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l4vend3r-hcs-x · 5 months ago

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Kny Oneshot - Giyú asked Mitsuri to help him befriend Sanemi

Linking to a post I made HERE

After Tanjiro's little pep talk the other day, I think Giyú took that on like a silent challenge for himself, to try and make some friends - or at least improve his relationships a little. And Giyú is a man of his word - if he says he'll do something - he'll do it.

So he committed to what he told Tanjiro, and set out to befriend Sanemi. And it got pretty serious pretty fast. I mean he knew how to make Ohagi, but he didn't know how to do it well. Luckily, he knew someone who did...

WORD COUNT: 3.4k

"WHAT?!" Mitsuri's voice rang out, reverberating on the walls of her estate

"Mits, please.." Giyú groaned, raising one hand to his ear and another to his shaking tea.

"Op- sorry." she grinned awkwardly and flushed "It's just that I didn't exactly expect you to be so keen on... making... friends - WAIT NO THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT I JUST- ohhh I'm not too good at this am I?" she hung her head

"Not really, that's a pretty astute observation though." Giyú shrugged, sipping his tea "Hey, this stuff is pretty good."

"The Master recommended it to me actually! It's form some lovely vendors down by the mansion, down past the pharmacy!"

A slightly uncomfortable silence perused them; Giyú continuing to sip his tea, and Mitsuri quietly brewing another pot at her counter.

He's not speaking at all?!??! Oh this is so painfully quiet!! It's nice to have him here but - IS HE UNCOMFORTABLE TOO??!? OH NO!! I DON'T WANT HIM TO THINK I DON'T WANT HIM HERE!! THIS IS SUCH A BIG STEP AND I DON'T WANT IT TO BE FOR NOTHING AND-

"Do you think this is a good idea? Honestly - do you?" Giyú suddenly uttered, it was so quiet Mitsuri surely would have missed it completely if the room were not this quiet.

Giyú's eyes glinted with confusion "More?? You mean I... have friends already?"

W-what?! Mitsuri's thoughts screamed

"Are... we not friends, Mr Tomioka?" she smiled nervously

"Well, Kocho told me that you likely did not want to peruse friendship with someone like myself. She told me that you were more than likely going to become violently ill if I attempted to initiate a relationship higher than acquaintances with you." spoke with a monotonous voice but he nodded as thought her point was valid.

"HUH?!" Mitsuri shrieked "And you BELEIVED her?!!"

"I trust Kocho." He peered up at her innocently

"Don't." she smiled wearily, patting his back gently before pulling him to his feet "Anyhoo!~ Let's teach you how to DO THIS!!" her voice grew fierce with determination as she hauled him over to her countertop

~~~~~~

After a few long silences, a surprising fit of laughter, and two hours of prepping - they were finished. A fresh batch of Ohagi lay on the table in front of them, and beside it was a written recipe that Giyú could follow in future.

"Thanks, 'Tsu." Giyú muttered, a gentle smile coming to his face "I really do appreciate all this."

"'Course Giyú!" she slung an arm around him "I just hope that Sanemi likes them! I mean I'm sure he will - he's like addicted to these things. If he didn't train to often I really would worry for his health, you know?"

"Hmm..." Giyú hummed, his mind seemingly elsewhere

"Giyú? You okay?"

"Huh? Oh - yes, I was just thinking how Sabito might react to me giving him these..."

"Sorry?" Mitsuri, who had slipped away from Giyú to start cleaning the mess they had made, suddenly spun to face him "How who might react?"

Giyú's brows furrowed, confused by her seemingly redundant question "...Sanemi??"

"Nono you said Sabito…" Mitsuri smiled confusedly at him "Giyú…who's Sabito?"

but she didn't get a response. Instead, she was met with the view of Tomioka clasping tightly to his left arm, a bewildered look in his downcast eyes. is breath began to quicken, his palms and brow growing wet, body beginning to tremble as the Love Hashira drew closer.

"Giyú, are... you alright?" she went to place a hand on his shoulder, but he jolted back from her

"I, uh- I think I should be going.." bowing deeply to her, grabbed the paper on the table and swiftly left the mansion with her following in an anxious pursuit.

"Giyú!! I'm- I'm sorry!! Please just come back!!" but Giyú had taken off in full sprint and was well out of view by now - there was no catching him.

"Shoot..." she clamped her teeth down on a bent finger

~~~~~

Sabito?? Why did I say his name?? Surely he doesn't remind me of-

Giyú was running through this seemingly endless forest when the notion dawned on him. It was a truly awful thought, not one that he could ever admit out loud - but the two were all too similar for him not to have noticed eventually.

