Lovely Ari,
What do you think of this dynamic?
Prissy, prickly, grumpy Reader x Suguru? Bonus points if Reader is a little nerd who speaks like a Thesaurus and quotes Sartre without realising it.
AMAZING PERFECT INCREDIBLE LITERALLY UNBEATABLE TBH???????????? anon i am so so SO weak for this dynamic…… when it comes to sugu i think my favorite readers for him are either silly or grumpy :33 i just think it’d be so cute!! and reader being a little nerd is also so sweet…..
i genuinely think suguru would find it so endearing. it’d definitely be a slowburn but i think that’s how he prefers it anyway!! and he’s nothing if not a man who enjoys a good challenge 😤 so at first i think he’d just be really sweet and patient with a grumpy little reader, hoping they’ll eventually warm up to him… the process is enjoyable for him.
buuuuut once he falls for them….. and once they’re in a relationship……. he somehow gets even sweeter. he’d be so perfect for this kind of reader bc again!! he’s just so so patient :((( even if you get all hissy and prickly he just gives you a sweet smile and maybe some space. or a kiss to throw you off <33 i picture all grumpy readers as easily flustered tbh so he would just thrive off of teasing you…. thinks it’s so cute when you get all embarrassed. T_T he’s perfect!! sugu would make a grumpy reader feel so safe and comfortable… to the point where they aren’t nearly as hissy around him as they are with others. and that would just be.. suguru’s favorite thing ever??? the idea of being your safe space. the only person who can calm you down. i think he wants to be that so badly!! it makes him feel so cherished :33
.. also tbh . i think…. cult leader!geto would eat this up……….. like any kind of sugu would love it but i picture him specifically as unbelievably smitten and endlessly patient and maybe a bit of a masochist so it’s just really funny to me. imagine reader being all >:c bc he had to cancel their date to do Cult Things and he’s behind them like ^_^ …. apologizing and stuff but he just thinks you’re so cute. the Cutest. worships the ground you walk on. doesn’t mind if you curse him out bc he knows you’ll soften up eventually and that melts his heart down to the marrow. he loves it when you’re grumpy and a little mean and he loves it even more when you suddenly get shy and crave his attention. (he makes me feel ill actually)
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My parents are angry. They lose their temper quickly and get ahold of it just as fast. They’re not violent—not towards people, anyway.
Quick bouts of rage come and go so fast it gives me whiplash. My mom will grit her teeth in an angry burst and apologize in the same breath. My dad slams cabinets and swears like a sailor and then turns and says “sweetie?” like nothing is wrong within seconds.
But the apology is said like a chore, the endearment sounds like a threat. I know that they’re not, because I know my parents. I know their mannerisms, I’ve memorized their moods. I can read them as easily as myself.
Those kinds of things are characteristics displayed in abused characters, and I wonder what it says about me that I know my life is good but I still show them. I know they’re not perfect, because nobody is; sometimes I despair over what they could have done better and how much more I’d love myself if they had. But despite that, they don’t hurt me. There’s no malice, and they don’t even realize when I’m in pain.
And yet I fear them. Fear doesn’t come from violence. I know that. But they’re not manipulative, they’re not unloving, they’re not malicious. They love me, and they tell me. Not just when they want something, just when they see me. We’re very big on physical affection, and we talk freely. I roll my eyes and tell them to shut up and they laugh.
And yet I fear them.
My dad snaps and swears loudly about how my mother is a pain. He never threatens me. I don’t think he even processes that he’s saying this to his teenage daughter; he’s venting. And there’s nothing wrong with that that I can think of. Expressing your emotions freely is healthy. But I say thank you more than I would, I don’t talk as much, I don’t crack as many jokes. I stay quiet and talk when I need to. I do what I’m told. I’m scared. I don’t know if I’m scared of hurting him or of him hurting me.
My mom ignores me when she’s doing something, and when I repeat a clarifying question she tells me I need to leave her alone so she can do it. But other times she’s focusing and I leave her alone and she asks if I’m going to help her or not, or if I’m going to just stand there? Sure, the situations are different, but I don’t know what makes one something I should help with or ignore. And if I try to ask, like sometimes do, she says I’m being silly and I should know. I stay quiet and do nothing so I’m not just goofing off; I sit there and watch her in case she tries to ask me something, and I try not to tense. I’m scared.
I don’t know if this is normal or bad. I never had chores; is that neglect or lenience? I don’t know how to clean or do laundry or cook; is that a failure on their part or on mine? Sometimes I’m asked questions in school about where I live and I know my address but I know it like something I’ve memorized, not the actual meanings of the letters and numbers of the streets and where they are and what’s next to them. Is that because I was never taught or because I never paid attention?
Parents aren’t meant to just hold their child through every single life experience. I know that. Sometimes kids are just lazy and it’s their own fault for not trying. But I don’t know which it is. I don’t know if I’m in the wrong or they are. Am I just playing the victim or should they have done better? I know that in the past few years I’ve rejected all attempts by them to do anything, because of depression. Am I responsible for what I’ve missed out on because of it? Am I meant to fix it now? I’m better, but not healed. I still need help, but I’m at an age where I’m meant to be independent. But I can’t. I just can’t.
