#“unfortunately i love him more than anything in the world

[therayofsonshine]

was in a&e, so no better time to do this than now! (edit: missed the entirety of this as i was logged out. FUCK. so… um here is day 17 to 24. the very late version.)

day 17: my camera roll in my dr is.. honestly a vibe. but i have the weirdest shit going on over there. it’s tame to begin with: photos of england n my family. n then it just goes to shit: pics of our empty house with boxes everywhere and carnage from moving in and getting accustomed to a new environment. and tbh i can’t be arsed to delete anything 😭 so i’ve just left it and pray i can find the photos i need in time.

i wish i had a way to organise all of my camera roll into eras of my life and categories regarding photos. but.. that’s definitely something to add to my script.

day 18: i’ve scripted in a spontaneous drinking night for the reality show. i’m somewhat subscribed to the whole “drunk words are sober thoughts” thing so it would be really interesting to see what people think of certain topics/people on the show after a few games haha. this hasn’t happened yet but i’m really looking forward to how that one pans out!

day 19: i have a few hobbies in my dr! some are a work in progress whilst others i am confident + comfortable getting on with. they include and are not limited to: thrifting (my original occupation in this dr was a fashion student, but i changed my mind as it just happens randomly and i fear i would lose all love for it if forced to create), music (ironic as my boyfriend is literally an idol), crochet/knitting, and drawing.

i enjoy making things and making myself and others feel good whilst doing them. i have knitted my family/friends quite a lot of clothing (i am LITERALLY keeping the bills paid and lights on and providing clothes on the back’s of my family like damn!). if i’m not working i’m doing one of these things. n enjoying every bit of it.

day 20: i’ve recently discovered - in fact - my main love language is NOT words of affirmation (tho it is still one of them), but quality time (which actually makes more sense to me). so any date that revolves around me spending time with another person is quite literally the most romantic thing ever. FUCK romance!!!!!

for example, recently in my CR two of my friends watched the entirety of the hobbit trilogy with me in one sitting, into the early hours of the morning. and i am STILL telling people about it because it meant the world to me. those films are long too! so! yea, something like that.

day 21: WORKING. i work too much in my cr n now i have to do it in my dr as well????? damn it’s almost like i signed up for this! but i guess that’s one of the downsides of having a family business: i actually have to help out and do the work. yikes. no i’m kidding (kinda), but working in a café is not for the weak.

also, not really a downside - as again, signed up for it - but watching people want and like yunho before i go out with him. (context: this is a dating reality show dr, so people are going to fancy him alongside me. but can i blame them?). it doesn’t make me uncomfortable or awkward tbh, just a little like… oh! oh 😔.. oh 😏😏😏. you get me.

day 22: i scripted i can cook. (….yea.) i just cannot. i can make beans on toast but that’s as chef-like i get in the kitchen, unfortunately. and obviously having to work in a baking environment + serving customers food that may potentially poison them if it doesn’t agree with them, i need to know how to cook.

that’s as good as it gets i’m afraid!

day 23: MY FAMILY ARE SUCH LOSERS LMFAO. we do those matching pyjamas on Christmas Eve. we also make gingerbread houses! which is very fun!!!!

day 24: the vibes of this dr!!! it’s technically a dr for me to be on a reality dating show so a lot of it revolves around being in love (am not complaining yo…)

day 25 (FINALLY): i spend xmas with my family. my family always book the week off and we close the café for christmas because let’s be frank who tf is coming into our shop on christmas day????? nobody yo. we’re not even in korea anyways so the shop just sits dead - and collects dust - during that time of the month. it’s a fun game to place bets on the state of the building after we return - tho we do try to leave it spotless when we leave.

xmas is always chaotic with my family it’s so funny. someone always ends up drunk and singing - eventually roping the rest of the family into it (or most LMFAO).

𝟐𝟓 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐒. ❆ ⋆⁺₊❅ .

a series of questions for the days leading up to christmas for shifters!! Some of these questions are Christmas specific and others aren’t, feel free to answer what you want and how you want, ex. moodboards, short answers, longs answers. And if you’d like, you can reblog so it reaches more shifters. Merry Christmas and Happy Shifting :) post tags are #shiftmas #shiftmas2024 tagged: @arishifter

⌗ 𝟏. christmas caroling ; What are a few songs that remind you of your dr? Why?

⌗ 𝟐. gingerbread houses ; What does your house look like in your dr? Who do you live with? What is your favorite aspect of your house?

⌗ 𝟑. eggnog ; What is some drama going on in your dr?

⌗ 𝟒. sledding ; What does a hang out with you friend group look like? Where do you go? Who is your friend group?

⌗ 𝟓. snowman ; What is your OOTD? (outfit of the day)

⌗ 𝟔. stockings ; What is your family like? What are your relationships with different members? Any extended family? Who is visiting for Christmas?

⌗ 𝟕. candy canes ; What gives you dr euphoria? (like gender euphoria but for your dr…)

⌗ 𝟖. mistletoe ; Who is your s/o? What is your dynamic and how do you spend time together? Are you two doing something special for the holiday?

⌗ 𝟗. snowflakes ; What are some headcannons you have about people in your dr?

⌗ 𝟏𝟎. icicles ; What is your occupation in your dr? Your coworkers? (Or if student, your classmates?) What is your favorite and least favorite aspect of your occupation?

⌗ 𝟏𝟏. tree skirt ; How did you find out about shifting? What was your first dr and what is your main dr now?

⌗ 𝟏𝟐. ornaments ; What are some objects you have in your dr that you don’t in your cr? Why do you have them in your dr?

⌗ 𝟏𝟑. sleigh bells ; Are there any priveleges you have in your dr that you don’t in your cr? What are they?

⌗ 𝟏𝟒. cookie cutters ; What are some smells that remind you of your dr? Why?

⌗ 𝟏𝟓. elf on the shelf ; who is your main wingman/women/person? What is your dynamic? What do you guys do when you hang out?

⌗ 𝟏𝟔. wrapping paper ; What is your favorite way to script? Why is it your favorite way?

⌗ 𝟏𝟕. gift tags ; What is your camera roll like in your dr? (photos or just describe it)

⌗ 𝟏𝟖. snowballs ; What is a silly scenario you are looking forward to in your dr?

⌗ 𝟏𝟗. mittens ; What are your hobbies in your dr? How do you usually spend your down time?

⌗ 𝟐𝟎. ice skates ; What is your ideal date in your dr? (friends or s/o)

⌗ 𝟐𝟏. coal ; What is something unpleasant you have/have to experience in your dr? Why are you not looking forward to it?

⌗ 𝟐𝟐. tinsel ; What is something fun or random you have scripted? (ex. Thundersnow is more common, you have a ring that allows you to read minds, you have good luck with thrifting, you’re good at gambling.)

⌗ 𝟐𝟑. fir tree ; What are some traditions you have in your dr but not your cr? Why?

⌗ 𝟐𝟒. hot cocoa ; put together a moodboard of your dr or you in your dr

⌗ 𝟐𝟓. christmas ; How are you spending your christmas? Who with? What might be some gifts you are giving and to who?

divider credits.

[amomentsescape]

Could I request a reader that's stronger than the slashers? The reader can lift twice the weight and can work twice the time. It's the slasher that is sweating till their clothes stick to their skin, it's the slasher that falls to their knees, its the slasher that pants like a dog and the reader hands them a drink and tells them to "sit this one out, I can handle it".

Slashers with Stronger! Reader

Slashers x Reader (Separate)

Includes: Freddy, Michael, Jason, Thomas, Bubba, Brahms, Norman, Billy, Stu, Vincent, & Bo

A/N: I wrote this more accurate to how I see the Slashers, and a couple of them are literally paranormal anomalies. So there are some that I just couldn't see Reader being able to out beat in this situation!

