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#one of these days someones gonna post it
bungerc0re · 2 years
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i lowkey ship tumblr ♠️ twitter tbh
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anastacialy · 23 days
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guys, i think the hermits are going to accidentally start a prank war again. because just like last time, a game of telephone has begun. first, false made iskall's build into ''false beans,'' her shop from the previous season. however, to give herself plausible deniability, she signs it with "love, Joel. x" due to his username, smallishbeans.
next, iskall sees this, and completely believes it. he thinks it was joel who pranked him, and as he says to pearl while showing off the sign, which he kept even after tearing the prank down, "joel gave me a kiss." in his most recent video, he pranks joel by sending him loads of anonymous messages in order to completely spam and fill his inbox, preventing him from getting any more mail, with notes such as "thinking about you. x"
of course, joel is going to have absolutely no context for this, because he didn't make the initial prank. so who is joel going to assume sent him all those messages while he was away on holiday? well, i have a guess.
etho.
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lovesickeros · 9 months
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☆ even the gods bleed
{☆} characters furina, neuvillette {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, injury, light angst {☆} word count 2.3k
What was justice?
Focalors had asked herself that question many times during the long nights she spends awake pouring over the prophecy of a dead God, words replaying in her mind like a broken record until the sun rose like a blooming flower.
She was the God of Justice, an Archon, yet she herself lacked the answer to such a simple and yet so very complex question.
How does one define what is just and what is not? How does she know that what she believes to be just is right? Is it justice if one being alone may sway the scales of justice on a whim? What justice is there to be found in the cold, watery grave that awaits her nation?
She does not know.
Perhaps she may never know.
What she does know, at least, is that this is not justice.
It is a mockery of it.
She stands before the bloodied, broken body like the judge, her sword held so tightly in her hand her fingers feel stiff, a dull ache adding to the weight of what she's seen. For a long, horrible moment she almost thinks they are dead – something she would have reveled in, only a day prior – before she sees the subtle rise and fall of their chest. Breathing, but barely.
The rain felt heavier upon her shoulders at the realization – she was not sure if it was in relief or horror.
Her nails dig into her palm, mind stuck somewhere between that abject horror and confusion so palpable she swore she could hear the gears in her head turning.
For a long, silent moment as she stares upon the body beneath the heavy rain..she wonders if this is how it all ends instead. If the world itself will simply crumple in on itself and cease – without its heart, it will wither, after all – long before the waters ever swallow her nation whole.
Because, try as she might to rationalize it, for every drop of rain that hits her like pins and needles, soaking her down to the bone..the body of the imposter is completely dry. Even the water pooling along the stones dares not to leave so much as a splotch against their ragged, torn clothes.
She remembers the meeting so very clearly, and she thinks she is a fool to not have noticed sooner – the Creator upon their gilded throne, finger pointed in accusation at the visage far too similar to their own. The imposter. She remembers the lilt of their voice as they called for their death as easily as one would speak of the weather – and to no one other then herself would she admit the spark of fear it had ignited within her. Because beneath the divine charade there was a sick enjoyment in the way they looked upon the imposter – like a bug beneath their shoe.
She understands, now.
She had thought that perhaps finally – finally – she could do right by her people, by her Creator, if she rid Teyvat of this..intrusion.
Now she sees herself as what it all really is – blind lambs following the herder.
Perhaps she would be considered a heretic under the eyes of the law – beneath the weight of justice, heavy as the heart that bears its sins. Perhaps this is a mistake, one she would come to regret.
But for now, she sheathes her blade with unsteady hands, the sound making her ears ring – for what she had almost done, what she had already done – as she stumbles like a newborn lamb towards the broken body of..
..What, exactly? Human? Divine? She is not so sure what to call them. Creator? No. The name is bitter upon her tongue, now, burning like liquid flame down her throat.
Where once she had spoken it in reverence and admiration, it felt hollow and empty, now.