I love my parents, but I resent them. Am I wrong for resenting them? Do I have nothing to complain about? Am I just being dramatic? I haven’t spoken with them about any of this because I’m scared; is it my own fault I haven’t tried to confront them? When things don’t improve should I blame myself for not pursuing change?
It feels like my mother holds my hand through everything I do. Is that my fault for not being more independent? Is it hers for being too indulgent? Is it both of ours? How does it get fixed if neither of us are going to change? I’m too scared to take any independence because it feels like there’s too much and I feel like I’m constantly on the brink of collapsing, but she’s too complacent.
She’s always complacent. I ask her for things and she promises them so I stop asking and then it never happens and I complain and she says that I stopped asking but she promised but never does it. She doesn’t do anything. Nothing ever changes. My father barely knows what goes on in my personal life.
But they are good parents. They don’t do anything wrong. But I’ve just said things they do wrong. But they mean well, so how can I blame them? I say nothing, so aren’t I just complacent? But I’m scared. Am I allowed to be scared? To do nothing because of fear?
A lot of my friends have actual serious parental issues. Several of them have dead parents. How can I complain about my problems when they have so many actual, active problems? I have a hard enough time opening up about actual problems I deal with that are serious but this one is so mundane and might not even be a problem at all. I can ignore it if I don’t think about it but when I do think about it I want to cry because I hate it so so much.
I started this wanting to make a point about how anger doesn’t have to be violent to hurt someone, but now I’m just venting.
Whenever I take on a new responsibility or activity or anything, it takes over everything. I stress about it all the time, I double think how I do it and what I’m supposed to do and excuses I have for why I did it this specific way if someone asks and how I’m going to explain every single little action and it’s so exhausting. How can I expect myself to deal with the processes my mom does for me when I’m barely holding on with the things I do now? I double think everything. I think I’m doing better but I feel like I’m inching forward.
I don’t bring up suspicions about having autism with my psychiatrist because I’m scared of being wrong or being right or how my parents or cousins or aunts or anybody will react if it’s true or if it’s not true and they found out I thought it was and every single possible change is so exhausting to even think about.
I tell my mom I want to go home while we’re sitting on the couch in the apartment that they’ve lived in since before I was born. I am home, but I don’t feel like it. I never do. I want to be safe, I want to stop thinking, I want to not stress, but it’s so ingrained in how I live and act that I don’t even notice it until I hyper focus on my life and what happens so much it hurts.
She tells me she hates it when I say that. We are home. I can only tell her I want to go home when we aren’t there because that’s the only time she’ll comfort me. “I hate when you say that. We are home. What do you even mean? Stop saying that. It’s annoying. I hate it. I hate it.”
She knows I’m depressed and I have anxiety. I have meds now, and it helps. But sometimes I relapse and I fall into this pit of pain and depression and I can’t tell her, I can’t, because I know that she thinks that I’m better now, I’m good, I can deal with it, because the problem is the chemicals in my mind and the meds help with that. But it’s not just that. I hate my life, I hate everything, I hate myself, I hate her. But I love her. That would hurt her. She would cry. I hate it when my mother cries.
I’m sitting in a rental car crying because I’m depressed and my father is right in front of me. He hasn’t noticed and I doubt he will. When we pick up my mother she might notice my dried tears, and I’ll tell her it’s a sad fanfiction. She’ll believe me. They both will.
I want to go home.
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Ghaleon, scream-whispering and turning several worrying shades of red: DO THOSE LOOK LIKE TEENAGERS TO YOU????
Xenobia, nonplussed: I am 200 to 400 years old, everyone looks like a "teened ager" to me.
Ghaleon, ignoring her, struggling to unlock dungeon cell quickly: I am so sorry, oh god. Shit. I am so, so fucking sorry for-for the inconvenience. Oh. My god.
FANTASY ABBA, exit cell: It's cool.
Xenobia, rambling: What even is a teenager?? We don't have those in the wastes. "14ish to 19ish"??? That's a baby, that is an infant child.
Ghaleon, literally dying: Is there anything I can do to make it up to you two? Drinks? Are you hungry?? Can I give you a ride home???
FANTASY ABBA: No, we're cool.
Xenobia, lecturing: Did you mean "young adult"? Because the Vile Tribe equivalent would be 70 to 125 years, approximately. You have got to stop using all these human terms or this alliance is going to fall to pieces, Ghaleon.
FANTASY ABBA: So, like, we're cool to go?
Ghaleon, last shred of dignity dying dying dying: YEP. (cough) Uh, yes! Absolutely! Y-you're cool--t to go!!
(Exit: FANTASY ABBA)
(Dejected, distraught, uncool slump: Ghaleon)
(Exit attempt: Luna)
Ghaleon: NOT YOU. >:(
Luna: >:(
Xenobia: The vibe, as we say in the wastes, is in shambles.
~it's over!~
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