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rinhaler · 6 months

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I Finally Decided On You

✧˖*°࿐ : 18+ only, no minors. ✧. ┊ ⁭rin itoshi x f!reader

Genre: smut & angst Notes: in my feelings abt a friendship break up so have some angst heheheee Warnings: 18+, mutual pining, angst, pet names, cheating, dacryphilia, tit sucking ♡, vaginal sex, choking ♡, love bites, breeding kink, creampie ♡ Words: 5.8k

“You’re lonely, aren’t you?”

Your breath hitches as the words make their way into your brain. His eyes have been fixed on you for what seems like a lifetime, but it’s only after you hear him ask something so personal, so intimate, that you can bring yourself to look at him. His glimmering, jade eyes are so striking, so captivating, you can’t help but want to bare your soul to him.

“You shouldn’t ask me something like that.” you whisper, unable to hide your smile as you are both all too aware of the irony of your sentence. There are so many things neither of you should be doing right now.

And yet, here you are, allowing the 4am sky to encase your bodies in a melancholic blanket. You’re waiting for one more sentence to spill from his lips that will have your deepest secrets tumbling from yours.

You know him.

He knows you.

And it’s so comforting.

You’ve never felt like this with anyone before. He’s so easy to talk to, and even easier to be around. It’s almost like a punishment. The worlds cruellest joke that you’re being subjected to.

“You shouldn’t be in my bed, but you’re here. So, talk to me.” he smiles, effortlessly. A smile that he’d only ever show you. An expression that only you are worthy of and the only person he’d ever trust to experience it. It’s so loving. It’s like being home.

You’re quiet, your own smile fading slightly as you think about his question. What had you done to make him even ask it? You’re lonely. Is that true? You have friends, family, a lover. Realistically, you can’t be lonely.

“I am.” you tell him, honestly, finally finding his gaze once more. Allowing him to scan your trusting eyes so he can see there isn’t a trace of a lie. And he does, stare, until he looks at your lips briefly, and then back to your eyes.

“You’re lonely?”

“Yes.”

He hums, thinking about it for a moment. You don’t deserve to feel that way. Though it may be his heart talking. It might be the fact that he’s head over heels in love with you.

Every moment with you is so saccharine, so disgustingly dizzying that it could make him vomit from excess. He can’t get enough of you. He’s ravenous for you.

Your taste.

Each kiss you allow him to take is so seraphic, your candied lips cloying his insides. It hurts to be with you sometimes, he knows what this is and what it will be. He knows what he is to you and what he will never be. He hates himself, and honestly, he hates you a little bit in that same breath. Though he locks that feeling of loathing deep down inside, he doesn’t want to feel it. He doesn’t want to care that much.

Whatever you are to each other now, in this moment, is enough.

His face nears yours, and you observe him as his eyes close. Yours close too, gently, and you feel his lips on yours. His hand cups your face, his thumb gently caressing your cheek as he deepens the kiss only slightly. He pulls away, eyes glittering as he observes you. He’s making sure you’re okay, that what he just did was okay.

And it is.

He pulls you closer to him, enveloping your body in his before carefully planting his lips on your cheek. He sighs, a little. The heavy, disheartened breath rushing through your ear canal. It makes you shudder, so he holds you tighter.

“You aren’t alone, you know.” he tells you, quietly. You feel tears pricking at your eyes as he starts speaking. He cares, so much, you can almost feel his passion vibrating from his skin and passing through you. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know.” you sniffle. “It’s just hard.”

“I know.” he agrees, kissing atop your head as a show of comfort. He just can’t get enough of you. He can’t stop himself from being with you like this, even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t. These moments with you are his main source of happiness. Getting to know you so viscerally is everything to him. Whenever you’re together, like this, he gets to peel back another layer of who you are.

“I’m so—” you stop, your eyes catching his again before you brush away the thought. You’re playing with fire, with him. You’re letting him scrutinize your body as you bare your self-inflicted gaping wounds. Allowing him to decide whether to pour alcohol and salt into your ruined flesh. “I’m just sick of feeling like shit all of the time.” you sigh a little before laughing.

“Don’t.” he huffs, his thumb stroking your face again. It’s a bid to make your body submit to his. “I don’t like it when you perform for me.”

You smile, again, nodding in acceptance as you take his word as truth. It makes sense why he isn’t fond of you acting for him, though for some reason you can’t seem to help yourself. Wrapping your body in an invisible gauze as you do all that you can to prevent your lacerated skin from becoming infected by him.

“Rin?” you whisper again, almost hoping he won’t have heard you say his name. “Do you love me?”

The question almost wounds him. You see his eyes begin to tremor as he wonders if you want him to answer that. And answer it genuinely. He rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. Your bodies are mirrored up above, and he can’t help but stare at his own reflection as he contemplates how to answer. His heart skips a beat when you inch closer to him, wrapping an arm around his torso as you caress him and await his response.

He hates how little effort you need to make to force him to smile.

“Yeah.” he tells you. But he doesn’t look at you, still staring at himself in the mirror above. It’s a confession for him as well as you. “I’m in love with you. Is that okay?”

Of course he’s asking for permission to love you. Though even if you were to say no, it’s not like he could just stop his feelings. It isn’t okay, of course it isn’t. Nothing about what you’re doing is okay. Whatever you’re not meant to do always makes you feel most alive. It makes you feel excited. And right now, you feel wanted. You feel loved.

You don’t feel lonely.

You’re quiet for a moment, but you hope the smile you’re donning will show that you’re appreciative of his honesty. It takes you a while to think about how to respond. You could say it back, but what good will it do? If you don’t say anything, you’re sure he’ll be upset, but he won’t tell you that. You don’t want to hurt him, that’s the last thing you want.

“Thank you.” you tell him.

He doesn’t say anything to that. He closes his eyes, a soft chuckle emanating from him as he processes the rejection. In his mind, that smart, logical mind of his, he knew you wouldn’t say it back. Why would you? Even if it was true, it’s too messy. It’s a disaster waiting to happen, you both know it, so why would you say it back? But then again, why would you ask his feelings in the first place? His heart is screaming at him with every aggressive beat against his ribcage. It’s telling him, despite the logic working overtime in his brain, that you love him too.

“Do you love me?” he wonders, finally allowing his head to roll to the side again so that you’re making eye contact once more.

And you’re silent. You can see in his eyes that he’s pleading with you to reciprocate his feelings. To verbalise them. He wants you to mean it, though. He’d rather you not say a word than lie to him.

But, he knows you.

He knows your mind body and soul and he truly believes that you feel the same way about him. So tell him, won’t you? Lay your heart bare and just tell him the truth. No matter what the world throws at you, he’s certain you can handle it, together. Whatever concerns you have, he’ll protect you. Any repercussions you think will follow you from following your heart, he won’t allow. He’ll do anything for you. Anything to be with you. So look into his emerald eyes and be honest with him.

Be honest with yourself.

“Please,” you start, “please never ask me that again.”

The words cut like a knife. Or rather, he feels like he stopped existing the moment you finish your sentence. It’s like being in a car accident and dying on impact. He looks up at the ceiling again, closing his eyes, knowing the tears are soon to pour from them if he doesn’t get a grip.

Why would you say that?

You still haven’t given a clear answer. And really, he knows why you said what you did. It’s self-preservation. Maybe you think you’re protecting him, too. But you aren’t. You’re the reason his heart beats and this is the reason that it will stop. Every moment from now will be agony. Without an answer, you’ve given him one. And he despises you, now. He thinks you’re selfish.

He thinks you’re a fucking coward.

“Then… what is this?” he wonders, still not daring to widen his eyes and give you the satisfaction of seeing him cry. You can barely stand to look at him now though. Not when he’s being like this. You don’t want to hurt him, truly. But there’s no use in giving him hope that isn’t there. This is for the best, you’re sure. “Have you just been using me for the last two years? When you’re… fucking lonely.” his own breath hitches and he wants to disappear. From your line of sight, from the room, from the fucking planet.

“It’s not like that, Rin.” you sigh, and it’s almost breathless as you try and conjure the right words to alleviate his pain. There’s nothing you can say that won’t hurt. The damage is done. You’ve broken him. “You know the first time was a mistake… and then it just kept happening… and then—”

“And then you—” he balls up his fists until his arms begin to tremble. But he takes a breath, anger leaving him as he exhales. He’s always been good at that. He always knows when he’s getting too worked up and knows how to take it down a notch and compose himself. He’s calculated with everything he does. But he supposes you’re the exception. There was nothing calculated in regard to you. He fell into this fucking mess with you, because it’s you. “… Don’t you think the fact we’ve been making the same ‘mistake’ for so long means it might not be a mistake.” he talks, quietly. You can’t tell if he’s asking you a question or simply speaking words for you to hear.

You don’t answer. What can you say? You can’t contradict yourself now. It’s a valid point, of course. Is a repeated mistake truly a mistake? Maybe you and he are made for each other. Being with him could be easy, if you wanted. Being honest with yourselves and those around you might be easier than you think. Being able to hold his hand and go out on dates like a normal couple. Could it really be so simple?

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” you respond, bluntly. It’s harsh. The words make your mouth swell with discomfort and a horrendous desire to burst into tears. Nothing else will get through to him, you think. Being nice is getting neither of you anywhere. You gulp, and it’s like swallowing razor blades as you see how fucking shattered his face becomes.

He scoffs, a little, and sits upright in bed. You chase him, somewhat, sitting upright beside him and placing your hand on his shoulder. And you gasp, quietly, as he shrugs away from your touch. Your defeated hands fall into your lap as you continue to sit beside him, your eyes alternate from looking at his side profile to your twiddling thumbs.

Rejection was always bound to come eventually. He wishes he never opened his mouth, though. The delusion could have carried on a little while longer. Why did you have to ask if he loved you? You surely knew already. His mind roars at him to run. He’s staring at his sneakers placed meticulously by his wardrobe as he thinks about where he could go. Anywhere away from here.

Away from you.

But the child in him… is resilient. He’s never been one to accept true defeat. He’s never been the type to give up on his dreams or quit when he truly believes there is a chance at happiness for him. You see his hand move to his obscured cheek, and you’re sure he’s wiping away a tear.

It’s all but confirmed when he looks at you. Teal eyes almost illuminate the room as they look at you. Crystalline droplets reside in his lashline, and his eyes keep shimmering as they take in every solitary detail of your beguiling face. He can’t lose you. You’re perfect for him.

And he loves you.

He leans towards you, and you don’t fight it. Your lips slotting beautifully against one another as you melt into his kiss. It’s prolonged and it’s deep. You feel as though he’s giving you everything he has. Everything he is as a final farewell. The thought of never seeing him again makes you break away, panting desperately before you comb his hair out of his face.

“What are you doing, Rin?” you whisper.

This time you’re left without an answer. He grips his fingers into your soft hips and helps you move above him, straddling him so that he can look up into the eyes of the woman he loves more than he ever has or will love anyone.

“Play with my hair, please.” he whispers back against your bare skin as he lifts your tank top to expose your breasts. You do as he asks, combing your fingers through his hair again as he sweetly kisses your erect nipples. The only sound filling the room is his puckered kisses and your laboured breaths.

You hum, intoxicated, as kisses turn to suckles. They’re soft and careful, your skin breaks out in bumps as your flesh tries to huddle together to keep in the warmth. Your heart skips a beat when he looks up at you, briefly, before focusing on your tits again. He wraps his arms tightly around your torso in a bid to pull you closer. Your cotton-clad mound humping against his straining cock in the process.