"Shit." he hissed under his breath as he entered his home, eyes beginning to sting as he began to disrobe; practically tearing off the uniform he was not worthy of owning. Tossing his mismatched jacket to his futon, he sank to the floor once he had put on something more comfortable.

Then once again, that all too familiar sinking feeling consumed him. that heavy weight on his chest returned, his eyes prickling with tears, mangled sobs parting form his lips. He drew his knees to his chest instinctively, reaching for his haori to bury his face in, the familiar textures only worsening his cries. God, he felt pathetic. It was one word, one name, one stupid, little, insignificant mistake - and it had gotten him this worked up??

He was supposed to be a convincing placeholder for the water pillar, loosing his composure in front of a Hashira was not going to ensure his facade's security. He needed to try harder. Why had he always been so damn emotional?? He was always overreacting to the smallest of things - just like his father had always said to him. Even Urokodaki had alluded to it before...

It was before final selection, and he was so worried that the two of them would not make it home. He was told to remain calm, to stay brave, and not show his fear. He was assured that he would come home safe, practically unharmed. If only he had been assured that Sabito would have been the same…

Sabito... surely that man didn't remind him of Sabito... Sabito was kind... Sabito was gentle... Sabito was determined.. Sabito was fierce Sabito was a fighter... Sanemi was-

"Fuck..." Giyú hissed under his breath, head now in his hands.

Maybe he does... but that's insane...

Giyú raised his head slowly, his unchanging expression still leaking with salted water just as the paper slipped from the inner pocket of his haori. He slipped it into his hands, the smell of the bean paste that stained it lingering in his nose.

As he looked at Mitsuri's tidy, cursive writing, his mind began to wander again. She had put such effort into this for him, just to help him… make friends, god this is almost funny.

Giyū let out a mix of a sob and laugh, climbing to his feet as he set out for his kitchen. If she was so adamant on helping him, then surely this was something worth trying.

He luckily found the ingredients listed in his cupboards, raiding them to find each component of the recipe. If he was going to do this - he was going to do it well…

He was going to make use of what Sabito left to him… one way or another…

~~~~~

“Then I think that is the last of it!” Uzui smiled, adjusting his eyepatch as their makeshift hashira meeting came to an end.

It wasn’t something they needed to do, but it let them keep some kind of normality to their situation, and was a nice excuse to check in on each other.

“Oh and if anyone bumps into Kocho again…” he stretched his annunciation “Tellll her I still have that thing I- Suma borrowed.” He paused for a moment before swatting a hand dismissively “Sh- She’ll know what I mean.”

And as the hashira filed out of the room - the only remaining pair in the room was, as luck would have it, Sanemi and Giyú.

“Igurooooo” Sanemi groaned through a clenched jaw, hurriedly tying his sandals again “bastard - all I asked was for you to wait for me - but nooo” he hurried his voice to a higher, more effeminate tone “I cAn’t KeEp MiTsUri wAiTiNg~”

Giyuu, sat in the back of the soon, simply observed The wind hashira as he struggled to retie the strings on his footwear. It was actually taking quite a long time, wow.

The entire meeting, Giyú and Sanemi had been stealing glances, ones that were received as snide looks due to Giyú's unfortunate resting face, and thus ignored.

Maybe he just didn’t notice me… Giyú thought to himself.

“Shinazugawa..?” Giyū muttered, rising to his feet

“HOLY- Tomioka??” Sanemi jolted, promptly composing himself again

I literally didn’t even realise he was still here. Ah shit he probably thinks I’m fucking crazy, talking to myself like that-

“Are you alright?” Giyū muttered “You’re staring.”

“No I’m not, jackass.” Sanemi huffed, a slight tinge of embarrassment reddening his face

“Alright then.” Giyū blinked indifferently "I must be seeing things."

“Do you NEED something?!” Sanemi whined, finishing with his straps

"I uh, I wanted to give you this..." Giyú spoke very gently, his tone void of emotion as he extended a hand with a small offering atop it; a little black bag with a few pieces of Ohagi as its contents.

"Is that..." Sanemi looked at Giyú in disbelief

"Ohagi? Yes. After the other day with Tanjiro - I thought it might be something you'd enjo-"

"Oh for fuck's sake, Tomioka." Sanemi scoffed, a hand resting on his hip "You can drop the act. I get you don't like me, but trying to mock me? That's another thing entirely. Seriously fuck off."

He leant down to grab his satchel, turning on his heel to point an angry finger at the other man "DON'T follow me out."

And with a frustrated huff, Sanemi left the room with a slam of the door, leaving Giyú dumbfounded, and a little offended. What on earth did he mean? Mocking him? That's not what he was doing at all? Maybe it was his face. Kocho had told him he had an unpleasant face on more than one occasion - only looking out for him, of course. But maybe it was something he could take into consideration..?