Freddy Krueger

This is a bit of a tricky situation

Physically, you are stronger and more capable than Freddy

And he doesn't mind really

He likes the challenge

But the problem comes in with the fact that he literally has supernatural abilities

So what he may lack in strength, he makes up for in creativity

He likes to bring you into his world some nights, setting up a little chase scene to test your strength

And he's always impressed with how long and how bravely you're willing to go

But unless you're also a dream demon, he's going to always have the upper hand

Michael Myers

Based on his prior experience and hard-to-believe survival situations, he isn't one to beat

Even with your own immense strength and endurance, Michael has a leg up

He just might not let you know it

He doesn't need you to know he's got you beat, as long as he knows it, he's fine

He'll even let you believe that you're stronger; he doesn't care

But if push comes to shove, you better believe he'll show his full power

Whether you're ready for it or not

Jason Voorhees

Jason admires your strength and ability

If anything, it makes him feel good that you're able to look out for yourself if you have to

Though, he rarely lets you out of his sight so it's not really needed

Jason is quite literally a supernatural phenomenon

So unfortunately, you're not really going to have him beat

But he doesn't ever want to diminish your confidence

He'll let you win arm wrestling or endurance activities to encourage you

He wants you to feel strong, because you are

He'd never want to bring down that feeling in you, no matter what

Thomas Hewitt

He is definitely taken aback at first, but he soon grows to love it

Unlike some of the other Slashers, he won't ever have you do the work on you're own

Now that he knows what you're capable of, he has you help out beside him

Doesn't ask you to do anything unless he plans on being out there with you

He's still hesitant letting you use any sharp objects, but if you want to do the heavy lifting, then by all means go ahead

He likes this dynamic between you two, and he feels like it helps get things done faster around the home

He always shows his appreciation with a firm hug and soft gaze

Bubba Sawyer

It's difficult to out lift Bubba; no one has ever accomplished it before

But the day you lifted a full wagon over your head like it was nothing was the day Bubba found himself at a loss for words (more like a loss for squeals and whines, but you get the idea)

Now, anytime you pick up something heavy or are able to out work Bubba, he just jumps up and down and claps happily

He loves that you're a hard worker just like him!

And he knows his Mama is just as happy to have another pair of hands to pull some weight around the homestead

Your ability doesn't make Bubba feel insecure in the slightest

Brahms Heelshire

Oddly enough, Brahms doesn't feel too emasculated by your strength and endurance

At first, he didn't really believe it

But after seeing it with his own eyes, he knows

However, this unfortunately just means more work for you

Since you're stronger than him, he's going to tack on extra work for you to do around the house

He's literally had you carry him to bed before because he knows you can

In a way, it just causes him to act even more child-like

It's a win for him, but not so much for you

Norman Bates

He would never admit it out loud, but he likes having someone who is bigger and stronger than him

His mother was always his caregiver and protector, so he knew that if anything happened to her, he'd want a partner that would do the same

It's not to be said that he wouldn't step in if you ever needed it

But he knows that you won't

He's seen what you can do

You've done a lot for him that he was unable to do himself

The moment you say you've got it, he'll happily step back and admire your strength

Billy Loomis

Billy is a bit of a contradiction

The majority of him wants to be angry

He feels very emasculated by your ability as well

But there's also a teensy tiny bit of him that kind of finds it hot you can do what you can do

He will never say this to you in a million years though

So for now, whenever you out lift him or run further than he can, he'll huff and puff and roll his eyes

He'll make remarks about how you "clearly don't need him" and will pout in whatever corner he can find

He's never been the "weaker" one in the relationship before, so he truly doesn't know what to do with himself

Stu Macher

He's kind of into it, to be honest

He doesn't mind being the "tough" one in the relationship, but he likes that you can pull your weight too

It honestly helps him out a lot

Whenever he's stuck in a sticky situation during one of his... scavenges, he knows who to call

He'll be right there if you ask for help, but if you tell him you can handle something on your own, he won't argue

He'll just stand back and smile

Knowing you can hold your own too helps give him peace of mind that you'll always be protected, even if he's not there

Vincent Sinclair

He is honestly very neutral about your capabilities and doesn't really see it as any type of comparison

You each have your own strengths (physically and mentally) that are different, and he's cool with that

He's having trouble lifting something? He'll just come to you

He's feeling extra fatigued and having trouble completing his tasks? You lend him a hand

And he always helps you out with other things too that he may be better suited for

There's no competition or feelings of inferiority between you two

You accept and love each other's differences, and Vincent is super happy with that

Bo Sinclair

Yeah, not a fan

He's very much the type to want his partner to basically be dependent on him

He wants to feel needed, and your superior strength not only contradicts that, it makes him feel inferior

It wouldn't be past Bo to make snide remarks in hopes of dwindling your strength just enough to have him come out on top

He wants to be your protector, he wants to be the muscle

And you not allowing him to be puts him in a foul mood

Unfortunately, you're either going to have to fake it or let him take full control

You're not going to see a happy Bo until then

[avifaunaa]

i tasted ash and knew [ it was you ] [ r.v. ]

Authors Note: My first Rio fic! Make sure to check the content warnings before reading further in case the content inside does not suit your taste! Otherwise please enjoy!

Some quick fun facts that literally none of you asked for but I added a lot of plot to a darksmutfic:

• I’m a former history major so some of this is based off of knowledge of what I know about time periods I studied and found special interest in

• Johnnie Ray was a popular artist in the fifties so I slipped him in for story ambience

• Only by 1955 did Americans, in half of their homes, have television sets. Up until then it was considered a bit of luxury with limited channels and times you could watch. You’d get static otherwise. Most homes had radios as their everyday media consumption.

• John Daly and the News was an actual television show broadcasted between 1953 — 1960 and is now what we know today as ABC World News Tonight

• Reader hinting that she and Rio shouldn’t talk so openly against how things are handled after the war is me referencing how the Second Red Scare [ Mcarthyism ] began to take an effect on the United States and how people ran their lives. Some actors, for example, would get blacklisted for the rest of their lives if they were accused of communism / socialism and found guilty even with denied claims from said actor.

Masterlist

PART TWO | PART THREE

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Fem!reader

Summary: Rio Vidal broke the rules of her own nature only two times in her long existence — once when she allowed her and Agatha’s son to live long enough to love his mother and the second and last by finding you and taking a life for every year she allowed you to live. Centuries later this still held true . . . Only now Agatha was dead and she was angry. It was time you stop running from her.

Content Warnings: Dark — be warned in advance and take care of yourselves! This has flashbacks that occurs between 1943-1953 but details about World War II itself are very vague. Some mild period-typical gender norms in terms of roles and clothing during flashbacks. Mentions of abuse / abusive marriages, angst, death, manipulation, threats of violence, stalking, choking, misuse of magic ( Rio ), housewife R ( and encouraged by Rio 😭 ), kidnapping, somnophilia, non-con, cunnilngus ( r!receiving ), face grinding ( Rio!receiving )

Word Count: TBA

Rio rarely found it in her to feel anything other than passive nonchalance when she came for them. A hand held out expectantly, a knowing expression that made no room for desperate pleas, and she took another soul away from this plane she stalked for her souls.

Children were the worst to come for and made that choice even more difficult for Rio. Death did not care who it struck or why — she was only able to ensure the balance of the universe stayed intact by orders greater than her.

She loved Agatha and Nicholas though . . . Enough that she stayed away from her lover for the amount of time she had promised their son could adventure the Earth as short as it may be.

She loved Agatha enough to take him while she slept with him curled tight in her arms where he was the absolute safest he could be. Nicholas was all Agatha with his curly hair and serious eyes, but Rio liked to believe there was part of her in him as she took his hand and took him to her home.

Agatha evaded her incredibly well after Nicky’s death, doing her best to leave no traces and not stay in one place for too long.

Rio decided that Agatha wouldn’t be able to forgive her — if not forever then at least for now. So she stopped trying and allowed Agatha to grieve and slowly move on in her own impossible way.

Rio met you in 1945 during a high stress time for the world. It was wonderfully busy in that she was everywhere more than usual. A war just ended and wars made Rio’s life both miserable and fulfilled with the amount of workload she took on.

You were an unfortunate case and barely hanging onto your single thread of life. She could see it glowing from your chest, flickering in and out . . . As if it would be snuffed at any second should the wind blow right.

Her instincts told her it was your time but everything about the surroundings were telling her that nobody else agreed.

But why? She’s seen it millions of times in different cultures and centuries. A life had a time limit and she knew when that time ended even if they didn’t — or didn’t agree with it.

Rio’s entire instinct told her to take this soul and move onto the next so she could keep the balance moving and not disrupt the will of the universe that held them all together.

But she didn’t. She waited unseen in a corner and watched you as nurses came in to check on you, refilling your untouched water pitcher and cleaning you up. You still barely hung on, her eyes keeping locked onto the thrumming flow of life that beckoned her.

