#❛ ◈ | ◜in you are poems that aren’t meant to be read by everyone.◞ ― headcanons

[ghostofwriting]

Kildare Split Part Two: Place In Me

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Chapter 2: Place In Me

Note: Me: I don't know when I'll post chapter 2 maybe on the weekend but who knows. Also me: posts 3 hours after saying that. Once again I wanted to thank everyone for reading and interacting! I appreciate all of you so much. Not edited so be warned. I confused everyone with part 21 and this doesn't provide any answers! Just more context for other parts of the smau. Enjoy!

Warnings: none, bad writing, Rafe being mean, y/n being mean

Word Count: 3,371

Synopsis: Everyone has noticed that there's been a shift in how Kildare Split acts around each other. Rafe and Y/N used to be so close, they were always pictured together, and always shared stories of each other and for the last few years, there has been nothing from them. A behind-the-scenes look at what went down between everyone's favourite band.

She thought that she made herself clear and that they understood where she was coming from after her speech in the green room.

She’s not expecting Barry to be sitting on the couch of the tour bus she had chosen to sleep in, her hair sticking to her sweaty forehead from her run, slightly out of breath. 

When she opens the door and sees him sitting there, she jumps.

“Fuck, Barry what the hell?” Barry had a very specific regime for show days. He should’ve been napping on the other bus.

“We can’t go on hiatus. You’re being selfish.” She feels her ears start burning, she scoffs at him. 

“Selfish? You better be kidding me. The audacity of you to come in here and accuse me of being selfish?”

“Y-” She doesn’t let him continue.

“I have put up with this bullshit for two years, Barry! Just because I’m tired and need a break doesn’t make me selfish.”

“If you would just talk to him.”

“No. Fuck you. No.”

“If you talk to him, and he explains himself, you’ll understand and this can all go back to normal.”

“No. I will not fix this. I don’t need to fix this.”

“What happened to be there for each other?”

“Barry. You and Topper were supposed to be there for me!” She snaps, her voice rising.

“You were the only people who knew exactly what I was going through not only with Rafe but with the fame and the drugs and the people wanting things from me. You were going through it too, I know you were. But you abandoned me the second Rafe decided to what? Get in a relationship? You threw me away, I was so alone!” 

Tears are threatening to spill over now. She hates how she can’t get angry without crying. 

“I went through everything by myself and the people I thought were my best friends abandoned me. I get it okay. You chose your boy. But I thought I meant something to you. I thought I was your friend. He broke my heart and my spirit.” She stops to catch her breath, “I was a shell of a person and you still didn’t even ask me if I was okay. In two years you haven't checked in.”

“y/n..”

“He told me he didn’t want to live without me and the next day I found out he was seeing Sofia. And suddenly I wasn’t his friend or his bandmate or even a person. I was just someone he fucked. And I don’t care why he said that. I don’t care if he meant it or not or if he was lost and scared. He still said it. I’m done. I’m done with him, I’m done with this Los Angeles, I’m done. I don’t owe him anything. I don’t need to talk to him.” She finishes her chest heaving. Barry is staring at her, eyes wide.

“What does that mean?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll stay in the band. But it’s work. That’s all. We aren’t friends.” 

Barry’s silent. Still sitting on the bus couch. 

“Get out. Please.” 

+++

The early days of getting over Rafe were hard. She wanted to go back to who she was before him. The version of herself before she got involved with him. Journaling and writing song lyrics and poems could only do so much. Everyone told her that she needed someone else. She understood that but she didn’t feel like it. She wasn’t ready to get her heartbroken all over again. 

Not when she constantly got her heart broken on tour, not only when she saw Rafe making out with Sofia backstage but when Barry walked right by her without acknowledging her existence, or when Topper pretended not to hear her. Her heart cracked every time for the little girl who trusted these boys with her entire being and let them in only for them to stomp all over her. 

She spent endless nights on tour, alone in her hotel room crying at the top of her lungs and on the tour bus muffling the sound of her sobs with her pillow. So when people suggested she needed to meet someone to get over him, well, it didn’t sound like a good idea to just let someone else in to break her even more when they eventually left. 

It got better little by little, the heartache over her friends hating her. The heartbreak over Rafe choosing someone who wasn’t her, someone who was worth it. The loneliness never did. It was crippling how alone she felt. There were times when she wanted to go back to the drugs, drinking, and partying. She would feel so much better if she just couldn’t feel anymore. She didn’t go back on the promise that she made to herself. She would never be that afraid high out of her mind 17-year-old girl again. 

She isn’t sure if she gets over Rafe or if she learned to live with the pain. Sometimes she thinks she’s so angry at him and that’s the reason she doesn’t want him. She misses him all the time, she thinks she’ll miss him forever. At least who they were before they had sex and fucked it all up. 

She lets everyone know that when the time comes she’ll make them all aware. Cleo tells her that she better be the first one who finds out she’s seeing someone. She tells her that she wouldn’t have it any other way.

The day she met him was one of the most ordinary days she had lived in her entire life. She had woken up in her Los Angeles apartment, made herself breakfast, gone for a swim and gotten ready for the day. She didn’t have anything planned for the day, maybe tidy up a little, call Sarah, and run some errands. The craving to make brownies hits her out of nowhere, she doesn’t have any of the ingredients at her house though, the life of a touring artist. 

She’s leaving the grocery store with her reusable bags filled to the brim with all her cravings. She’s digging in her tiny pink purse that can’t hold anything for her keys when she drops two of her bags. 

She doesn’t want to get angry when she sees everything fall, she stares at it for a second, takes a deep breath and moves to pick it up. Once she gets everything together and packed up in her car, she decides that she needs a little treat for putting up with her groceries falling.

Her favorite pastry spot in LA is right by a hotel where all the celebrities who don’t live in the city full time. It’s usually a curse because everyone is hanging out or camping outside the hotel for a small glimpse of someone famous.

She thanks Caroline, the bakery owner and steps out of the store without looking at where she’s going. She feels herself collide into something strong and hard. Someone. Her pastries shake in the box. Of course, this would happen too. Why can’t she just keep herself from dropping her food today?

“I am so sorry.” She says to the man standing in front of her. He’s pretty, she thinks. Dark brown hair, almost black, brown eyes that look very familiar, and strong, and his arms are bulging where his black shirt sleeve ends. He’s hot. 

“Don’t worry, you’re fine.” She hears his friend behind say something in a different language and the man in front of her shakes his head and smiles at her. 

“Are they making fun of me for being a klutz?” He laughs. 

“No, they think it’s funny that I would run into my celebrity crush. Literally.” Any other time, if someone confessed that she was their celebrity crush, she would run so far so fast. Something keeps her there, smiling like an idiot, at a loss for words. She says the first thing that pops into her head.

“Have we met? You look familiar.” She feels like she’s seen him somewhere but she can’t place him. 

“Mira que te ha visto a través de la ventana.” one of his friends says, he shushes him not even turning to look. 

“I’m an actor?” He says it like a question, his cheeks flush, and he’s embarrassed. It’s endearing. 

“Yeah? Have I seen anything you’ve been in?” 

“I doubt it.” 

“So as your celebrity crush, it seems that I have a responsibility to watch whatever you’ve been in, don't you think?”

“No way.” He smiles at his friends doing a quiet chant of something behind him.

“No? Not even if you join me and walk me through it?” She knows she’s giving him eyes now, looking at him through her eyelashes, fluttering her eyelids a little too much. Her resolve is gone, she doesn’t know where her confidence is coming from and she’s going to use it until it’s gone. 

“We could arrange that,” he pauses, “Julio.” He extends his hand out for her to shake. 

“Y/N.” and maybe when she takes his hand she feels a shock run up her arm. 

Maybe she’s being dramatic and jumping the gun but what if everything she’s been through led her to this moment? Right here with him. 

+++

When Rafe finds out Y/N is seeing someone he tries not to lose it. He knows he has no right. His palms start sweating. He feels his breath shorten, he’s honestly a mess though he doesn’t show it. 

At least not until Topper pushes him on the subject when they’re left alone. 

“She’s seeing someone.” The room is eerily quiet, they’re in the studio recording their second album. Y/N had gone off to probably call her boyfriend and Barry was off doing who knows who.

“Yeah.” He’s short with his answer, scrolling on his phone to distract himself from the ever-intrusive thoughts of her her her. 

“You good?” No. No, of course he’s not good.

“I have Sofia.” Topper clears his throat and continues his torture on him. 

“Doesn’t answer my question.” 

“Yeah.” He looks over at Topper, his eyebrows lifting in acknowledgement.

They stay quiet for a few more minutes, the questions and thoughts and everything eating at him.

“Who’s the guy?” The question forces its way out of his mouth. He doesn’t want to know anything about the man that holds her heart.

“Some actor,” Topper responds nonchalantly, looking at him like he’s going to blow up if he moves anymore.

“Cool.” He wants to claw his heart out. What the fuck is happening to him right now.

“Rafe.” Topper isn’t convinced that it’s cool at all. Because Rafe can lie to everyone in his life but not Topper.

“No yeah, that’s cool. It’s great, yeah, good for her.” He knows he still doesn’t sound convincing.

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Let her be happy.” He’s going to be mature about this. He asked Sofia to marry him last year for god sake. If he gets to be happy, she does too. Is he happy?

“Rafe.” Fucking Topper and his questions.

“I’ve fucked her life up enough. She deserves this. Deserves someone.” It spills out of him again, his eyes meeting with Topper’s, begging him to stop. 

“Do you ever miss her?” Topper’s not showing him any mercy today, wanting to know everything he’s kept inside for the past two years.

“More than anything.”

“You fucked up” understatement of his life. He ruined her and in turn, ruined himself. He was stupid and selfish and he deserved the worst.

“Yeah.”

+++

“You have to apologize to her.” Rafe’s once again fiddling with his guitar. The arena is empty except for the techs playing with lightingThe stage had been set up the night before. Y/N was with Sarah exploring the city before she had to be back for soundcheck. Barry was taking a nap and Topper was being a pain in his ass. He tweeted some bullshit at him and Rafe had called him back to talk.

“I don’t have to do anything, she’s leaving.”

“Yeah because of you. Because of what you did to her.”

“I seem to remember that you were included in isolating her.”

“That only happened because she was so hurt she pushed everyone away and I thought I would make it worse by forcing her to talk. Anyway, that’s between y/n and I. You need to take responsibility, Rafe.”

“For what? It wasn’t my fault I didn’t love her.”

“Oh fuck off Rafe. You loved her. You were just scared.”

“Of course I was scared! It could’ve ruined everything. The band, our careers.”

“You shouldn’t have ever gotten involved.”

“I couldn’t help it!” He closes his eyes, doing the breathing exercises they taught him in rehab, in therapy. 

“Please, just talk to her.” 

“She doesn’t want to hear it.”

“You have to try!’

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“You won’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“Because I’m engaged. I’m with Sofia and I’m happy and if,” he breathes “if y/n were to even give me the slightest greenlight I would burn my whole relationship to the ground. Her whole relationship.” He says the last part under his breath, hoping Topper doesn’t hear it.

“What the fuck, Rafe?”

“I know.”

“Why now?”

“I did and said some shit back then to not fuck up the band. It was wrong, stupid and childish. It’s not a question of ‘why now,’ I never stopped.”

“You still love her.” Rafe doesn’t confirm or deny it. Topper shakes his head. 

“You need to apologize.” Topper leaves Rafe to strum his guitar in thought. 

+++

Everything changes when he comes into her life. It’s like she was living in this deep black hole of anger, sadness, and endless turmoil. He’s her calm. He grounds her and she feels like she can finally breathe. She hasn’t felt wanted in such a long time and even though they are long distance most of the time between his film schedule and her tours, she has never felt alone since meeting him. 