~~~

"'Guro! 'Tsuri!!" Sanemi yelled, catching up to his friends "You will not believe what just happened."

"Tomioka struck up a conversation with you" Obanai snickered, only to get a swat on the back of the head from Mitsuri "Sorry! Sorry..."

"Yeah... actually..." Sanemi sighed, peering over his shoulder apprehensively, raising a hand to the back of his neck and rubbing anxiously "It was really fucking weird, he fucking tried to give me Ohagi.."

Obanai stopped in his tracks, disgust on his face "You're joking, right??"

Mitsuri's cheeks reddened in worry, her hands flittering before her "I-I thought you liked Ohagi, Sanemi?!"

Sanemi turned to her as they walked, dragging a confused Iguro by the elbow behind him "Oh no I do, it was just the way he said it was so - condescending?"

HOW DID HE MANAGE TO BE CONDESCENDING??! IT'S GOSH DARN OHAGI?! Mitsuri's thoughts ran wild, trying to comprehend what she had just heard

"How did he even know you liked that sugary shit?" Obanai hissed while he shook himself from Sanemi's grasp, slotting himself between him and Mitsuri

Sanemi groaned and cast his eyes skyward "That fucking Kamado boy ratted me out. He was so frustratingly kind while he did it too. GOD I mate the little bastard. I just don't trust it! There is just no way-"

"Someone is actually. That. Nice." Mitsuri and Obanai finished his sentence, memorizing it from the countless times Sanemi had rattled on about the alleged prodigy

"I don't get how you two hate him so much!" Tsuri pouted turning her chin up at them and looking away "Nezuko either! The two of them are just so sweet!!"

Sanemi snickered down at Obanai, mouthing "You sure about this one?"

But his only response was a half-assed punch to the gut and the sound of a blood vessel bursting from his little companion

"It's just why would he got that far out of his way just to piss me off?? I get he's an odd one but even for him this is another level of fuckery."

"Then maybe it wasn't - uh..." she gestured to Iguro

"FUCKERY."

"Well yeah, that."

"'Tsuri what the fuck are you talkin' about"

"What is he was trying to be uh nice...?" she smiled awkwardly

Sanemi's jaw dropped despite his mouth remaining shut, Iguro slowly meeting his gaze, and after a few seconds of silence the two erupted in sonorous laughter, causing Mitsuri to throw up her hands in defeat with a huff.

"Ohohoh, 'Tsu that's a good one." Sanemi slapped her shoulder playfully as he struggled for air

"Yeah, Mits. I gotta give it to you, never thought you'd make jokes about that asshole too - WHEW I CAN'T BREATHE." Iguro chimed in, and Kaburamaru even hissed in delight

"I am serious!! What if he want's to be frien-" but she was cut off by another chorus of shouts and howling "UGH. Maybe Tengen's right, he shouldn't give you two the time of day." she pouted, speeding off in a huff from the other men

"Oh no - Mits come back!" Iguro cooed, barely stifling his laughter

"Yeah pinkie! Come tell us how he wants to get closer to- PFFT HAHA IGURO I CAN'T TAKE IT IT'S TOO FUNNY!!" The man began to sob with violent laughter, his body shaking

But she was already long gone by the time he had forced out the sentence, and even further than that when the real comedy began.

"Dude she is a fucking riot. I take it back - I think I can look past her benevolence with that demon girl, she is hilarious. 'hE's TrYinG tO Be nicE' OH MY GOD HAHA"

Iguro wiped the ghost of a tear from his eye "You impersonate her far too well"

"A-thank you, I've had practice." he beamed

they continued to walk for a few more minutes, light-hearted jeers audible in the surrounding area, as well as some information that was probably best not to be discussed in public.

"No but I saw him take it from her as well - deadass. Don't look at me like that!! I am telling you that's what 'Suma' borrowed from her"

Iguro cackled in disbeleif "there is now way you are gonna stand tere and lie, saying he took a bottle of-"

"I AM NOT LYING!!" he beamed in dismay "WHY WOULD I LIE ABOUT THIS??"

"I DON'T KNOW?! SOME SICK REVENGE FOR THE TIME HE CAUGHT YOU-"

"YOU SAID WE WOULDN'T TALK ABOUT IT." He gasped dramatically, slapping a hand on the shorter man's mouth "there is no way you just tried to lick me with that on your face."