She finally stepped forward to get a closer look at you, tilting her chin down through her hood and taking note of every small detail that put you in her ledger for collection.

You were a battered woman more than anything, and she let her fingers drift over you to get a feel of your energy.

Her hand ripped back to her side at what she felt within you. You remained nearly lifeless and unconscious in the bed but your soul was very, very angry. It was a black pool of oily rage and despair that Rio was usually able to cleanse once she took them but . . .

She took your lifeline in her palm, feeling the warmth seep into her cold skin as it stuttered more as she grasped it.

She pressed a thumb into it as though it were something physical and willed a demand — live. I shall not take you today.

For a moment she wasn’t sure how her magic would treat your soul once they interacted. But more stuttering was soon filtered out like a street lamp, giving way to a soft and steady glow.

Rio smiled and released your lifeline, allowing it to lazily float back toward you where it retook its place reaching for her out of your chest.

Rio might be Death and she may hesitate to break rules on most days — but you were the exception she was going to see through and hope she didn’t regret later.

1943-1952

Rio left you soon after. She had to take a soul in your place and had others that needed her attention besides.

But she frequently returned to you with a pull she could not ignore. Your recovery was slow and painful, and she watched invisibly as you cried to your mother and father about your husband — the man you claimed was the one who caused your near death.

It filled her with something raw and visceral when she followed you back home to him. A drunk man who had no boundaries and no respect for the life he was given — nor yours.

She decided to wait a couple of years for the world to cool down from the anguish that it was trying to recover from. But she watched as you suffered with him and tried to keep your distance in order to avoid pain.

In 1952 Rio decides to play dress up. She comes to your beautifully decorated home and sickeningly pretty flowered garden in an outfit that women are scolded for daring to try on.

Slacks and a blouse with her hair styled for the time even if it wasn’t in her taste. She was going to play a partial role — but she had a plan and will see it through.

Rio knocked on your door so that there would be no question of a visitor, hands sliding into her pockets not long after as she waited.

She was not kept long.

The door opened and there you were pretty and smiling — even if Rio knew what the depths of your soul actually contained.

“Oh,” you said by greeting, hand going to your chest. “Hello there. Hi.”

“Hello,” Rio greeted back politely. “I moved in a few houses down and have gone about introducing myself to the neighbors. I want to build a community around me.”

You pursed your lips in surprise. “I didn’t know we had a house for sale,” you mused aloud, but waved your hand, “Oh, but who cares? Welcome to Westview.”

“My name is Rio, Rio Vidal,” Death greeted, sliding a hand out for you to take. If you were caught off guard by the invitation, you did not show it. You grasped her hand and shook it and relayed your name back even though she knew it well.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” you said, still smiling. You gestured and stepped aside in your entry way, showing Rio the bright yellow walls and decorated room behind you, “Would you like to come in? I’ve been trying a hand at making a cake and I’m unfortunately not doing so good.”

Rio took the invitation and entered your home, laughing breathily at your statement. “A woman who can’t bake? Not a sight I see often.”

You shut the door behind you both and grew shy under the observation. “I was never great at it,” you admit as you started through the entry way and leading her through the living room. It was quiet.

“No husband?” she questioned aloud, noting the empty recliner diagonal to the newest television set that money could buy. Expensive taste for even a well earning home.

“One,” you called back when you reappeared from the entrance to the kitchen. “He works all day at the plant in Eastview. He just got promoted.”

“Eastview,” Rio murmured. “Isn’t that a bit of a drive?”

You smiled weakly. “Sure, but it’s good income. He works hard and keeps us fed. Come, I’ll prepare lemonade.”

Rio allowed herself to be guided into the kitchen that smelled like a bakery. Black and white checkered floors, green cabinets and brand new red chairs and a table set. If not good at baking you at least had good style.

You were pulling out a pitcher of lemonade from the fridge and she wandered close to you. “It smells good.”

You glanced up at her from your pouring, “You came right as I was putting my third attempt in the oven. Hopefully it doesn’t burn this time. I admittedly bought store-made icing.”

Rio grinned, “My lips are sealed.”

You chuckled as you pushed her a glass of lemonade and took your own in two hands, clutching it close. “So . . . You have no husband of your own?”

Rio leaned against the mint-colored counter and twirled her glass. “Afraid not. Lost him to the war in ‘43.”

You frowned as an expression of sympathy started to cross your features, “Two years before that deadly disaster ended, too. I’m truly sorry he didn’t make it home.”

Trap set and bait laying with prey lured, Rio continued with a faux tremble in her hands, “They don’t tell you what to prepare for if they don’t come home. Don’t give you much in return for the price they pay for the country. How fair is that?”

Your lips thinned slightly. “No, I’d rather say the bets we place are never worth it.” A pause, full of hesitance. “But we shouldn’t talk so queerly about such things.”

Rio curled her fingers inward toward herself despite her grip on her glass. She was probing for information mostly — where she could poke holes and find weakness. The end of the war left a fear of things they didn’t understand . . . And politics became a large aspect of society as soon as the world began picking itself back up.

Rio reveled in the chaos and enjoyed — with no shame to be found — watching humans try and control their societies in endless cycles of vitriol and greed masked by different ideologies they claimed were better than the last.

It kept her in a job.

“Of course,” she finally said with a hint of emotion. “My apologies. I’m afraid my heart has been hardened by experience.”

You softened slightly, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “Of course. I can’t imagine the suffering you’ve endured — I just — I’m sure the country is thankful.”

Rio bit down a response that would get a rise out of you. She wanted to see that anger she felt in your soul when she initially came for you that day.

She couldn’t feel it just from standing here and pretending to be a sad widower of a war. It was difficult to get a feel on you in general right now — unless she pushed her magic and coerced them out of you.

A brief quiet fell over the two that mostly consisted of sipping lemonades and listening to Johnnie Raye’s alluring voice sing through the radio that was situated near the entryway of the kitchen on the counter.

“So,” Rio drew out and set down her glass. Hardly touched — just enough to make you believe she dare partake in such things, “Little ones?”

You smiled again but a sad gleam overtook the look this time. “No, no children.”

You didn’t go into detail and Rio decided that this topic was one she could let go until later either by finding out through her own means or getting to know you in this fashion.

“Well it looks like we could both use a friend at least,” the brunette said as her gaze turned to stare out the window for a brief moment. “The world can be entirely too lonely for women these days and I’m inclined to find ways to fight it.”

You perked up slightly at her veiled offer and bit your lip. “I’d love to be your friend.”

2024

Your neck was aching in a way that it hasn’t for a very long time. A subtle throb just below your hairline that felt deep inside of your muscles.

You told yourself it was just an ache — the magic she had worked on you was disintegrated and nothing more than a reminder of a past long dead.

But the ache did not relent when you woke up the next morning, or the next after that.

You began to wonder if the witch you paid to remove all the magic in your body was a fraud a week after the ache started.

You simply ignored it and went about your daily life even as it throbbed dully beneath your skin like a timer set to go off at any given point.

It started giving you headaches and then the nausea set in after that.

Pointedly, you continued to do absolutely nothing for it. Anxiety was shoved into a small lockbox and the key was dropped into the dark depths of your brain to be forgotten as you sealed the blinds for the night and went about prepping dinner.

Onions splayed out on a cutting board next to other ingredients ready to be prepped. A dinner for one but a pleasant distraction to keep your hands busy. You propped your phone up against the wall to listen to a podcast while you began peeling the onions.

Flowers for your parents graves and a visit to your nieces’ retirement home, you reminded yourself through the busy chatter of the podcast and stripping of the outer layer of the onion.

A shattered vase?

You stopped peeling and stopped breathing. You listened, drowning out the sound of your phone and focusing on background noise that may come next.

You quietly set down the onion and curl your fingers around the hilt of the knife you had set aside. You tucked it close to your side as you stepped silently to the entry way of your kitchen to look out into your living room.

Indeed your vase was shattered off of the display case where it had previously been sitting. An antique but not one you were invested in, really. The carpet was wet from the water that kept the flowers fed and the flowers themselves were scattered in the shards.

As you approached the mess and kneeled down to set about starting to clean it up, you tossed the knife to the side for now and got the shards out of the way first.

You ignored the alarms in your head. The warning signs that were so large and so close that they were nearly impossible to ignore.