Her vision wavers as she kneels down against the rain soaked stones, the rain upon her back growing heavier as she reaches a shaky hand forth – and for a moment, however brief, she feels the weight of expectation, of a title she fears she may never live up to, wash away with the waters that fall from the heavens.
The bruises and blood smeared across their skin are like strokes of a paintbrush, their body the canvas from which such horrid art is created. It makes her ill.
Doubt wavers her composure briefly – her position is already unsteady. She has never been seen as an equal to many of the other Archons. Her own people do not see her as their Archon, but an actor in a grand play that they shall simply toss aside and replace like a broken doll the moment she bores them.
What does she have left to lose?
She reaches out again, her hand settling onto their shoulder and turning them onto their back. She..isn't sure what to do, actually. She's never been particularly physically capable – she tended to avoid fights, even if she oft provoked them – and she was certainly no healer.
Yet what choice does she have but to march on anyway? She is in the heart of the city, it is far more dangerous here then anywhere else..she had little time to make her move.
Fontaine was, after all, a nation founded on the principle of justice. To know an injustice has been made against the most Divine..the entire nation was in a frenzy.
Her eyes dart around nervously, hands clasped tight on their shoulders and her lips drawn into a taut line – someone would notice her absence. One of the Archons would point out her absence in the coordination of the search.
Her options were just as limited as her time – she couldn't just take them out of the city. Security was tight, and as much as she fancied herself an escape artist – Neuvillette could hardly keep her in one place for too long – she doubted she could do the same with the limp body of the imposter in tow.
..The Palais Mermonia it was, then.
Her room had a secret entrance that few knew about, and even fewer would dare to traverse. She just..had to hide them there for a bit and hope Neuvillette wouldn't notice anything different.
Probably.
Still, there was the problem of actually..transporting the body. As grim as it sounded. Her only solace was the fact she didn't have to worry about them catching a cold, at least, and their breaths were still audible, if only barely. So she had to resort to some..unexpected methods.
Seeing the limp form of, well, the imposter – she'd really have to ask for something else to call them when they woke up – stuck in a bubble of hydro wasn't exactly on her bucket list.
Then again, neither was treason.
Well, first time for everything, right?
It wasn't breaking the law if no one else knew about it.
..Neuvillette didn't have to know about it, really. It was fine.
She could, of course, technically try to talk some sense into Neuvillette – he'd listen to her, right? She thought she was pretty close with him..but he was also the one person more obsessed with justice then she was. Such a stickler for the law..so maybe she's breaking a few, it's fine.
But he was also pretty devout, as much as he tried to keep his worship private – with Focalors around, nothing was really secret. Maybe she could get him to settle down long enough to prove it.
..How was she going to prove it?
An exaggerated groan escaped her lips as she led the bubbled imposter – she really wished she didn't have to resort to that, it would be a lot a more awkward to explain then dragging the body around – through the winding streets of Fontaine. She's just glad she's already memorized the entire city like the back of her hand..and a little dramatics went a long way. People listened when the Hydro Archon spoke, and she was suddenly very, very glad for that fact, even if they treated her more like a mascot then a God.
And partially because she, maybe, just a little..stole a few documents detailing the layout and a little personal exploration of her own – but what Neuvillette didn't know couldn't hurt him!
After what felt like hours, though was really no more then half an hour at best, she'd managed to drag herself – soaked to the bone with rain – and the conveniently bubbled imposter up through the secret entrance and into her room.
The perceived safety, as flimsy as it was, was..comforting. Until she heard the rustle of fabric, the clearing of a throat and the pop of a bubble as she, in her surprise, popped it – and then the thud of the imposter hitting the floor.
She felt a bit of regret about that part, at least, wincing.
"Lady Furina." His voice was as sharp and cool as she remembered it always being – like fresh spring water, she'd heard it described. Soothing. It did not feeling very soothing right about now.