She has a video from him every time she wakes up in the morning. Sometimes it’s just him telling her something that happened to him during the day, or a funny story, and sometimes he sings. She wishes she could drop an album just to feature him on it. She wants the entire world to know that he’s hers and she’s his and she is so incredibly in love. 

It’s scary going from such a low to such a high. The extreme contrast is intimidating at times but she wouldn’t have it any other way. She learned what she wanted in a relationship from an extremely difficult situation and somehow it was all worth it as long as she got to have him in her life. 

They’re together for a year before it gets out. They chose to be private about their relationship, it’s easy when he’s halfway across the world most of the time. That doesn’t stop her from spending every single moment that she isn’t on tour or in the studio next to him in Spain, Italy, France. She loves him. She would do anything for him. She knew that he was the one three weeks into their relationship and when she told him and he told her he felt the same, it confirmed it.

It’s her fault it gets out, he said it was about time and he wasn’t mad about it at all. 

Sometimes she still finds that deep-seated anger she holds for Rafe bubbling over. It’s all-consuming and she can’t stop the venom that leaves her body.

When Rafe’s engagement gets out, she and Julio step out on a date night. Cleo calls the paparazzi for her. It’s a great plan until everyone is freaking out because they’re convinced she and Rafe were dating this entire time.

She loves her fans but sometimes the theories and threads get a little too much. Mostly because they’re correct most of the time. 

At first, she was scared of Julio seeing all those things and seeing how everyone wanted her and Rafe to get married. She was scared he was going to run away. It never seemed to faze him. He never not once doubted her. He understands how people get and believes her when she tells him she chooses him for the rest of forever.

+++

Topper’s words haunt him. He wants to apologize to her and give her and himself some form of closure. He doesn’t know how to approach it. They haven’t talked in years, not really. How does he talk to the person that he hurt so much?

He catches her after soundcheck one day, his wringing his hands together, riddled with anxiety. 

“Hey, Y/N?” He calls out after her as she passes him.

She slowly turns around and crosses her arms, raising her eyebrows at him in surprise. 

“What can I do for you?”

He gulps as she looks at him expectantly.

“I was wondering if you had listened to the album?” What? Why the hell did he open with that?

“Why would I listen to the album?” She asks incredulously 

“Well, because I mean it’s about,” he stumbles over his words, “I just wish you would listen to it and maybe hear me out.”

“You want me to listen to your album so that I can hear you?” She nods her head and puckers her lips. 

 “It’s so stupid that after all these years you can’t apologize to my face so you what? Make an album? Is your apology hidden in there somewhere?” 

“Yes-No, I just think that if you gave it a chance, we could talk about it.”

“You want me to pretend to give a shit about your album when you can’t tell me how you feel right now in person?” She’s laughing a little now. Shocked at his suggestion. He wants the ground to swallow him whole.

“Please, can you just listen?” 

“No Rafe. I am so done with this. I have been done with this. I don’t care about your album, I don't care about you.” Her words hit him like knives in his heart.

“Why do you care about my opinion about your album? Do you think I’m stupid? Do you think I don’t know that your album is about me? You called it Angel, Rafe! The fucking nickname that you gave me when we were 12 years old! I’m not some dumb girl who you can just manipulate and get whatever you want out of her. Not anymore. I am not that person for you.” She stops, her hands coming down from where she was waving them. He wants to say something but his mouth is dry and he has a ball the size of a grapefruit stuck in his throat.

“You made it incredibly clear to me that you don’t think of me as a person. Like- what did you say to me? That I’m just a fuck?” He grimaces when she throws his words from three years ago back at him. 

“Yeah, you said I’m just some girl you fuck, ‘you’re just some girl I fuck I don’t care about you.’ Sound about right?” He can’t move. He’s frozen.

“You could have worded it a million different ways and still gotten your message across. You could have been so much nicer. Let me down easy. Let me know in a better way that you found someone that you wanted to get to know. I would’ve put everything aside and just been your friend but no, you decided that I meant nothing to you, that everything we had been through, everything we had built, Our friendship was not important to you.”

 “Because I’m just someone you fucked. So, Don’t worry about me, don’t worry about my opinion because you’re just someone I fucked too and someone that I no longer care about. You are just my bandmate. You are just a coworker, I don’t think of you. I’m done with you. Keep your album. Good luck.”

He was so fucked. It would be a miracle if he ever got her to forgive him.

[yuoimia]

beyond this land -

summary: what is it like travelling with them?

chars: albedo, alhaitham, kazuha, wanderer

cw: established relationship, gn reader, fluff, not proofread so maybe grammatical errors.

albedo

albedo is always looking for inspiration for his paintings. capturing the scenic landcapes with calculated and elegant strokes, creating masterpieces good enough to challenge the snapshots of a kamera. his creativity is endless, ever-changing, enrapturing. it wasn’t uncommon that you got a bit mesmerised and transfixed at his artistic talents. it just makes him all the more charming.

albedo is an excellent travelling partner, when he has the time. he’s extremely knowledgeable about places, prioritising your safety and comfort over his, no matter how much times you argue. though, he does have a…unique palate. you better steer clear of those spiders…

alhaitham

the type of partner to read up every single book and article leading up. he often goes out to the dry deserts and dense rainforests of sumeru, but the landscapes of the six other nations are totally alien to him, try as he might. it’s almost cute, how troubled and confused he looks, but he claims that he will soon adapt, just like all those times he’s answered those abstract and philosophical questions. but these aren’t questions, and alhaitham is undeniably, irrevocably stuck.

however, he does make a nice travel buddy if you like long chats. small talk is an exception for you. as well as physical affection.

kazuha

kazuha is a wanderer, everyone knows that. he travels teyvat to his hearts content, seeing and admiring sights some could only spend their lives dreaming of. travelling with kazuha feels like being wrapped in a warm blanket, staring up at the countless glowing stars adorning the skies. in fact, that’s what you’re both doing right now. hands intertwined, eyes lost in the inky night, both draped in a woollen blanket.

travelling with kazuha means you’ll never have to worry about anything. he can cook, fight and write those endearing poems he always asks you for feedback with. every night, just before you fall asleep, he reads those poems, his soft voice filling the silence, with words you just can’t help but feel were meant for you.

wanderer

he’s also one of the ones that puts your health and safety above his, just in his own funny way. looking out for potential threats, making sure your laces are tied, forcing you to stay hydrated, it does come at a unofficial price though. complaints complaints, complaints. there is always something to complain about. the sunshine? the temperature? the way you're walking? his snarky remarks weave in and out of your ear like background noise.

he also finds it hard to leave you alone. subtly asking you for affection in public, but will outright decline you if you ask if he wants a hug. definitely pretends to hate it when you use a couples discount at restaurants or cafes. overall, pretty good partner if you can handle his comments.

© ayaboba. do not copy, modify or translate in any way.

[missblissy]

The Painter - Astarion X Reader

Summary: While out shopping in the city you come across a strange book. You decide to give it a read and get a few ideas… Maybe this was something you should share with Astarion?

Warnings: 🤷🤷 There isn’t really anything to be worried about, maybe suggestive themes but?? It’s mostly pinning, angst, kind of intimacy 👀 GN! Tav as always tho UwU)/✨

A/N: 🔫💀 I am here to bring more non-sexual intimacy with Astarion because I love healing a traumatized man. The poem used later in the story must get its credit where it’s due, and is Acquainted with the Night by Robert Frost. As always, enjoy!

There are many things such a skill can be useful for. In time one can grow more fond of this technique with time and practice. A brush stroke can be equal of that to the hand caress along the inner thigh and bringing pleasure beyon-

“Hmm? Reading something new, I see?”

The binds of your book screamed out as the pages slapped such, cover to cover, while your skin nearly jumped off your own bones, “Astarion! H-hey!”

Peering over your shoulder from the back of the couch was the keeper of your heart and destroyer of any sense of sanity you had left. Astarion raised a cursed brow at you and leaned a little closer. The night was young and the floors below the Elf Song rang with customers coming and going as they pleased. Thankful the top floor was all to yourself but still, the liveliness below could still be heard.

“Why aren’t you down stairs with everyone else?” You asked as you set the book down beside you, even managing to slip it between the pillows and cushions.

Most of the others had joined the music and drinking below, Astarion was down there the last you checked, getting into some kind of heated debate with Wyll and Gale about who could flip a coin better. Sometimes those three could be so…

You shook the thought away as Astarion crawled over the back of the couch and smoothly sat down beside you, “Well I came looking for you of course,” He gave a wave of his hand then a side look, “You don’t normally hide away reading,”

There was a soft laugh from you and a half shrug, “We’ve been here for weeks now. There is only so much fun a drunken tavern can provide, and spending every night down there isn’t my cup of tea,”

“Hm, you’re no fun. What’s another night of drunken debauchery?” Astarion teased with a nudge of his shoulder into yours, but you gave a little shake of your head and he got his answer, “Fine, fine~” He sang out then threw his arms behind his head as he stretched, “One boring night, coming right up,”

You knew he was only teasing and meant nothing by it. Seeing as the flicker of amusement in the corner of his eye told you he would rather be up here with you anyways.

Without a second thought or a slight of hesitation, Astarion made himself comfortable. He laid down with his head in your lap, you letting out a little giggle as he shoved your hands out of the way to make room for himself. His feet dangled off the arm of the couch and he shuffled a bit as he kicked off his boots.

“So, tell me about this book you're reading, my love. I’ve seen your nose in it since we left that book shop,” Almost as if by instinct, your fingers started combing through his white curls, “It must be a terribly lascivious fantasy, no?”

You could hear the little giggle bubbling behind his words as he spoke as well. How many times has he mentioned the book now and you’ve just ignored him? “It’s not that kind of book,” You didn’t stop playing with his hair, but you did look away with a faint blush. If he was going to be persistent about it then you had little choice to put up a fight.

He started to reach over toward the book tucked beside you but you slapped his hand repeatedly, “It’s not that kind of book,” You huffed then grabbed it for yourself. Just to prove your point you leafed through the pages then stopped on a specific one.

To say it wasn’t just any kind of book would be an understatement. You held the book open and showed Astarion. On the page was a simple diagram. Well… perhaps not simple.

The vampire spawn tilted his head a little, not exactly sure what he was looking at. Slowly he lifted his hands up and held the book open himself, “That pain priest really did a number on you back then, huh?”

“In a way, yes. But… Not exactly,” You said, while gazing at the page as well. It was hand drawn by someone tied up, very tied up, and very restrained, hanging from bounds of ropes off a ceiling. You flipped to an earlier page, one that shows exactly what knots where needed to achieve such a complex picture.

You then flipped a few pages back, “You did too,” You were hesitant to say those words, but there was no reason to lie. Nothing good came from it so why hide. You stopped on a different picture with a person fully in the nude but covered head to toe in painted on words. Then to another page that required both you an Astarion to nearly tilt your heads in a 90 degree angle to get a better look at whatever it was you were seeing.

A moment of silence passed and Astarion narrowed his gaze softly with a raised brow and looked up at you, “What is this book?” He closed it and looked at the cover, no title, then the spine, nothing. He went to the first page and only found a table of contents.

You gentle took it from his grasp and started fingering through it, to somewhere in the middle where the title was hidden, “Peculiar Pleasures,”

Astarion sat up fully, his head no longer in your lap as he straightened out beside you, “What did you mean, when you said you did too?” There was a slow growth of worry on his face, like he was about to be in trouble.

But you have a quick wave of your hand to dispel such worries, “Nothing bad,” You softly smiled and placed a gentle hand on his, he quickly took it but still had a silent question in his face waiting for you to explain, “I…” You started, not exactly sure where to start, “… I Was looking through the books at the shop, just wandering about. I saw this book, and it reminded me of you. And what you said about this kind of stuff feeling… Tainted?”

He didn’t say much but he did raise a brow and held an open hand out with a curl of his fingers. You passed the book to him and watched as those same fingers flipped pages with care and curiosity.