He grunts against your skin when he feels the wetness pooling on your panties transferring to his boxers. One of his hand roams to squeeze the fat of your ass, a squeaking yelp escapes you as you feel thick bruising fingers dig into your supple flesh. He gentle nibbles your swollen tits, eliciting a mewl from you that speaks to your infatuation with him. Whether you care to admit it or not, he knows your body enough to understand the truth.

“Rin,” you shudder, throwing your head back in an attempt to gain some distance from what is happening and retrieve your thoughts. He doesn’t stop, though. But his eyes meet yours again when you return. He’s listening. He’s clinging to your every thought. “I-Is this really what you want?” you ask him. And he nods, slowly, relinquishing one nipple from his mouth with a pop and licking his cherry bitten lips.

“’m not a mistake, baby…” he tells you in hushed tones before sucking your neglected nipple momentarily. He means it, too. You don’t think he’s a mistake. In truth, you think the world of Rin Itoshi. You wish you met at a different time. Things could be how you both want them to be. But this is how things are. You feel tears you hadn’t given permission begin to roll down your cheeks as you think about how lowly he views himself because of you. You are a fucking coward, you always have been. “I can be right for you, princess. I can.”

You hear him sniff a little before he continues making out with your aching tits. And you push his hair out of his face again, getting a perfect view of his lusciously long eyelashes. You can’t see his pretty green eyes from this angle, they’re focused intently on your chest. But his eyes snap to your when he hears you sniffling too.

“Rin… I-Is this—?”

“Do you want to do that thing you like?” he asks, breath fanning over your spit soaked tits as he snaps you from your thoughts. He encourages you to move a little as he hooks his fingers into your panties and tries to pull them down your legs. It’s clumsy, and it makes you laugh as you shuffle around awkwardly until they’re off. And he throws them across the room before your lips crash together again.

Your arms wrap around his neck as you kiss him. He swallows your moans like they’re holy and he’s fucking greedy. He manages to snake his hand between your bodies to free his length. And your vision strays to see it. His gorgeous, pretty cock. It’s beautiful and pink, though the darkness of the room hides it well. You know it from memory by now. But you can’t mistake the drooling precum leaking from his slit and down his shaft as he strokes his length at a steady pace while he kisses you again.

But you break it once more.

“You like it… you like it, too.” you smile, thinking back to what he’d asked you moments ago. He smirks against your lips, kissing you again before looking down at his length as he attempts to guide it into your heat.

“That’s right.” he nods, licking his lips. “’n it feels the best when you ride me… so sit on it.” he commands. He clenches his teeth as his tip sits comfortably in your sticky interior. You’re so tight and wrap around him so heavenly. As though you’re made solely for him. In his mind, though, that’s exactly what you are. He hisses, eagerly, as he feels the conflicting constrict of your cunt tightening and releasing repeatedly as he remains there. It’s like you aren’t sure if you’re trying to suck him in further or push him out completely.

His fingers curl around your dainty wrist, guiding your hand to his neck and encouraging you to squeeze. You do, softly, and you can’t help but smile when he laughs breathily.

“Sit on it, princess. S’all yours.”

The squeeze becomes tighter as you slowly sink on his length. Your jaw drops willingly as you moan through the stretch. And Rin, God, he’s fucking beautiful. His eyes roll over white as your pussy envelops him until you feel his pretty tip nudge your g-spot. You kiss his cheek. Again, and again and again until his vision returns to you.

He likes it. No, he loves it. But only because it’s you. He’s been with plenty of women, but he’s never been in love. He’s had feelings for partners, but never love. He can’t imagine letting any of them choke him the way you do. It makes him heady, but only because it’s you. The first time you did it he wanted to protest, to tell you in no uncertain terms that he isn’t interested in that kind of thing. But the word no could barely escape his lips before he came inside you after you squeezed the sides of his neck oh so deliciously.

“F-uck, Rinnie…” you moan as you start to rock your hips against him. His hands gently hold your waist and help you in your efforts, your breath catching in your throat as your clit catches against his pubis and trimmed hairs. “You’re s-so deep. Feel you h-here…” you point to your lower abdomen as you carry on rocking against him, your grip on his neck easing as you feel pleasure begin to surge through your nervous system.

He's speechless, though. He knows he’s big and doesn’t feel a need to reiterate it. Instead, he pushes his palm flat against your tummy as you continue to get yourself off. You moan, louder. Drool forming in the corner of your mouth as you keep going and going until your legs begin to give. And he pities you, he does. So much so that he holds your hips tightly and helps you rise and fall on the full length of his cock again and again.

Each impale is rapturous. The pleasure is fucking blinding as his heavy tip slams repeatedly against your sensitive soft insides and you mewl blaringly, no care or consideration for neighbours that might be trying to get a full eight hours before that dreaded sunrise approaches any minute now. You can’t possibly care, not when a cock so perfectly made to mould the shape and ridges of your pussy to suit it’s domineering size is ruining you so divinely.

“Don’t stop.” he reminds you, his hand covering and squeezing your own around his willing neck, encouraging you to persevere. The way your clutching fingers hug the column of his throat is beauty personified. Like a scene from a renaissance painting before your very eyes. And his eyes are blown to hell, full of lust, “harder.” he smirks, greedily. And you always do as you’re told. You want to be good for him after being so cruel. You want to please him after being so cold. You want to love him after being so harsh.

“I—” you start, your words becoming trapped in your throat as your cowardice springs to the forefront of your mind. Though, is it really cowardice? Or is it just the right decision for both of you? For peace of mind and an easy life, it is.

“Yeah?” his eyes practically glitter in expectation as he awaits your sentence to be brought to completion. You are cruel, cold and harsh. Because you’ve gotten his hopes up yet again. And you can’t have that, you just can’t.

“I’m, c-close…” you alert him. His eyes widen in surprise. It hasn’t been so long since you started. Are you lying? He can usually tell. He studies your face and feels the way your cunt constricts around his length as you draw near your demise. You’re honest, only sometimes.

“N-N.. uh… can you hold it? F-For me, princess?” he asks, pleads, really, if his watery eyes are anything to go by. You aren’t sure you can, but you nod anyway. You’ll try your damndest, for him, anything for him.

He manoeuvres you carefully onto your back so you’re lying beneath him. You remain wrapped around him the entire time, like he can’t bear to be apart from you for even a second. You can’t blame him, either, you don’t want to remember what life feels like without him snug inside of your welcoming cunt.

His eyes roam your body as he cages you in below him. Emerald jewels taking in each and every inch of your perfectly bare skin. Every detail, every crevice and pore. It’s all so beautiful to him, and hasn’t become a boring sight to behold in the entire two years you’ve been doing this.

Both of your hands cradle his head, fingers interlocking through the back of his hair. He looks into your eyes and you can’t help but smile. This is how your life should be. When you see how much love pours from his eyes as he looks at you, you know this is how things are meant to be. But it’s a shame, they aren’t. You feel your heart break in two as reality crashes around you once again. But he leans down to kiss you, silently asking your permission to keep going.

“Please, Rin.” you nod.

“Okay, I’ve got you.” he kisses your neck as he begins to shallowly thrust into you again. You mewl softly as you feel him suckle the skin covering your clavicle, and it’s sure to bruise, but you don’t care. You’re sick of caring, now. You just want to feel this. Enjoy this moment. You want to enjoy Rin.

He pushes your thighs gently, spurring you to wrap your legs around his hips in a bid for you to hug him tightly. You hook your feet against one another, and you feel like a koala clinging onto a tree. You don’t mind though. You feel safe, like this. A safety you’ve never felt from anyone at any time. He’ll keep you safe, always, because he loves you. All he wants in this moment is for you to feel good and for him to be the reason. You cock your head, curiously. And he wastes no time satiating your lust with a kiss.

Your moans feel suffocating as your throat swells with the desperate need to share them with him. But you can’t. Not when he’s pressing his lips to yours and trying to inhale your every breath and any other offering you can muster for him. He can’t let you go for even a second, he thinks. This is all he has. He needs to remember.

He looks upset when you turn your head to break the kiss, but his thrusting doesn’t cease. They slow, however. Opting to fuck you deeper. He wants to explore depths in your cute cunt that neither of you know even existed.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, voice quiet but laced with concern. It’s hard to even think as his thrusts seem to be whisking your brain into a pink mushy paste.

“I can’t—” you pant, “hold it… m-much longer!” you warn him.

“Oh.” he chuckles, and burrows his head into the crook of your neck. He kisses. Sucks. Makes it known that you’ve been with him. A final bid to make you his, though it will surely amount to nothing. “That’s okay, let go, baby…” he tells you.

You bite your lip. A momentary gesture before you find your pleasure crescendo from his faithful pace. He kisses sweetly along your jawline, humping into you hard enough that there is a steady slapping resounding through the bedroom. You note how the sun seems to rise and birds begin to chirp as you topple over the edge of your orgasm.

He could bathe in your sweet moans for the rest of his life, he thinks. They seem to harmonise with the birds singing outside. Your fingers dig and claw into his shoulder blades as you don’t let up. It’s all so tantalizing, a song he’d happily play on repeat for the rest of his miserable life if he could.

You clamp around him and feel a swell of pride in your chest as you hear him moan for you, too. Your cunt floods with warmth and you’ve never felt so wanted. Part of him wishes you weren’t on birth control. Part of him wishes that it would fail so that there’s a reason he can truly make you his. But he knows he isn’t that lucky. And he knows it’s wrong to want those things, too. He doesn’t even want a kid, really.

He just wants a reason to keep you.

Your chest heaves as he collapses on top of you, hugging you closely. You fear that your sweaty bodies may meld together permanently, until the breeze from the open window rolls in. Cooling your dampened skin slowly but surely. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, though. Being stuck to him. There’s always fantastical ideas conjured from absurd imaginations that give you cause to be together. It’s the only way, you think.

It can’t be as simple as you want to be together.

You can’t just love each other so much you can be together.

You need a reason.

A very good fucking reason.

“Are we going to be okay, Rinnie? Things haven’t changed, right?” you ask him, almost scared to speak but not enough to stop the flow of your words. You feel his body tense up, and at that point you know things have indeed changed. But change can be good… you might just be delusional, though.

“I’m going to shower.” he says, coldly, peeling his body from yours. And it stings. He couldn’t give you an answer, and you know that translates to him only having an answer you won’t like. He’s cruel, mostly, but never with you. With other people he can be rude and mean. But he’d rather be silent than do that to you. And it hurts. Fuck, it hurts. It’s all such a mess and everything is fucking ruined. “… are you coming?” he asks, looking back at you as he heads towards the bathroom.

And there it is.

The flame of hope he can never truly let die when it comes to you.

Your eyes flicker open, the room fully bathed in the light of the mid-morning sun. Rin is sitting at the edge of his bed. Legs covered by grey joggers and his torso bare. The shadows and light contrasting each other and painting an alluring portrait of toned musculature across his back. He shields it from you, though, as he pulls a t-shirt over his head.

He stands up, collecting the towel he dropped on the floor as he got changed. And that’s when he sees you’re finally awake again. He curses himself when he smiles at you, still unable to believe how easily you can make him do so.

“How was your nap?” he asks, calmly, tossing the towel expertly into his laundry bin.

“I don’t even remember falling asleep…” you admit.

Though you do remember cuddling into his side after your shower. Your towel is loose around your body, the one wrapped around your hair is crumpled up atop your pillows. He didn’t sleep a wink, he savoured the feeling of you clinging onto him like you might actually love him. But his mind was also plagued by the future. About what happens next. He doesn’t get nervous, usually. But now, as he looks at you in your most natural form, he’s legitimately scared. Scared of everything crashing down around him.