She turned sharply on her heel, a forced smile tugging at her lips on reflex, every muscle in her body tensed – she probably looked like a wet cat right about now, soaked with rain, but that was the last thing on her mind.
"Do you mind explaining what, exactly, you did?" Not what you're doing, she notes – what she did. He was mad. Oh, she was really in for a scolding now. She twiddled her thumbs, laughing weakly, though it quickly dies out at the awkward, tense silence.
"Well, you see – it's rather complicated! I can– I can explain." Her attempts to diffuse are met with a raised brow and the sharp tap of his cane. Every single thought is plagued with the urge to run, but the unsteady breathes of the 'imposter' keep her rooted in place. "Well?"
She was sweating bullets, her nails digging into her palm as she scrambled for any excuse that could warrant her not getting hauled off and scolded thoroughly at best – she was coming up empty. How was she supposed to prove that the 'imposter' was very much not what the 'Creator' said they were? Their unconscious body was doing no one any favors, certainly.
"The Creator is lying," She blurts out, immediately regretting her impulsiveness when she feels the sudden weight of his stare – the piercing hues of his eyes that remind her just who is the strongest between them. It is not her, she knows. It never has been. "You can see for yourself! Don't you trust me, Neuvillette–?"
Her voice is cut off by the sharp click of his cane as he strides across the room in only a few steps, his height making her feel like a child about to scolded. She hated it, but she grit her teeth through the exchange. She reminded herself that this was for the sake of the 'imposter' and any affront to her ego was..tolerable.
To her credit, too, she didn't immediately lash out when she saw him poke at their body with his cane, turning them onto their back – she wanted too, though. She considered it, but the thought was quickly shot down when his stare turned back upon her, and she felt frozen in place again, her tongue a heavy weight in her mouth.
Yet she couldn't shake the sudden tenseness to his shoulders, his brows furrowed and a distant look to his eyes. It was..haunting, in a way.
She knows it well, she realizes. The realization and acceptance, the crumbling of every solid foundation you've ever known – leaving you to flounder in the waves, alone and afraid.
The gentleness in which he picks up the limp body surprises her though, his cane set aside. The rain howls like a horrid storm outside, but she cannot focus on anything but the furrow of their brows, the soft noise that escapes their lips.
"I trust that you know that this must stay between us," His voice is soft, like the gentle lap of waves against the shore, as he sets their body down against the bed, his hand lingering against their cheek with something almost like reverence – and if her eyes do not deceive her, affection. "Lady Furina."
She does not hesitate to agree.
"Well– well of course!" She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning at the feeling of her wet clothes clinging to her skin, a heavy weight that feels like it's dragging her down. "Just what do you take me for?"
He doesn't deign to respond.
It only makes her fume more.
Not that he seems to notice, unbuttoning his heavy outerwear and tossing it on the bed, rolling up his sleeves and focusing on the injured– er..yeah, she really needed a new name for them. Calling them imposter felt wrong.
"So long as you understand, then we will have no problems." She huffs again, pouting and puffing up her cheeks, sitting down on the other end of the bed with only an occasional glance towards him as he worked at peeling away the ragged clothes and examining the injuries marring their skin.
She suddenly felt out of place.
..What was she supposed to be doing?
As if noticing her sudden quietness, Neuvillette sighed, his back turned to her though his attention very much falling upon her. She really hated the feeling like she was being dissected whenever he looked at her. It was unnerving. She doesn't know how anyone else handles it..
"If you are so eager to do something, Lady Furina, then please have something brought up for when our..guest awakens. They will need to recover their strength."
Finally! Something she can do. She perks up, her heels clicking on the floorboards as she darts out like a bullet, unable to stay still for so much as a moment.
Neuvillette, for his part..
Feels an odd sense of serenity as he stares upon the troubled features of the..guest. A peace that lessens the burdens upon his shoulders, the weight of a nation upon his back.
He cannot hear the rain, anymore.
..It must have stopped.