Still a little frazzled, you felt your shoulders tense up and rise to your neck while letting out a nervous laugh, “I just thought it was interesting…” You started to ring your fingers together with that same empty laugh, “And maybe this book could, I don’t know… It’s sex without sex!” You blurted out louder and than you expected then got yourself all sorts of frazzled, “Like… ya know… that kind of stuff. I just thought-”

“You thought it could help,” His voice was cool like ice and just as slick, “That’s very sweet of you,” You finally looked at him to see a smile in the corner of his lips. He leaned into the distance between you two and placed a kiss on your cheek, “I’d like to keep this for awhile, if you don’t mind,”

“You actually want to read it?” The surprise in your voice was hard to hide, why wouldn’t you be? You gave him an odd look full of questions regardless.

He gave you another side look, one more playful as he turned to full face you with a tip of his head slightly to the side. Your noses barely touched as he smirked, “I’m just reading it, love, we aren’t doing anything,” It was cruel of him to flirt like this, and to give such a teasing tone.

It made the tips of your ears burn and your cheeks match, “I know!” You huffed and turned away sharply, “I mean- well. Good.” You smoothed out your shirt as some form of distraction or action to seem casual, “I’m glad you like it then,”

A soft laugh escaped his lips and you felt a smile tug at your lips. Soon the giggles came from you both. Astarion raised an arm, inviting you in by his side and you quickly took the offer, snuggling up and resting against his chest, “How far have you gotten? I shouldn’t have that much to catch up on,” With how fast he reads? It’d only take him a few hours you guessed.

Astarion opened the book again once you had both gotten comfortable on the couch. With a shrug you told him, “I’m not that far, maybe a few chapters?”

“Wonderful,” His grin was cheeky, “Means you don’t have much rereading to do,”

A curious brow was raised on your face, “Oh?”

He snuggled himself closer and began flipping to the first few pages, “Of course, everything I could want is right here,” His voice was laced like honey, sickeningly sweet, “Why would I bother leaving?” He teased, “A beautiful paramour by my side, a saucy book for the ages, and the rest of the night to ourselves,” A stray hand of his began combing through your hair, all the while he focused on skimming pages with ease. It was rather perfect.

You let out a little hum, “You have a point,” The curl of his fingers through your hair was enlightening yet calming. It was like a call of tranquility. Another hum as your eyes fluttered shut, “Wake me when you get to chapter 4? Around page… I don’t know, half way through,” To hells with him if he thought you’d reread the damn chapters a second time.

“Mhm,” Was his simply and soft reply, then followed but the subtle turn of a page. He never stopped twirling curls of your hair between his fingers, something of a rhythmic pattern that was predictable and pleasant.

Sometimes you’d get pulled from the lull when he’d pause, his hand stopped and a strange chuckle could be heard escaping his chest. Even peaking an eye open you could already tell what he was reading. You saw a silly but errotic picture from before, someone clad with no clothes being tickled by countless feathers and… other peculiar things. You laughed at that one too.

Or a few pages later there would be an image of someone experimenting with entire blocks of ice and nothing else, or toying with magic in stranger ways than normal. Even a few pages were dedicated to the art of chanting and just calling out sounds and how to seek orgasmic pleasure from just screaming. Though you couldn’t deny, some things in the pages seemed entirely thrilling. It was indeed a book of peculiar pleasures.

So the half chuckles and chortles from Astarion every so often put a smile on your face. Though you still drifted in and out of a half sleep, despite the ruckus downstairs still raging on. After some time with a vampire you grew to love the coolness that always radiated from Astarion, like a freezer, he was naturally chilled and cool to the touch.

After a while however you felt a little jostle on your shoulder. Then more of a shake. Your eyes shot open and for a split second you were expecting a surprise attack. It was just your beloved vampire, though, seeing as you nearly forgot with your little power nap, “Star-bite..?” You yawned the nickname and rubbed some sleep out of your eyes.

You eyes flickered to the book beside you, still in his hands, you noticed he was nearly to where you left off, he only had a couple pages left to catch up though.

“This one,” Astarion’s voice surprised you, causing you to snap your head towards him. You caught a look of what could only be described as determination. He fully turned the book to you and pointed his finger to the page with an image you had already seen.

There was a drawing of a woman painting on herself. She was, keep in mind, nude, but her body was covered in runes and words alone. They covered her from head to toe. Your eyes traveled to the paragraph below, you still remember what it said.

Pleasure can come in many forms, this one being the pleasure of touch and grace while healing, and exploring the mind and body so intimately that nothing but a brush stroke is needed. This practice is known as The Painter. Its purpose is to form bonds either with yourself or with that who holds the brush. There are many things such a skill can be useful for. In time one can grow more fond of this technique and with practice. A brush stroke can be equal to that of a hand caressing along the inner thigh and bring pleasure beyond what a touch could ever do. Paint into you what you’ve always wanted to hear, or secrets you can’t keep any longer. You could even scribe poems, or runes, whatever means most to you.

“I want to try this one,” Astarion’s voice caused your mind and eyes to drag up to him.

You felt a rush of blood run to your cheeks as you forced an awkward laugh, “R-right now?” He couldn’t be serious. Your eyes flickered around the room, wondering if anyone had come up from the tavern yet.

Astarion only answered you with a quick and sharp nod of his head. Well then…

You blinked a few times, still somewhat surprised by his forwardness, “O-okay,” Then you said it again with more confidence, “Okay!” You shot up from the couch and looked around then made your way to the door, Astarion was close to follow behind you. He did manage to grab an ink well and a brush, however, as you managed to slip away to the solo suite down the hall. He had not forgotten the book either.

“So, what do you want painted on you?” You closed the door as he followed in, then turned and watched as he kept his nose in the book and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Without lifting his head, he raised only his ruby eyes and gave you a staunt look, “I was thinking a poem,” That was rather interesting, or so you thought. A little fitting even.

But you still had to ask, “Are you sure? I mean,” You made your way over to him, sitting side by side while taking the ink well and brush that we’re still tucked under his arm, “I only ask because it wasn’t that long ago we thought it was just a poem on your back,”

“I’m sure,” He closed the book with a swift snap as the pages shut together, “Besides,” He leaned a little closer to you with a smirk, “I get to choose what it says this time,”

A soft single giggle of a laugh escaped you. You then clicked your tongue with a little shake of your head, “Alright, where do you want to start?”

You watched as he proceeded to think, mule over what he wanted and what he didn’t want. Which was still a foreign concept to him that he hadn’t quite yet settled into. Eventually and with caution he said, “Let’s just start with my arm. I don’t think I’ve got enough words to cover me… Nor do I think I want to,” He gave a small and nervous, boyish chuckle at the end.

“Okay,” You nodded with a smile and waited as Astarion shed a few layers, then undone his shirt and exposed only his torso. You had nearly forgotten how beautiful he was, but only soaked in the view for a moment before giggling giddy with bubbles, “You talk, I write,” You hummed and dipped the tip of the brush into the ink, tapped away the loose drops, then hovered it over his one of his shoulders, waiting with anticipation.

His breathing slowed, and Astarion thought. He even closed his eyes trying to envision the words appearing on his own skin. Soft, but not a whisper, his voice traveled deep from his lungs. A strange sounding roughness filled his words.

“I have been one acquainted with the night.”

Slowly with each word, you carefully wrote every letter with deliberate delicacy, as if you were painting on the world’s thinnest canvas, ready to break under the smallest weight.

“I have walked out in rain—and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light. I have looked down the saddest city lane.”

His voice carried a world hidden within it, one that you could only ever catch a glimpse of in moments like these. Each faint brush stroke along his skin sent small and welcomed shivers from each place the hairs prickled his skin. Astarion even had to take long moments between each entry, to give you time to scrawl down his tainted words.

It was incredibly intimate, much to his surprise. Especially when he’d turn his head just enough to see you, and see your hard stare more focused on the brush strokes of each word than staring back at him. He couldn’t explain it, but having your attention still be on him, but not actually looking at him…. His chest felt light and his blood began to pick up speed. Your focus filled eyes would only glance back up at him when you were ready for the next verse. It was enough to make his breath hitch, for the candle light to reflect stars in his eyes and turn his head away once again.

“I have passed by the watchman on his beat, and dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain. I have stood still and stopped to the sound of feet… When far away an interrupted cry came over houses from another street,”

You carefully worked down his arm, making your way to his wrist, to gently clasp it with your free hand and turn his arm over, palm facing up. There wasn’t a moment of lapse or pause as you continued on working your way up the other side of his unpainted arm. For you this was just as intimate. You could see the shift in his chest, the way his breathing would quicken and slow again depending on where the brush stoked along his skin. In all fairness, it was a learning experience, but still one that made your cheeks burn. Especially when you could feel him staring.

You were keen not to look back at him, or away from writing down his words. As much as you wanted to steal a glimpse, to see the half lidded look on his face, the glaze over of his eyes and the way his lips parted with each intentional word when he was speaking… As for now, all the two of you could hear was each other's shallow breathing, then of course Asterion's little quick in tack of air as you finished the verse and looked up at him waiting patiently.

“But not to call me back… or say good-bye… And further still at an unearthly height, one luminary clock against the sky proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right….” He paused, and waited, and even more still once you caught up. He said nothing for a moment, nothing at all. But soon he sighed out his next and final words as if they were more personal to him, as they were becoming words of affirmation rather than confirmation, “I have been one acquainted with the night,”

He didn’t move, and neither did you. You couldn’t place your finger on it, but you watched him slowly flutter his eyes close and take in a few low breaths. The ink on his skin had started to dry and you carefully traced your fingers over the black words once more. There wasn’t any tension between you two, rather, a longing.

You’re voice came as a subtle surprise to him, just to hear it that is, “I have become one acquainted with the night,” You echoed, still tracing the words along his arm, “It’s a beautiful poem,” You leaned closer and place a light and loving kiss on his shoulder, “And a little sad,”

Hearing so made a bittersweet smile curl onto Astarion lips and he breathed out a soft and low hum of a laugh, the kind that came from his nose as he sighed along with it. He tipped his head towards yours, a loving nudge as he nuzzled his cheek against the top of your head, “It is sad, but true,”

“Hmm,” You smiled a little more as he placed a kiss on your forehead. You fell into each other, into a loose embrace by simply enjoying the closeness. You still traced your fingers lightly along his painted arm, then softly gave a loose chuckle, “You know this doesn’t look to bad,” You gentle lifted his arm, in the process you hooked your arm around his and locked yourself at the elbow while slipping your hand into his, “I bet you’d be able to pull of tattoos if you wanted,” A banter was in your voice, light and airy.

A quick laugh came from him, and he raised an eyebrow at you, “You think so?” His giggle was laced into his words, he peered down along his arm and took a moment to imagine the words being replaced with more permanent art, “Is that your way of saying you’d like me more with ink?” The tease in his voice was harmless and playful.

With a dramatic, “Noo!” You nudged your shoulder into his, swaying a little together as you each laughed, “Only if you wanted to, of course. I like you just as you are,” Though you wouldn’t mind at all… the back of your mind flashed you images of Astarion honestly covered with tattoos.. hmph.

Astarion placed a little kiss along the side of your temple to ease his teasing and said, “Honestly I’ve never considered them before. The idea of a needle poking me for hours on end sounds like torture… Though…” He looked back down at his arm, gave it a little twist and a full view as he admired the words, “You are right, I do look pretty good,” He smirked with sharp teeth.

You burst into a fit of giggles and nodded your head along with him, “You really do,” You gestured back to the brush and ink well beside you, “I can do more if you like?”