“I… your clothes.” he tilts his head, gesturing to the folded clothes on your bedside cabinet. You thank him, quickly, dropping your towel and hurriedly getting into your jeans and tank top you wore over here in the middle of the night. “I want to be with you, properly.” Rin confesses, focusing intently on his hands before daring to look up to you. Your expression is sullen, unsure of how to respond. You hadn’t expected to hear him say something so bold, not after what you said to him earlier. But you suppose he’s had time to think.

“I just don’t know what you want me to say, Rin.” you sigh, shaking your fingers through your still damp hair. Little droplets flying to the wood floor below.

“I want you to tell the truth… I know you love me. I know you’re just scared. I know you want to be with me, too. I don’t get why you’re doing this. I don’t know why you’re punishing yourself… or me.” he approaches you, walking around the bottom of the bed and grabbing your shoulders with fervour as he wills you to be honest for the first time in your life.

“No.” you shake your head and move away from him. “It isn’t right, you know it isn’t.”

“It’s not right? I’ve loved you for two years and you’re telling me that’s wrong? And I know you feel the fucking same, so please, please baby—”

“I have to go, I can’t do this.” you feel fresh tears roll down your face as you begin to search for your purse. You feel like your fucking heart is going to explode. And he doesn’t bother hiding his upset, either. Because he’s made up his mind.

“This was goodbye, then.” he informs you, and your movements halt as you look at him.

“What?”

“I’m not being this… joke. I’m not going to be your shoulder to cry on when you’re lonely. I’m not going to fuck you, you can’t just come here when you feel like it. I’m done, I can’t do it.” he takes a deep breath as he finishes, knowing that this is really over. It’s killing him. “I love you, and it hurts. This really hurts. But you’re not the girl I thought you were. I thought you were kind and I know you love me too and that’s why it’s fucking— I feel like I’m dying. I don’t get why you’re denying yourself of this.”

You sigh, slipping your feet into your white slides and trying to fight back tears. He thinks everything is so simple. He thinks you can both just live a fairy tale life and be happy, but that isn’t realistic. He isn’t being realistic and maybe that’s your fault. You thought you’d been clear about what this is between you. You hadn’t intended to make him feel used. You didn’t want to hurt him and you didn’t want things to end like this.

“Okay.” you shrug, fingers grasping the door handle as you prepare to leave.

“What’s so fucking special about Sae?” he sobs, quietly. You can’t bear to look at him. Your heart is already breaking and you know looking at his defeated face will give your vital organ cause to split into quarters. “As kids, he was always better at football. He’s older, he’s the favourite. But he doesn’t even treat you right, he doesn’t love you. I do, I love you so what’s so special about him, princess?” he drops his weight onto the bed below, sitting on the edge again as he wills you to face him. His stomach ravaged by butterflies as he waits for an answer. Any kind of answer that will give him some clarity.

“Nothing’s special about him, Rin…” you sigh, again, giving into his desire and offering him the eye contact he craved. “I just met him two years and a few days before I met you.” you sniffle loudly before hurrying out of the door, slamming it behind you unintentionally as you run to the elevator.

He lets his head fall into his hands as he begins to bawl. The knowledge finally setting in that this is really the end of this chapter of his life. The story of you and him is complete and the ending is fucking devastating. He rests his head against the wet pillows you’d left in such a hurry. The scent of your lotions and perfume still clinging to them. And he cries more, covering his face entirely with his hands.

He’ll always lose to Sae, that much is clear.

If only he’d met you first.

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bookshelfdreams · 17 days

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sometimes it just strikes me how completely in love ofmd is with its own story.

it has become so ubiquitous to tell stories with a kind of emotional detachment. getting into it but not too much. keeping vulnerability surface level. undercutting truly emotional moments with jokes so as to not overwhelm the audience - or avoid making yourself, as a storyteller, vulnerable to criticism. there's a safety in irony.

if you laugh at yourself first, you're taking the wind from the sails of those who would make fun of you, yes? better play it safe. keep it mass compatible. do everything you can to mitigate the risk that someone would not like your story by assuring the audience you know when something is kinda corny and dw, you are in on the joke! imagine saying this in earnest. haha. couldn't be me.

(obviously not all stories are like this; all i'm saying is that it's a delicate balance to keep and comedies often err on the side of caution imo)

but not ofmd. ofmd lets its characters have those moments and lets them linger. leaves the space blank where a lesser show would put a joke to allow the scene to resonate. it's as cheesy and campy and over-the-top and romantic as is little heart desires and it refuses to ever make a joke of itself, even when it's funny.

it loves its story and loves its audience, completely, earnestly and with the promise to never make fun of you for getting invested.

how can you not fall in love with it right back.

#our flag means death #im so sorry it seems the pirate brainrot is back in full swing #but what can u do #thoughts

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on-leatheredwings · 1 month

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(Yandere?) Batboys discovering your alternative music taste (metal/goth/emo/etc)

Bruce is utterly alienated and out of his depth. Frankly, he doesn't know much about the scene. It also doesn't appeal to him much, besides the slower, moodier songs. But when it's obvious this is your taste, and it's important to you, he's fully supportive and interested. He'll purchase limited edition vinyl of your favorite albums, and have custom record stands made for you by artisans. If you happen to make music, he'll have a soundproof studio built in the manor. Sometimes, you catch familiar songs playing quietly in the Batcave, without provocation.

Dick wants you to teach him how to scream. Now. After you tell him about your music taste, he listens to your playlists and is quickly converted into a fan. Your favorite songs turn into his gym/training playlist, and he finds his leaps through the Blud are higher during a good breakdown. You two start sharing band tees. Dick would get you matching guitars, so you can practice together. Wearing a guitar pick that fits with another yin-yang style is his favorite accessory, to which you have the other half.

Jason wishes he had known earlier. Do you know how many concerts he's gone to alone, vibing out in the back of the crowd? He knows as many bands and as much alternative music history as you do. He also appreciates the more eccentric aesthetics of the scene with you. He'll put on a face of corspe paint with you any day of the week (the irony of the look isn't lost on him). Your favorite songs are fast and gritty, probably groove or thrash metal. Jason will get you both concert tickets, always front-row or in the pit. If it's the latter, he won't hesitate to knock heads together if they get a little too rowdy with you. Your best kisses also tend to happen while your favorite album is in the background, you will testify.

Tim decides to study it. Gamify it. To some extent, it's like he's studying you, which is his favorite subject, of course. Be prepared to know more than you ever imagined about your favorite artists, their writing processes, etc. Tim would be the one you have the most in depth conversations with sonically, his interpretations completely titillating and elevating the lyrics. But even if you aren't as intellectual as him, sometimes, you manage to surprise him back. He especially loves when you show him songs that strike him so poignantly, that he doesn't know how to quantify them. It encourages him to get out his head a bit more. Later on, he may get a matching tattoo of your favorite lyric, though with a symbolic image rather than explicit writing. For now, he makes playlists for you to listen to new bands he thinks you'd like.

Damian... isn't against it -- first, how could he be against anything you love? Second, he's already made his own foray into darker music... yours is just maybe more hardcore than he's ever cared to go. It just takes more exposure for him to Get It. Soon enough, he's intrigued by the artistic expression of it all. Raised with rigid rules and expectations, he certainly finds the liberation and appeal of music so rebellious and visceral. He enjoys more poetic language juxtaposed by gritty rhythms and mournful tempos. He tells you goth love songs remind him of you. Damian prefers to match silver jewelry or piercings with you, the former tend to have both of your initials engraved in spindly, thin fonts.

#yandere batfam #damian wayne #bruce wayne #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson #is this anything #this is entirely for me <3 #HA wrote and posted this within 30 min i totally can produce efficiently.#mine

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onelocket · 10 months

Text

cuddles, please?

sick fyodor d. x sick reader

requested by -- sweet anon! (click here for more context)

involves -- domestic relationship, a touch starved gn reader, scenario held place in summer & possible russian mistakes ;_;

headcanons

you feel as if it was your fault sometimes

Because each one brings you a shock, honestly. How was Fyodor also sick with you? One day you just woke up to the sound of him quietly blowing his nose on a tissue, jolting yourself up to sit as you see him sat on the desk, head turned to you in surprise of your wake.

“I’m sorry, milaya. Did I wake you?”

“…Fyodor? Wait- why are you sick?!”

‘Why’ as if he wanted it in the first place. Your sad little face and teary eyes would make him a little startled at first—perhaps even a bit amused as the process went ahead, but eventually would he coo to you how he’s okay, and that it wasn’t your fault regardless if you had the fever first.

endless mutual worry and care

Now that you both were sick, it was kind of hard to balance out who should take over for who. But now, it’s as if the care rocks back and forth a little too quickly… yet who were you to complain? He didn’t seem to complain either.

“Really, (Name). I’ll be okay. I’ll make us a cup of tea, you sit there.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you do all the work.” You frown out, peeking from his behind as he was already holding two cups. “Mm.. how about I make you your cup while you make mine? I promise to add your jam..” You deal out, a small smile copying his that eventually came out too.

“Want me to tell you a Russian bedtime story?”

Sometimes, when the nights were difficult to sleep through and boring since you still don’t get to hold Fyodor because of his ‘reasons’, you end up staying awake in these hours. He obviously realizes this, at first just watching you in hopes you’d close your eyes at it. But when you just can’t,

“Mm, (Name). Come closer.” He whispered, catching your attention.

“Yes, why?” You ask, although doing as told whilst you scoot closer, both of you on your sides as you look up at him curiously. “Will you finally give me a hug?”

He shook his head, but before you get to complain again—“I want to tell you a bedtime story. Would you like me to?” he strikes up the question, earning your excited nod.

Those nights end up easier to go through as you hear his lovely, addicting voice. You’d, albeit faint, sometimes hear him say ‘Я тебя люблю’ a lot during the ending of each story, sometimes even hear it add up with ‘так сильно’ after the ‘Я’, which made you really curious about what he actually said. Unbeknownst to you though, your lover was saying ‘I love you’ and ‘I love you so much’.

you’re too cute for him to resist.. sometimes…

Despite how you know Fyodor prefers to be warm, he actually denies your touch still, reasoning that “We’ll sweat together” or “I might cough on you”. Personally you saw these reasons unlikely of him, but instead of arguing, you improvised.

“Fyodor… I want to take a nap.” You whine out, placing your head carefully on his lap as he sits there leaning on the bed frame, gazing at the afternoon sky.

“Then nap,” He replied, tilting his head though still not facing you. “You want to sleep there, don’t you? Just this once, milaya.”

“Hehe, okay.”

You knew he knew your tricks, but if he lets you? You’ll take it all the way. It made him happy too, seeing you want him even if he already said for you to feel otherwise.

scenario

“(Name), you shouldn’t use your phone so often.” You hear whilst you do as digressed—finger scrolling through the endless sea of posts and rants your friends flocked your feed with.

Despite summer being this new opportunity for a big blank canvas to paint with vibrant and eye catchy colors, they’re instead using their time to click through letters upon letters and share rants about how they’d be doing better things right now like ‘making life more colorful’. What irony, huh?

Speaking of, what about you? Why were you scrolling through these rants? Well, you had your reasons. One of which was because of somebody’s state right now.

“I’ll be okay, Fyodor..” You whine out, rolling on your back as the soft mattress hugs it just right, you able to let out a quiet sound of satisfaction from it whilst you kept your hands on the phone.

It’s only been a few minutes since you even had your phone screen unlocked, so you found it quite irritating that he was already telling you to get off. “Meanwhile, I personally think that you stop worrying and get-” You’d trail, momentarily pausing when you hear Fyodor’s coughing interrupt you; “…more rest.” finishing with a sigh.

“Mm, and what does that make you, milaya?” He replied, slowly putting down his hand which was just covering his mouth a few seconds ago. “Aren’t you going to rest?”