You released a shaky breath and threw away the shards in the kitchen. You gathered yourself momentarily and repeated your mantra, “She isn’t coming back, you’ve gotten away,” enough to almost believe it.

You return to the living room to take care of the ruined flowers and clean up any leftover petals and leaves.

Even when you gathered the crumbled flowers and found a perfectly intact green rose aligned in the middle of them.

The thorn cut your thumb open and left a wound that bleed for two days.

Five more days continued on after that slower than the thick molasses that your grandmother used to make when you would visit her home as a child.

You visit your parents in Westview once you’re sure activity of magic has disappeared. You knew the Scarlet Witch had contained the once lovely and beautiful town and used it to create something for herself she was believed she had the right to.

It’s been months — hell a year even. The news claimed that Maximoff had disappeared without a trace and left no one worse for wear after defeating an unknown threat.

The graveyard was not maintained in the hostage situation. Overgrown and some older stones beginning to degrade from age and lack of care, dead and wilted flowers not cleared or replaced with new ones by thoughtful visitors.

You trudged through it all and for once you could not ignore the agony in your neck. It was allowing the pain of the physical or the pain of your heart — and you didn’t think you had it in you to feel anything but the inclosed walls you built for yourself.

You kneel onto your knees once you reach the matching headstones. Moss was starting to grow on the edges and inside the grooves — but you let it stay. You started pulling out the decayed flowers from the in-ground flower holder, tossing them aside and dusting off the area.

“Still so attached to the past,” a husky voice mused in no one direction. Your head jerked up and you began to look around, palm resting on your father’s headstone for support. A cheerless — but darkly amused — laugh. “You tend to it like a garden or a herd of sheep. Maintaining its needs and working on it like it’s keeping you afloat.”

You used your free hand to rub your forehead. You couldn’t see anything — the voice was clear as day and that is what had you spinning.

“Angel with stone wings, angel with no reach,” the sultry lilt continued. Your eyes locked onto the damp statue of an angel feet away, eyes echoing endless depths of nothingness.

You forced your eyes back to the graves. Your hands were shaking as you continued to clear them, hands aggressively tugging the weeds from around the stone.

“Oh sure, ignore me. That’s worked out for you just as much as burning your leash off has.”

“This is a figment,” you responded out loud.

Large, aged oak trees swayed angrily around you in turn and howling winds scraped against your skin. You needed to make sure of it — ground yourself before you lost yourself in the delusion.

Your knuckles slammed into hard stone, pressing until they turned white and stung from the impact. Your breathing was heavy and your ribcage felt like it was being grabbed from the top of your spine and pulled backwards.

“You really thought that your little magic trick could defy the sigil of Death, angel?” You could imagine her face. Mocking, smirking with full teeth and eyes gleaming with predatory intent.

She wasn’t here.

And then it felt like you had a rope thrown around your throat so tight that you could feel your heartbeat in your ears. The force of it sent you sailing onto your back, feet kicking, gasps sounding out into empty air.

Your hands flail upward in animalistic instinct, clawing at your neck.

Nothing was there. Nothing was there. You opened your mouth more, to breath, to scream, to —

The pressure left as quickly as it was there. You turned over and dug your fingernails into the damp ground, getting into your knees and breathing in as much air as your lungs would allow.

A billow of green and black took up your line of sight as your vision began to clear. It decreased its length toward you with lazy speed and only stopped when you were inches from the fabric.

The figure crouched and a cold hand took your jaw to tilt your head up. Your stomach became a pit of liquid when you saw exactly who it was above you — and she was no figment.

“Hello, angel. Thank you for walking into my trap. I didn’t want to have to hunt you down.”

1953

You slam on Rio’s front door despite the crudeness of it. It was cold and your tears were freezing over on your cheeks. You were numb and you needed . . . Comfort. Something. Anything.

The door opened almost immediately to your best friend. She had a lazy smile that quickly fell once she saw you.

“Angel,” she offered a soft crow, “what happened? It’s dark out and you should be at home right now."

Your throat bobbed and you manage to cup your mouth before a loud, ugly sob can escape and wake the entire neighborhood. "Oh, God, Rio."

Now her eyes flickered with alarm. Dark swirls of it as she stepped forward and immedately wrapped two arms around your shoulders and tucked you close. "Let’s get you inside. Come on.”

Her voice soothed you as she guided you into her home and you remained unaware of the malice that crossed her features as she glanced outside at the street for any sign of threat before closing the door.

She sat you on her couch in front of her television. She was watching John Daly discussing the news on the black and white set with his stoic professionalism.

“Do you want a glass of water? Ginger ale?” Rio questioned and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder.

You glanced upward at her. Your fingers twisted into your dress and you crossed your ankles, pressing them into the couch as you sat up straight and stiff.

“Yes please, if it’s no trouble,” you murmured.

“I wouldn’t have offered if it was.” You ignored the odd quip, having gotten used to Rio’s strange ways by now. Most of your neighbors wives’ — when you met for the monthly update while husbands drank and played cars — found her to be much to odd for comfort.

You didn’t mind. She wasn’t nosy like the other women were and didn’t have the tendency to berate you about how you iced your cookies or strung your laundry on the line when laundry day came. She took little interest in petty gossip and didn’t prod for details about why no children came to fruition within your marriage.

Perhaps that is what drew you to the long-haired widow while the others felt repelled by her.

Your brain was lost in this forest of thick fog and thoughtless wander so deep that you jumped when a cold glass was brushed against the back of your clenched hands.

Rio said nothing about it; she simply waited until she was satisfied that your water was safely in hand before sitting down in the chair next to the television. She reached over and twisted the dial until it flickered off.

“What happened?” she asked plainly, picking something off of her finely fitted pants. Waisted pants today that ended at her ankles, fitting her loosely. Some days she wore styles that mothers would roll in their graves over — a man’s wear.

Today she decided on a more fashionable approach in women’s attire, it seemed. The pants were dark blue in color with a cream long sleeved shirt tucked in.

You tried to focus on her question, but answering it meant you had to tell her in the first place. In doing that — in doing that you would be left in a situation where you could break down completely.

“Hey.”

She was next to you as if by magic. Her hand rested on your knee lightly. Her hand was cold. Anytime you were together she always seemed to be cold . . .

Your mind started melting into itself again but a finger directed your chin to meet Rio’s intense gaze. It was a gentle gesture, but also a command. One of her eyebrows was raised questioningly.

“Angel,” she says, a low noise in her throat, “I can’t help if you won’t tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

Your fingers curled as tight as the glass would allow, as tight as your grip could be. “My husband,” you started, a stuttering whisper fading after it. You couldn’t bear to finish.

Her features remained unchanged, but her head tilted. She let her finger brush away from your chin as she moved that hand over yours on the glass.

“What about him?” she asked.

“He’s — the factory owner called, you see. Told me I had to get to the hospital as quickly as I could.”

It was a terrible, bloody mess. They didn’t let you back into the room to see him because of the severity and instead had her wait until the doctor could come and speak with her privately.

You weren’t in tears at all — the nurses had commented. You were being very brave. You must be so scared.

You could only nod at them, smile shakily maybe.

You did cry when they asked you to sit down to tell you that he did not survive their attempt at surgery. It was a machine incident, they said. It broke down during use and your husband was the one on the line during the process.

You sobbed like a stricken wife, now widowed and left by herself. The nurses came to comfort you, offer tissues and take you somewhere quiet.

You weren’t devastated.

You were so relieved.

You felt like you would go home that night and not have to worry about if doing the dishes would be what set him off.

You could make a meal and not sit in a silence that you feared ended in another bruise to cover up for a few weeks.

Your husband was never good at cleaning up his messes. That’s what you were there for. That’s what his lack of complaints at the extra makeup in your grocery bags meant.

“He’s dead,” you choked out loud for the first time. “He had an accident . . . And . . .”

“Hm, I see.” Rio did something else and tucked you close into her side. She started stroking your hair and you took on the comfort even if you weren’t used to it. “It saddens me to see you so upset.”

Over him, she didn’t add. She didn’t need to with her tone.

“It’s just . . . Oh, you may find me very crass if I tell you what’s been heavy on my heart.”

Rio grasped your chin firmly and quickly, forcing you to meet her eyes. Her lips were thinned and she said with a steady, stern tone, “I could never think you crass. We are both outcasts in our own way in this world we’ve been born into. Whatever you tell me will change what I think of you — would you like me to swear it?” She paused. “On your God?”