His eyes flickered to follow your hand then he gave a little shake of his head, “This is a good start, for now,” He reached over and took your hand in his, bringing the back of it to his lips and placing a tender kiss against your skin, “Thank you. For doing this, I mean,” Then he gave a cheeky little shrug and a slight harmless roll of his eyes, “And maybe for getting the book too… I… I think I needed this,”

“Of course,” Your brows knitted together but with a sweetness as you place a hand on his cheek, “Of course!” You repeated with emphasis, placing a kiss on his forehead and pressing yours to his, noses just brushes against each other while you humed, “Anything for you, my sweet Star-bite,”

[delete-the-kisses]

you read me your poems, kind of drunk, and that what makes it not that big of a deal because we aren’t. 

she is, however, a big deal, you listen to her listen to the birds sing and wonder how someone could be so captivating. you write poems about her, read them to me, i love them because in a way she reminds you of the past.

as it always is, i’m the past — spring swept away all traces of me in the way you speak. the way your words would soften in the crook of my neck. it went from the sound of being sweet to the sound of nothing. 

in the elevator, as i (drunkenly) wrap my arms around you i realize that am an addict in so many ways to the way you touch. not just me. not just her. anyone, anything, in a way that’s never meant to hurt.

i can’t think of anyone as gentle, and mentioning your name with pain has me guilty. pain is the least of what you are. someone who’s endured a lot of it but never wanted to cause it to someone. if i had a way with words, i’d say that better. if i was better, i’d say that to your face.

a way with words, which we both possess in a variety of ways. i know how to be mean. one of us has sharp edges. it’s not you. you could be mean too, you just choose not to. a spoken declaration of love will be unneeded as long as you exist. 

you smoothed out my sharp edges, at least i like to believe so. like an ocean sweeps the shore, slowly turning the stones warm and smooth. your eyes are the color of the ocean, too. if the sunset was a person. 

we don’t like to be loud. i like the quiet as well. just not silence. i used to worry everyone could see it in your eyes. now i wish they could — just not when you’re looking at her.

i can’t seem to sum you up. i can’t finish this poem with something beautiful because with all your beauty, you’re unfinished. a piece of art yet to be fully painted.

i’ll look away when you laugh. i’ll look away when you tuck your hair behind your ears. i’ll love in silence.

[merrivia]

I’ve finally read Pet and am kicking myself I didn’t read it sooner!

I’ve measured out the short stories like I’m nibbling on chocolate, Charlie Bucket style, and I was leaving this till last partly because of that, and partly because I didn’t feel that interested in Ancel (sorry Ancel, I take it back).

It’s fascinating reading about events that occur in Captive Prince but not from Damen’s POV. The idea that everyone has complexities under the surface, and that things aren't always as they seem, is only understood by Damen negatively in the first half of Captive Prince I think. Veretians are untrustworthy and slippery and Machiavellian. And that's not, not true! The Veretian court IS a pit of vipers. But people are also still human, and it's that extra step of understanding the humanity underneath even these acidic, performative snakes which is interesting. Ancel is sharp and smart (and really needs to be taught how to read forthwith). Berenger is morally admirable, and isn't actually sleeping with him. Vannes cares about Berenger in her own small way. Laurent emits a great deal of power and is "instantly commanding" to others (but not to Damen, which must have really infuriated him).

Here’s some more snippets of my thoughts in general:

Waxing is canon! So interesting. Why does no grown man ever shave in the books also? Why isn't attending, also shaving? I think we'll just have to accept that as Pacat's choice. Maybe the only blade she wanted between them was the ghost of swords from a long ago fight/swords in the present?

Isagoras the writer/poet- any connection to Isagoras the historical figure who was embroiled in a power play in terms of Athenian politics and democracy? Who Aristotle called ‘friend of tyrants’? Obviously he’s not meant to be that figure but is it a sort of irony and foreshadowing for the political choices Berenger has to make?

And Akielon writing/poetry is popular among men with status? Interesting. You wonder if Laurent approved a poem waxing lyrical about Ios, or really anything that suggested the Akielons aren't barbarians.

I feel as if Damen would know this poem, and read it to Laurent as part of courting him 🥺

Interesting to see a first impression of Laurent from the viewpoint of someone not instantly obsessed with him- severe and harsh, but no mention of his beauty till later.

I mean this nicely but Damen really has no idea how naturally arrogant and superior he comes across as in this situation, does he? I mean, it’s completely understandable if you think of Akielon society, and how he’s been raised and treated; in fact it would be implausible any other way based on his character traits too. He’s just so bad at pretending to be a slave even as his life is at risk if they find out he’s a prince 😂 oh Damen /pets his curls/. And oh, a *lion* you say....

Just really bad at acting servile, it's so funny. Love him.

Speaking of Lamen, it is a little unsettling how quickly Damen starts to fall for Laurent in Captive Prince and how Laurent truly does hate him, yet…is clearly on some molecular level, attracted to him, I think? It’s just a really heartbreaking and stressful dynamic. His "complete attention" on him...let's face it, if Damen had looked like Govart, Laurent wouldn't be fixated in the same way (I mean this nicely).

Oh my baby Laurent. You know this isn’t right. Are you reenacting a past trauma? Making him suffer what you suffered? Even if you aren’t, your flaw is letting your hatred and anger blind you to your morals. (Lucky a man is going to fall in love with you who is pretty much always on your side even when you don’t always deserve it…). Damen will help you be more honourable /pats blond head/

"Locked” is an apt word isn’t it, considering all that ties them together (and not to mention the gold cuffs and collar…) and oof, Laurent's sexual domination in this scene is quite apparent.

and…

I mean, we all know this is sex by proxy and so does Ancel, who just met Laurent and Damen!

And lastly, I am team Berenger. He's a Good Man and would probably get on pretty well with Torveld and Nikandros, the other dark haired, loyal and responsible men in the trilogy.

Nice to see someone see commoners as people all year round (not simply when their villages are being massacred and their humanity is thrown into stark relief by it)!

[squidkidnerd]

Operation Atlantis Notes - “Brewing Up Friendship” (chapter 5)

chapter 5 chapter cHAPTER 5 CHAPTER 5—Woo, it’s finally out! There are some big leaps forward in this chapter, as Three and Eight are finally starting to bond! Yay! We’ve also got a short scene with Lila in the beginning, (dad) Iso Padre, and more! But, mostly Three and Eight bonding lol. Let’s talk about it! (rest under cut).

Compared to chapter 4, this chapter was relatively easy to write. Writing Three and Eight interacting together is always very fun and very enjoyable, especially now when there’s a language barrier and a lot of awkwardness between them. Neither of them really know how to interact with people normally, nevermind when there’s a language barrier in the way. Because of that, this chapter is full of a lot of really awkward yet really sweet moments that I just love. I had so much fun writing them, and I hope you enjoyed reading them! Anyways, on with the notes.

Opening poem: Okay, I gotta admit—I don’t like this one as much as chapter 4′s. Even after I changed the last two lines during my revision process, it still feels a bit too generic for my tastes. That’s okay, though. These poems aren’t meant to be much other than a nice opener. The second and third lines in my original version were more focused on Three in general and not Eight sensing the connections between, which is the whole theme of the chapter so yeah, I changed it. It’s a little on the nose, but hey, I like it.

Lila: Oh, would you look at that, it’s everyone’s favorite character (sarcastic)! Yeah, this scene is more of a tease for later than anything that has to do with this chapter itself lol. After she didn’t appear at all in chapter 4 I thought I should at least give her a short scene as a brief update if you will. This is probably how she’s going to appear in the story for a while, with a short scene or two here and there but not much of a major focus. She may be a perspective character, but she’s not necessarily a protagonist like Three and Eight. We also get the tiniest of hints at her backstory here... what could her last job have possibly been?

Eight: I LOVED writing Eight this chapter. She’s just so sweet and clueless and ADORABLE I love her so much ASFKLASDJFAKLSDF! After I struggled with her in chapter 4 and earlier, it was nice. The issue with her chapter 4 and earlier, actually, is that she didn’t really want anything. Now, though, she wants to be friends with Three—so she has a reason to act. And act she does. Thanks to her amnesia, Eight really isn’t sure how to interact with people yet, never mind befriend them. The only people she’s really talked to are Iso Padre, Madame Katrina, and Miyo. Only one of those characters is her own age, and all of them are overtly friendly. Three, as we know, is not overtly friendly. She also seems like she doesn’t even want friends. But, as Iso Padre says, those who choose to be solitary often need companionship the most. It might be a challenge to be friends with Three, but it’s a challenge Eight’s willing to accept—after all, they might have more in common than they might think.

Eight’s 100 percent heterosexual activities: Fun fact—my plan for Eight’s feelings towards Three was to have them start out more platonic and have them become romantic later on. Right now, Eight isn’t supposed to have an overt crush like Three is, it’s supposed to be a more “This person is so cool I really wanna be friends with them!” kinda feeling, if you know what I mean. However... uh, Eight, staring at your coworker through a doorway like that is uh, a little gay. Just a little. A tiny bit. I’m okay with it though because gayness is the direction we’re heading and also the platonic/romantic binary is fake. So, yeah. Eight’s feelings regarding Three, and more importantly, what Eight knows about those feelings, will change and grow throughout the rest of Operation Atlantis. Look forward to it.

Iso Padre: My man!!! Iso Padre has officially become my underrated fave. He shows up so rarely in fics if at all and it’s such a shame because I think there’s a lot to do with him. Before this chapter, I struggled to really pin down what I wanted him to act and speak like, but after this chapter, I think I got it. Iso Padre is only middle-aged, but he has a sense of wisdom beyond his years that comes from his experiences. He cares a lot about Eight and the other test subjects who are/were under his care, but he’s also afraid of caring about them in case it hurts too much when he has to let go. This is why he agreed with Kamabo to have his memories taken away, so the pain can be erased too. We all know the real reason though. From what we know in canon, Iso Padre has memory loss but, like Eight, it’s unclear what the source of that memory loss actually is. I chose this interpretation because it’s interesting from a character standpoint and it shows how Kamabo subtly manipulates people into cooperating with them. Iso Padre, of course, is not the first person to be manipulated like this, and unfortunately, he’s far from the last.

The First Interactions: Three and Eight are interacting! Yay!!! The first one from Three’s POV was actually not in my outline, but I decided to add it after I wrote the first few sentences of an Azalea scene that I ended up cutting. Poor Eight is very nervous, as anyone would be, but hey, Miyo is right. Three doesn’t bite. The oven scene was one of my earliest ideas for this chapter, and it’s absolutely adorable. Not only do we get Eight trying to help and almost burning herself due to a lack of knowledge, but we also get Three teaching her how to use oven mitts! Don’t tell Three I said this, but, I think it was pretty cute of her to do that. To Three it’s just doing the right thing, but hey. Maybe there’s more than she thinks underneath her icy exterior ;)

Dork/Dumbass: Okay, okay, guys there is something about insults used affectionately that just sends me. I’m not sure if it’s the playful teasing or “Yeah, you’re an idiot, but I love you anyways” but AAAAAAAAAA. So yeah, when I came up with this idea for Three and Eight I immediately loved it. The best part, I think, is that while “dork” and dumbass are insults, they are kind of technically true. Three, stoicism and hero complex aside, really is kind of an awkward loser. Eight isn’t “dumb” so to speak, but she can be a bit of an airhead sometimes who doesn’t use common sense (see: not using oven mitts). Hence, why they call each other this. And, as you probably could’ve guessed from Three at the end there, it doesn’t end up being used entirely meanly. It becomes quite affectionate, actually.

