon her tongue. Even the mask obscuring her expression did little to hide the longing that had her visibly deflating like a popped balloon. She hated all the eyes on her, really– it was suffocating. She was only putting on a show in the foolish hope that they'd finally pay attention to her. Just her luck, she supposes, that instead she's had to throw herself straight into the role of Archon without a pay off..

They hadn't even spared her a glance! It would be infuriating if not for the fact she couldn't even keep her composure just seeing them across the room. They didn't even have to look at her and she could feel the heat rush to her ears as she forced another smile at the crowd gathered around her. It was unfair how easily they could fluster her without even knowing it– her heart was thumping so hard against her ribcage she felt like it might burst.

Her only solace was the fact none of the patrons seemed to realize she'd clocked out of the conversation, her thoughts and eyes lingering on the distant figure– what a lovestruck fool she makes..it was a chance encounter she'd seen them during one of her outings. That was all it took to enthrall her, evidentially, try as she might to have ignore it for months.

They never left her mind for longer then a day, in the end, and she had to face the fact they had managed to enrapture her so deeply she felt like a newborn lamb learning to walk whenever she so much as thought of them. What an embarrassment! She..she was the Archon, she had a reputation to maintain, she couldn't be seen fawning over a human.

But oh, she still longed for it, beneath the veneer of a God. She'd watched them more times then she'd admit even to herself, wishing to find herself in place of those who'd hands were cradled so casually in their own– to hear their voice, their laughter, as often as she pleased..like a fine delicacy she so badly wished to taste, yet so far from her reach.

Would they think her pathetic for her infatuation? She pursed her lips at the thought, trying to bury the sour mood beneath her faux image of the Archon. Yet it lingered, and with only the quietest of excuses, she slipped into the crowd like a ghost– she needed to leave before she did something..stupid. Neuvillette would surely have a few choice words with her if she did, and she was inclined to avoid such a fate.

She..she just needed a moment to collect herself was all. That was it. She could go back to playing Archon for a little longer, she just needed a moment to herself. At the very least, the balcony had been regarded as off limits so late into the party– which gave her an opportunity to slip out of the public view for the briefest of moments. A welcome reprieve– she was starting to feel suffocated amongst the crowds.

Perhaps on instinct, she reached for the mask, lifting ever so slightly away..only to let out a startled yelp at the touch of a hand on her shoulder, the mask slipping back into place far too easily. It made her lightheaded, even now, but she dared not to dwell on it.

But when she turned sharply on her heel to chew out the person who'd followed her and had the gall to scare her..oh, she was done for, her ears flush with heat. The brief glimpse of their eyes beneath the mask, the curl of their lips as they smiled– her heart stuttered in her chest, and she was certain it had stopped all together when they clasped her hand.

"Y–you.." She wanted to be angry, to brush them off and leave with her rationality in tact, but the warmth of their hands on her skin rendered her speechless. She was no better then a fish on land, struggling to fill her lungs with air as she drew in a shaky breath. "Ahem, you caught me off guard. That's all. Surely you do not make it a habit to sneak up on people?" She huffed in indignation, trying to mask the fluster that threatened to break through her carefully crafted facade.

Ah, what a cruel twist of fate..she'd slipped away to escape their allure, but here they were, dragging her back into their orbit without even knowing how deep her infatuation ran. They were alone, too..it was a chance she wasn't sure she'd ever get again.

Maybe, just this once, she could do something for herself rather then everyone else.

She buried her guilt, the fear– buried it beneath the need to be seen.

"But if you want to make it up to me.."