“I don’t want to.” You pout, once again rolling against your stomach as you swing your feet up and down, your toes hitting the pillows. But you weren’t that petty to hit your lover, so you also slowed down a bit, turning your head back to him. “I can’t find my eyes sleeping.”

“That’s because you’re on your phone.” He points out with a small gesture, his own head tilting to the side before he sighed—“My.. come here.” patting the spot beside him whilst he carefully sat up. You wondered if you should play around a little with your boyfriend, but because he was sick, you denied the taunt.

So you press your palms on the bed sheets as you get yourself sat up, one hand moving to click your phone shut. You crawl back to Fyodor, pout softening to a normal gaze as you considered to hold him, but his body language didn’t seem to match the thought. Instead you sit beside him, hugging your knees a little.

“You’re upset with me, (Name). Isn’t that right?” He cooed, a finger delicately brushing strands of hair away from your face as your cheeks peach up, although react no further than that. “Why should I be?” You question, fingers finding themselves holding onto your kneecaps.

“Let’s see… because I keep refusing to hold you?” He immediately had a response to, a soft smile on his face. To the normal sight, Fyodor might even be seen as charming and such a gentleman for smiling like that for his lover, but to you—oh you knew… that his smile was definitely a taunting, teasing one.

You groaned at the knowledge, a frown coming back rather than a pout. “I don’t understand why not? We’re both sick.” You tampered, tapping onto the bedsheets like an impatient customer.

“That’s exactly why.” He replied almost in a fake surprised voice, putting his hand down as he picked up the bottle of sanitizer on the bedside table, spraying alcohol on the hand that he coughed on earlier before showing the bottle to indirectly ask if you want to do the same. You take it, mainly so that he can rub both of his hands together. But you also end up spraying a bit on your hands, plopping the bottle on the beside table on your side before facing him again.

“What do you mean ‘that’s exactly why’? I want to hug you, Fyodor. It doesn’t matter if you’re sweaty! Don’t you wanna warm up from the air conditioning?” You contrast, spreading your hands a little in desperate request for his hug. “You know it’s you who’s the main reason why I hug you, not just because of how it feels.” You even add, hoping it’d move his heart.

He quietly chuckles at your claim, which honestly boosted up your hopes… for a moment, until you see his gaze back to normal without even a hint of change in his answer. What- did he seriously just laugh at you because he takes pity on your desperation?

“O-or just forget it..” You scoff out, your arms crossing each other as you turn around, your stuffy nose deciding that now would be the great time to embarrass you as you sniffle, although try to hold it back just to appear more… oh, what even was the proper word?

You were just petty. And upset that you can’t hold your lover. “I don’t need your hug anymore.” You add whilst laying down, to which you wouldn’t know how it’d affect him as your back was turned to him.

He was quiet for a little bit—Fyodor resting on his elbow with a faint smile as he indulged a bit more into your reaction. You were always either so attractive or so cute to him, now being the latter as he moved his elbow away, lying down on his side with his body facing you.

You refused to initiate the talk again, although your arms would slowly fall back from crossing each other, pressing against the smooth mattress as you hum in delight.

At least the bedsheets felt nice. It was one of the more lighter coverings, one silkier and nice to the touch so it’d ease the both of you to sleep.

And it worked exactly as it’s purpose.

Before you and even Fyodor knew, he’d hear quiet snoring coming from you, your body’s tension gone and melted as the cold of your air conditioning eased the sweat off.

His smile fades, although face keeping a soft look on it while he thought, “I couldn’t even get to move yet… but you’re already sound asleep.” left to look at your beautiful hair and your back hinting your slow breathing.

But quickly would he grow sleepy of watching you, his eyes glancing at the door for a bit before they fall back to you.

He planned to go outside the bedroom to get a hot cup of tea, even more so excited earlier as he thought of sharing the sudden idea with you, but found himself discarding it.

“Tomorrow..” Fyodor tells himself, closing his lips as he moves closer to you, wrapping his arms around your waist as careful as possible without you waking up.

He’d close his eyes at your scent, his love for your smell never leaving even if the both of you were sick. At that moment, he had genuinely hated how his nose was stuffy as well—loathing it to disappear just so he can indulge more in you.

But him in your arms was enough. To see you asleep and peaceful kept him calm and satisfied.

Fyodor scoots closer so his head meets your shoulder, resting it there comfortably as he kept you warm. “Good night, (Name).” He hummed out, pressing a kiss on your shoulder before rubbing your skin softly with his thoughts lingering—“Get well soon for me. Because I’d rather see you feel better than see anything else right now.”

⚘

#krei headcanons #bsd dostoevsky #bsd imagines #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #fyodor imagines #bsd fyodor #bsd x gender neutral reader #bsd #bsd x you #bsd x reader #fyodor fluff #fyodor x reader #fyodor headcanons #bungou stray dogs fyodor #fyodor hcs #fyodor dostoyevsky x reader #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor x y/n

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enigmatist17 · 7 months

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"What is it with you bloody wizards and being knocked down like a feather in the wind?"

Astarion is not having a good day.

First, before the party had all awoken to begin preparations for a new day of travel, they had been attacked by some hunters looking for the spawn, resulting in some non-vampire friendly concoctions tossed his way. Shadowheart had healed most of the damage, but the grey spiderwebbing of damaged vampire skin across his face had remained a blight for the day, so that was strike one.

Strike two was Tav, darling, lovely, stupid Tav deciding that a spiders nest just had to be looted, resulting in the cursed things nearly overpowering them. Luckily, Wyll had been ready and dispatched most of the spiders, but Astarion could feel them still crawling all over his pale skin as Tav offered the (rather beautiful) dagger they'd found with a sheepish grin.

Well, a gift does go a long way, sometimes.

The third strike had finally been struck, a group of Absolute having gotten the jump on the group and had sent them scattering. One moment it was as normal, some goblins with a drow slowly faltering under the fighters, the next the drow had praised the Absolute before...well, exploding.

Sending Gale right off the edge of their impromptu battleground and to his inevitable demise.

Now, Astarion doesn't really care of course, Gale is as obnoxious as he is a self-righteous goody two-shoes.

So no, he didn't scream Gale's name as the wizard sailed right out of sight, able to see those wide eyes flicker to meet his own before they were gone. Why of course he didn't snarl and tear through the rest of the goblins like a crazed animal, barely able to comprehend the others panicking and very quickly getting out of his way, lest he find them as much of a snack. Rude of you to even suggest that he was the one to revive the wizard from his demise, not even sarcastic about the irritating way he couldn't just avoid the stupid little ritual.

Why, those would just be lies, darling~

It was decided that finally camp would be struck up once everyone was accounted for, and Astarion stuck around long enough to shove his bag into someone's hands before all but vanishing. He was still vibrating with anger that the damned drow had killed Gale (which the irony of one blowing up themselves to stop an "evil" was not lost on the vampire), and blood taken in the heat of battle tended to dance in his veins for hours afterwards if he had been particularly enraged. A few unfortunate boars fell prey to the spawn, and another poor fool would have joined them, had an approaching figure not caught his attention.

"Still hungry?" Astarion sighs as his prey darts off into the night, and shoots the rather tired looking Gale a glare.

"Not anymore it seems." Gale shook his head with a soft chuckle, before wincing and rubbing the back of his neck. "Still in pain?"

"Yes, I still feel the echo of my death, but fear not, it shall fade in time." With a snap of his fingers a bench seemed to appear from nowhere, and Gale slowly sits down, one hand keeping him upright on his seat, and the other resting on the smooth armrest.. "Ah, much better."

"I'm surprised you even found me, I'm sure you could have sent a familiar." Astarion sat on the other end while the wizard chuckles, the the two look across the dark forest for a moment in silence.

"I heard you scream, earlier." Red eyes dart over with a growl, but Gale shrugs. "Didn't know you cared."

"I don't." The hiss goes uncommented on, and Astarion pouts. "Well, maybe a little."

"Hm." Gale wiggles one index finger, and small specks of light begin to appear around them, each shimmering with a thousand different colors.

Astarion watches them for a spell, as if watching the sun for the first time.

"Don't scare me like that again, or next time I shall be the one to kill you."

Gale's sudden laughter echoes among the trees, and Astarion allows a smirk to cross his lips.

"I shall endeavor to try and not perish, it's not very fun to do so." The wizard chuckles, and the vampire cautiously sidles over. It doesn't take long for the familiar cool sensation overtop of his hand, and the vampire doesn't grunt when Gale shifts his hand to give a gentle squeeze. "Feel better?"

"...we shall see, you did make my snack run off." He sniffed, and Gale shakes his head in amusement.

"As you say."

A wizard and a vampire sit in the woods together, holding hands as they bask in the temporary peace in this insanity of an adventure they shared.

#personal #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bloodweave #bg3 astarion #astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 gale #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #I am unwell #they have taken my soul #AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

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autisticlancemcclain · 1 year

Text

Keith is good at compartmentalizing. Always has been. Sure, he’s not always great at emotional regulation, but when the serious shit pops up? Under lock and key it goes, to be brought out only late at night when he’s feeling sorry for himself and wants to make things worse.

(Okay. His coping mechanisms could be better.)

(He’s doing his best, alright? Life is hard.)

But sometimes, his compartments get too damn full. His brain just gets so cluttered with shit that he has no boxes left to shove the hard shit into, and he just has to handle it. It always sucks. It’s always a million times worse than his late night freak-outs.

This one in particular, though?

This one takes the cake.

If one were to steal a probably-dusty manila file from the desk one of the social workers for the State of Arizona, labelled ‘Keith Akira Kogane’, they would see, clearly labelled, a section called ‘ORPHAN’. Under that section would be a subheading — ‘Death of Father’. If this person were to read further, they would discover that officially, according to the Arizona State Reporting District, Texas Kogane died tragically trying to put out a house fire in the line of duty. His son waited three days for him to return home before walking to the fire station and demanding to see his father, and was then swiftly picked up and brought to the Grass Hills Region Arizona State Social Services Office, and assigned a group home after speaking to a child psychologist and social worker.

That story is, almost entirely, false.

Keith’s father did die tragically and heroically in the line of duty. It was a particularly brutal house fire, and Texas did manage to save the family that was trapped, at the cost of his own life.

What the story fails to mention is that the house was, specifically, home to Keith’s closest friend at the time. The file also fails to mention that Keith’s father often worked long hours, and so Keith frequently spent time at that friend’s house.

The article fails, perhaps most ardently, to mention that the day of the fateful fire, Keith was present at the house. The day of the fateful fire, Keith watched the house go up in flames faster than he could comprehend. The day of the fateful fire, Keith cried for his father, curled up in the corner of a room with a wet t-shit over his face, soot covering his hair and smoke lining his lungs. The day of the fateful fire, Texas Kogane kicked open the door behind which Keith was trapped in a blaze of glory, scooping up his small-for-his-age son in his arms and rushing him safely out of the house, hugging him tightly and pressing the briefest of kisses to his dirty hair before rushing back into the house to save the rest of the family that was trapped inside.

The file fails to mention that on the day of the fateful fire, Keith watched his infallible father sprint into the house, and never make it back out.

Keith doesn’t much like fire. The file doesn’t mention that, either. (Keith knows. He stole it, one day, and read it. It had to be locked away in a little box in his head, too.)

Space happens so goddamn quickly.

One day he’s chilling in his stupid shack with a couple cool lizards, dicking around on his hover bike and tracking some weird energy, and the next he’s flying through a real-life wormhole on a sentient lion piloted by a boy with startlingly striking brown eyes that he kind of vaguely remembers if he squints. And then that wormhole leads him to a real-life alien castle, and real-life aliens (he knew it, Keith knew it, he was right all along, his Pa was right all along, they both were —) and he’s informed by a real-life alien princess that he’s the Paladin of the Red Lion, the Universe’s Guardian of Fire.