Three’s Crisis: Three. Three my beloved, gay, absolute disaster of an inkling. We’ll see this a LOT throughout the entire rest of this fic, but, Three’s basically built a rigid set of standards for herself one could call a “hero complex.” This hero complex, among other things, forces her to be calm, stoic, and focused at all times, and it’s in overdrive now that they’re in Atlantis. It’s encouraged by Cuttlefish and it’s also the only way Three knows how to cope with everything. Is it a good way to cope? Hell no! It makes Three repress her emotions to hell and back. Don’t do that kids. And one of the emotions she’s been repressing is, well—Three is lonely. She’s convinced herself that two busy idols and a grandpa are the only people she needs in life because she can’t imagine anyone else taking an interest in her. She can’t imagine anyone else caring about her. But, then there’s have Eight, being nice and doing all these favors for her because... she wants Three to be friends with her? What? It goes against everything Three’s forced herself to believe. Hence, she’s stunned by it lol. But, Three’s on a mission, and she can accept Eight’s offer to be friends based on that. Besides, it’s not like it will last. It’s not like it will mean anything, right? Yeahhh good luck with that THREE.

Tendril ties and friendship: If there’s something I love about writing, it’s symbolism. It gets a reputation for being pretentious, but like— there’s just something unique and interesting about connecting an intangible theme to a tangible object. It doesn’t even have to be complicated. Like, with the tendril ties—it’s not about the tendril ties themselves, it’s about the friendship. Eight first sees them being exchanged between friends, so she immediately associates the two because she’s still learning what friendship is. Hence, her offering one to Three is offering friendship. Woo. For a slightly more complicated interpretation that I just thought of while writing this, I think you can say that the tendril ties represent shared experiences. That’s how friendship is made, after all. And then, Three and Eight tying their tendrils up could show how they’ve become similar as a result of those shared experiences. Just some food for thought. But yeah, I had this idea before I started writing this chapter (kinda like the oven scene), and it’s included here because why not. It also ties (haha, get it, ties) nicely into some stuff with Three and Eight much, MUCH later on. Like post-Operation Atlantis levels of late. So late that I can’t talk about it but hey, I think it’s cool. 

So that’s that! I think I’m gonna do what I did for these notes in the future rather than going scene by scene like I did in chapter 4. Chapter 6 will be... a while most likely, I have exams coming up and unfortunately that takes precedence over funny gay cephalopods 😔. Late May/Early June maybe? I dunno. Hopefully progress on this fic will speed up in the summer. No promises though.

[moth-feeet]

lately i’ve been seeing lots of posts on here saying things like “how to be a better person”, or “how to be a classy woman” and while i think they have the right ideas at heart, they’re just being very obtuse with the words they choose.

to be a better person you don’t have to speak 7 languages, or only eat raw vegan, or even let everyone tell you their problems.

to be classy you don’t have to have perfectly flat, fly-away-free glossy hair.

the people i see saying these things aren’t thinking about actually being better;

to be good isn’t to be perfect, to be classy doesn’t mean you have to be a white woman with straight blonde hair.

what made me a much better person was realizing i wasn’t a good person.

most of the people giving this advice don’t realize it’s not going to change your life, it won’t make you smart or kind to wear the colors that match your skin tone best. though you might look great, that doesn’t solve the pain.

i think you all deserve some advice from someone with mental illness, who isn’t vegan, who isn’t perfectly tidy, or even popular.

ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ̀ˋ

i became a softer, kinder, person when i sat down and saw who i really was, a self centered, mean, sad, bully.

i am fortunate enough to has access to therapy, which absolutely helped me but i did a lot more growth on my own. i’m not gonna say journal, or do shadow work because that meant nothing to me at the time, not to say i don’t journal but whatever, what actually helped me was spending time outside.

i called it “outside time”, original i know, but genuinely everyday for months straight i would go out on the porch in the mornings (i started in winter and through spring - cooler months are best) and i would sit. alone. with nothing but my mind, a piece of paper and a pencil, and the sound of birds and the breeze. it became integral for my day, i had to do it or i didn’t have a good day. these moments were the times i wrote my best poems, or saw myself as who i truly was. i got back into reading and ate through book after book.

spending time outside with nothing but the universe and classical music playing gave me time to ask the universe some questions. i asked her how i got here, what i need to change, why she lead me to this realization, and i got my answer every time.

no, god didn’t come down and speak to me, the stars didn’t write it out, and no one actually said anything. the universe told me through memories, late night conversations with myself, and daydreams of better lives.

i picked up some things through this healing process that i think had a hand in my softening.

baking, cooking in general. though it started as a new year resolution, i learned it’s my love language. sharing my recipes and taking requests, it makes me feel wanted.

i started sleeping better, which was a breakthrough for me. i was prescribed a sleeping medication for chronic insomnia, and it’s helped a lot.

i started spending more time on self care.

now this is what i saw a lot of in the posts i was talking about. i saw lots of, “start a keto diet, start doing face masks, shower twice a week, always go on a run or workout!”

but that’s not what i mean. i started washing my makeup off at night, a revelation for someone with such awful depression at the time. i started brushing my teeth which certainly wasn’t a priority when i was rotting in bed everyday. i learned how to properly care for my curls. i even just left dr.pepper for tea. don’t get me wrong i have a dr.pepper sat next to me right now. i never cut it out i just laid off it.

one of the far more controversial aspects i changed was, not letting everybody dump their trials and tribulations onto me. i have always been very empathetic and therefore seen as a person to talk to about your troubles. and while i tried my best, i don’t have the advice a 50 year old woman in the middle of a divorce is looking for (and i was asked for it). i didn’t just let people tell me what they were going through. it seems cruel but it really helped me let go. i always described my mental health as those statues in dispicable me that slowly get crushed. and most of that came from listening to everyone’s thoughts and also carrying my own.

inevitably i had to stop. i had to let people know i wasn’t the person who could help them, and when i would listen my advice was, “i suggest you talk to someone better equipped for these issues”. i lead a lot of people to school counseling, or even social services at times. but i never forced them to take the steps to get better, because they were never my responsibility.

of course i wanted to help, sometimes i understood more than you could imagine, i never said it, because when someone reached out for help i chose to grab their hand and lead them to the real recuse team. because you and i are not trained therapists, we aren’t cps, we aren’t letting ourselves be crushed.

growing for me meant guiding people to the people who helped me. i wasn’t mentally prepared for someone to share a trauma or a struggle, i had and still have my own to work through.

.

all this is to say; no one grows the same way. maybe for some, reading classic literature changed their mentality in life, but i find books from the 1800s boring; and maybe some people feel classiest in all gold jewelry, maybe i don’t get it.

that’s just not what i think would save me. so, if you’re trying to carry yourself with more kindness, if you want to be the ‘it girl’, if you plan to be your best. before you jump to a new wardrobe or a drastic diet change, try spending time with your head. no stimulation, no music or books or anything. sit and color in a coloring book by an open window. ask the universe how you got here, and wait.

frighting with your head won’t get you where you dream to be, sometimes work has to stop for you to start again.

i really hope that the people who truly do want to change, find the right ways to.

with all my love, i am rooting for you.

love, K

[thatpunkmaximoff]

Story: 5 out of 5 Smut: 0 out of 5

Hands down, this is my favorite fantasy read of the year!

I think, however, that the thing I loved most about The Forgotten Goddess is that it dives right into the character meetings and drama. Sure, I love a good world building and character-building story, but this one builds as the story progresses from the very first chapter. I liked that it wasn't a hundred pages of info dump before diving into the action. You get the action from the very beginning!

This book also has a little bit of everything. There's humor, there are feel-good moments, action, magical moments, and angst. Ugh, the angst!

I flipped page after page, not wanting to put the book down. And then when it was finally over, I was an emotional wreck. I have no idea how I'm gonna hold out for book 2 lol.

Now enjoy my rambling thoughts..

* Rhea flipping off Ethan in the bookstore and making him laugh has me grinning like an idiot 🤗 They only said a handful of words to each other! How am I already shipping it..? 🤔 😆

* How the hell did I not know werewolves were going to be part of this 😨

* Holy shit. She saw through his Mirage. It’s meant to be 😏 lol

* So Ethan is Hermes..

* Shit. The shifters took the girls 😒 Come on, wake up and fuck shit up!

* Well nevermind. Fucking collars.

* Oh hell yes! She still has access to her powers! 🙌🏻

* Lupo went from being a creep to a raging asshole. Big middle finger for you, my dude 🖕🏽

* Ugh.. I feel so bad for the girls 😩

* They’re saved. Oh thank god. And even unconscious, she called Hermes’ name 😏 I ship it even more now 😂

* Goddamn. She exploded out of her cuffs. Good for her. I didn’t like the whole mind violation.

* “Well, I’ll just come out and say it. Rhea, you’re an immortal goddess.” — Lmfao. Way to drop the bomb, Atlas 😂

* Her memories.. aren’t hers? 🥺

* Kind of jealous of the portlet system lol. I wish we could transport food and stuff into our homes like nothing.

* Man, Hermes does not like Flint lol.

* Four elements. You lucky duck 😏

* Flint and Rhea in the closet.. ugh. Hermes ripping the door open and being livid.. 😍

* Aww. That “almost” moment in the hallway out her apartment had me so excited. But she thinks it’s only a joke 🥺

* Oh. Oh no. The dreams are memories.. and he couldn’t feel the mate bond with her 😩

* Damien 💔

* “Turn. It. Off.” — whoa. Klaus Mikaelson flashbacks 😂

* Oohhh. That close call with Lupo had my heart pounding.

* Who the fuck was in Rhea’s apartment 🤔

* Awww. Rhea and Callie’s friendship is everything 🥰 That panic attack was starting to make me tense 😬

* Another memory? Only this time she’s a different person? And Ares smiling sadly as he tells her, “You are home. As I always remind you.” Don’t tell me they’re related 👀 😬

* Temple of Kukulcán? Now I’m having a Namor flashback from Black Panther 2 😂

* Oh. Not related. He wants her to rule with him.. No, sir. You can’t have her.

* Oh no. Achilles had to kill Patroclus 💔💔💔

* Fuckkkk. That memory of the car crash..? Brutal.

* Where the fuck did Rhea end up after Atlas put her in the portal?!

* “I found you. I’ll always find you.” — well I was supposed to stop reading for the night, but guess who’s reading one more chapter?

* ATHENA TOO?! 💔 And they think she’s a spy 😩 Wtf, man.

* “Just survive” — those words are gonna make me cry 😔

* Ohhh, fuck you, Flint! I can’t believe y’all kidnapped aunt Demi.

* Aunt Demi!!!! 🥺

* Medusa is GORGEOUS 😍

* “I’m sorry, I don’t have separate cottages for everyone.” — do I sense forced proximity? And hopefully only one bed? 😂

* One bed, one bed, one bed! 😏

* Hermes is having pervy thoughts and I’m here for it.

* Oh come on! The tension between these two is killing me 😩

* The Forgotten Goddess poem gave me chills!! And now we know who is responsible for the memory tampering 😬

* Dude, that training session got hot 🥵

* She’s gonna break her own heart and leave..? I don’t like it here anymore 😭

* They finally kissed!!!! Please don’t leave, Rhea 🥺

* Holy shit. She restored Flora 😨

* She’s his mate.. but their connection is severed. Why are you doing this to me 😩

* “Don’t you see? Not even death is strong enough to keep us apart. We have found each other a hundred times, and I’ll find you a hundred more. Across every lifetime, in any realm, my soul belongs to no one else but you.” — what the fuck are you doing to me, Rebekah?! 😭😭😭😭😭😭

* Aunt Demi..? 🥺 You- you’re with Ares?

* Ana?! Why the fuck is there so much betrayal 💔

* THEY FUCKING DIDNT!? Did his sword just pierce who I think it did?????

* We know her name. We know her name! We finally know who she is.

* More betrayal?! For fuck’s sake, man.

* Wait.. what?! It can’t end like this. I need book two asap!

[acustardduckling]

Meet the Writer Tag

I was tagged by my friend @emeraldhazeart ! :D

Rules: Use this picrew to make yourself and answer the questions!

Three fun facts about me:

I never learnt how to swim properly ... I was pretty good at diving though!