You pulled back briefly, but her hand went with your tug. She had a tight grasp on your chin and wasn’t letting go, determined to keep your attention.

“My God?” you echoed, visible confusion coating your features.

She didn’t give you a response. Perhaps she felt as though she had been clear enough even if you felt entirely puzzled.

She tapped your cheek with her index finger. “Admit to me your heart’s truths, angel.”

The sick feeling in your stomach — the way you liked how she spoke to you, touched you . . .

Her touch suddenly felt like the hottest flames and you snapped out of the foggy daze. You were too close, she was too near. Everything about this broke the law of nature.

“I’m glad he’s dead.” Your mouth snapped shut and she allowed you to jerk away from her grasp to the other end of the couch. You hadn’t . . .

Why did you say that.

Rio’s lips were painted black today. An unusual color to decide on and very much not within the fashion of today. Your catalogues and magazines always pointed at which colors to lean into and which to avoid. Black lipstick was hard to find and it was often discouraged; it was seen as unappealing and unapproachable.

Rio wore it like she owned it and you hated that you seemed to tingle and grow hot in ways your husband was unable to do.

She tapped her chin with her nails, lips quirking into a small smirk. “Oh, my my. A wife who grieves not for the loss of her dear husband — her protector in life and guardian . . . But perhaps the comfortable lifestyle he provides?”

Your lips trembled. “How dare you,” you whispered, flushing from the neck up from the shame. She was right. She was right and you hated it. “That’s so mean to . . .”

“Stop with the act, angel.” Rio leaned back into the cushions, one leg crossing over the other. “Own how you feel for once. Take that relief and dig deep — see what else you’ll feel.”

The water glass had grown slippery in your palms. Either from how sweaty you got or from the melting ice. You were glad for the cold it provided, to keep you from floating away.

You sipped at it in quiet and refused to talk to her. Childish, perhaps. But what you couldn’t do right now was face what she was shoving in front of you: that you feared for your comforts as creaturely as they may be. You were raised to be a housewife and your parents didn’t know how to encourage much else.

You weren’t an educated woman — and didn’t have the money to become one.

“You’re depressing me,” Rio stated, slapping her hands on her knees. You jumped. Her head tilted low and she regarded you with something that should have sent you running, “I’ll keep you safe and pampered, angel. Sell your home, move into mine. I have three extra rooms. I could use a woman’s touch.”

“You’re a woman.”

A feline grin was your first reply. Then, “A working one.”

You supposed you could have realized that in the time she’s been around. No husband, widowed — how else would she have managed on her own without?

“It would . . . Isn’t it rather odd to have two women together? Especially one as a housewife?”

“We’re widowed, angel,” Rio reminded her as she removed the empty glass from your hand and set it on the coffee table. “Gossip will see a sad woman who need comfort from another woman who knows what it feels like. You will be truly devastated, simply unable to recover normally.”

You licked your lips and glanced around. It was darker in certain corners and the living room lacked color. “. . . Everything has a fine coat of dust,” you mumbled.

Rio laughed, standing and pulling you with her. She leaned forward and for a moment you held your breath, scared . . . Perhaps maybe filled with anticipation, as she did. Soft lips brushed your cheek.

“It’s a very good thing I just found myself a housewife to fix that.”

2024

The ache was gone — you could come to understand that as feeble awareness started to come to you in bloated masses.

Your body felt heavy and as though it had been pressed through your mother’s clothes wringer. Should you open your eyes? Would that even matter right now if all you could do was lay there and try not to vomit?

A sudden wave of pleasure that seemed to hurt coursed through you, and you let out a garbled moan as your body lifted and your hand frantically reached down to find the cause.

A soft, breathy chuckle greeted you against your wet pussy as your hand messily gripped hair and pushed the figure against you instead of pulling away.

“Mph.” Rio. It was Rio — she was — you ground your face down as her tongue delved deeper rather than pulling out of you to speak to you. You kept your eyes screwed shut — not wanting to see her but chasing that high she was making you seek out.

Her sharp nails gripped your bare ass and squeezed, nose rubbing purposefully into your clit as she used your body like an old instrument she pulled out of the closet.

It had been so fucking long and yet she knew you so goddamn well. Like it hasn’t been damn near seventy years and she hasn’t collared you with her magic and trapped you again.

With more force and anger driving you, you rode her face harder, knowing Death needn’t breath and how too entirely much she enjoyed the goddamn desperation she could soak up from you.

It flipped like a switch. One moment you’re angry and chasing something that you don’t want and the next you’re clawing at the brink of your orgasm like it was being veered over the edge of a cliff for years.

You cursed and kicked, but Rio saw the entire thing through. Only when your shivers eased and grip loosened did she come up for uneeded air, smug and eyes twinkling.

“Welcome home, angel.”

“I’m going to kill you,” you breathed, shoving her away with a shaky foot and sitting up on your thighs.

Then she was behind you, leaning over your shoulder with a weighted hand on the back of your neck. “I am going to enjoy seeing you try.”

Rio and reader will return in Part Two

PART TWO

[lurkingshan]

Theory of Love Episode 1: Dear Dakanda

And we're off! We begin this week with a 2005 romcom classic from Thailand: Dear Dakanda (the Thai title is more like "Close Friend"). The plot, in brief:

Mhoo buzzes off his luscious mane of hair and heads south to hit the beach. An accident on a boat lands him in the hospital with a broken leg and flirting with a local nurse, Nui, and as he gets to know her we flash back to his uni days in Chiang Mai to see what he's running from: Dakanda, the girl he met during Freshy games, fell in love with, and stayed close friends with while pining after her hopelessly throughout college. In the end, he ends up confessing only via letters after he already gave up and ran away, and the film ends on an ambiguous note.

For those who have seen TOL, I think the parallels here are fairly obvious, and the posters above confirm: Mhoo's story is Third's story. Like Mhoo, Third never says a word about his feelings, choosing to keep it to himself and cry and rage alone. And similar to Khai in these early episodes, Dakanda seems totally oblivious to her friend's feelings as she enjoys spending time with him.*

*There's another parallel to a Thai BL here: Nui is clearly an inspiration for Tharn in I Told Sunset About You! I won't get into that as it's off topic for this discussion. But it's fun to watch old Thai media and newly understand how shows we love were referencing it.

This movie is so much about how Mhoo hurt himself with his slience for years, and ultimately gave up without giving Dakanda a chance to even respond to his confession. Unfortunately, Third doesn't seem to have learned anything from watching it. We hear in his review of the film that he romanticizes--and ends up emulating--Mhoo's behavior rather than recognizing that Mhoo set himself up to fail and things might have gone differently if he was willing to be more honest with his friend. As @bengiyo pointed out, the fact that Third gets caught up in these heterosexual romance films and takes all the wrong lessons from them is part of the conflict at the heart of this story. I love how the show signals that by pointing us to this film right at the start. And with its story over the next 12 weeks, TOL will be in dialogue with this film, ultimately rejecting the notion that Mhoo's refusal to communicate and ambiguous ending was romantic.

As for this first episode, I love how it drops us right in the middle of Third's dramatic pining spiral as it sets up the world of the show. One of the things the show is super clear on is that Khai's player behavior, while kind of dickish, is fairly normal and accepted--Two and Bone act exactly the same way--and Third is only pressed about it because of his feelings. But as the film framing this episode signals, Third never says anything, just gets increasingly resentful as Khai keeps unwittingly reminding him that they are not on the same page.

And of course, he makes it worse for himself by agreeing to help Khai deal with his exes, a truly self-destructive choice that only fuels his jealousy. And every time Khai behaves selfishly or thoughtlessly or does anything to remind Third that their feelings are not mutual, his anger only grows, but Third can't help but press on it like a bruise. I groaned when Third went to catch Khai at the theater with the date he ditched him for; stop torturing yourself, my guy! For his part, Khai has some maturing to do, as he is far too willing to be an ass to his friends in the name of hooking up, and he also just doesn't get that he is constantly hurting Third's feelings by treating him so casually. But for the first half of the show, we are firmly in Third's story and perspective, and I'm excited to see him get to the end of his rope.

Tagging in my other watch partners in case they have anything to add: @neuroticbookworm @solitaryandwandering and @twig-tea.