And oh, does the bitter taste of irony flood his tongue.

He swallows quickly, desperately shoving the box closed, adding as many mental strips of duct tape that he can. He forces his face into a mask of stoicism (practiced to perfection from years of home after home after home) and prays that no one was looking closely enough to see the lick of terror flash through his eyes.

He’s lucky, that way. No one ever is.

He keeps that dangerous box closed as he frees a petulant mecha lion from a Galra ship that he navigates too easily (yet another box), keeps it closed as he argues and fights with the boy with pretty brown eyes (rival, his rival — his shadow?), keeps it closed as he fights a dictator and the dictator’s general and holds the hand of the same boy who smiles and says they make a great team. Keith holds that box shut with both hands as he nearly fights an alien who tries to take his knife at a space mall and trains with the man who’s like a brother to him, along with a brand-new team he’s supposed to trust with his deepest secrets.

Keith squeezes that box shut with every ounce of mental strain that he has, and then some. He grits his teeth and tells himself that fire is good and warm and powerful and life-ending and frightening and —

His bayard unlocks a blazing canon, flames sweeping out and brightly illuminating the stifling emptiness of space, burning everything in its path, and the box bursts open.

“Holy shit, Keith!”

“Yo! Is that a flamethrower?”

“Excellent work, kiddo.”

“‘About time you caught up, Mullet.”

The words are distorted, far away. His team’s transparent excitement fans the flames wreaking havoc on every carefully sealed box in his head, turning strict lines to ash and reducing his head to embers. His skin burns as bright as a sun, sweat dripping down his forehead, and smoke fills his lungs until he’s coughing, wheezing, choking to death —

He has no idea how the rest of the training goes. He has no idea how he manages to keep upright, with his vision swimming in and out and his hands slipping off the controls. He has no idea even how he manages to stay alive with flames licking him from the inside, burning him to a crisp from his bones out to his skin. He has no idea how he manages to land Red in her hangar, how he keeps from turning to ash in the pilot’s seat. How he manages to rip off his seatbelt with hands that have turned to burnt coal and rush down the ramp on legs that are simmering flames.

“Ay, Greñudo! What’s keeping you? You’ve been locked in here for half an hour, Shiro’s got a firecracker up his ass worrying — Jesus Christ, Keith, what’s wrong?”

What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Can’t he see? Can’t he feel the flames that lick up Keith’s skin and burn him up? Can’t he feel the heat of Keith’s destruction? Do his eyes not burn from the brightness of the fire?

How is Keith alive? How is he standing when his lungs have stopped working, cooked in his chest? Keith tries to inflate them, to force them open with clean air, but it doesn’t work, they don’t work, the smoke is choking him and killing him and there’s no Pa to save him —

A shock of freezing cold gently touches his neck, his cheek. A breath is startled into his lungs.

They work again.

“Smoke’s cleared,” Keith croaks, because it must be, now that he can feel the cool air trickling down his throat again. He takes large, gulping breaths, taking in as much air as he can before the smoke returns and he suffocates again.

“That’s it,” Lance soothes. “In and out, starboy. Your lungs are clear, yeah? There’s no fire, no smoke. Feel that air. In and out.” The coolness on Keith’s cheek spreads, following the shape of his cheekbone, back and forth, again and again.

Lance’s thumb.

His hands, on Keith’s cheek and on his neck.

“Y’r hands’re cold.”

Lance cracks a smile. “Iron deficiency.”

“Oh. You should —” Keith’s breath shudders as it regulates. He realises his hands are clenched on Lance’s wrist. “—you should eat more red meat.”

What is he even talking about?

Lance smile gets a little wider. It softens his eyes again, deep and brown and dark, like they looked after Sendak. Keith likes it when he smiles at him.

“I’m a vegetarian. That’s cute of you, by the way.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that.” It takes Keith a moment to process Lance’s other sentence.

This time, his face gets hot for a whole different reason.

“I didn’t — I didn’t mean —”

“Hey. Cool it,” Lance orders, tapping Keith between the eyes. His lips are still curved into a smirk. “You’re coming down from a gnarly-ass panic attack. The last thing you need is to freak out again. Keep matching my breathing, okay? You’re doing great.”

“Never thought I’d hear you say that,” Keith manages between his still-heavy breaths. The redness has yet to recede from his face, but he’s pleased to hear Lance’s quiet laughter.

“Yeah, yeah, Greñudo. Treasure it, ‘cause I’m not saying it again.”

Keith swallows, tightening his grip on Lance’s wrist. Greñudo. That nickname again, but it’s not malicious. Teasing. It’s the softest he’s ever heard Lance say it.

“What’s that mean? Grendo?”

“‘Grendo’ means nothing,” Lance replies, amused. “But Greñudo means disheveled. Messy. Slang for —” he tugs gently on the hair at the back of Keith’s neck — “mullet, like this travesty.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’.”

Keith slowly moves his hand up Lance’s arm, from his wrist to his elbow. He stops when Lance’s breath hitches, simply resting on the smooth skin, but continues on when Lance doesn’t stop him, slowly tracing the lean muscles and bony joints down Lance’s bicep, his shoulder, his side, settling at his waist. Lance’s hands have stilled, but remain on his cheek and neck, cradling his face.

“You channeling your Gomez, huh, Mullet?” Lance asks, but his voice isn’t it’s usual barbed wire, but soft; quiet and stuttering.

“I liked Starboy better,” Keith says quietly. All the burning pain has quietly slipped away from his body, leaving only a soft, tender glow behind, like the amber embers from the campfires he and Pa used to have on late nights.

It’s not scary. It’s — warm, even. Comforting.

“I bet you do.”

Keith says nothing. He stays right where he is, pressed to Lance in three different places, the coolness of Lance’s skin pulling the burning heat from Keith’s bones.

“Are you always this cold?” Keith asks. It’s not what he wants to say — what does he want to say? — but it’s what he can manage, standing so closely to Lance, the quiet scent of his floral shampoo pushing out the smell of smoke caught in Keith’s nose.

Lance hums. “You always feel like you’re running a fever?”

“Yes. Worse since I started piloting Red.”

“Guess I’ll have to help you cool down, then.”

“Guess so.” Unbidden, a smirk fights its way on Keith’s face. “That would make us a pretty good team, huh?”

It takes Lance a moment to react, but then he does, pulling away with a groan and a smack to the back of Keith’s head.

“There you go,” he admonishes, “bringing up fake bonding moments are ruining the real one we were having. Can’t let things go, huh?”

Keith shrugs, but the smile stays out on his face. “Can’t let your lying ass keep getting away with it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lance says, rolling his eyes. He hesitates a moment, then darts forward and grabs Keith’s hand, yanking him towards the door as he power walks out of Red’s hangar. Keith stumbles after him.

“Let’s go,” Lance says, once Keith’s got his balance. He glances back at Keith, small smile showing the barest hint of teeth. “Starboy.”

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francesderwent · 4 months

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since apparently in 2024 I’m just saying stuff

I do not want fictional characters to go to therapy.

therapy is a great way to begin to see yourself more clearly, to pinpoint the ways you’re self-sabotaging and make changes which will allow you to strengthen and deepen your relationships. and obviously, we here at redemption.com want to see our favorite characters do that. after a while a character with no self-awareness starts to grate; we usually want them to figure out what they’re doing wrong and have some positive forward motion.

however. therapy is not the only way to have these epiphanies about yourself, or the only way to learn a new way of living, trusting, being a friend. sometimes a series of coincidences will put you in the one situation which will throw a mirror up in front of you and allow you to see and recognize yourself. sometimes you meet just the right person at just the right time who will love you in such a specific way that you’ll realize how wrong your old understanding of love was. it’s less purposeful and less sustained a method of growing than therapy is, it’s more of a winding road with occasional lightning strikes.

and I don’t know how to explain why I only ever want to see characters growing in this way, except to say that when they aren’t, then precisely what you’ve failed to create is a cohesive story. at best you have a story going on while the character privately sorts out their issues at the same time, with themes and climactic moments occurring in neat parallel. (I think Ted Lasso does something like this in season 2.) at worst, you don’t have any story at all, you have a character study in the form of a soliloquy, which happens to be delivered to a therapist. (a lot of fanfiction is like this.) it might be a very good character study! but it’s not a story.

it seems to me that fiction should be a window into the way we can learn from our experiences in the world and from our relationships with others, by being open to seeing ourselves anew and being open to change. and I’m not saying I want all the supporting characters to therapize the protagonist. I’m saying I want my protagonist to listen to the supporting characters and glean the truth of what they say as if they were a very good therapist—even if what they say is delivered in an incomplete way or in the middle of an argument. I don’t want an oracle to appear and point-blank tell the protagonist their fatal flaw. I want the fatal flaw to become exquisitely, inevitably clear in a moment of terrible dramatic irony, when the knowledge seems to come too late. and personally, I want this to happen always in the most dramatic way. I do not want my friends to reach rock bottom in order to start learning and changing. I do, sometimes, want to see fictional characters reach rock bottom. why? well. because there’s a story there.

I don’t just want to see characters changing. I want to see a story about characters changing.

#‘Carmy belongs in therapy’ I am biting you I am biting you I am biting you #he belongs in the restaurant because that’s where the story takes place!!!#’oh he needs to go to therapy and sort himself out before he gets in a relationship’ ma’am this is a STORY #the relationship is WHERE and HOW he will be sorting himself out!!! (or not!!)#‘he’s causing harm to everyone around him because he hasn’t healed his own damage’ he sure fucking is because. that’s the story #in which cate tells stories

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sideprince · 4 months

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What are your thoughts on Snape's parents/childhood/upbringing ?

Sorry it's taken me ages to get to this ask! I wrote a meta post about Eileen Prince recently ("recently." It sat in my drafts for about a month as I whittled away at it) but I can go off a bit on Tobias and the kind of home a young Severus might have lived in, though it'll be a bit of a messier convergence of meta and headcannon, probably.

The tl;dr of the Eileen meta post is that I think she may have come from a family with reasonable wealth and reputation, and ended up stuck with Tobias as the result of an accidental out of wedlock pregnancy that led her family to disown her. @vulnus-sanare left one of my favorite comments on that post, which I'm just going to quote in full:

"It is hard to not think that Severus may have been the outcome of an unwanted pregnancy. It is harder to believe that "love" was ever in the foundation of the Snape family. My theory is that Eileen and Tobias had a fling, it had consequences, the Princes disowned Eileen for getting impregnated by a Muggle, and Tobias was forced to marry her out ... Patriarchal honor. However, the first time Eileen and Tobias had a violent argument, Eileen threatened him with her wand for defense. He didn't sleep at home that night. The next morning, Eileen found her wand split into two unsalvageable pieces on her bedside table. Tobias was home. And there would be no more magic."

My personal take is that we see clear statements in the books that depression can sap a witch/wizard of their powers (Merope Gaunt), and also that existing powers can't be suppressed, they'll find a way to come out and with terrible consequences if bottled up for too long (Ariana Dumbledore, and basically every underage wizard). Because of this, my own interpretation is that Eileen probably lost much of her powers due to despair. We see Severus in a memory shooting down flies with his wand alone in his room as a teen, and that casual use of magic makes me think that the Ministry still had magical activity registered at that residence on Eileen's account, otherwise Severus would have had to deal with the repercussions of violating the Statute of Secrecy and, if that was the case, he certainly wouldn't have used his wand and done magic so nonchalantly. Eileen's magic would have been too weak to stand up to Tobias, but still enough to warrant the Ministry thinking there was an active witch at their house.