When I was 13-ish I made a webseries by editing Harvest Moon sprites and overlaying them with text, inspired by one of my then-friends who had a similar series. It’s called Pansy Quest, and it’s very poorly made. While it’s no longer canon to Pansy’s lore, I haven’t taken it down. 

 It’s difficult for me to seem excited about things irl. I am of course pleased, or grateful, but for example when I got my results for uni I was kinda just like. ‘Nice!’ and my family was expecting some bigger reaction... Meanwhile, new releases of games I want make me go eeee!

Favourite season: Springtime is my favourite! The warm sun and colourful flowers really improve my mood. I like Autumn too because it brings relief after Summer, but there’s a melancholy that comes with it.

Continent where I live: Europe

How I spend my time: Work, gaming, writing things that aren’t my main project ... I’ve been really struggling with the book I’m meant to be writing. I either don’t have time, or feel like writing something completely unrelated. It’s a struggle. Oh, I draw too!

Are you published?: Yes, actually - but only very small-scale. I have a few published poems via competitons, and worked with my university to publish a poetry anthology that has my name on the cover! This isn’t my end goal though. I aim to actually have a full book of my own prose get published someday.

Introvert or Extrovert: Introvert, definitely

Favourite Meal: Chicken Katsu Curry and Aloe Water from specific restaurants is the winner at the moment! I like curry that has potato and carrot in. Everywhere seems to have their own spin on it, though.

Tagging: I’m going to tag @duckiefishpond​ this time!! You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, though! I’m just identifying you as a writer here - everyone go read her sidon fic. 

Also, if any other people in my followers list want to do this, feel free!

[northwestofinsanity]

for 'the three songs ask': 3,4, 29 and 30!

Hi, thanks for asking!

3 Three songs you were recently obsessed with:

“Wonder” -Natalie Merchant.  I had the pleasure of discovering this one back in December.  Very soothing tune, lyrics deeply touching, especially in context with the backstory.  Makes me tear up, but in a good way.

“You Deserve Love” -White Reaper.  This one, I’ve known awhile.  They’re like, one of the only bands formed post 2000s that I have wholeheartedly liked.  “You Deserve Love” came into my head back in February when my class at school caught a case of contagious grumpiness that brought everyone down, and it’s just a great song for dealing with that.  The title isn’t actually in the lyrics, but I read that they made it the song and album title because they believed it’s a message people need to hear -and I love that from them!

“The Sidewinder Sleeps Tonite” -R.E.M.  I tend to forget about this one, and then I catch it and can’t stop listening to it for at least a week.  It’s a bit silly, with some interesting symbolism to it -and the comical cramming of fast syllables into the chorus!  (Actually, in my mind, it achieves what “Shiny Happy People” was meant to, except in a much better way -and as such, I actually like playing “…Sidewinder…” on loop).  Love the moment when Michael Stipe audibly giggles over one of the choruses -makes the silly lyrics and upbeat tune feel so much more human.

4 Three songs that you know thanks to your parents:

“Floating” -The Moody Blues.  One of my favorites as a kid, hands-down.  So glad I knew The Moodies growing up, because if I’d had to discover them myself, I’m not sure how long it would have taken to find this sweet, innocent little track!

“In the Passage” -Dan Fogelberg.  I’m even more glad to have been introduced to Dan’s music as a kid, because it would have really been hard to find without that.  This one made me decide to take up piano, too.

“Sign On The Dotted Line” -Gerry Rafferty.  Not one of his I see going around much, so I’m glad to have been shown this deceptively upbeat little tune over a tragic tale about how twisted the music industry and record labels could be.

29 Three songs that influenced you most (some songs change or save lives):

“Into the Fire” -Dokken.  A chronic, recurring earworm that was exactly what I needed it to be for me in 2017. It also kicked off the process of becoming less shy about liking the things I do, despite what other people might think about it.

“Passion Rules the Game” -Scorpions.  This one was also a long term earworm, which with its upbeat little chorus and positive underlying message, kept a string of optimism alive in me getting through lockdowns and very intense roommate drama in 2020, and trying to hunt for a job through it all.  The music video is very serotonin-boosting, too, with the guys just having so much fun performing together!

“Foreplay/Longtime” -Boston.  That was the gateway song to my classic rock obsession really taking off on the level it’s come to.  First song I had heard, loved, and didn’t know the title of that I successfully tracked down on YouTube on my own by searching a section of lyrics.  That led to researching the band itself -and many more would then follow.

30 Three songs you really want your followers to know (for reasons other than all those above):

“Empty Cages” -Dan Fogelberg.  It is my mission to spread awareness of the truly talented guitarist Dan was, and just how hard he could go with an electric guitar when he wanted to, as he did throughout that song -which is just good in general, too.  Not that his radio hits aren’t good in my mind, but I can totally get why some would hear only those soft ballads and have no idea, and why some might not look beyond those.

“Nothing Changes” -The Moody Blues.  It’s really more of a spoken poem over instrumentation by the late, great Graeme Edge, but I think it can be quite comforting to hear when there’s a lot of uncertainty and chaotic world events and it all gets to be too much… which is often these days.

“Back On The Road Again” -REO Speedwagon.  Great driving song for anyone who likes those!  Also representing a different side of them than what the radio usually shows, out of their many, many, vastly different sides

[wizowizz]

So there's this girl, a tall girl, with eyes like honeycomb and jasmine Sometimes she blows cigarette smoke in your face in the break room, and you call that love Not because it is, but because you want it to be Because you're so goddamned lonely, so goddamned unable to handle the ocean roar in your ears when you're alone You tell yourself that the ash in your lungs is as good as a kiss goodnight, and you write poems about the smoke tendrils whispering off her lips How beautiful they are, how like the aching arms of god you always wanted them to beOne night, you're tired, so very tired Your eyes as heavy as water You forget where you are, in the break room at a Walmart at 2:30 in the morning and you leave your notebook unattended on the table, left out for anyone in the world to seeOne of your coworkers picks it up and reads the poems you wrote about the girl with honeycomb and jasmine in her eyes And you panic when you realize what just happened And you panic when you realize what just happened because the boy who picked up your notebook, he's a cruel boy With eyes like shotguns and razorwire He buys you razorblades on your birthday so you can do the job right next time, you fucking freakAnd you can't believe that you aren't one Can't believe you deserve to be anything Some days, you don't even try to hide the angry marks on your arm, like your skin is a test where you got every question wrong One night, there's a boxcutter with a brand new blade A stack of cardboard boxes begging to feel its tooth You dig in but something's wrong, the fiber's too gnarled and you can't seem to cut clean You push, hard as you can, feel the stiff tangle of glue give way, and there's blood on the floor, the blade half an inch in your wrist, but you don't feel itThe shift manager is in your ear, angry because he has to take you to the hospital And there's a janitor who'll forever hold it against you for staining his clean, clean floor And there's everyone you work with and their hostile eyes glaring, knowing this was always, always coming along That there's that cacophony, all those ghosts reminding you of your destiny for failureAnd there's another blade And there's a bottle of pills, a fifth of vodka, a hospital visit, two weeks of inpatient while your whole family prays for you to get better There's a doctor with blank eyes who never looks at you He's always scribbling things on his clipboard Everything you say, he documents, even when you're not talking to him You don't smoke, but you still go out for smoke breaks with everyone else on the ward because there's nothing else to do but stare at the walls, and wait for the next group session to start So you hang out in the courtyard, not smoking cigarettes but still befriending those who doAnd there's a man Maybe ten years older than you, with eyes like rough-cut pine and sunset He notices you don't smoke, so he tries to stay downwind from you so he doesn't exhale in your face He tells you "it's okay, bud" "We'll get through this and be better when we leave this place than it was when we got here" And he's telling you the truth And you believe himOne day, the doctor who doesn't look at you comes to your room and tells you that your insurance isn't paying for any more days, so you're all better now And you leave Your mom picks you up in the lobby and her eyes are the most worried kindness you've ever seen and you go home And you fight off the ghosts, which is easier now than it was before, because now you have a better set of tools today, and your life goes on like it was meant to Like you were always supposed to survive the fightYou stop writing poems about smoke tendrils trailing off the lips you once wanted to kiss Or about how your loneliness is so unbearable, because now you write poems about how to stay alive You write poems about the places you feel at home rather than the places you wish you could beOne day, you catch a glimpse of someone in the mirror, and there you are Eyes like stubbornness and struggle Like the brick buildings in abandoned factory towns that refuse to fall completely You look at all the scars, the history etched into your arms like a road map of where you used to be Versus the endless possibilities of where you are and where you can go now And the smoke tendrils, once midnight black and swirling above your head, break away, leaving nothing in your view except the sky And it is so perfect And it is so clear

[instauria-a]

Headcanon: The Astral Plane.

I'm bored and waiting for the bus so take this.

The Babyrealm does not exist in Celi's canon. It was lazy and pandering and poor storytelling as a whole, so either the second generation just does not exist period or the kids came back from a failed Revelation timeline. I'll still interact with those using the babyrealms and accommodate, but they are not personally in Araceli's canon.

The Astral Plane, however, does exist... though it functions a little differently than in canon. Rather than housing shops, it instead houses a residential area big enough to hold the entire army, rather than only lodging for Araceli. ( she does keep the private tree house, though. ) There is still a mess hall, bath house, forge, records hall, and Einjenhar tent as well as a mine, spring, and two plots of land for food foraging. ( what these will be precisely are to be determined. )

To procure weaponry and food other than what's available they must take care to set up near a town or place worth scavenging once in Valla. The gateway to the common plane can transport someone anywhere they wish, but unless Lilith is accompanying the person they won't be able to return. Alternatively, having Lilith's orb on hand will allow for safe travel back and forth- which is how the Astral Plane is accessed after her sacrifices in CQ and BR.

[bloodstuddedpearl]

hi hi sorry for the late response, i had a bio exam i had to prepare for haha. Okay onto my thoughts now.

Firstly,

you did not answer my question from my previous reblog so I will copy paste it here.

why dont you write such poems for actual violent men that kill trans women. Jkr is a smart woman who shares her opinions online. She has no weight on people like matt walsh, ben sharpie, and actual TW killers. (who r all men). Do write such nonsense for the people who do spear you.

Now, onto my actual response.

"thanks for your comment. I am neurodivergent, so I’m not really sure what you meant by the first comment. And I have been to plenty of radfem blogs and read through their stuff, and I’ve thought about it. But this is my opinion."

your welcome. What I meant, is that just like you i am also neurodivergent and 14. If you think metaphysical feelings of men, fueled by mental illness are enough for the dissolution of sex based laws, perception and separation there is nothing for me to say for that.

"Feminism is equality. When your feminism starts to exclude people, that’s no longer feminism. That’s an excuse for bigotry. Just because I have a different opinion to you does not mean I haven’t seen both sides. I’ve just picked the side that supports equal rights for everyone."

Feminism is equality for WOMEN for GIRLS. The ONLY sex that has been mutilated, killed at birth in mass(for the crime of having the societally inferior autonomy), sold, forcefully prostituted, not allowed education, killed if showed strands of hair, forced to give birth, forced to procreate, not allowed to inherit property, not allowed to open bank accounts, burned if perceived to be non confirmative, killed for the crime of having the societally inferior autonomy, etc is female. Feminism is for women and womens equality only. We are not obliged to march for people who benefit/pioneer misogyny. We do this for women. Men with mental disorders (gender dysphoria) that belief they are actually a woman deserve respect, of course. Because they are human and deserve respect on that front, but they have no place of protection or upliftment in a movement for women. Their feelings have no weight for our actual goal and do not require our care or love.

"This is an entirely different post, but telling people this is “high-school shooter” isn’t helping anything. I feel strongly about my opinions, maybe that’s the neurodivergence but I don’t know. The only way to get the wat I feel out is to be extreme. This is not me fantasizing about Jk Rowling’s death while I jack myself off. This is me feeling so goddamn overwhelmed by my emotions I need to write to get it out."