[akashirl]

this is the part where i use tumblr as a diary. consider this whatever you'd like but i need to get this off of my chest.

i love sei so much. so, so much. it's immeasurable. no matter how happy or sad i am, no matter how strong or apathetic my feelings are, there is always warmth in my heart caused by him. it's a comforting feeling, knowing that he's here for me. even in his own, different way, we managed to be together in this universe, even if distant.

he just makes my heart flutter like i'm a little kid receiving a letter on valentine's day...everytime i look at him, i feel nervous due to unexplainable reasons. trust me, i don't know what it is either. is it because of my feelings for him or am i just getting lost in his eyes, once again?

love is a beautiful feeling. he reminds me of such everyday. he is everywhere, he is everything i see. all of my daily experiences, completely dominated by my occurring thoughts of him. sei is always present, one way or another.

you may find this a little bit unhealthy but it really isn't. when i was at my worst, he motivated me to become who i am today. i am still recovering, that is true, and i won't say that he saved me -- because as much as it looks like, he didn't. i was the one who saved myself, with him by my side, supporting me unconditionally. that is what true love feels like. i will never get to thank him enough for his presence in my life. it won't ever be enough.

and it's not like there isn't a pattern. in every room i'm in, in every media i consume, in every place my mind takes me, in every corner of my head -- he is there. i find him, over and over again. he truly is my soulmate. that much i know it's true.

he just makes me so happy and contributes to my mood more than anyone else in the world.

watching him grow as a person and become who he is today made me realize just how much i love him. even if he feels undeserving of love after his defeat -- even if he blames himself for not trying his best, even if he is still dwelling on his lost childhood and teenage years. i will be there. i will always be there.

i've said this before but it all comes down to how warm he makes my chest feel. it's the best feeling in the world - love. and being with someone who you care for and understand more than anyone else...it's priceless.

i was going to say that i am glad i found him but the truth is that we found eachother. the red string of fate put the both of us on a heart shaped lock, unable to escape -- not that i'd ever want to.

i just want to hold him in my arms and tell him that everything is going to be okay. that there's more to life than loss and unfortunate events. that he's more than a body, that he's so much more than the storm inside of his head, that he's so much more than a young boy inside a big house. i want to see him happy, i want to see him enjoying life to the fullest, something he hasn't been able to do. i want to see him smile. i want to let him know that perfection is so, so subjective -- and that in my eyes, all of him is perfect. cracked, broken, shattered, screwn over again and again -- dealt with as if he was nothing but a tool to success...i want him to know that he's more, so much more than that.

i want to see it in his eyes that he's content. sei deserves all the love this world has to offer, and i have the entire love of the world stored inside my heart.

loving him feels like having a taste of the sweetest cloud as well as feeling a spear cross your heart. it's an uncertainty how every day passes by -- ruled by thoughts of him. i miss his presence, his eyes, his touch, him. more than anything in this world...

i mean, how could you not adore such a kind soul? there is so much of him to love. sei is so deserving of it. love is not earned; but if it was, you can bet he'd be the absolute winner.

i don't say the word "love" a lot due to past traumas but there is no other word capable of explaining the fluttering feeling in my chest. and still, the word does not feel strong enough. i hope i make sense.

i just love him so, so much. it's a delight having him in my life, even if we have to be apart.

sei really is my safe place. my one and only. my love is immeasurable and my heart is sinking. in another life, you and i will be reunited. i just know it. you were made for me -- just like i was born to meet you.

♡

i doubt anyone has read this but if you did, i apologize. i just needed to talk about this somewhere and tumblr seemed like the perfect place. i just couldn't keep it in.

[nikalaeva]

Why don't I think Feyre is an unreliable narrator?

Remember that "unreliable narrator" is the literaly device. The author CONSCIOUSLY forces readers to look through the eyes of such character for the sake of plot.

In ACOTAR, Feyre can be considered an unreliable narrator, but the narrative should show this. For example, Feyre calls her sisters evil and useless, but the reader sees that they cook, wash, clean, care for disabled father, which means Feyre’s view is limited by her feelings. But with fairies it should be the other way: let Feyre admire them, not believe the stories about their cruelty, dream of breaking out of poverty into a fairytale, but the facts say otherwise, and the reader again sees that Feyre is still naive and emotionally immature, so her view is unreliable.

And if SJM added the inability of fairies to lie, glamour and some sorts of illusions, it would create a cool contrast, like, the fairy world is not for human, it's fabilous on the outside, but on the inside ugly and nasty, and only a smart person with iron willpower will not go crazy there.

Many people say that Nesta is more reliable than Feyre as a narrator because ACOSF is written in third person with Cassian, and Feyre loves Rhysand, but Nesta hates him. I disagree, because obviously, despite the third person, the author pokes in me with Feyre's opinion (= Rhysand's opinion = SJM's opinion) throughout the entire narrative, but only from the beginning of ACOMAF Feyre ceased to be as unreliable as she was or could be in ACOTAR.

Proof that in ACOMAF Feyre is, unfortunately, reliable narrator is the Rhysand retcon. Just because Tamlin turned out to be an abuser with anger issues doesn't negate Rhysand's acts in UTM. There is no reason why Feyre suffered from nightmares and bulimia in the Spring Court, but suddenly was healed in the Night Court, went to CoN, which is exactly like UTM (after how long, remember?) and obediently went to the Weaver so that precious Rhysand would be pleased with how strong she is 🙄😮‍💨.

And further in the story there are no consequences for the shit that Feysand does. Deception and theft from Tarquin, responsibility for turning Nesta and Elain into fairies, destruction of Tamlin's Court, disgusting behavior at the meeting of the High Lords. Indifference to other people's traumas and losses, to everything, except sweet little Velaris, nepotism, public sex, irresponsible attitude to planning pregnancy - should I continue?

At the same time, everyone who is against Feysand is presented as unreliable - they are villains, like Nesta and Tamlin, idiots, like the Illyrians, who call Rhysand a half-breed and clip wings of their women, or just fools, like the High Lords, who just don't understand, that Rhysand had it the hardest of all.

(if I was one of them, I would be shocked hearing something like that, and I would never have anything to do with this Court of Crazy Cretins (CoCC, read like "cock").

But I understand why Feyre is considered an unreliable narrator. Otherwise, it's just impossible to accept so many plot holes and retcons and remain sane 😅

[sakur4ii]

Yan!Dick Grayson x Fem!Reader

It's a night like any other. You had just arrived at your apartment after spending the day in your studio, doing different types of photo sessions. Today, you had been hired for a wedding. You're excited—it's the first time you've been hired for something so important since opening your studio.

You love photography. To you, everything the eyes capture is art and deserves to be preserved forever. Since your eyes can't take pictures, you use a camera. You have to admit that sometimes people might think you're a bit odd—taking pictures of strangers or things that, at first glance, don’t seem worthy of framing. People don’t see the world the way you do.

So, of course, you're observant, and of course, you've noticed the guy whose apartment is right across from yours. You always see him at night with his balcony light on. You like to sit on your couch and watch his shadow through the curtains. More than anything, you like taking pictures of his shadow—or sometimes of him when he peeks out. Though you fear getting caught, so you pretend to be watching TV.

You have a little crush on this stranger, someone you've never met but who owns a significant part of your camera’s memory. The little you know about him is that he's a young man, probably around your age. He also seems to work out—judging by his muscles—and he's very attractive, or at least that's what you notice when you zoom in. Once, you took a picture of his shadow doing a handstand. A gymnast, perhaps?

Unfortunately, tonight, the balcony light is off, which means the guy isn't home. But there's a silhouette on the rooftop of the building. A silhouette that is instantly recognizable if you watch the news. It's Nightwing, looking out over the horizon.

You quickly grab your camera and snap a picture of the moment. But the flash, combined with the shutter sound, gives you away. Shit.

Nightwing hears the sound of your camera. It’s a quiet night in an even quieter area, so of course, he notices the only sound that isn't a car engine. He turns with curiosity and notices your lit balcony. Oh, of course—the photographer girl.

He's known about you for a while. His balcony is directly across from yours, and at night, you usually leave it open until it's time for bed. He couldn't help but observe you—especially when you think he's not home and you’re engrossed in a book or the TV. Though, he also enjoys that you take pictures of him. Sometimes, he even poses for you. He wonders if you've noticed.