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finntheehumaneater · 1 month
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thinking about Eddie, who because of the upsidedown was in a coma for effectively the rest of '86. When he woke up he had to re-learn a lot of shit, since even after he could open his eyes and sit up, moving was still hard.
Steve and Robin go with him to all of his PT appointments as he works on moving and standing up, but not walking yet. The therapist overhears him complaining to Steve about how he misses writing, since his hands are too shaky for the words to be legible.
She tells him that if he wants to write better he should practice more, and maybe pick something else up that requires small, repetitive movements, like sewing or crocheting.
Eddie is about to open his mouth to say that sewing might be a good idea, because he can work on putting his old patches onto the new vest that the kids bought him as a "we're glad you're not dead present", when Robin comes back from the bathroom and pipes up that she has some crocheting stuff from when she and Steve tried to learn together a few years back, and that's the end of that conversation.
crocheting is his least favorite part of the night, even if Robin and Steve are patient and let him pick the movie in the background and don't get frustrated when he drops the hook between the couch cushions for the thirtieth time in an hour.
Eventually he gets the hang of it, but--out of spite--refuses to make anything other than a very long line with his yarn, telling Steve and Robin he's going to strangle them with it when he's done, because crocheting "is literally the least metal thing in the world."
He stops threatening to strangle Robin after she makes him a little bat.
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lav3nder-bees · 3 months
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happy february to them and absolutely nobody else
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giulzart · 9 months
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“You walk into the room and I go quiet
I catch your eyes and don’t blink an eyelid
Feels like the world locked us on an island
An island without waves”
Also just to clarify, mostly cause I don’t know how okayish my storytelling skills are, but the middle panel is basically Violet taking in Seven appearance up close after years of not seeing him(small panels) and then remembering the past(big panel underneath).
Like always, amazing story and characters are from @infamous-if, go read it!
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venomgaia · 7 months
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Guys that go bump in the night
(minorly inspired by @karniss-bg3 's response to this ask)
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oifaaa · 9 months
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lying in the dirt thinking about how they made jason the impulsive brash bat when thats cass.
"the bat that punch first and asks questions later" thats cass thats casssssss
Cass' way of dealing with steph for a long while was just to knock her out and run off girl just does what she wants and I love her for it
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cerise-on-top · 4 months
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Hi, love your writing. it's so good 💚💚
Could I request some HC for LV + Graves who have an S/O who has three cats that love to sleep on top of them?
😸💚
Thank youuuu! That's very kind of you! This ask actually inspired me to text my friend again and ask her for some cat pics since those critters are just so goshdarn adorable!! I wish I had a cat! I once had a tortoise, though, and she was just the most lovely and adorable little thing out there! I loved her so dearly! Anyway, thank you for the request!
Alejandro, Rodolfo and Graves with an S/O with Three Cats
Alejandro: He gives off quite some canine energy, so there’s a chance your cats won’t like him too much. That, of course, you can try to combat by having him feed them. Either way, if they like Alejandro, then you can expect him to be all over your cats, always talking to them, petting them, picking them up, kissing them and what else it is you do with a cat. He loves your little kitties and would kill someone for them. Although he’s more of a dog person himself, he doesn’t prefer dogs by much, so he can really go either way. When he sees just how cuddly your cats are and when they take a nap on his chest while he’s watching TV with you or something, he will not hesitate to pet the cat, scratch the little fella behind its ears and try his best to make them purr. He loves the sound and the vibration, it brings good vibes and makes him just as content as the cat. The rule that one must not move when a cat is sleeping on top of them holds true for him. If he needs to use the bathroom while one of your cats is sleeping on him then he’ll just have to endure until it wakes up. But if he’s content as well, then he might just cuddle the cat, or your cats even, and take a nap himself. While he’s not usually one for napping, he will when he genuinely can’t move because of your lovely little felines. If your cats let him, he will give them big hugs as well. Is so smitten, he’ll buy them some toys and play with them, if he has the time. And if your cats are too lazy to actually play, then he’ll pick them up and lovingly scold them for being so unmotivated. Meows back at cats too.