Feeling strongly about opinions is fine n dandy. " This is me feeling so goddamn overwhelmed by my emotions I need to write to get it out." baby youre overwhelmed that a woman with opinions you dont like is alive? The emotion your writing about is dissatisfaction of someone living. And its highschool shooter-esque because of how cryptic and incel coded it is. A woman you dont like talking about her opinions on twitter is making you fantasize about breaking into her funeral (while shes literally alive.) and destroying her memoirs and burning her creations and valuables, and laughing maniacally. That is shit school shooters say "i will set my school on fire with my buddies that wear worn converse and we will laugh manically, while the ashes fuel it haha".

"Telling me my writing means I’m gonna kill people in the future means I feel like murder is just what’ll happen for people like me. Of course, I’m not immediately think that, but you aren’t the first to attack me in that way and you won’t be the last."

You have the mentality of a killer. Burning up a funeral of some women that said something that hurt ur feelings on twitter and laughing with your buddies is quite close to some man fantasizing about burning up his school because his teacher was being mean. Its killers mentality.

And I am not attacking you. You want to commit heinous crimes and write cryptic badly structured poetry around it, you will get criticism. You arent attacked at all, most of what youve received is coming from a point of concern because youre yapping like a school shooter, while being 14. I know we are kids, but a line has to be drawn in sand. Go study some geometry instead of foaming at the mouth thinkin of raiding a funeral and burning memoirs of a woman you hate.

@ace-of-pussy I hope you have a jolly day and eat some delicious food. :D

JK Rowling’s funeral will be beautiful.

The cameras, the faceless attendees, the press swarming outside the gates. The touching notes left by her followers, thanking her for building their childhoods. The radfems mourning the loss of their god.

The grey-faced family and friends, escorted out of the gates by countless bodyguards, hounded by journalists and flashing light that illuminates all of the little details in their hand-woven black clothes.

Every stitch, every seam, there on display. Every tear, every bloodshot eye for the world to see.

But then They come. After the last stragglers of the funeral have left, whether it be hours or days, We will arrive.

Black combat boots and worn Converse, crop tops and baggy jumpers, ripped jeans and tartan skirts.

We will find our way in, jumping fences and picking locks, weaving through the neglected stones of others until we reach the corner that she bought for herself.

Her gravestone is inscribed and decorated, at least twice as big as the others in the graveyard.

We read it aloud.

“Mr. and Mrs.Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. Thank you Joanne, for making our childhoods.”

We laugh. The angel over the grave, hands clasped in prayer, neck and wings strung with scarves of red, yellow, green, blue seems to smile with us.

We take the books first. Most of them are signed copies. They will make our kindling. The scarves and cloaks are too polyester-stuffed and mass produced for that.

We burn the books, dancing and laughing in the dying light, mocking her denial of the burnings back in the 40s.

The pictures are next. Portraits of her, posing elegantly, smiling gracefully. The kind face that hides bigotry and disgust at fellow human beings.

We burn them. Their ashes fuel our crazed laughter.

We celebrate our childhoods. We celebrate the world, the magical, fantasy world she crafted for us. We do not celebrate her. We celebrate her soon to be deleted Twitter account, after one last mournful post about how incredible she was.

We shall mock it, tomorrow. But tonight we celebrate.

[frogtanii]

your palms were sweaty as you adjusted your slacks, making sure the pleats were where they should be with not a wrinkle in sight. you wanted to look professional and put together, at least on the outside, because you knew you were actually about .2 seconds away from falling apart.

your palms were sweaty as you adjusted your slacks, making sure the pleats were where they should be with not a wrinkle in sight. you wanted to look professional and put together, at least on the outside, because you knew you were actually about .2 seconds away from falling apart.

a quick glance to the boys at your sides notified you that they weren’t faring much better. atsumu kept fidgeting with his cufflinks, sakusa was so stiff you could knock him over with your pinky, kenma looked like he was about to pass out, bokuto was debating on squeezing under the table in front of you, kuroo was tapping a pattern on his pants (akeelah and the bee style), and akaashi kept reciting ominous poems under his breath.

the only people in the room who looked even remotely fine were osamu, oikawa, sugawara, daichi, and, surprisingly, yachi. osamu was munching on some peanuts that he pulled from... somewhere, while oikawa and sugawara were holding their own conversation by the window. daichi seemed to be minding his own business but you could never really get a proper read on him anyway.

well, you supposed yachi was okay because she knew what to expect. i mean, you were meeting her boss.

after you and kenma had posted your “exposing the hype(r) house” youtube video, an email had come to the both of you, inviting you to visit the “big boss” along with the rest of the crew.

you weren’t necessarily afraid of losing your job; the hype(r) house was already being dissolved and you were (finally!!!) getting to move in with makki and mattsun until you found your own place. you were genuinely excited to put the drama and literal hell behind you and begin to live your life again but...

that didn’t mean meeting the Man™ wasn’t terrifying. it was like being called into the principal’s office, complete with the existential dread and occasional bouts of gassiness.

the door opening made you flinch as you quickly moved out of the way to let the newcomers enter. while they walked past you, you couldn’t contain the shock that overtook your face, your jaw practically on the floor.

the man was massive.

built like a brick wall, the man who you assumed to be the “big boss,” had a chiseled jaw, broad shoulders, and massive fucking pecs, his white button up barely closing around them.

beside him stood a tall, lanky man who was dressed suspiciously un-office-like with a red buzz cut and wild eyes that seemed to cut into you as he took his place at the table.

the final man seemed a bit awkward in comparison to the other two, but he was trying to seem unaffected, his purple bowlcut, despite being rather juvenile, fitting perfectly with his slim but toned build and bright complexion.

yachi hurried to greet them, giving all three a blinding smile before motioning for everyone else to take a seat. you ended up between the redhead and atsumu, the former being way too entertained by just your general being. his eyes rarely, if ever, left your face sending shivers down your spine. the remaining members all hesitantly took their seats and “big boss” began.

“it is an honor to meet you all. i am ushijima wakatoshi but you can call me ushijima or wakatoshi or ushiwaka or toshijima or just ushi or just jima or just waka or just toshi.” for a moment you thought he was joking but his face never moved, not even with the awkward silence that followed. redhead seemed rather amused by the whole display and bowl cut looked like he was on the verge of spontaneously combusting.

it took an uncomfortably long moment for ushijima to proceed but he did as though nothing had happened. “these are my associates, satori—” redhead gave you a mischievous grin “—and tsutomu.”

“goshiki,” bowl cut interrupted, his voice wavering but his eyes gleaming with righteous indignation as though he was challenging wakatoshi to say something in defiance. instead, ushijima just gave him a nod and he visibly deflated back into his seat.

“goshiki is the social media manager for imla and satori is... satori,” big boss continued, not a hint of emotion on his face. the rest of the table perked up at his comment but atsumu was the only one who apparently had the balls to say anything.

“so yer the one who wrote that shitty among us tweet?” goshiki flushed horribly and sunk further into his plush leather chair, his body language showing he must’ve already gotten an earful about it. “thought it was a good idea,” he muttered while averting his eyes, completely ignoring satori’s cackle from across the wood.

ushijima put up a (massive???) hand to calm the both of them and it instantly worked. satori quieted down though he never lost the mirth in his expression and goshiki straightened up, a new wave of determination crossing his features.

you sat up as well, feeling the shift of energy in the room but you were startled to realize the boss had decided to focus his energy on you, his deep baritone voice calling your full name. “i am extremely sorry. we have failed you as a management team and as men. i have failed you.”

he sounded remarkably remorseful, his brown irises conveying heavy emotion and guilt. you had no idea what to say but he wasn’t done.

“although i do not have full control of the decisions that have been made here, i should have fought harder for what i believed was right and for that, i will forever be sorry.” you shifted uncomfortably under his weighty gaze, not that he noticed because his attention was swiftly taken by kenma at the opposite end of the room.

“who is in charge then? aren’t you like the ceo or whatever?” he asked. ushijima took a moment before nodding very slowly, his attention clearly on something in his head.

thankfully, satori rapidly took over the thread of conversation before the room could fall in tense silence yet again. “there’s a board of old, stuffy guys who basically kicked miracle boy wakatoshi to the curb and make all their decisions without him.”

...miracle boy? what did he have to do to earn that kind of nickname? you shook your head and tuned back in, just as the ceo spoke up once again.

“because i have not succeeded in doing my job properly, i have something to give to you,” ushijima deadpanned, sliding a thick envelope towards you. you carefully grabbed it and opened it up to reveal a thick, thick, wad of cash.

a gasp caught in your throat, words not coming to you as you thumbed through the money. there had to be at least $60k in there, your eyes filling with tears while you took in his generosity. “thank you,” you whispered, not trusting your voice to speak any louder.

wakatoshi nodded at you before addressing the rest of the table about something but you weren’t even listening.

you were so overwhelmed. for the longest time, you’d hated whoever management was for ignoring your pleas for help and trying to placate you with nice dresses and fancy dinners so meeting ushijima was quite the welcomed surprise.

despite everything that occurred, you could tell he felt horrible for letting things slide even though it was technically out of his hands and you couldn’t even articulate how much that meant to you.

the fact that he had gone out of his way to pay you extra, assumingly without the permission of the board, was heartwarming, confusing, shocking, and staggering all at once.

i mean, you could probably describe the past few months as exactly that. so much had happened, so much had changed, and while you could do without some of the life adjustments (the nightmares, spare trauma, and fear of public bathrooms to start), you felt blessed with new friends and the experiences that helped shape you to the person you were now.

the boys didn’t hate you anymore (well, not all of them at least and none were actively antagonizing you), you were seeing dr yamada again, you were getting to move in with your two best friends, you were just given enough money to expand your channel drastically, and you were finally feeling good. better than good.

meiko was behind you and though you missed the person she once was, you were so glad she was out of your life in a way where she couldn’t harm you or the boys any longer.

a grin spread across your face, your cheeks nearly burning from the intensity of it. things were definitely looking up.

a soft call of your name jolted you from your thoughts, your eyes landing on all the boys already standing as they got ready to leave the room. you could sense their worry and you shot them a genuine, reassuring smile before standing yourself.

you waved goodbye to the three men at the table, thanking ushijima profusely for his kindness but he shook you off, insisting that he had just been doing what he should’ve done a long time ago.

what a nice guy.

as you followed the boys out of the building, you took a moment to observe them together with fondness written all over your expression. they were laughing and joking around, the happiest and most carefree you had ever seen any of them. bokuto was begging yachi to get them ice cream, the rest of them piling on until she gave in with a playful roll of her eyes, giggling at the cheer that went up from the group.

atsumu seemed to notice you lagging behind, falling back to join you. “ya okay angel?” he asked, eyes focused on your feet as he slowed down to match your pace.

you didn’t answer for a while, instead focusing on the sun warming your cheeks, the cool breeze messing up your hair, and the sounds of pure joy swirling above you.

“i’m absolutely perfect.” you replied and you actually meant it. “race you to the van?” you sent him an impish grin before taking off, his yells of indignation making you laugh freely as the rest of the boys joined in, right on your heels.

this is it, you thought. no matter what, i’ll have this moment and i’ll be okay.

you’d been through hell and back and you’d survived. you’d been cursed at, choked out, hospitalized, and been beaten at mario kart more times than you could count and you had still made it through. you were resilient and strong and you’d never given up, despite how badly you’d wanted to, multiple times over.

things weren’t perfect, they rarely are, but you knew that if you could make it through all that, you could get through practically anything, especially with the boys by your side.

yeah. i’ll be just fine.

ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

bonus!!

“told you it sounded stupid as hell.”

“gah, stop talking about it!!”

“you sounded sooooo old ‘shiki, what are you, 92?”

“AAAAAAAAAA!!!”

“satori...”

“what’s up miracle boy?”

“...what is ‘sus’?”