Nevertheless, I love the idea that Tobias split her wand! It's a striking and complex statement on what that relationship might have looked like. Tobias must have been insecure (secure people don't tend to abuse their loved ones). Eileen had power over him that he would never be able to match. Even so, every person with power has a vulnerability - for any wizard it would be that their power must be channeled through a wand to be effective. A wand which, despite the power of the witch or wizards who wields it, can easily be snapped in two. What might its core have been? Would Tobias have been surprised to find it wasn't merely a stick carved on a lathe, that there was something running through its center that he couldn't identify? I love the irony of such a mundane, muggle act stopping the power of magic in its tracks. And, after all, if Eileen had no money of her own and she and Tobias had little to live on, she wouldn't have been able to buy a new wand. Or perhaps she eventually did, but her powers remained weak (or perhaps she bought a cheaper wand she could afford, maybe even secondhand, and it never worked as well as her own had). As for her magic struggling to get out without a proper way to channel it, perhaps her wand's destruction may have been the final straw for her spirit, which broke as a result of her isolation from her family and her world, and her being tethered to such a man.

As for Tobias, I think that while he may have had a proclivity towards abuse, it didn't truly come out until sometime after Severus' birth. I think he was always working class, and possibly fought in WWII like every man of his generation, but that the crippling poverty of the family was brought on by some kind of workplace accident that left him unable to work and dependent on welfare. Eileen wouldn't have worked, having few skills and weak magic, but back in the 60s many working class families only had one breadwinner. There are signs that Severus was both poor and also neglected, particularly his ill fitting, mismatched, hand-me-down clothes that no one even attempted to sew to size for him (let alone use magic to do so). Eileen would have made sure Severus was out of the house as much as possible, if Tobias was home most of of the time, and tried to take the brunt of Tobias' anger when possible. Severus wouldn't have understood this for a long time, and would have felt rejected and isolated as a result.

As Severus grew older, got a wand, and expanded his knowledge of magic, he would have stood up to Tobias more in the weeks he was home from school. He wouldn't have trusted his father, and would have eventually realized that their power balance had shifted. I think there may be a parallel with Voldemort there, too: as Dumbledore says, all tyrants fear that one day someone will rise up against them. I think perhaps Severus felt more able to be that person and undermine Voldemort, because he had already done so with his own father. He had learnt, firsthand, that terrifying people, people who intimidate with violence and brutality, are not infallible. It makes sense for his character: throughout his school years we see Severus reject his bullies and fight back against them, even though they attack him four against one.

As for his own experience of growing up in that small house on Spinner's End, I think Severus must have been a lonely child. We see the way he feels the need to pick his moment when first meeting Lily; he doesn't have the confidence of a child who's been able to spend much time playing with others. His parents fought a lot, and if his mother tried to protect him, he would have spent a lot of time alone in his room listening to them do so. We see him as a teen shooting down flies with his wand, in a dark room, alone. I think his world at home was small and often painful. Like many children of abuse, he wouldn't even have been aware how much pain he was in, or how constant it was, it was just a part of his internal wallpaper. I don't imagine he had much of a relationship with his dad, though the need for approval from him would have been buried in him somewhere. Perhaps, as he grew older, his relationship with his mother grew more complex and there was a bond.

My own headcanon is that Tobias, a middle aged, disabled, working class man on the dole, wouldn't have survived austerity under Thatcher. I like to think that Severus, living on a teacher's salary in a prestigious school and not needing much beyond the room and board that his job provides, would have used his savings to take care of a widowed Eileen. Perhaps he visited her once or twice a year. They were never sentimental, and talked very little. They would have a cup of tea and a game of chess, or maybe even Gobstones. When Voldemort returned, Severus would have made sure that, if he should die, Eileen would be taken care of. He would not have been able to leave her a letter or any kind of explanation, for fear of it being found. She would have been proud to learn he had been appointed Headmaster of Hogwarts, though he would not have taken pride in it, knowing it was a tactical appointment, and not an earned one. She would have been prouder still, maybe, to learn of his heroism after his death.

#asks #meta #headcanon #eileen prince #tobias snape #severus snape #zadesstablelawqueen-blog

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stoopid-turtle · 8 months

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On the Acceptance of Unsteady Ground

Throughout this whole dive into turtle world, I've been very conscious of just how LITTLE access to information I have. I'm relying so heavily on English translations and platforms, and most of these are from turtles, so I'm fully aware I'm getting a biased perspective.

I've tried to read stuff from solos or even just neutral third-parties. The neutral parties don't have much depth of information, though, and I found solos heavy on accusations and declarations but light on actual...evidence. And they sometimes use some really nasty rhetoric against the idea that gg and dd might be gay.

Don't get me wrong, turtles get weird too. There's plenty of clearly false rumors, deceptively edited videos, silly stretches of logic, weird ideas of what how people in a relationship would act, etc. But there's at least enough English-speaking turtles that I can find some who are giving open and, as far as I can tell, accurate information (honestly, I find tumblr turtledom better at that then other platforms). I haven't really found a similar pocket of solo fans.

I'm also aware that there's always going to be a limit on how much I can know. I don't speak the language, so I'm always relying on translators. I have limited access to Weibo (even putting aside the language barrier, I'm in text confirmation limbo in actually getting an account), and I have little familiarity with the culture. I don't get a lot of the jokes or references, and stuff may strike me, an English-speaking American, differently than it would someone in China.

Add on top of that the fact that I'm trying to find out purposely obscured information about two celebrities, and, yeah, I'm fully aware that I'm on unsteady ground here. I can do my best, but I'm never going to know anything for certain.

But I've become okay with that.

It took a while. The dissatisfaction with the unknown (and unknowable) is what drove a lot of my early fixation and subsequent fall into the turtle pit. But now, especially after laying out my thoughts, I've reached a zen place with it. I'm 100% certain ggdd were together during filming/promo, and I'm 95% certain they're still together (I had this at 85% originally, but then the whole dd being sick and gg changing his schedule thing happened and I'm just...welp, guess I'm in this confidence interval, then).

Just having that certainty means I can enjoy updates from them without anguishing about "proof" or uncertainty. Oh, gg took the day off on dd's birthday? That's really sweet! I'm not gonna fuss about if it's coincidence ENOUGH to convince me, because I'm already convinced. It's a good place to be.

I typically don't care about celebrities. In fact, I've long been bewildered by celebrity culture here in the US, and I've often been actively annoyed when people assume/expect me to have opinions on things celebrities do. I'm the nerd who doesn't get why the actors get all the attention when the writer or director would be much more interesting.

So the fact that I've gone all fangirlish over two celebrities is bizarre to me, and I appreciate the irony. Well done, me. I attribute some of it to just being able to watch the bts and see their early interactions play out like a story. I find stories compelling, and both gg and dd are charismatic, attractive and have great chemistry. Whatever disdain I have for celebs, I do love a romance.

In my foray into the ggdd world, though, I've also had to learn more about c-ent, and y'all. It's nuts. Like, US entertainment is nuts too, but c-ent ratchets it up to 11. I've been in fandom a long time, and I thought I'd seen some weird stuff, but it's got nothing on c-ent. Just wrapping my head around the culture these guys are in took a lot of learning.

But I appreciate being able to dive into this culture and this country, because I knew very little about China beyond the antagonistic politics. It's been refreshing to get a view on life on the ground in China to humanize the folks there and get a clearer picture of the country.

I started this thing bc I had been spending so much time on Youtube watching clips, and I had thoughts and opinions and nowhere to put them. I already had a tumblr that I use to lurk on some fandoms and I had started following turtles too. I figured tumblr would be a decent place to splurge out my thoughts, so I set up a throwaway account to do so.

I get the vibe that a lot of new turtles come to bjyx through the same route I took? They watch The Untamed on Netflix. They get curious about the show and start watching some clips on YT. Next thing you know, they have 3 playlists full of purported "proof of love" and they need a whiteboard to connect everything together and their wife thinks they've gone completely bonkers supports them in all their oddities.

Like, I was really confused by turtles at first. I was just trying to watch bts videos on YouTube and I didn't know what bjyx meant, but the videos with the label were weird and had strange disclaimers that they were "only for turtles" and I had no clue what that even meant.

My confusion continued as I tried to read more. The fake story disclaimer convention is hella confusing as an outsider, and my first impression was that turtles were kinda crazy. The videos I saw gave overviews of candies without context, and some of them explicitly said they were proof of Yizhan love while still having that fake story disclaimer. Basically, it was a big confusing environment, and it's why I resisted buying into bjyx so hard for so long. It all seemed delulu.

But in reading more, I guess part of that is the point? Recognizing that gg and dd are in a vulnerable position should their relationship ever come out, having so much noise to muddy the waters makes a twisted, clownish sense. I don't know who came up with that convention or if it just kinda happened (is it a normal thing in c-ent? I don't know enough about celebrity fandoms), but hats off, I guess.

With the supertopic recently hitting 4 million active fans, there's something heartening about such a depth of support for the guys. I'm not naive enough to think all 4 million (plus international fans) are allies to LGBT folk in general, but it surely means something to ggdd to have that sort of support for their relationship. Honestly, it means something to me, as a random gay chick on the other side of the world, to see a gay couple get that kinda of support behind them.

I started watching the bts because I was afraid there'd be a lot of cynical homophobia on the set or some evidence of all the male cast being icked out by the whole thing. Instead, I got gg, who was so passionate about WWX being gay. I love that everybody knew they were telling a love story with as explicitly as they could get away with. I love that the guys wanted more Wangxian scenes and that the cast and crew made "everyday is everyday" jokes in a non-mocking way. I'm glad that the whole shoot seemed like such a positive environment for the cast and crew to being themselves and tell a type of story that they may not be able to be involved with ever again.

So, yes, this is my zen turtle place. When I set up a soapbox for myself, I didn't think too much about the fact that people would respond, but I'm so grateful to have had a chance to talk to some other turtles! Everybody is lovely and thank you for sharing my enthusiasm.

Like I said in the beginning, I don't have the time to keep super-active in the long-term. I had intended to write up my thoughts and poof away. But I do also plan to keep up with gg and dd and turtles, so instead I'm just gonna leave off with the potential for further posts down the line.

I'm not gonna be incredibly active, so please don't expect frequent updates or interactions from me. But if I have more Yizhan thoughts I'll pop up again with a post (I mean, I do have lots more thoughts, but nothing energizing enough to write about), or I'll leave a comment somewhere if I have something I simply must say. I'm also open to responding to asks about the timeline or anything else. And if I ever do stumble across anything groundbreaking with regards to the timeline, I'll probably add that in, because I'm particular about things being complete.