#genshin impact #genshin impact yandere #genshin yandere #neuvillette x reader #yandere neuvillette #yandere neuvillette x reader #arlecchino x reader #yandere arlecchino #yandere arlecchino x reader #furina x reader #yandere furina #yandere furina x reader #fic tag #pats neuvillette this noodle dragon can be so pathetic #aiming for pathetic desperate and slightly guilty. it gnaws at him knowing he's keeping you like a bird in a cage #esp if you react extremely negatively hes like a kicked puppy #not outwardly but internally hes a MESS. sobbing crying wailing #furina and neuvi sopping wet kittens u found in a cardboard box in an alley #vs arle thinking abt all the crimes shes going 2 commit in the process w/o an ounce of guilt. blackmail? check. kidnapping? check.#a little murder for flavor. as u can see im coping horribly w being practically snowed in rn i need 2 be put down #its like 4 degrees out rn (fahrenheit) and getting colder ueueueue i am dying..........#only thing keeping me going is my furinameow plushie coming. eventually. staying strong just for her.................#also needs 2 be mentioned all the stories r separate ksjfkhdsf #no not everyone in fontaine is yan and trying 2 kidnap sorry for getting ur hopes up..#yet #anyway u cant convince me arle isn't bribing (or just straight up forcing) her agents into doing stupid shit so she can “save” you #and make you owe her #two silly goofy little creatures vs the personification of gaslight gatekeep girlboss (heavy on the gaslight)#also split this up in 3 parts bc. lol. lmao. im not writing 9 characters at once goodbye #also all the masks do actually have significance i have an entire essay on why i gave each animal to specific characters okay

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spaciebabie · 2 months

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okay guys so heres the thing. if i am having fun and being happy over a post and you come in my inbox and say something rude about how im enjoying something you're getting blocked lol. i have been veeeeeeeery nice so far. i dont know why you're following me if you're gonna make a stink when i reblog/make art/talk abt something i like. why are you here. you know. the blog where i talk/reblog/make art abt the things i like. if you dont like it here instead of telling me. leave. be a decent person, okay?

#spacie spoinks #mood killer #just got a very very rude ask like what is up w/ppl and springtrap its only when its abt him #the ask was literally like ''yeah i hate this thing that you like so there''#????? okay?????#i have spam reblogged other posts and not a peep abt how ''ohhh this thing sucks actually why are you enjoying it :/''#litrally shut up!!!!!!! go away im having fun what's wrong with you!!!#this wont ruin my mood b/c haaarhouguohg that art.....#also . what is up w/ppl and bringing up being aroace in their anons when talking abt springtrap 😭😭#IM ALSO AROACE!!!!! YOU FOOLS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#''im not simping for him im aroace'' you are literally looking at an aroace rn #do i need 2 make more posts abt being aroace. is that it.#would you guys finally believe me if i told you that IN REAL LIFE i do not find most humans attractive sexually or romantically?#smh #anybeans :333 #spins around with basyas drawing in my hand oh how i love him #im gonna put this in a frame #im. i need a corkboard so i can jut have a collage . on my fwall

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chooh2 · 16 days

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Lyman: "Seem in an awful rush, kiddo. Where're you off to in such a hurry?" Devan: "Just... need to get away from here. Find a change of scenery, someplace I can breathe." Lyman: "Okay... Back in time for dinner I hope? Gideon's cookin' your favorite tonight." Devan: "... Don't think so, not this time."

Running From Ghosts: 2070, Vegas-bound

#cyberpunk 2077 #nonbinary v #oc: Devan #listen listen- just ignore the fact they're technically driving away from the welcome sign okay #when u dont have an actual vegas skyline to work with u make ur own by slappin in a STRAT and ferris wheel silhouette kajsdkjhdf #the Lyman fellow talkin to Devan is their uncle btw!#well- their dad's uncle and their great uncle but they just call him uncle #i'll probably write down some lore abt this in a reblog at a later point but im pretty damn sick rn so gonna wait on it #but basically going to NC is actually the SECOND time devan leaves the bakkers- going to Vegas is the first #this is their hotshot netrunner origin right here in sin city :)

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mirroringshards · 7 months

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i think the best way to deal with suicidal thoughts, is to go online and get validation from a bunch of strangers

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etherealyoungk · 1 month

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BLONDE MULLET HOSHI OMFG

#IM YELLING #HAUDIDJJD IM NOT OKAY #JAJDJSJD #STOP HE LOOKS SO GOOD #LIKE LOOK AT HIM AAAAJJDJJJ #totally not okay rn #going feral actually #skye talks about seventeen

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solivagantingrebel · 2 months

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So, so obsessed with the fact that the moment Ghost allows & affirms Soap to be close to him, he starts freely using words like "love" and "beautiful" when it comes to describing things that Ghost does. He's also actively fishing for praise and making Ghost somewhat exclusively special in that freeing Alejandro mission but yaknow, the parmesan on an already delicious pasta.