"I literally forgot it was there - ew it tastes like Kocho's fuck ass tea she gives us in rehab"

"I'll take your word for it, pal" he giggled, wiping his hand on his front absentmindedly

"You sure? I mean I could be a fucking liar as well??"

"Well then, there's only one way for me to really find out isn't there??" he smirked, jokingly tilting up his friends chin, leaning in before the two of them roared with laughter

"What's so funny?" A third voice then chimed in

"OH MY GOD" Sanemi screamed

"WOAH- T-Tomioka??" Obanai poorly supressed a gag as he turned to see none other than the water hashira stood behind them, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"Yes?" he beamed

"What are you doing here?" Sanemi stepped forward, a slight flush to his face "I thought I told you not to follow me out??"

"Dudeee." Obanai sneered seeing the red tinge to his friend's face

"I didn't. I just happened to be passing though here! my estate's just down the way."

Although this was Tomioka Giyū's natural demeanour, this was a side to him never before seen by his fellow hashira, and thus was met as such.

"Would you quit that??" Iguro hissed, Kaburamaru lashing her tail around his neck

Giyū blinked at Obanai, mildly perplexed by the sudden hostility. "Quit what?" he asked, voice even and unaltering to the tension around them

"You’re... smiling?" Sanemi sneered, stepping up to Obanai’s side, arms crossed defensively. His eyes narrowed, suspicious of the Water Pillar's sudden shift in personality. “What the hell are you playing at?”

Giyū stood before them in silence, both debating what he was going to say, and feeling the pressure of the scrutiny weighing down on him. It wasn't often that he allowed himself to feel anything beyond his solemn duty, and he had to admit, it did feel awfully strange.

“I’m… not playing at anything,” Giyū finally replied, looking back at Sanemi. “I was trying to offer you something I thought you’d like, but clearly I misjudged.”

Sanemi rolled his eyes, his irritation still palpable. “You really expect me to believe that? After all these years of keeping your distance, barely saying a word, and now you want to mock and tease? Give me a break, Tomioka.”

"Yeah," Obanai chimed in, his expression cold. "You're always standing around like you're better than the rest of us. And even if you aren't playing at anything, it's suspicious regardless."

Giyū clenched his fists at his sides, fighting back the sting of their words. He knew his demeanour often came off as distant—aloof, even. But he wasn’t trying to look down on anyone. He was just… bad at expressing himself. And worse at forming connections. Maybe it was too late to change things.

“I am not mocking either of you. I apologise if I have seemed distant, but if you cannot comprehend my efforts, I suppose I'll leave the two of you to... frolic? in peace until I can find a way to help you to. "

Sanemi’s gaze flickered with a confusing blend of emotion. There was no doubt shock in it, a shadow of understanding, and what appeared to be flusterment? But it was gone as quickly as it came. “Whatever.” he muttered, turning away, that red still lingering on his face, possibly even worse than before

Obanai glanced up at Sanemi before fixing Giyū with a hard stare. “Word of advice, Tomioka. You have gotta fix your face. People are going to assume you're being an ass if you say things with that look plastered on."

"You just said you didn't want me smiling."

"Just don't capture the essence of a frost bitten apple, okay?" he groaned sarcastically

“I’ll… keep that in mind,” Giyū muttered with a determined nod.

"Fucking hell he took me seriously" Iguro hissed under his breath

With that, Giyū turned to leave, the tension in the air still thick. But at least he had tried. And that, he thought, was a step in the right direction.

“And, Sanemi? If you change your mind about the Ohagi, you know where to find me.”

Behind him, Obanai leaned toward Sanemi with a low chuckle. “Looks like you’ve got yourself a little admirer. Maybe he’s not as dead inside as we thought, huh?”

Sanemi glowered, swatting Obanai lightly on the shoulder. “Shut up. There’s no way in hell Tomioka’s interested in making good on things. I bet you dinner it was an order from the master."

“Maybe,” Obanai mused. “Or maybe he really does want to befriend you, and you’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

Sanemi’s scowl deepened, but he didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure what bothered him more—the idea that Giyū might actually want to connect with him, or the nagging thought that maybe he wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea.

As Giyū walked away, the faint memory of Sabito drifted back to his mind. Maybe it wasn't such an awful idea to get closer with the two of them - and maybe this is what Sabito would have wanted! But deeper down, the realisation began to dawn on him that - maybe this is what he wanted too..

OKAY I HAVE NO IDEA IF ANYONE READ THIS TO THE END BUT IF YOU DID PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!! (Please note that this is a rough draft for the chapter that will be posted to my Kny of insert "Have we met before" and the chapter will be called "Don't follow me out." xx) OKAY THANK YOU THAT IS ALL GOODBYE!!