You're adorable and amusing. You're embarrassed because he's looking at you from the rooftop, and he can’t help but smile at the sight. And then, an idea comes to him

Approaching you as Dick Grayson feels strange. He never finds the right moment, and he doesn’t know how to force an encounter without making it weird. But as Nightwing? Well... you just took a picture of him without his consent. He can use that as an excuse to confront you—and hear your voice for the first time.

He can also be bold—very bold. He can flirt with you and feel no shame because he's Nightwing. If you don’t like Nightwing, then he’ll know exactly what not to do when you meet Dick Grayson.

When you glance back at the rooftop, you notice the vigilante is gone. Did you scare him off? What a bad first impression.

You jump in surprise when someone lands on your balcony.

"Oops… I didn't mean to scare you." Nightwing himself says with a mischievous smile, absorbing every micro-expression or gesture through his eyes, hidden behind his domino mask.

Your face shows nothing but shock, but your eyes also reveal a hint of curiosity. That’s good for Nightwing.

"I noticed you took a picture of me. Can I see it?"

That simple question was all it took to start a kind of friendship.

Over the next few weeks, Nightwing would land on your balcony, sit on your couch, and look through your photos. Each week, he sat a little closer. And over time, he started coming into your apartment to talk about his adventures and listen to you talk about your life. Sometimes, he even stayed for dinner, waiting until you fell asleep before returning to his apartment.

Nightwing had become your best friend. But Dick Grayson was still the unknown neighbor you loved to photograph. And he wanted to change that.

One normal day at your studio, a tall man with black hair and blue eyes walks through the door, asking if you could take photos for his driver's license. You tell him of course, and that you have an open slot right now. So, you take him to the white backdrop. The photo-taking part was quick. It was the printing process that took longer—giving the man plenty of time to start a conversation.

"You live near that street? Haha, what a coincidence, so do I. We might be neighbors," he jokes

The guy—Dick, if you remembered correctly—turned out to be right. (Of course, nothing about the conversation he had with you was accidental.) After that session, you started seeing him more often. When you bought bread, when you left early for the studio…

One day, he asked for your number. And later that same day, you discovered that he was, in fact, the neighbor who occupied most of your camera’s memory. The other part, of course, was occupied by Nightwing.

So now, you had made two friends who loved your passion for photography. They made the same jokes and loved to flirt with you. It didn’t take you long to realize they weren’t different people—but the same person.

Dick was happy that you figured it out on your own. But you were afraid to tell him about your discovery. Aww, no need to worry.

Another normal night. Dick Grayson lands on your balcony, scaring you—just like he did when he first appeared as Nightwing months ago.

He knows that you know, but he doesn’t address it. He simply acts like it’s the normal routine you’ve both grown used to. And you have no choice but to play along.

He gets closer—closer in every way you can think of. Dick Grayson becomes a constant in your life. You see him everywhere. He’s in your home almost all the time. Now, he even stays the night, leaving clothes behind so he doesn’t have to go back to his apartment after patrols. (Even though his apartment is literally next to yours—clearly just an excuse to stay with you.)

You admit it—you enjoy his company. You enjoy his attention. And most of all, you enjoy his obsession.

You’re the first one to kiss him. And he’s thrilled—because this means you love him just as much as he loves you.

If the secret photos hadn’t already given it away—you were just as obsessed with him as he was with you.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I hope the ending doesn't look too rushed, I was trying to finish this and out of nowhere I stopped listening out of my left ear so I tried to finish it while panicking lmao.

[danandfuckingjonlmao]

phillies i really get it. he’s so perfect. like i understand and if i had better taste and more self respect i’d be right there with you because look at him. he’s so silly and dumb. exquisite.

[veatomis]

The problem i have with veilguard's main quests is that they feel like they're in the wrong kind of game. The scope of the destruction after youre done is SO big but its just. barely acknowledged (maybe because youre part of a very small and supposedly secretive team) Like the annihilation of weisshaupt, the final destruction of minrathous, the big archdemon with the eclipse, the two dragons in treviso/minrathous... They all feel like the kind of things we should've seen in a "end of the world" game like inquisition instead of veilguard + we have all of this destruction and yet we only really get to see how it affects the factions directly. I just think the game's overall plot would've worked better if the consequences of veilguard's quests and inquisition's traded places. The world is literally being torn apart by this evil ancient magister and thats why thedas needs the inquisition/inquisitor/herald of andraste to give the rest of the world hope. The evanuris keep making plans but because the veilguard is so secretive and its working with all of these factions known for not being entirely open about their missions/knowledge with the public theyre able to foil their plans before any real damage is done.

[floorpancakes]

im reaching new and concerning levels of understanding watanuki on a personal level

[sskk-manifesto]

(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

[tbob-enthusiast]

Messy school doodles HAHEHHE

Season 2 Robbie (not canon Robbie ofc, but rather the "S2" of my own fic which I may or may not ever finish). The lore is that his hair was MUCH longer than this, but it got shaved off due to Lore Reasons™ and now it's growing back :]

NOT STAN. That's my beta Dipper HAHEHHEE. My notes are just emphasizing how similar they look. Me, earlier today, drawing beta Dipper: "STAN PINES ?! 😨😮😮😨😨😨"

Perhaps. Gay people. I am thinking about it really hard fr

[lususnatura]

blamore having to wear things like back-less shirts / lower - cut tops and just items of clothing that will allow him SOME sort of free range of movement for his tail in general + will actually not constrict his rib cage may just make him a fashion icon y'all... sorry, i don't make the rules ( nah i'm just joking around with you guys LOL... mostly )

[quietwingsinthesky]

sometimes i think about my spn oc and how i rewrote everything about amara to interact with the story i was trying to tell about her. there were some really neat ideas in that i need to recycle for something one day. like, in the show proper, they just let amara take over a human baby and that’s fine, but amara’s not Meant To Be Here. this entire universe is one constructed in her absence. saying she can possess a human body should be like saying if you took a person and sent them to a universe where 1+1=3, they could just figure out how to function within that.

which in story took the form of Amara being something that could not be Understood, only Rationalized. a force locked outside the narrative who could only get inside and destroy things if given a role within it. by the Winchesters as A Monster To Face. by Chuck as Wayward, Unreachable Sister. and by miss oc as. simultaneously a projected creature to be saved, an amalgamation of injustices done to herself (and others) that would never be righted but could be made up for by being a part of this. and as something impossibly powerful that could be both protection and purpose.

and the Darkness wasn’t any of those things, really, but to have agency in her own story required new shackles, but ones she was always straining against. she wouldn’t fit inside the confines of a human mind, let alone a body, at least not well enough to leave it Intact. like lucifer burning through nick, but Worse. because the burns were an expected outcome of skin not strong enough to hold him. humans were built for angels, some were built better and some worse, but they’re meant to work. putting amara in human skin should disconnect the skin and mind and soul from the reality her brother built itself, i think. slowly. bit by bit.

and at the same time, i’d gone and written the kind of wild scenario you really can only write for your thirteen year old mary sue, given that spn oc the part of herald/high priestess/failed vessel. which she pursued with wild abandon like that would fix anything wrong with her <3

in the end, running alongside the borrowed family theming of the original show was my own theme of “how much self-annihilation will you accept to make your point. are you accepting it, really. or are you seeking it.” not just physically, in letting something unmake the base components of what you are as it tries to fit inside you or in it constricting and suffocating itself beyond self-recognition to get inside in the first place, but, obviously, it’s supernatural, how much selfhood do you cede to your family. is it worth it.

it was interesting, if nothing else. let thirteen year old me cook. she had ideas.

[morimess]

i keep seeing songs on TT that remind me of Linebeck...and I don't...really know how to feel about it.

[honey-tongued-devil]

Arcane preference reacting to a s/o with a mental health issues (eating)

My disclaimer, as someone with this issue, I’m sorry if this isn’t what you wanted. I’ve actually been thinking about it for a while, but I was a bit cowardly about doing it, so I’m taking the opportunity now. I don’t want to go out of character, so I’m sorry if some characters come across as harsher than others. Unfortunately, I know I should write the name of the illness, but if I post it that way, Tumblr will take it down.

Jayce:

- He’s academically intelligent, but it takes him far too long to notice that something’s wrong. But you can’t blame him, it’s something so far removed from him that he couldn’t have understood it sooner.