Rodolfo: He gets along well with just about any animal. While he’s not scared of them per se, he does have a healthy amount of respect for them and won’t just walk up to your cats to give them pats and kisses and hugs. He will comply if your cats walk up to him because they’re curious, but he really doesn’t want to annoy them or worse, end up with him getting scratched. While he may not meow back at your cats either, he will talk to them as though they’re regular human beings. It’s somewhat funny, he takes them seriously and will, in a deadpan tone, tell them that there will be no more snacky treats for the evening. No matter how annoying your cats might get, he won’t budge. His decision is final, so there are no more snacky treats. He quite likes the thing where if you scratch a cat’s butt, it will move it upwards. Loves doing that to your cats, it’s funny and endearing to him. When your cats are sleeping on top of him, then he won’t particularly budge either. He’ll pat them, but he will also move them if he really needs to use the bathroom. No privileges for your cats this time. However, considering he is, more often than not, pretty tired, he will pretty much always take a nap with your cats if he can. The pressure on his chest is comforting to him, plus he gets to feel something nicely warm and furry on top of him as well. However, he sometimes moves in his sleep, which might wake up your cats, which might wake up him. It’s a never ending circle, but if he can, he’ll just sleep with your cats in his arms. Take a picture of him like that and he’ll try to take embarrassing pictures of you as well with your cats.
Graves: He is definitely more of a dog person, since those are strong and reliable. A cat will meow at you in the dead of the night because it knocked over its water bowl and can’t turn on the faucet on its own. Honestly? He always has something to complain about. Your cat pooped again. It knocked over the food bowl. It farted in his face. Things like that. He means them, but the way he says those things is sort of just funny. Imagine a 40 year old man having beef with a cat. He has very little shame when it comes to scolding your cats. At first, he will use his human words to get them to listen. But as soon as he realizes they believe it’s snuggle time, he will meow at them, making the situation even worse. However, every time you hand him one of your cats, he will take it from your arms and cuddle it a bit. Every time one of the critters walks up to him, demanding attention, he will pick it up and carry it around a bit. Sometimes in his arms, sometimes he just slings the cat over his shoulder and keeps it there. It’s sort of funny, he might pretend to really hate them, but he would never yell at them, only be stern and tell them to not be so gluttonous. When your cats are sleeping on top of him, he does not move an inch. He would never admit it, but they are your shared furry babies and he, like any American, would shoot anyone who ever tried to hurt you or them. Takes naps too when he can, or when nothing of interest is on TV, but he prefers getting to hold something instead of having your cats lie on top of you. You can take pictures of him to show him that he really doesn’t hate your cats as much as he pretends to, but he will always claim you photoshopped it, despite knowing fully well that happened.
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stiffyck · 3 months
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Sobbing thinking about casual acceptance.
Hermits just being chill about each other. Someone announcing in chat they use different pronouns now and the hermits just responding with thumbsup and "cheers man" and stuff like that. Then using those pronouns without any issues.
Someone dressing in a more non conventional way and just getting casual compliments.
Just them not making a big deal out of stuff like this.
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nguyenfinity · 2 months
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Switch is back after their Valentine's event for White Day to bring you Magic for your special someone(s)! Show your friends and fans a little appreciation in return, whether you're sailing for a Romancing Cruise or just for lifting their spirits A little bit UP!!
art-only below the cut!