~ Lav xx

#the sillies #headcannon #sanegiyuu #platonic or romantic #kny #ds #kimetsu no yaiba #giyuu tomioka #sanemi shinaguzawa #demon slayer #iguro obanai #mitsuri kanroji #oneshot #fic

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nishloves · 1 year ago

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finding kwon soonyoung;

hoshi (svt) x reader // words : 1.1k // fluff oneshot // no warnings

"soonyoung!" you huff as you strode past another park, settling deeper into your warm jacket as you turn to look at under the slides and climbers.

sighing when you couldn't find him.

"did you find him, y/n?" you heard seungcheol call out to you as you cringe, a little embarrassed for not being able to find a 178cm man.

"i couldn't," you reply, your voice soft as seungcheol sighs, an easy smile on his face.

"don't worry— he's too good at hiding," he says, patting your back to comfort you as you frown at him, "no because- how did he even hide? is there any place to hide?"

"dunno— let me go search for jeonghan though," he said as he waved at you, running across the to the different block as you waved back at him.

why were grown up adults even playing hide and seek?

was it because you told your sibling that it'd be hard for a grown ass adult like you to hide among the many parks and soonyoung took an offence to it? or was it because all of you were reminiscing back to your childhood— to your better days as you indulged the neighborhood kids for a few games of hide and seek.

but fuck, was it hard?

even though you were split between the seeker and the hiders team, it was hard— specifically hard to find jeonghan and soonyoung as you panted, too tired to go further and so you sat on a nearby park bench.

you called him, thinking that he won't pick up. yet he did.

"hello?" his voice was light, almost like a whisper as you chuckled, imagining him hunching and hiding some place absurd as he picked up your phone, only to whisper a darth-vader like hello due to bad connection.

"come on out, the game's over."

"it is?"

you smiled, "yeah!"

"it hasn't been thirty minutes yet— i myself have a watch."

"but it is over— we are all tired."

"make me talk to cheol then," he said as you sighed at him, knowing full well that he wouldn't leave his hiding spot because of your small lie.

"you don't trust me?" you asked, your lips in a pout as the line was quiet for a while, you wondered if he was still there?

"you've been staying with jeonghan quite a lot."

you chuckled, "that's valid."

"come on, soonie~" you whine, "give me a hint!"

"no can do y/n, i am afterall a tall man hiding in your plain sight."

you frantically looked around the park as you could hear him giggle, his breath light as he tried to control his laughter.

"where are you?"

"find me."

"soonyoung, i—" you sigh, your shoulders slunched as you copy a pitiful posture, knowing that he's seeing you, "come on, tell me where you are— i won't tell them."

he was quiet for a while as he asked you, "you won't?"

"i won't." the biggest lie a seeker tells.

"then," you heard him shuffle as you yet again tried to spot him, but to no avail.

"look inside the tubes."

you stared at the cylindrical white huge tubes at the very edge of the park, you remember peeking inside them a while ago, "but I already looked there?" you said over the call, trudging across the park as you spotted the same man you had been finding, a widespread grin on his face, his eyes crinckled into crescent moons.

you couldn't betray him.

"hey," you said as you ended the call, shoving him further inside as you settled yourself next to him, you cheeks a little hot.

"you didn't call out to them," his voice was bewildered as you noticed his strong gaze on you while you scoffed, "you really believed i would break my promise like that?"

you nudged your shoulder with his, happy to have an excuse as you relished your time next to him— too happy— considering that you were sitting inside a dirty tube, playing hide 'n seek with grown men.

"we didn't promise anything," you could feel his grin on you as you panicked, 'you could still rat him out' you heard your inner voice say, but would you?

"should I call them over then?" you asked, knowing full well that you wouldn't.

you heard his chuckle as he grasped your hand in his, his thumb rubbing your knuckles, "no."

you could feel your smile widen as you looked at his dopey smile— oh, how badly you had wanted to win, but your heart wouldn't let you make them find him.

"i looked here a few minutes ago," you said, changing the topic, "i didn't see you."

"maybe you didn't look well enough?"

"I'm pretty sure that I did."

"then maybe, I changed my spot."

you pouted at him, you could see his eyes widen slightly in the dark as you felt his lips on the back of your hand, your cheeks seething as he pulled you further inside— normally, you would have been severely revolted by this gesture, but today was special— special in a way that each moment with him was making your heart race.

"next time."

"next time?" you asked.