#'this is why i love the ghost'#'fuckin beautiful sir'#'only ghost can pull it off'#ghost asking soap physically to look out for him and soap giving him a lil thumbs up and saying best of luck #too lazy to look up the actual name of the mission rn #im sleep deprived okay #soap #ghostsoap #ghoap #mw2

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becauseplot · 8 months

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Penciled Lines

(Cross-posted on ao3, if you prefer to read it there. Reblogs still appreciated!)

Missa wakes up, and he thinks he might be doomed. This doesn’t scare him nearly as much as it should.

Missa is awake early—by his own metric, anyway. His nocturnal nature causes “early” for him to mean “early night” and not “early morning.” Regardless, “early” means that Philza is not asleep yet, still going through his nightly rituals. “Early” means that Philza is sitting up in (his? their?) the bed, pillows propped up behind him, notebook in his lap, sketching away.

And when Missa wakes up to the soft scritch-scratch of a charcoal pencil on textured paper, his forehead just so happens to be brushing Philza’s hip.

Missa can hardly breathe.

Oh no.

He knows that if he gives any indication that he is awake, Philza will stop sketching, close his notebook, shift himself over until he is politely seated on his side of the bed, and greet Missa with a friendly smile. Philza has done it before, when Missa wakes up early. That’s how Missa knows he’ll do it again.

Thus, Missa can hardly breathe—his breaths have to be the slow in-out of sleep. He can’t so much as twitch, either. He has to keep quiet and play dead or else he’ll be found out. Seen. Caught living the lie.

“Husband,” Philza calls him. They’re not married. They share a bed. They’re hardly ever in it at the same time. They have a son and a daughter. Neither of them know Missa very well. Philza has had an extra set of armor and a skull on his backpack for months, waiting for Missa. Missa doesn’t even know Philza’s last name.

Philza is a good man and a good friend—and Missa doesn't deserve him. Still, he takes what he can get. Curls around it. Hoarding every innocent kindness Philza extends like a starving creature: the generosity of a backpack fully stocked with equipment; the trust Philza places in Missa to watch the kids when he’s asleep; and now, the courtesy of not moving his hip from Missa’s forehead to ensure his “sleeping” isn’t disturbed. Missa clutches all of these little offerings in his greedy claws and hugs them into his chest, even as the guilt eats away at him.

Because, regardless of the lack of mutual feeling, he loves Philza. He loves him so, so much, and that is why he is doomed. He can’t afford to lose what little he has. He can’t cross that line.

So Missa lies beside Philza, forehead pressed against Philza’s hip, pretending to sleep so he can imagine that they’re not just lying in bed together, but lying in bed, together; and later, when Missa truly wakes, he will sit on his side of the bed and look at Philza’s face soft with sleep and think about how lucky he is that he still has a side-of-the-bed to begin with.

Missa doesn’t mean to drift off. When it starts to happen, he’s hopelessly torn between shaking himself awake and thus giving himself away, or remaining how he is, silently fending off the inevitable. In the end, Missa clings to that scritch-scratch sound of Philza’s pencil on the paper for as long as he can before the fog at last pulls him under.

Eventually, he dreams. In fact, he dreams of the calloused fingers he dreams of every night, hands like his own, an artist of Death, cradling and shading the contours of his face—a softness dashing charcoal across his jaw, and over his cheekbones, and perhaps on his lips, too, if he’s lucky. Defining every edge of him.

~*~

A deep sigh. Phil stops sketching as Missa shifts in his sleep. He tilts his head up so that the tip of his nose is now just nearly brushing against Phil’s hip. The motion disturbs the wild splay of his dark hair, revealing more of his face: eyelashes, cheeks, warmth. Tender blush of something Stygian and otherworldly. New.

Phil’s lips tilt upwards. He turns to a fresh page, and he starts again.

#qsmp #pissa #qsmpshipping #qsmp missa #qsmp philza #i hesitate to put main character tags bc it's shipping content but i think we're all p much okay with that?? we chill??? we chill thumbsup #my fics #ficlet #anyway would you believe me if i told you this took me a week to write. hhourgh.#i'll prolly make small edits as time goes by if i dont scrap this version entirely.#i really like it rn but we'll see how i feel abt it in like a couple hours or a day. the sheer number of times ive rewritten this hhhhh.#this little character/relationship study is primarily for me to try to work them out in my head.#so if this doesnt quite hit the exact vibe you know why.#im still getting acquainted w missa's character but i gotta start somewhere ya know #i didnt actually get to explore missa's feelings of inferiority as much as i wanted to but thats bc i found trying to tackle that As Well-#-as everything else saddled the fic/setting w too many Things and made it cumbersome and muddied the story being told.#so another time perhaps.#anyway i adore them. beloveds.