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panelshowsource · 6 months
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i could run your blog better than you
i love this energy
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coquelicoq · 6 months
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what i love about the Famous Actor Natori Shuuichi of it all is that...it's not just that he's famous and therefore widely recognizable wherever he goes. like yes that is very funny because he was an exorcist before he became a famous actor, which means he CHOSE, on purpose, a day job that would make it harder to hide his double life/secret identity from the hordes of his adoring public, but it's more than that. it's not just that he's famous, it's that he's famous specifically for being an ACTOR, aka a person whose job it is to dissimulate, to make believe, to inhabit roles and emotions other than his own. like he decided he was going to become as visible as possible (which again was literally not necessary! he could have gone into any other career for his day job!!) but in such a way that everyone would see him but no one would see him - they would just see his various made-up personas, including the Famous Actor Natori Shuuichi persona. i can't decide if he's a genius or if he just made so many absurd decisions that they canceled each other out and circled back around to working out. he's either playing 9-dimensional chess or he's eating the pieces. too soon to say.
#the other thing i love about it is that in a very real sense it's his actor day job that is his alter ego#being an exorcist is his normie job. he's just a famous celebrity on the side#which isn't that uncommon in secret identity setups but it's still very funny#natsume's book of friends#natsume yuujinchou#natori shuuichi#natsuyuu meta#my posts#f#i think probably the actual answer is that acting was a very natural career choice because he already masks so extensively#both to hide that he can see things other people can't (and that youkai exist and that he exorcises them)#and to hide what he's really feeling so that no one can use it against him#so if it's already something he has to do & he's good at it...why not have someone tell him exactly how to do it & get paid for it?#and the other part of the answer is that most ppl don't go into acting assuming they'll get famous. the fame was a side effect#so each decision as it was being made probably made perfect sense. but put them all together#and you have this hilarious assortment of elements that seem to directly contradict each other#okay also i would be remiss if i didn't mention the other possible answer which is that the attention came first and was unavoidable#and the acting developed from the need to protect himself from the attention that he was going to be attracting no matter what he did#because he's so beautiful. and (in the exorcist world specifically) because he's the last of the natori#the more i talk about it the more i'm like no becoming a famous actor was the only path that made any sense for him lol#1) he's gonna be watched no matter what bc he's him -> gotta figure out how to hide his secrets -> learn to act as self-defense#or 2) he's got secrets -> he's gotten a lot of practice hiding them -> hey you could make a career out of this!#all roads lead to actor natori shuuichi. and since he's beautiful...all roads lead to FAMOUS actor natori shuuichi#i love it when i ramble so much in the tags that i end up contradicting my own post lol#he's neither thinking ten steps ahead nor is he irrational. he's simply making sensible individual decisions#that follow logically from what is available to him and what his priorities are
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kangaracha · 2 months
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daffodil + chan
a song
the prompt: daffodil (a god bows before a mortal)
read it on ao3
---
"You have no power over me."
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running through his hands like water, and suddenly the earth is not his to control. The skies do not turn with the twist of his head, lightning does not fork in the air when his eyes, dark as night and yet still lit by some unearthly light, fall upon you, his mouth wide as if to gasp for a breath he cannot take-
And yet, still, it shivers down your spine; the magic that draws you here even as you rip it apart, the prize of your conquest to rip the world into two.
"Take it back," he hisses through his teeth, the ground trembling with every syllable that slides down his tongue. You watch his mouth as it forms the words, the flash of teeth behind thin lips reminding you of the way that the swordsman you'd fought through to get here had smiled at you - the last of his seven challenges, the last of his demons, or angels, or citizens of the sprawling, damned city he claimed as his kingdom.
And here you stood, at the pinnacle of the eighth, and stared him in the eye without cringing away because now you knew the truth. Now you knew that what he whispered in the dark was a lie and what you saw with your eyes wasn't always true, and though he may be a god and a king amongst beings that you could never hope to rival, a god can only hold as much power as you give him. A god can only claim dominion over a beast that bowed to his dogma. 
You see now that you are no beast. You are no believer in any lie he utters to the darkness.
"Take it back," he says again, the note of his voice changing. He pleads, his brow furrowing and his shoulders curling in as if waiting for the final blow. "Take it back now, before it's too late."