"next time," he said, "next time, if I ever hide from you, I'll tell it to you then."

your heart warmed as you stared at him, not willing to pull your hand away from his, you could hear your teammates call out to you, seungkwan especially loudly, you saw soonyoung flinch— as you noticed that a good five minutes were still left.

would you sacrifice a game for a mere five minutes of intimate moments?

you didn't reply back to them as you pressed your lips on his, hearing him sigh contently as he pulled you closer to him, in that cramped space.

"next time," you said, "don't hide from me."

you felt him grin against your lips as you buried your face in the crook of his neck, a cheesy smile on your face as you said, "even if you did, i will find you."

"and i'll let you."

"I'll find you before that!"

"bet."

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fleetingcalypso · 9 months ago

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Hello love! i'm absolutely enraptured by your writing. If i could, i'd love to request a Henry Winter x Reader enemies to lovers? Like an absolutely cut-throat academic rivalry that culminates in a dramatic fight and reconciliation at Francis' house? Thank you!

≋ Sometimes attraction blossoms even in the most hostile of places. I'm sure having Henry's life could only benefit from having a rival, turning his world upside down, keeping him on his toes. This is one of my longest works yet, also one I'm not too keen on, nonetheless I pray it captures your interest.

≋ Henry Winter x GN!Reader ≋

≋ Word Count: 4582 words.

≋ TW: mentions of dr*gs, consumption of alcohol, violence (Henry receives a slap in a moment of ire), Edmund "Bunny" Corcoran.

I remember when I initially stepped foot in Julian’s office: most of the words he spoke are lost in time but one thing is forever stitched in the fabric of my memory, he patted me on the shoulder as an affectionate mentor would and with an award winning smile he said, “You’ll fit right in.” It made me feel validated at the time, like I had a place in the world, a bird fallen out of its nest reunited with its family at last. He wasted no seconds in telling me how he would usually limit his students to the odd number of only five, but he could tell there was something about the way I carried myself that would not disturb the peaceful routine he had meticulously crafted.

Classes with Julian were anything but peaceful, to my displeasure, not because of him, not at all. He was a splendid instructor, I often found myself on the edge of my seat with each one of his words. With no surprise, I was not the only one placing him on a crystal pedestal.

One single man made each class feel as though I was being tortured by demons, poked by sharp pointy tails. Each of my comments was brushed off, deemed useless and void of meaning, each paragraph, line, even a single word I read was followed by a deep voice interrupting me and correcting my pronunciation with great emphasis. Thankfully, I had found friends as well, other than a snake spiraling around my ankle, threatening to consume me whole.

The root of all of my headaches, as much as I’d love to strip him of his name, is called Henry Winter.

It’s not to say that I’d let him walk all over me. On more than one occasion, I was victorious after our heated discussions about the accuracy of a translated text or if we were to choose one of the five Greek cases over another. Following each argument his jaw would clench and he’d let out a curt “Very well, then,” before turning his head away and acting as if nothing had happened, although I could without fail notice the tension in his body. It was rather easy, for some unknown reason we’d always find ourselves sitting next to each other, so close our knees touched.

“Henry, is there anything you’re unable to do?” One day I asked him, in Julian’s momentary absence, the question felt only natural to pose: with his expertise in various languages and his familiarity with the world in Ancient Greece being so fascinating. The taunting tone in my voice caught the attention of not only my interlocutor, but the rest of our classmates as well. Six pairs of eyes were fixed on me, some looking more amused than others. His response came only after Bunny elbowed him, egging him on, “Ensuring you will not plague my days, apparently,” he said, pushing his glasses further up his nose. The venom he spat failed to enter my system, nonetheless it makes my gaze narrow.

“You always know what to say.” It’s not a question this time, but an observation which he rewarded with a “Of course I do. Lack of words is for the uncultured.” Our interaction was cut short due to Julian returning, but that would not be the end of it.

That very same day, after our lesson was over we all stood to leave, his hand found the spot on the small of my back as he walked past me, as if it belonged there by birthright. Sometimes I still feel it, the memory creeps up on me in the middle of the night, it keeps me awake whilst making me want more and more of him, like a cruel, vicious, thrilling drug I am unable to have a sober day from.

Class wasn’t the only occasion of the day where we would have contrasting thoughts: once, it happened during a morning when all seven of us sat in the library, open books and notebooks scattered all over our table, “This is going nowhere,” groaned Charles pushing the wrinkled paper he was writing onto towards my direction, “Take a look at this. What do you think?”

It stroked my ego that he chose my opinion over Henry’s and by a flying glance I noticed a slight surprised glint in his blue eyes, though he was quick to conceal it by focusing onto the fountain pan in his hand. I wasn’t the only one surprised by our friend’s choice in who should aid him in his translation.