So thanks for being so welcoming! It's been a joy to clown around and make up completely fictional stories with everybody here. 🤡🐢🙇🏼

#yizhan #bjyx #gg and dd keep being ridiculous and it makes me ridiculous #also always gonna read moar fanfic #rooting for them #waiting for that tell-all book

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mononijikayu · 1 month

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kayu's playlist, side 400;

It wasn't as though we never loved each other at all. It just, sometimes.....it's not meant to be. Sometimes it is. And perhaps, that's all that comes with sweet, sad, sing-along songs. Sometimes, that's all that's meant for two people who love each other.

hello, this is kayu!!! first of all, thank you so much for your ardent support and love for my little writings here and there. to think there's four-hundred of you guys following me is kind of crazy. i only started doing fanfic for fun, so i'm very happy that you enjoy it with me too. i write most of these in between my busy life, and it's a relief to me in some way, i destress when writing. i hope that in a way, i do that for you too. i'm writing three stories as a thanks for your support. as it may be obvious, i write stories based on songs i really like at the time or just feel emotionally wrought by. so, these are three short stories that i present as a gift. they'll drop within the next few days, little by little. so please look forward to them!!! i love you all!!! xoxoxoxo

t r a c k o n e ; happy together ─ geto suguru and gojo satoru.

there really isn't much to be done now, it seems. as the realization of your passing settles in, a heavy sigh escapes your lips, accompanied by a gentle rub of the back of your head. the irony of finding yourself in an airport at this moment doesn't escape you; it's almost as if god has a penchant for whimsy in the afterlife. taking a seat on one of the airport benches, you purse your lips in contemplation. you know you'll be waiting here for a while, and oddly enough, that's what you find solace in. suguru and satoru, together. you believe they'll be alright; those two were destined for long, fulfilling lives. at least, that's what you hope for. after all, jujutsu sorcerers aren't typically associated with the concept of 'forever'.

t r a c k t w o ; night flower─ ryomen sukuna.

as he gazes at the statue, the resemblance to your visage is striking, almost intimidating. you had a way of lingering in his thoughts, even after two thousand years had passed, remaining a haunting presence he couldn't shake. strangely, he finds comfort in your ghostly presence; he doesn't want to escape you, if he's honest with himself. his hands reach out tentatively, mirroring the tenderness you once possessed as they brush against the cold stone. it lacks your warmth, yet he tries to conjure the memory of it, knowing your warmth was synonymous with life itself. it's a challenge to forget you; you were unforgettable. he acknowledges that as a man like him, he has no right to mourn—he's no longer truly human. but with you, it's different; you transcended mere humanity. you were his world, his curse, and the ache of longing for you remains.

t r a c k t h r e e ; only fools ─ fushiguro toji.

in the quiet depths of his thoughts, fushiguro toji often finds himself contemplating the bittersweet truth of your relationship. to him, you were like the sun—bright, radiant, and unattainable. and he? he was but a mere moon, destined to orbit around you, never truly belonging to your world. yet, despite the inevitable distance that separated you, his love for you burns steadfastly, unwavering in its intensity. when he made the decision to depart from the zenin clan, he understood that it meant leaving behind any chance of ever crossing paths with you again. still, the memory of you lingers like a haunting melody, weaving its way into the fabric of his existence. though you may never belong to each other, he carries you in his heart, a cherished remnant of a love that was never meant to be.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #kayu writes ! ! !

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st-severus · 4 months

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9, 17, and 28 for the Snape asks!

Thank you for asking :) 9. One of your saddest [headcanons for Snape]? I like the idea that he got his Dark Mark for telling Voldie about the prophecy, the dark irony of receiving something he probably wanted for so long at the exact moment he wouldn't want it anymore. To be branded by his greatest regret. I also sometimes like to think that he was the one who invented the Dark Mark spell. I know canonically both Dumbledore and Voldemort invented things, but I don't buy it. They don't strike me as the hard-working types, but maybe that's not so much sad as twisted lol. 17. What rubs you the wrong way about how he’s portrayed in fanon/fan fiction? I don't read fan fiction so I don't know what goes on there, but like all snape fans I was always very irritated at mischaracterizations and/or exaggerations by snaters. In fact, that was the reason I made this snlog, to be able to look at the good stuff while avoiding the sh*t takes and insane nonsense. I'm slightly inured to it now though! But it was sad, seeing people misconstrue what is one of the best and nicest parts of HP which is Harry Potter choosing to honor the best of him and forgive the rest — part of growing up is realizing that adults were only human, but I guess that's something that a lot of people don't want to do 🙄 28. Did you make it through OotP, HBP, and DE not knowing what JKR had in store for Snape’s character? Or had those things been spoiled for you beforehand? I hated OOTP so much that I put HP away with childish things lol. I remember thinking, "Well we had a good run. I'll just pretend it ended with POA. I won't find out what's happening with and clearly that's going somewhere but oh well". So Snape killing Dumbledore was spoiled for me later, but I could not have cared less and I might even have forgotten it by the time I had nothing to do one day and picked up my sister's copy of HBP and ended up loving it so so much. I hadn't heard anything about DE by the time I read it so nothing was spoiled for me and I haaaaated it. Even some of the Snape scenes (I did not like the doe patronus, and there seems to me to be lots of inconsistencies or out-and-out errors in that book). Generally, I considered that it was obvious that Snape was going to be working on the good side because it would be a very boring twist for him to be bad, That is until HBP, when I thought there must be some third thing other than A) working for Voldemort or B) working for Dumbledore. Of course, I was wrong there but I did like most of the story especially after finally watching the last movie where I think his death scene is much improved from the book version.

#pro snape #severus snape #snape asks

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 3 months

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Vesuvia Weekly: Fashion Intervention

~ here's another sketch of an afternoon with my fandom self-insert :P ~

1.8k words

One of the best parts about being the type of person to prefer sitting in corners is needing to worry less about my appearance.

One of the worst parts about being the type of person who doesn't worry much about appearance is having six friends who definitely do.

The part I don't understand is when my fashion sense got so horrifically bad that said six friends actually banded together to stage an intervention. In the marketplace. While I'm writing. With Selasi, that delightful baker, enabling them.

"Ah-ah-ah, don't try to resist! You're a fine young man, my friend, but we all have our weaknesses. Appearances are easy to fix!"

My neck is going to start hurting if I keep having to look up like this. Julian is gesturing enthusiastically, his coat billowing in the breeze as he gets caught up in his monologue on self-improvement. Do I point out the irony, or -

"He doesn't look that bad, he just needs some more ... smrthrgnh." The last word of Asra's sentence is muffled by a mouthful of bread. My bread. Why is he eating my snack?

"Why are your clothes so shapeless anyways? Show off a little something! You should do like I do and get everything tailored. Work that figure!" Lucio takes a few heeled steps and then spins, striking a pose to show off his suit. Muriel frowns.

"It's okay if you don't want to show off." Thank you. "But maybe you could ... pay attention to patterns." I take it back.

"Yeah, what's up the funky looking skeleton? There's no way the fabric it's painted on is going to last longer than a few washes."

"It's merch, Portia." She huffs at my defense and plops down across from me, brushing my parchment out of the way. "I like it because of the pattern, the quality is just ... unfortunate, sometimes."

"I believe we've made our intentions clear." Nadia sails into the discussion and gives me a no-nonsense look. "It would be remiss of us to allow our friend to sit in a public space with so little care for his appearance. Especially when he is one of Vesuvia's aspiring authors."

I try a pleading look, but the only person who starts to look remotely guilty is Julian. Portia's elbow to his ribs makes quick work of that.

"I have shi- I mean, I have stuff to write. And to get done. If you want to look through my wardrobe and help me put together outfits later, we can, but I don't want to leave my corner right now."

"I cannot say this response is unexpected," the Countess gives me a sly but friendly smile, "so I've prepared something for you in advance. When the time comes to return it to me, I expect you to do so with a cleared schedule and an open mind to fresh aesthetics." She holds out her hand, an intricate set of silver chains dripping from her fingers. "From my personal collection - I expect it will suit you nicely."

I sigh. The sooner I accept, the sooner I can go back to not being scrutinized by six pairs of frustratingly kind eyes. "Thank you. I'll take very good care of it."

Nadia moves the jewelry out of the way as I reach for it. "I desire something in exchange."

"What ... what something?"

"I'd like your sweater, please."

"My hoodie? But it's so comfy!"

Her eyelids droop in poorly concealed annoyance. "Your 'hoodie' is in a severe state of disrepair. I can see the threads poking out from the seams, young man, I don't care to see my prized jewelry hidden under such a tired item."

"... okay." I squirm out of my hoodie, handing over the pile of fabric in exchange for the chains. The short sleeves of my undershirt leave my arms exposed, something that I thought I did more often, except -

"You have tattoos?!" Portia's reaching across the table, snatching up my wrist to get a closer look at the slowly growing sleeve. "That's so cool! I've heard that they can really hurt."

"That's a familiar symbol," Asra eyes the lineart on my upper arm where its stretched across the table in front of them. "What do the other ones mean?"

"There's one on your neck, too!" Lucio sounds almost scandalized. "Let me see it!" Before I know it, my freshly exposed neck and arms are being closely examined while a few more sharp eyes focus in on the hints of ink peeking out on my shoulders and chest. This is why I wear hoodies.

Muriel's quick to notice my discomfort when the attention shifts to my neckline and bound chest. "My turn," he grumbles, dropping a navy blue scarf around my collar.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Now give me the second hoodie."

It's hard not to scowl, but I untie the backup hoodie's sleeves from my waist and hand it over. Dang it. "Here."

"You look chilly, my mentally decaying friend!" Good lord, when is Julian going to stop ribbing me over my pen name?

"It's brainrot." He doesn't falter.

"Allow me to rectify your situation! I guarantee you this trusty cloak will protect you from the fiercest of storms." He pulls the massive, dramatic coat from his shoulders in a rehearsed sweep and twirls it to fall behind me. He keeps the armholes open with an excited grin until I push my hands through them.

"This is ..."

"Warm? Comfortable? Touching?"

"Huge." I can barely hold back my laugh. "There's no way even your arms come out the other end of these sleeves! ... but thanks, I'm definitely not cold any more."

"I'll help you roll them up," Portia chirps. Her nimble fingers make quick work of the endless fabric, and I can see my ink stained hands again in no time. "Now give me your socks."

Oh no. My boots are sitting next to the pile of cushions, my socked feet tucked under me for maximum comfort. It's not the stink I'm worried about - for all my poor fashion sense, I never miss my daily shower, or laundry day - but to say that I walk gently would be a blatant lie. I briefly size up the determined look on her face before sighing and shucking them off under the table. "... remember, you asked for this."

Hey jaw drops. "Please tell me you have at least one pair of socks that don't have holes in them."

I shrug. "As long as I can still wear them ..."

"No!" She slams her hand on the table, rattling the now-empty bread bowl sitting in front of a shameless snack thief. "These aren't socks anymore, they're practically cobwebs! I'm knitting at least five more of these."

She shoves a pair of knit orange socks into my hands, lovingly covered with Pepi's cat hair and decorated with little blue bows. "Put these on, I'm burning the rags you gave me."

We both know my pout is just for show. It's not my usual style to wear anything that isn't black (or very, very dark grey), but the bright orange gift is supremely comfortable when I put it on.

"My turn," Asra begins with an innocent smile.

"Where's my bread?"

The dimples deepen. "Give me your head covering, and I'll tell you."

"My beanie?"

"Is that what it's called?" He holds out his hand, taking a closer look at the shabby knit fabric when I pass it to him. "I don't see why, there aren't any beanlike qualities about it. Ooh, unless they're invisible beans ..."

Nadia's sharp cough sets them back on track. "Wear this instead, until we can find a better replacement." Oh god, tell me it's not -

It is. It's his iconic wide brimmed hat, complete with the oversized neon rainbow feather nodding from the band. I don't have time to protest before they're plopping it onto my head and wobbling it into place with a laugh. "Now you're unnoticeable." I highly doubt that. "As to your bread, Selasi's been asked to bring you some of the next hot batch. Can you forgive me?"

Nothing about a smile as smug as his says "guilty", but to be fair, I was never upset. I nod. "So ... can I go back to writing now?"

"What about me?!" I glance from Lucio's outraged pout to the rest of the group. I'm fairly certain that, even if he was invited to the planning for this, he didn't follow through on deciding which offending article of clothing he wanted to replace. "You didn't tell me I had to bring something!"

Portia rolls her eyes. "Well maybe if you had listened when I was talking to you, then you would've known." I don't miss the quiet smile lurking in the corners of Muriel's face as Lucio turns bright red and sputters.

"Well joke's on you, 'cause I'm going to give him something anyways!" He starts taking a hasty inventory of his outfit. "Yeah, that's right! I'm gonna give him ... I'm gonna give himmmmm ... this!"