"I can't," you tell him, and you watch him fall to his knees, and you know that it's wrong and your heart pounds in your chest and it
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like the ground does at the impact of his knees, crumbling into the pieces it was in when you first took his hand, alone on the side of the road with only one thing to call your own. And what was that thing, the little warmth you'd held to your chest in the dark and the cold? What had you traded away for the comfort of the house that crumbled around you now? Why had you destroyed him to get it back, where was it now, why did it not appear within his hands at this, the hour of his reckoning?
"Please," he spits into the cold ground, the dirt and the leaves and the curl of ivy that grows up the walls around you, old and ancient and not yet sprouted from its roots all at the same time. His hands curl in the dirt like he can reach down and pull the earth to him, like he can stop the wane of his power if he just tries to hold on a little bit tighter. "I know what you want, and I don't have it. I can't lose-"
Broken, fragile thing. Small god of limited earth, crouched at your feet like he might worship you instead. You'd thought him all-powerful once, and then you'd thought him severe and his servants and beasts and playthings petty, and then you'd thought him
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because he'd smiled at you in the garden that bloomed from his own hands when you expressed your desire for a flower to tuck in the braid of your dark hair, and his hand had been soft in yours, and when he looked out across his kingdom and the clamouring faces of the people he'd brought to live there, he'd looked at them the same way that he'd looked at you.
Beneath your foot, the ground cracks, fracturing outwards like a spiderweb. It's your heart, you realise morosely, sinking from your chest and into the depths of the earth, disappearing with whatever he'd taken from you; and it was a wretched thing and it had betrayed you a hundred times over, but you still mourn at the loss of it and all the dreams it had carried with it. It blooms in your flowers in the corners of the room, embeds itself into the land and sings along with the song of his power, a thing you can hear but cannot touch, a beast once born that now does not belong to you.
"I'm sorry," he says, his breath like mist in the cold air, and even without your heart, you can't bear to see him so cold.
Your hands reach for him without permission, your body kneeling in the dirt before you can stand your feet firm upon the earth and refuse to move. He flinches away, but your fingers are soft upon his chin and the curve of his jaw, gentle when they brush the soft dip of his neck. "I only wanted to know what it was," you tell him with a voice that cannot hold itself steady. "I thought if you loved me, you would give it back." It's the only voice you have - you are not like him, or like Felix, speaking with many tongues. You don't have any power of your own.
"It's because I love you that I can't give it back." His voice is hoarse, every word a knife that he swallows without ever once flinching. "It's because I love you that I couldn't tell you what it was."
"But didn't I deserve to know?" you question. "Doesn't my life belong to me?"
Finally, his eyes rise, looking up at you with a fire that belies the cold of his skin. "Of course it does," he gasps, and his hand reaches up, dirt-stained fingers dragging at your cheek. "That's why I gave it to you, and I never asked for anything else."
"But you wouldn't give back what you took in the first place."
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The sudden violence of his voice crumbles the walls and fractures the sky, the clouds blooming te dark colours of a bruise. The absence of his hand on your cheek stings in the cold; his face turns away, screwed up in regret and a pain he won't allow you to feel. You lurch forward before he can disappear, drawing him into your arms; stiff shoulders, spine of beaten steel, slow beat of a heart you once held in your hands. 
He'd stood so tall and unmoving in the morning light, when you'd first walked down this path, and now in the dark of the setting sun and the ending of the earth, his weight slumps into your grasp, his resolve melting into the warmth of your body. "I didn't want you to suffer again," he says to the soft cotton of your shirt and the curve of your collarbone, his breath a whisper against your skin. "I couldn't watch that, when you asked me to make sure it would never happen again."
Surprise comes in the pause of your breath and the still of your arms, the jump of a heart you're not sure you still possess. "I asked you to make me forget?" you question the world behind his back, and into your neck, he sighs.
"You couldn't forget," he murmurs. "She was dead before I found you, and when I took her from your arms - you couldn't forget. There was nothing I could do to fix what had been broken. And then you begged me to let you forget, so I remembered her for you." He pauses, his throat hitching like he's swallowing something down. A sob maybe, or the tears he will never let fall. "I can't give her back though. She's not here anymore."