After a short look, the mistake was clear, “Ah, here it is. Your writing is not inherently wrong, ‘Who dares think one thing, and another tell, my heart detests him as the gates of hell,’ while it is correct, it could be worded in a different way, try: ‘For hateful to me as the gates of Hādēs is that man who hides one thought in his mind, but speaks another.’ That should flow better.” Just to be certain - and perhaps to bother him just a small amount - I turned to Henry, “Shouldn’t it?” He didn’t move for a second before humming and nodding, although I might have overheard him whisper “You’re doing too much,” under his breath. When I handed the paper back to its owner I could spot Francis with his hand over his lips, trying to mask a grin, obviously amused by my exchange with our friend.

The amount of times we’ve debated over the littlest of things, it would take all the stars in the universe to count, and it still would not be enough.

“You’re slow today.” He whispered to me one day, when I hadn’t jumped at the opportunity to answer one of Julian’s queries about the Iliad, his breath tickled my ear and sent goosebumps down the back of my neck. It's true, I was slow. Henry's cologne for some insane reason was all I could think about: his closeness to me, as much as it was far by greatly affecting my attention, it certainly was reluctantly occupying a part of my mind. “Have you considered that not every thought should be spoken out loud?” I argued, the left corner of his lips lifted into a crooked half smile, “Interesting. You could benefit from your own advice.” He said, and it ended there. It left me with something I can’t quite recognize.

Ultimately, every day turned into a competition: petty, small things that held my heart hostage, like who was the first to enter Julian’s office at the beginning of the day, who turned in an essay the fastest, whose penmanship was more aesthetically pleasing and whose comments in class were rewarded with more praise.

Another episode in which I thought our rivalry was set in stone, from the very moment he laid eyes on me, happened during a quiet Wednesday, and we were enjoying a delicious lunch at the twins’ place. Camilla had cooked lamb chops, the rest of us had brought refreshments and some side dishes. Henry got a hold of my chair before I could grab it, he pulled it out for me then took a seat in the chair furthest away from mine.

In the middle of our meal, as I was diving in for seconds, Bunny interrupted the calm atmosphere that had formed by being his usual exasperating self and kicking my leg from under the table, “You know,” He began waving his fork in my direction, with his lips still dirty with food, “I’ve always wondered, whenever you look at Julian with stars in your eyes, is it because you truly care about what he has to say, or is it because you’re trying to suck up to him and get easy marks by being a teacher’s pet? He’s too old for you, you know?” From the seat next to me I swear I could hear Charles choke on his food, Richard’s jaw fell open, Francis looked positively disgusted, Camilla -poor soul- pushed her plate away, as the mental image of me being in love with our professor was plastered into her unwilling mind. The only one with no visible reaction was Henry.

“That’s what I thought as well, at first,” He noted, dabbing his lips with his napkin, “Class with Julian is not a slice of bread even the dirty pigeons on the sidewalk can stumble upon. It is only a matter of time before you realize what blessing you’ve found.” He was a master of masking a mocking undertone in his voice, along with an air of superiority which implied that the one thing he was waiting for was for me to blow up, to storm away, pack my stuff and leave Vermont for good.

“Don’t you think assuming my inability to follow lessons with the rest of you is an insult to Julian’s ability to tell whether someone is worth his time or not? If I were him I’d be quite offended, if I can say so.”

The glare he shot at me, with his blue eyes piercing through his glasses, was enough for me to know I had won; the way he was gripping his fork, his knuckles white as ever, let me know that this was not only a win, this was one of his battleships sinking. This was war, as far as I was concerned, it could only end either with an impossible truce or until one of us was dead in a ditch.

Not wanting to entirely ruin lunch, Francis was the one to change the subject. What he said I do not remember, as I was too busy basking in my own subtle victory to pay attention, but it did work and Henry made no further jabs at me that day. The same cannot be said for Bunny, who seemed to find it exhilarating that I would stand up to Henry the way I did and spent the rest of the day testing my patience.

Since that day, life has been notably bloodless between me and the human thorn in my side, with the occasional exception. I’ve come to notice that, when he is not wasting his time trying his best to get on my nerves, he passes as a truly handsome man. It might be something about the sheer size of him, or it could very well be the way he looks at me,his gaze permanently deeper than the ocean itself, as well as his hands, veiny and large, yet rarely rough in movements. I’m ashamed to admit I’ve spent far too many instants passing glimpses at his fingers, as they slide along the pages of books.