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definitelynotshouting · 17 days

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“The universe sings,” Grian said.

He sounds vaguely distant- like he’s speaking from hundreds of blocks away rather than right next to Mumbo.

He turns on his bed, slow halting movements, to face him.

“Did you know?”

Mumbo can only stare.

“…Sings?” He asks. He shifts on his chair.

Grian seems to want to nod, but aborts the motion halfway, and hums instead.

“Yeah. The code. It sings, if you listen close enough,” Grian mumbles.

Mumbo opens his mouth, then closes it again.

Grian exhales a long breath, and his eyes drift close.

“Can you hear it?”

Mumbo watches the way Grian’s chest rises and falls, shallowly, slowly.

He closes his eyes, and strains to hear.

He hears- Tango out in another room of the house, pacing circles around the kitchen. Mumbo can tell it’s Tango by the shuffle in his walk.

He can hear birds outside, twittering. Wind rustling through branches. An animal- a pig, maybe, trotting along some grass.

It’s quite calming really- but he doesn’t hear singing. At least, he doesn’t think he does?

When he opens his eyes again, it’s to Grian staring right at him.

Mumbo exhales in one sharp breath- he didn’t realise he’d stopped breathing- and meets Grian’s gaze.

“Did you mean like, actual singing or- or was that metaphorical? Because I can’t hear anything other than trees, mate,” he says, only half-joking.

Grian huffs a small laugh, and shakes his head.

“Nah, it’s not really singing-singing. It’s music, though. You’ve definitely heard some of it- discs. That’s the easiest way to hear it. But that’s- so few of what’s out there. There’s more music, if you know how to listen for it,” he hums. His eyes close again, and he leans more into the mattress.

Mumbo pauses, and thinks on that for a moment. Music discs, huh? He supposes it seems plausible, that there’d be more music out there.

But then why has he never heard it? Mumbo doesn’t ever recall hearing ‘the code sing’. If it’s tied into music discs, then is it naturally generated? Is hearing it a ‘watcher thing’?

Mumbo glances down at his hands, traces lines of dirt under his fingernails.

He nods, though Grian can’t see it anyway. He makes some vague ‘see you later’ comment he can’t bother to think about, and carefully gets to his feet.

At the doorframe, he peers back.

Grian lies there, breathing steadily.

Mumbo turns and leaves, closing the door behind him.

////

headcanon that the minecraft soundtrack can be heard in the code, but only if you're 'in harmony' with it. cue other headcanon of watchers being very aware of the code

HEY ANON. ANON. I ADORE THIS HOLY SHIT I FUCKING LOVE THIS HEADCANON???? The idea that the universe is constantly singing to itself, and you can hear that through the Greater Code if you really carefully listen, is something i lowkey want to canonize SO BADLY holy shit. And this is such a lovely snippet too, im always such a sucker for deeply layered conversations like this.... i adore how youve given so much depth to the sentence "the universe sings" and the implications of how and why Grian is hearing it so much right now. [THROWS UP BLOOD] IM OBSESSED.......

Also this Mumbo dialogue especially is on point youve done such a good job of capturing his little speech patterns :] STUNNING JOB ANON IM SO FLATTERED U WROTE THIS!!!!! I really think i might canonize this concept just for how absolutely amazing it is, im utterly obsessed with it

#shouting speaks #asks #hunger au #art for me #<- litcherally cannot remember if i have a specific fic for me tag or not IG I'LL FIND OUT ONCE I HIT POST...#THE IDEA THAT TJE SOUNDTRACK ARE SONGS THE UNIVERSE SINGS TO ITSELF.... IM GOING BUCKWILD #i mean its already canon the universe SINGS but u KNOW my ass is gonna be listening to the full soundtrack #tears in my eyes as i picture grian listening to it.....#i hope its okay to yoink this anon bc im enamoured with the concept truly #gods and the idea that the music discs are specifically fragments of the universe singing that you can ACTUALLY HEAR....#i like to think that like. making music discs is p much like making custom ones the way theyre doing it #but sometimes. sometimes you find treasure discs #or you fashion it from the remains of a creeper.. and you get a little window into what the Greater Code sounds like #weeping forever and ever that u wrote this for me im saving this in my special little works inspired by hunger au folder rn #❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️#fic recs #long post #txt