℗ poker face

i’ll be just fine

series masterlist

(●’◡’●)ﾉ

an - AND THATS A WRAP FOLKS 🥳 wowowow did the ending give me trouble but that’s ok SISJSK the endings will be coming shortly but they might not be daily just cs they may take more time, who knows lmfao i’ll let y’all know :3 AAAA ANYWAYS ILY I HOPE U GUYS LIKED KITH KITH don’t forget to feed me <3

taglist - if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

@boosyboo9206 • @geektastic84 • @elianetsantana • @trashy-simp • @infinitebells • @6mattsun9 • @suhkusa • @katsulovee • @kotarosbabygirl • @fucktheworlddude • @insomniacwreck • @calumsfringe • @saltylettuce • @chai-blu • @al3x1ss • @hawksyoongi • @jooleuuh • @loubells • @kissungjae • @liberhoe • @tetsurocore • @animeoverdosee • @duhsies • @saiKishaircLip • @afire24 • @premiyagi • @kit-kat428 • @doctorspencereid • @daphnxy • @kyomihann • @maer-333 • @sinoflust19 • @peteunderoos • @peachiikichu • @iidanotlida • @yongboxerrr • @kac-chowsballs • @tanakaslastbraincell • @memorableminds • @risjime • @starry-magicshop • @sugavwara • @smuttyanimeslut • @kiwibirbs-library • @haijkk • @airybnb • @crybabygumi • @iwaisa • @decaffinatedtealover • @notameera • @kawaii-angelanne • @rintarovibes • @urlocalsimp • @keiarma • @shrimpypenis

the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

[its-deputy-caleb]

Hiii, could i have a request for how the gang members would react to meeting a historian or explorer in the wild?? thank you! I love your blogs sm!!

anon ily <3333 i went wayy overboard with these but i regret nothing bc this was soo cute and fun to write. I hope u enjoy and i made it gn for everyone. I only did the VDL boys for this but if enough ppl like it i might do the girls with something similar idk yet?

Dutch Van Der Linde

Dutch first laid eyes on you when you were hanging off the edge of a cliff after slipping when you got too close to the edge. He immediately ran over to you, helping you off the cliff and getting you settled back on your feet.

He seemed genuinely concerned and agreed to help you safely record the rock carving that was on the side of the cliff face, keeping you from falling.

You were a historian and had been studying these mysterious rock carvings after meeting an equally mysterious man, Francis Sinclair.

You didn’t see much of Dutch Van Der Linde after that until you ran into him again in Saint Denis in the saloon. He remembered who you were instantly and started up a conversation about your work where you chatted away for hours.

You became very close after that and he often accompanied you to Museums and fancy fundraisers that you were invited to.

He’d always get dressed up and complimented your finer outfits which was such a difference to the field gear you’d have on. You’d spend all night chatting away over nice champagne and dancing together before actually engaging with other guests but you didn’t have a care in the world with Dutch in your life.

Arthur Morgan

Arthur finds you standing in the middle of a field, flipping over rocks and staring numbly at what appeared to be a map in your hands.

When he approached you he soon learnt you were a young amateur explorer about to get your big break with a treasure hunt but you couldn’t find the gold bars for the life of you.

Arthur gave you a heart warming smile and held up a gold bar after retrieving it from his satchel having felt a little bad that he’d discovered it not a week before you.

The two of you laughed about it, calling yourself a fool for trying to find it for so long when it was clearly missing— the thought that someone took it clearly never crossed your mind.

Arthur was always a gentleman however and promised to make it up to you. After taking you to dinner and getting to know him better, you spent the next few days camping out and finding a new treasure together.

You travelled through caves and through valleys of flowers to find this treasure. Sometimes it was so beautiful that the two of you just stopped by a stream to let your horses rest and enjoy the scenery.

When you finally found the treasure you gave Arthur a big hug in excitement which caught him by surprised but he happily returned. He let you keep the treasure and wished you luck with more exploring but of course that wasn’t the last time you saw Arthur again.

Charles Smith

Charles meets you one day while you’re out surveying wildlife. You specialised in conservation, wanting to study and protect animal species.

Fresh out of the university from Saint Denis you’d been dying to get out of the confining city and explore the heartlands. That’s where a kind gentleman named Charles Smith had offered to protect you and show you around the herds of bison you’d taken to studying.

You spent days together riding the over the hills and following the herd as they travelled. While you were Charles told you all about his family and the respect and love they have for the beautiful creatures.

It was amazing the array of knowledge Charles knew about bison and you couldn’t stop the smile on your face as he told you about the characteristics of the bison. You rushed to take notes in your journal, knowing that all that he told you would help you study and protect these animals.

“Do you think it’ll actually do any good? The work you’re doing?”

“One can only hope Mr.Smith but I will do everything in my ability to protect such beautiful creatures.”

Even when you had to return to the city for study you constantly wrote to Charles, staying in touch and keeping him updated with all your work. It was hard to say goodbye to someone you’d grown close to but you made regular visits to each other long after that.

John Marston

You first found John in the saloon after a long day at work, in desperate need of a drink. Being a zoologist you instantly noticed the scars on his face and would’ve guessed a wolf was the animal that caused the damage.

The two of you instantly started up a conversation and shared all kinds of stories. He told you about being up on the mountain while you showed him the scar on your arm from your run in with a cougar.

You were collecting a compendium of all the animals across the heartlands and during the months you worked on it, you ran into John more than once.

He was always curious about your work and you often spent time together in the afternoon sun, showing him the animals you’d found so far.

“What about the stray dogs in town or do you only deal with cougars and wolves?”

“Well they’re animals too aren’t they not?”

Even though you couldn’t see John all the time, he often came along with you to see the wildlife and covered you when you were around particularly dangerous animals and you enjoyed every second you had with him.

Micah Bell

When Micah met you he had absolutely no idea what you were on about. In his mind the whole idea of a palaeontologist is ridiculous and made up, much less the fact that you chose to read books and study in your spare time.

At first he doesn’t do anything but mock your work but after running into you time and time again he finally started to come around.

He grew more and more curious when he saw the drawings in your sketch books of dinosaurs and even more so when he laid eyes on the fossils. But knowing Micah, he’s still incredibly stubborn.

“Ain’t no way that thing is real.”

“One needs an open mind to comprehend what’s prehistoric Mr.Bell. It requires a certain practice.”

Every so often on your work you’d run into Micah who’d be riding around on his horse, just passing by. By now you’d consider him a friend and your face lit up as he pulled a small ammonite fossil from his bag.

It wasn’t really your area of expertise but you could tell he wanted to impress you and seemed almost nervous as you examined the fossil. Nonetheless you could tell it was real and you let him keep the small fossil as a reminder of you until the next time you saw him.

Javier Escuella

Javier meets you when you’re down my the docks, trying to capture the sunlight and noticed him fishing.

Not wanting to disturb him you kept out of his hair until you heard him cheer loudly at a catch he managed to pull in. In your particular interest in animals, you couldn’t help but ask if you could take a photo of the fish he’d caught.

From then on the two of you became friends, often running into each other as you tried to capture landscapes and wildlife.

You’d always spend the day together and you’d show him how to use a camera while he showed you how to fish and play the guitar.

When you spent time apart you’d often write to each other to fill the gap. You’d always send pictures with little writing on the back of them while he sent you poems and songs that he wrote for you, promising to play them for you next time you’d meet.

In your personal journal you have the first picture you ever took of Javier, kept safe between the pages. He’s standing along the docks, facing the away from the water as he holds up a large sturgeon and a large smile.

You and Javier always stay in touch and after he told you of his chaotic and dangerous time in guarma he made light of it by telling you about all the different wildlife he saw while he was there.

Bill Williamson

Bill stumbles upon you in the wild by accident. He’s out scouting a lead when he ended up getting lost through the shrubbery and found you examining flowers closely.

When you told him you were a botanist he looked as if you’d just spoken a different language to him because he didn’t have a clue as to what that meant. Bill always made you laugh fondly at the confused look when you told him all the scientific names of flowers.

In Bill’s mind, a flower was a flower. There was purple flowers and blue flowers and even red ones but they didn’t have their own names.

The next time Bill ran into you he brought you what he thought was a bouquet of white flowers. Instead they were actually a species of weed that was poisonous when eaten but it didn’t stop you from smiling and hugging him which was the intended purpose.

In light of that incident Bill was actually curious about some plants, trying to learn about them more. When Bill went exploring with you he pointed out some of his favourites and you picked a few to put them in the brim of his hat for him to take him back to camp.

When you run into him again Bill tries to give you another flower, this time actually understanding the plant he’d picked was a Vanilla Flower Orchid or the Vanilla planifolia but he never learnt how to pronounce it unlike you.

With a high blush Bill placed the flower behind your ear and you pulled him into a hug, being careful not to crush the beautiful flower.

[parkitaco]

a poem-slash-short-story-slash-word-vomit i wrote in twenty minutes two hours into 2023:

For the first time in a long time, I wasn't ready to go home,

But it was one in the morning, and Anne wanted us to.

Anne irritates me, sometimes.

We lingered, I lingered, everyone lingered

Until we didn’t.

Teenagers aren’t meant to be on the road this late, I thought

As I drove past partygoers and the sparkling lights,

Lonely, now that they’d served their purpose.

No driving between midnight and five a.m., I remembered from the manual

Unless it’s for a job

But any job that has a kid home after midnight is a shitty one anyway.

There’s a turn to make, where the open road gives way to streets,

My street

I didn’t make it.

I drove,

And I drove,

And I drove.

There’s another turn, a few miles down the road.

I didn’t take that one either.

I don’t know why

Maybe home felt suffocating

Maybe I didn’t want the night to end,

Not that it had been a very spectacular one.

Maybe I just liked the feeling of the steering wheel,

Cool against my palms.

It got darker

I double checked that my headlights were on.

There was a car behind me.

I wished there wasn't.

Did the road branch off at some point, I couldn’t remember

Was there another turn to make?

It was dark. I missed the turn on accident this time.

The other car was still behind me.

I saw a farm, through the trees, 

Recognized the stretch that I knew was about to turn into highway.

Highways are tricky. They’re hard to get off of.

Panic pooled,

Stretching through the part of my brain that knew better,

That knew I’d be fine.

Girl found dead off I-5, the panic whispered,

That’s what the headlines would read, if you get any.

Unclear where her destination was.

I recognized a driveway,

Pulled in haphazardly, thought for a split second I’d hit the ditch.

Craned my neck,

Where was the other car?

Was it there, that one pulling into that other driveway?

No, the car behind me had much angrier headlights.

A matter of perspective, maybe.

That must be it. 

Otherwise,

The other car had simply vanished,

And ghost cars would be a bad way to ring in the new year.

I turned the car around.

There’s always a moment, I thought,

When you pull out into a road, any road at all,

Where you expect to get sideswept,

Even if that is strange and irrational to think.

And then you don’t, 

And then it’s just you alone in your car without working dashboard lights, phone flashlight propped up so you can read your dashboard at all,

And you’re swerving a little because you were expecting to get t-boned,

And therefore would not have needed to worry about things like dash lights or driving in a straight line,

But you’re still here so you jerk the wheel and keep driving,

And you ease off the gas as you drive back into town,

And Halsey’s crooning on the radio, that CD you got for Christmas,

And you wonder if maybe the soundtrack is the reason you feel like this,

And you wonder how bad it really would have been if you did get sideswept.

But then you’re making the turn and pulling into the driveway, 

And the strange sadness feels just good enough that you decide you’re glad for it,

And hey, maybe this is the year you learn to process emotions properly.

You want to cry. Maybe you should.

I thought these things, 

And I entered my house feeling sad and happy at once,

And it was only later, when I stood in front of the bathroom mirror,

Toothbrush poised and makeup faded,

Looking exactly how I felt,

That I wished I’d continued to the highway.