- When he does realize, his first reaction is panic.

- Jayce can’t feel like just a blade of grass; he feels emotions deeply, taking on any blame, especially if something happens to the people he loves. His first thought is that he did something to make you feel that way, inadequate.

- But once the panic phase ends, the responsibility phase begins.

- He does the grocery shopping, he cooks, and his workouts become more regular, where he has you climb onto his back while doing push-ups or holds you in his arms during other exercises.

- He doesn’t know why you do it, but the quickest way to show you that your weight isn’t a problem is by showing you how easily he lifts you.

- And maybe, if you feel up to it, he can hold you in his arms with one arm supporting you while he cooks, letting you taste various ingredients.

Viktor:

- Unlike Jayce, it only takes two suspicious behaviors in a row for him to understand what’s happening. It’s something far from his world, sure, but he recognizes it.

- And he confronts you. He doesn’t beat around the bush, doesn’t stammer; he might even sound angry because he doesn’t understand why you’d hurt yourself like this and willingly give up your well-being.

- I won’t lie, I doubt that an open discussion about something this delicate with him wouldn’t lead to at least one hysterical cry.

- But he’s not brutal for the sake of being brutal; his suffering and frustration turn into anger. It takes him a while to calm down, but he won’t accept compromises.

- You’ll have meals together at home, either returning to your rooms together or straight to the house, so no one can see you and you won’t feel bad.

- And he won’t force you, he tries to handle it with as much care as possible, but there’s no day that goes by without him getting up from the table if you haven’t eaten at least two food items per meal.

- He loves you too much to see you hurt yourself in that way, and knowing that he can't do anything about it makes him feel powerless.

Ekko:

- It takes him a week—not to understand, but to process it.

- Having grown up in total poverty, the idea of giving up food “for whim” makes him react in a way that is only human.

- And the whole thing is too distant for him: everyone’s skin is grayish, 90% of the population of the Lanes has missing limbs and monstrous prosthetics, and everyone’s goal is to survive as long as possible. What does it mean that you’re against your own survival??

- As unsupportive as he might be regarding the issue, he becomes incredibly vigilant and concerned.

- He’ll always make sure you’re warm enough, that you’re comfortable, and no matter how frustrated he is, he’ll always try to stay close to you, even just holding you in bed until you fall asleep.

- Every single comment you make about your body, he’ll respond with, “Don’t talk about my partner like that,” 

- no one can speak badly of you, not even you.

Vander:

- The most understanding: he was young once too, and although in his size meant an advantage, he and Silco snuck into various galas when they were younger, and there, even though he never had these problems, he would feel a strange sensation seeing that he was the biggest in the room or that it was hard to find someone to steal clothes from that would fit him.

- He doesn’t lecture you or anything like that, he doesn’t get angry despite how he grew up; he just feels sadness for you that you can’t see how little that complex matters and how beautiful you already are.

- His compromise is vegetables. If you don’t feel like eating every meal every day, it doesn’t matter, but at least four days a week, you have to have three meals.

- And for the rest, he’ll cook, making sure to prepare the best dishes made from vegetables so that you don’t feel guilty and your body doesn’t deteriorate.

- But he doesn’t support your illness, he simply ensures that you get everything you need and never go below the necessary intake without having you feeling guilty about it.

Silco:

- Hoping that the most attentive and watchful man in the lanes wouldn't notice how, suddenly, meals go from moments of lightness to something you try to avoid at all costs is a bit foolish, but he says nothing.

- He waits for as long as necessary, basically to see how long it lasts and how much you're not planning to talk to him.

- When he realizes you won’t, not anytime soon, he waits for you to be alone in his office, where you’ll find a slice of cake on his desk. Sure, it’s a low blow, but it’s also the fastest way to get you to confront the issue without too many escape routes.

- He’s a big fan of the saying “dirty laundry is washed in the family,” so if you act strange about meals in front of others, he won’t allow questions or jokes, but in private, he won’t accept “no” for an answer.

- He has enough problems already without you crying from hunger pains or having psychotic episodes due to sugar deficiency, so as long as you're under his watch, under Zaun's eye, he won't let you live with unhealthy standards.

- During meals, he becomes the strictest. He doesn’t say anything, but one look is enough to make you think twice about contradicting him. In the evening, though, when your mental health is most fragile, he becomes gentler, comforting you as much as you need.

Jinx:

- You find fertile ground, but like any good bearer of the same issue: she feels she can do it, but you cannot.

- Being with her or in her space becomes like a live-action version of Thumbelina: she’ll leave sweets, chocolates, things she knows you like to encourage you to eat so you can’t hurt yourself.

- She usually forgets to eat herself when she’s caught up in her studies and work, but if she has someone to care for, it doesn’t matter how, she’ll make sure to remember. Even if it means setting a few colorful bombs with timers.

- She feeds you. In the most visible, worst way. It’s easy that if you turn your head, you’ll find a cookie shoved in your mouth unceremoniously.

- And every single tight-fitting outfit disappears from her lair. Magically, whatever clothes you pick up from her pile fit loosely, but if you ask her about it, she’ll claim she doesn’t know what are you talking about.

Vi:

- Want to see Vi in a panic, becoming super protective and possessive in a way? Just wait for one episode, and you’ll see everything you haven’t seen.

- She’ll check on you at least three times a day, and in the evening, when you have pain or a crisis, she’ll run back and forth from the room, thinking about everything she can do to help you feel better without making you feel guilty.

- During meals, she’ll hold you in her arms and insist that you eat, but not aggressively—in a way that’s almost frightened: she’s always been used to fighting big, real monsters, but even when it came to her sister, she could never defeat the invisible ones, and the fear of failing or hurting someone she loved again terrifies her in an agonizing way.

Caitlyn:

- Like Jayce, she’ll also try a more physical way of reassuring you, like body worshipping when you’re alone or working out with you to show you that your weight doesn’t matter.

- She doesn’t know how to react; she realizes it quite quickly but fears that by acknowledging it, she might only make you feel worse.

- One day, she gathers the courage to ask if everything is okay and tells you that she’s noticed those behaviors. When you open up to her, telling her about the issues, she doesn’t respond right away and simply hugs you.

- She becomes more caring, making sure that you don’t have to attend banquets or dinners where you wouldn’t feel comfortable, bringing you food in your room to eat together, and sometimes even leaving the room so as not to put pressure on you.

- When you mention a craving, she immediately springs into action to get it for you, even if you complain that you weren’t serious. Once she understands how your condition works, she orders everything in three portions, so she can eat with you and then be the first to say that she wants more, asking if you want to share the third portion.

- If you have fat accumulated in any area, she’ll knead it with her hands while kissing you, to let you know that she loves every inch of you.

Mel:

- She notices you're having a crisis before you even realize it yourself.

- She’s a ruler, but what she learned from a young age is that a leader must appear reliable and look good, so even if unconsciously, she too sometimes experiences small crises when she feels like she isn’t looking perfect.

- No conversations, no lectures, just an increase in cuddles, moments of intimacy, and later, she brings home sweets.

- “They were a gift to me today at the council,” she lies, but sometimes she says she got them for both of you.

- She doesn’t want to make you feel like you’re in the wrong.

- She knows that when you’re ready and if you want to, you’ll bring up the issue with her, but for now, the best thing she can do is help you get through the episode with euphoria, love, and treats that encourage you to listen to your hunger rather than the illness.

Sevika:

- Like everyone in Zaun, the idea that someone would voluntarily give up food is simply incomprehensible to her.

- But she won’t comment on your problems. She doesn’t intend to invalidate them, but she also won’t encourage it.

- “Are you sure? That’s a bit too little,” will be her comment when you eat something ridiculously small, before making you a proper portion of food herself. If you try to argue, she’ll respond with a smug smile, saying that if you eat that little, you’ll end up breaking when you’re in bed together.

- If a crisis is particularly bad, she’ll try to finish her work as quickly as possible to be able to stay with you for the rest of the day and not leave you alone.

- As much as possible, she’ll try to get the best, freshest, and most natural food, to reassure you that you don’t need to worry, but she’ll never insist that you eat if you say you don’t feel up to it.

- She’ll gesture for you to come sit on her lap and keep you there, occasionally offering you things she knows you like, telling you that she’s really craving them, and if you want them too, she’ll go get them.