He unfastens his smallest medal and leans over the table, poking the pin of it through the thick leather of Julian's jacket, disregarding the whimper of protest from the doctor behind him. "It's supposed to be airtight, to keep out the bad humors ..."

"There!" The ex-count grins down at me proudly. "Now your outfit isn't boring. You can give that back to me when you have a better look."

"Thanks," I tell him, and I mean it after noticing the way he glances forlornly at the new empty spot on his sash. "I'll make sure it gets back to you."

"We should go now." Muriel's already half-turned away. "... I'm still not sure this worked."

Asra steps back to his friend, surveying my new look from a distance. "Maybe this will motivate him to let us fix his look sooner."

"It looks better with my medal on it," Lucio announces proudly. Portia lays a firm hand on his shoulder and starts heading away, dragging him with her.

"You'll look better once you make time for us, promise!"

"You should be somewhat protected from the elements, at least." Julian eyes his cuffed coat critically. "If you fasten it correctly, it's airtight, humors proof, water tight, blood proof, pus proof -"

"We'll leave you in peace." Nadia smiles again, amusement dancing in her eyes every time she looks at me. "I suggest you prioritize finishing this project soon."

The six disappear back into the crowd. I lean back against the stone wall behind me, Asra's hat knocking forward over my eyes and giving me a moment of peace. Sure, I may have looked shabby before in my all black-and-grey, well worn clothes, but now -

I'm startled out of my blissful shuteye by a surprised choke. Selasi's standing by my table, a fresh bowl of spiced rolls in one hand and the other clapped over his mouth. "Would you - would you like a mirror, my friend?"

I hold out my hand for the rolls, mentally taking it as a consolation prize for what I've just been lovingly wrangled into.

"Oh, don't think I'm not aware that you let this happen, Selasi."

#vesuvia weekly #borrowing clothes #ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana fanfic #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson

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beatingdrumspouringwine · 2 months

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hello hello beautiful people of the internet, i’m feeling Some Sort of Way tonight and would like to wax poetic about my views on Dionysos’ appearance:

i think of Him only as a Him because it subverts the image of the god i used to worship. gone is the He/Him who thinks of me as a disgrace, as something to be changed, as something to be hated. in its stead is the He/Him who takes my hands and truly claims me as His own, just as i am.

also He’s a He/Him as in He has top surgery and phalloplasty scars in gold, and a He/Him like a butch lesbian in the 1950s using those pronouns so His femme wife Ariadne can have a semblance of a “normal” life, and a He/Him like some super feminine gay guy, and a He/Him like you’d call a particularly friendly cow/cat/snake/other wild creature.

He’s got long, dark hair that falls down His back, and always seems to have just come undone. His skin is dark, and seems to change colors as though He were perpetually sitting under a sunlit tree - lighter to darker, darker to lighter. He smells of frankincense, but somehow it’s not the kind you get in churches. His body is soft, and seems to pose no threat - appearances are nothing when you have power. He is painted with red paints depicting fearsome animals, but also vineyard scenes.

Dionysos is constantly wearing crowns of something. He’s wearing crowns of ivy, or of vibrant flowers and foliage that Ariadne makes for Him. two bull horns sprout from His head; they are decked out in brilliant golden rings and chains - there is irony in this, and He knows it.

He wears clothing (sometimes), but what that clothing is is never certain. it is soft and warm, but smooth and cool at the same time. it is something that is fitting of a King, but can be worn to run wild in the woods. usually it’s a dress, sometimes it’s simply a fawnskin draped over His shoulders.

His voice is something loud and chaotic, but only a few are blessed enough to ever truly hear it. it strikes fear into the heart, but is followed by intense peace. He never speaks alone - the retinue that follows Him does plenty of speaking as well.

And, finally, He brings with Him a beautiful joy. it’s a joy that is felt in a gently weighted hand while praying, it’s that joy that comes from fruits given by strangers, it’s that first rush of tipsiness in a bottle of wine, it’s the feeling of wildflowers and grasses brushing against your ankles, it’s the first breath of warm air in the spring and the first breath of cool air in the fall. sunny days and starry nights are celebrated equally joyfully under Him, and He holds His followers through every day.

#was i drunk writing this?#yes #is it still true?#ya #also guess the stuff that i’ve actually experienced #vs the stuff that’s just me vibe-checking Dionysos #dionysian #dionysos #dionysus #dionysos deity #dionysus deity

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actualbird · 10 months

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Luke Pearce and Conditional Faith: When Does A Skeptic Believe (or When Does He Want To)?

wc: 1.4k

obligatory disclaimer that these are just my own thoughts and interpretations. spoilers ahead for: SSR Shape Of You (the summer breeze card), SSR Overflowing Thoughts (the sott card), SSR Twinkling Eyes (the skadi card), and Main Story 9.

Luke is a skeptic.

I feel like anyone who is familiar with his stories knows and fully accepts this fact. While he’s a very emotional and warm guy, when it comes to like, his general view of Reality, he is the type of person to believe more in facts, science, evidence, tangible proof, and empirical explanations. A lighthearted example of this is in Luke’s Sweet Chapter Personal Story 3, where he and MC were investigating that abandoned school that everybody said was haunted by spirits and Luke calmly proved that it was nothing more than faulty circuitry. And in the same scene, MC fondly remembers how in their childhood, when other kids were telling ghost stories, Luke would just exclaim “THAT DOESNT MAKE SENSE” and spoil the fun of the spook. He’s such a STEM guy, it drives me nuts.

And his skepticism doesn’t just happen there. It pops up over and over across a lot of his stories, and not just in terms of the supernatural. In general, Luke is a skeptic of anything that can’t be empirically proved, including: folk beliefs, spiritual things, the divine/gods.

(sidenote 1: which is REALLY interesting given what I brought up in a previous analysis I did about Luke and Catholic Guilt. Like, so much of his mental framework and morality is something very familiar to the kinds of ways-of-thinking you’d see in this religion. And yet he’s not religious. god gives the biggest ironies to his most skeptical soldiers, or something).

So he’s a skeptic, that’s clear.

Except it isn’t, because there are times when he does believe in faith. Or wants to believe in it. And these moments are made so striking because of Luke’s general disposition towards skepticism, which is why I’d like to do a deep dive of When Luke “Skeptic Extraordinaire” Pearce Decides Or Desires To Believe.

(sidenote 2: just a disclaimer, all folk beliefs, spiritual things, the different kinds of divine/gods are all obviously very different from each other and I’m not saying that they’re conflate-able, DEFINITELY NOT, but just that in Luke’s stories specifically, they Do serve the same purpose to him; they're something he doesn't believe in)

But before I go into when he Decides Or Desires To Believe, I wanna first tackle why he Doesn’t.

The first reason for why Luke is a skeptic is just his general inclination towards empiricism (things are proven via experience and experimentation) and rationalism (things are proven through logic and reason). Like how it happened in the abandoned school scene I mentioned before. And it makes sense for Luke. He’s a STEM guy, but he’s also a detective. Proof matters, and proof creates reality.

But another reason is more personal. Sometimes Luke doesn’t believe because of a sense of Betrayal mixed in with a “Fuck It, I’ll Do It Myself” mentality.

In SSR Overflowing Thoughts, the AU shows Luke originally being trained to be a temple priest while MC was originally trained to be an assassin. But after seeing the sheer suffering MC had to withstand day after day even after praying to the for a peaceful life, Luke took her place and then later remarks “If gods truly exist, then why didn’t they help you despite all your prayers?” and in the flashback, he says “If she dies one day during training [...] then I’ll stop believing in the gods.”

Here, Luke’s non-belief is due to what he expects higher powers to have responsibility over; taking care of good people. While this card is an AU card, I think it still carries over to regular-Luke because of Luke’s very strong sense of morality, of good and bad. If higher powers are good, but they allow bad to happen, then they can’t be good, or they must not exist in the first place.

So someone else has to do it. In SSR Overflowing Thoughts, it was Luke who saved MC, not the gods. And in SSR Shape of You, during their childhood, Luke had gone missing during the festival to seek the Land God to make a wish to erase himself from existence because Luke believed he was a burden and was robbing MC of the love of her parents buuuuut in the present, Luke remarks that he himself will be the one to repay all the love he had robbed her of.

In a way this is an honestly pretty noble kind of non-belief. There’s a cynical aspect to it, but Luke doesn’t just go “gods aren’t real, cowabummer”. Instead, it’s more like “there are no gods to do the good we want to see in this world, so we have to do that good ourselves.”

So those are what leads to his non-belief, which is 99.9% of the time. But the few times he does the opposite were interesting because Luke only tends to do it under two circumstances.

1) I Want To Believe In This Because I Love You

Two cards I wanna talk about here: SSR Twinkling Eyes and SSR Shape Of You (again, not sorry, this card is so important to this post and also to mE PERSONALLY AHVKHS).

In SSR Twinkling Eyes, Luke was his usual skeptical self at the whole local faerie folk beliefs up until Peanut’s messing up that faerie house meant that under the belief system, misfortune might fall upon MC.

In SSR Shape Of You, at the very end of the story, he releases lanterns that are all wishes for MC’s benefit.

In both these cases, whether or not he truly believes or simply Wants To is up to debate, but it is clear that he does ascribe to actions under something that requires faith due to his love for MC.

What happened to Luke the skeptic? He’s still very much there but there’s caveats now. He’ll ascribe to a degree of belief if it means keeping MC safe, if it means ensuring her safety and happiness in the future. Which is so fucking sweet and tender, fucking hell, Luke “I’ll give the divine a chance if only for you” Pearce, OOOAAAUUUGGHH.

But where there’s light, there’s also dark. Because sometimes his reason is…

2) I Want To Believe In This Because I Hate Me

Two stories I wanna talk about here: SSR Shape Of You (this card is a legend, mentioned 3 times in this post alone…) and Main Story 9

In SSR Shape Of You, the entire reason Luke even looks for the Land God (thus implying that, if even for one night, he did believe in the god) was due to self-loathing. He saw himself as a burden, he wanted to wish he never existed and that nobody would remember him because he was convinced his mere presence caused bad.

In Main Story 9…..hoo boy, Main Story 9, HAHA. At the very end of the chapter, we see a flashback where Luke—a little bit after the mission where he was the only survivor—has this exchange with Aaron

Now, it could be argued that this is more psychological than it is spiritual (this whole thing smacks of unaddressed PTSD, after all) and while that Definitely is a factor, it’s key to note the language used here being specific: spirits, gods, believe.

And why does Luke want to believe? Why does he wish it was real even if his usual inclination is skepticism?

Because he’s guilty. He’s so guilty. And you only ever feel guilty when you think you’re in the wrong. You only ever apologize when you think you’re responsible for wrong.

He wants to believe because he thinks himself a sinner and that only afterlife can grant him a chance at absolution.

That’s the flipside of his belief. Either he loves another so much or hates himself too much.

So like, now that we’re here, what does it all “Mean” then? Ehhhh nothing much tbh jHVKJ. It just Struck Me. It’s just something I really liked seeing because it’s such a genuine and human kind of ‘hypocrisy’; no matter how rooted in reality we are, when we’re driven by intense emotion (positive OR negative), we’ll grasp for more.

More what? More Anything. More answers, more possibilities, just…More. Sometimes intense emotion makes Just Reality feel like it isn’t enough to explain or address whatever we’re feeling.

When Luke is pushed by his devoted love or by his intense self-loathing, the limits of tangible empirical reality just don’t cut it. He’ll believe or want to believe in something more.

#tears of themis #tears of themis analysis #luke pearce #tot luke #xia yan #if there are typos pls close ur eyes. i was possessed writing this all

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