You push him upright, your hands on his shoulders, his neck, his face. Brushing away the hair that falls in his eyes, wiping at the blood that drips from the cut on his cheek. "Why didn't you tell me?" you ask, because the answer is incomprehensible. "Why did you let me go this far?"
"Because I was scared," he admits, and his teeth clench and his spine stiffens against the urge to hide away from you again. "Because I'm a wretched, evil, stupid thing who thinks they can-"
His words die in your throat; vile, wretched things that you store away to spit out later, into the ground where they belong. He is none of that; he is soft, and hesitant, until your fingers find the sharp curve of his hip and the lines of his back, dragging him closer and his lips open like there is nothing in the world to devour but you and
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boy in silly sitting positions compilation
#cats#I especially like the last one where he just has one single paw poking out of that box for some reason lol#I still have costumes to post and like a billion other things.... grr... constantly failing at staying active on social media aughh#I think because currently my Main Focus is on trying to get my game done and stuff.. which basically just means sitting and writing all day#so there's not much to post about. Though I know the Good At Social Media thing to do would be to post about the#writing and share progress and talk about the game and characters or whatever to try to build interest or something but that is SOOO weird#to me.. I could maybe get it if it was like a tiny tiny discord groupchat of playtesters with like 5 people in#it.. But something about talking openly about things before they happen is weird to me?? Like presumptuous feeling or something#''oooo guess whats gonna happen LATER!!!'' like.. how do you know.. what if it doesnt. what if you dont finish it. what if its not the way#you think it's going to be. what if something changes. etc. Like I literally avoid movie trailers and game trailers for the same reason ghj#Even if it's not ME doing it it just feels... weird.. Maybe it has to do with my OCD and how I just don't like talking about ''future''#things in Certain Terms. Like if I was going to say ''Oh yeah sure. come over to my house in a few months''. I would have to follow it up#with like ''HOPEFULLY you can come over to my house in a few months'' or 'They'll come over in a few months MOST LIKELY''. Because just#stating that something will happen matter of factly takes for granted like.. what if somehting horrible happens and I DONT have a house#in a few months? or what if something bad happens to me. or to the person coming over? I can't ever DEFINITELY say with 100% certainty#that one could ACTUALLY come to my house in a few months. anything could change. So I have to allot for that in my phrasing. hbjjkn#There are a lot of situations where you're expected to just Assume Things but for some reason that bothers me. My brain literally does not#even Assume the most basic things.. like how do *I* know that just because it's someones birthday that they want to be wished a happy#birthday? what if they dont? everyone is different and has different preferences. I should check with them first. or wait until they public#ly announce that theyre accepting birthday wishes. I have to allot for all 5034859069 rare possibilities at any given time and never take#anything for certain. etc. ghjbjhbh.... ANYWAY.. I have been feeling a bit sick lately as usual.. but still slowly making progress on some#things. Moslty I need to edit costume photos. make sculptures. and work on the game. Going back reading some of the old writing from like#2018 and suprisingly I don't have to change that much of it? In fact I like it mostly. so that's good. I would be very interested if I were#playing the game myself. Though that doesnt mean much since my tastes are so niche lol..#Still really want to clear some of my million tumblr drafts as well... alas and aughh and ooughh and so on and so forth. Between all of my#evil appointments other such things...why cant I have one billion dollar to retire into relaxed hermit artist life of no stressors.. bleas
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engagemythrusters · 10 months
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Temuera Morrison bringing Māori culture into his role as he plays Boba Fett: perfect!
Boba Fett not accepting his Mandalorian heritage despite his upbringing, as he feels disconnected from it after Jango died: sad, but understandable!
Temuera Morrison being the only person to portray a Mandalorian with the rightful Māori influence BUT said Mandalorian not being accepted in the canon culture: BAD
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