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thevashta-narada · 7 months

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just realised the captain only let the other ghosts refer to him as captain probably only partially because the war and his rank was everything that mattered to him and also because the last thing he heard before he died was the love of his life saying his name in the most loving and gentle way and he probably wanted to keep that memory and it also probably would feel way too intimate for any of the other ghosts to say his name after that so he just tells them to call him captain.

#screaming crying throwing up #bawling my eyes out rn #capvers #janthony #idk which is actually being used anymore #im so unwell about this show #i literally just realised this while sitting in school and had to not burst out crying about a fictional dead gay guy #im not okay actually #bbc ghosts #just thinking about how none of the ghosts were there for his death so they must have asked his name at some point #and he must have told them to call him captain rather than his name #and then thinking about why he would do that #and then crying #idk if someone already said this but i havent seen it so i thought I'd put it on here #bbc ghosts spoilers

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harukapologist · 5 months

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a cute detail in haruka's room

This turned into a half-ramble half-headcanon post so I apologize for how messy it is lol

While watching undercover for the first time I noticed that there seems to be a sketchbook in Haruka's room, in which a colorful tree is drawn

Haruka seems to be hyperempathetic, and usually hyperempathetic people are quite artistic in their worldview and their hobbies, so I have a headcanon that Haruka likes to draw and/or paint, as a hobby and coping mechanism, a little escapism (especially since Haruka's no.1 coping mechanism with traumatic/stressful events seems to be denial—I'm going to elaborate on that in a different post because I've thought about that very, VERY often, and it partially explains why he acted the way he did in T2, to me) (I'm projecting a little bit because I kin Haruka and I'm a (hobbyist) artist myself but teehee)

When he was asked about his hobbies in his T1 interrogation, he just said he liked to talk to the other prisoners, but I think that's because he's insecure about his art being bad or unconventional (it looks like he used crayons or simple markers for the tree drawing. And also, the leaves are all different colors... perhaps I'm overanalyzing a simple scene, but it seemed to me that it's kinda symbolizing how he views & interacts with the world differently because of his neurodivergence. Still, the drawing is quite pretty imo, and he used the colors very well, so even though it's a tree with unusual colors, it still looks beautiful; even though he's different, it doesn't mean he's inferior, and there's still beauty despite how much he struggles to fit in. You know?)

Also also the way a lot of frames in weakness have hyper-realistic, vibrant backgrounds, as well as the blood being colorful (though that appears elsewhere too, like in Muu's MV) it really convinced me that Haruka sees the world through the lens of an artist, a passionate person who feels things very intensely.

Since the prisoners can request anything, I like to think Haruka secretly requested a sketchbook and some crayons to continue his hobby (I'm not sure if he can do that since it's unclear how the prisoners request & receive stuff (I'm a relatively new Milgram fan so I might've forgotten/not have seen an explanation if there's any ueueu))

I like to think he keeps his sketchbook to himself at first, but slowly opens up to the other prisoners about his hobby. First Fuuta and Mu, then maybe Mikoto, then the others (and they're all very nice to him & praise his art!!! Especially Mikoto I think. he would be very excited to see all of Haruka's art!!! Supportive big brother figure) :3c

#if its not actually a sketchbook forgive me im blind as shit #if these aren't crayons too pls forgiev me #i hope this makes sense i wouldve probably talked more if i didnt have a godawful migraine rn #i love haruka i definitely think he likes to/wants to practise some form of art #should i tag this im a bit embarrassed eheh #milgram #haruka sakurai #sakurai haruka #headcanons #milgram headcanons #jay rambles bleh idk #okay maybe theres more than just a little bit of projection but shh it makes sense doesn't it #I LOVE HARU #he s literally me #if anyone has pointed this out before pls forgive me again #and show me the post pls id love to find. likeminded people #good night #milgram project

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