If I have to stand in front of a jury of Gods, though, and speak my naked truth - with no censors - I’d probably reveal that what is so fascinating about Henry is the way he is a bottomless well of knowledge about Ancient Greece. He is devoted to it, as he is devoted to Julian and in some sick twisted way I can’t help but find that veneration attractive.

Against my better judgment, I find myself missing our banter more than anything. The way he stared me down used to give me goosebumps, it still does when my eyelids close and I imagine it.

Summer comes faster than I imagine, faster than lightning striking the Earth, and in the blink of an eye I find myself at Francis’s aunt’s house. All of us fell into a comfortable rhythm while residing here, it was a breath of fresh air compared to our daily life. Playing the piano, reading in the vast library, excursions out to the lake, we kept ourselves busy, enjoying the countryside, keeping what -at the time- felt like the biggest secret of our lives from Richard.

At my awakening I was delighted in discovering everyone else was still deep in sleep. I took it as permission to make some breakfast. I had placed two cups of coffee on the table when he made his way into the kitchen, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and not a single sight of his usual exhaustion on his face. Morning sunlight shines onto his skin, giving it a warm glow, he looks positively saintlike. An archangel descending from the heavens, waiting to be welcomed to my mass, just to notify me that the end is coming sooner than I expect. “I made coffee.” I said, setting a cup in front of him. He looked at it for a moment, just for a moment, before his doubt shrouded eyes met mine, “I have a feeling you’ve poisoned this.” As he was debating whether to accept my offer, Charles joined us. He accepted a cup without a moment’s hesitation, downed it while throwing his head back, then walked off to God knows where, not like I care much.

Henry took a sip only after witnessing that it was indeed safe to do so, I did as well. As the hot liquid met his taste buds I could see him regret he ever came into the kitchen. It was coffee, yes, although unlike my cup which had sugar at the bottom of it, the one he was drinking from had salt in it. A smile tugged at my lips, “Good morning,” I said watching his face scrunch up and force himself to not spit out what was in his mouth. A puzzled look possesses my face as he doesn’t look away from my eyes, not for one second, his eyebrows scrunch while he doesn’t spill a drop of salted coffee, it all slides down his throat. “Good morning.” He replies, coldly, tongue sliding over his bottom lip.

By the time everyone had come to have breakfast, whether it was a glass of wine, whiskey or any drink of their choice, Henry hadn’t moved. With him following my every move, it felt only natural to imagine he’d be scheming something, and my hypothesis would soon reveal itself to ring true, leaving me like a sailor at sea, in the middle of an impenetrable storm.

The sun burns high in the sky, then it slowly melts into the sea, showering the world in tones of red, gold and purple; we spent dawn-to-dark in nature, feeling the blades of grass under our feet, taking turns sitting on a boat floating down the lake and resting by the shadows of the trees with books in our lap, the seraphic nature of the day could have been immortalized in a painting by Michelangelo himself, but no amount of expertise with the brush would be able to capture the unmitigated calm that reigned.

Such a glorious day deserves to have an equally splendid ending, suggested Francis once we retired back to the house. Bottles were hastily opened, alcohol floating in glasses and finding a home between thirsty lips. Inebriation wasted no time in letting inhibitions be on the loose. One small insignificant disagreement accounted as an act of hypothetical insubordination broke into an altercation between me and my nemesis. It went on forever, such an interminable occasion that our friends abandoned us in the kitchen and went on to enjoy their drinks in the library.

“I don’t think you should be here,” His vicious words didn’t faze me at that point, the knowledge that in his idea of a perfect world I was nowhere to be found wasn’t lost on me, “You should get in your car and drive far, far away from where my eye can’t reach.” The first two buttons of his shirt were nonchalantly unbuttoned distracting me for just a moment, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat with each sound caught my attention.

“Careful my friend,” I answered, fingers growing cold from the cool glass in my hand, being gripped with an unusual stability given the wine floating in my system, his face twitched at my name for him, “It almost sounds like my very existence bothers you more than one could imagine.”

“It does. Bother me, it is. It bothers me greatly. I don’t think you should be here” He repeats. As magnanimous as I am, I am no martyr. My glass hits the table with a thud, bright red splashes onto the tablecloth as I raise my voice louder than I would like, “What the fuck is your problem?!” Never in my life had I met a human as frustrating as him, “I can’t imagine I’ve done much to you the first day I sat in that office, yet, you’ve been nothing but unkind towards me.”

“What is my problem?!” He pushes himself to his feet, his voice loud to match mine, “You are my problem! You’re always having something to prove, buzzing about like a working insect devoted to the queen bee, it’s exhausting to even have you sit next to me.” I’m tempted to spill my drink in his face, what a sight it would be: savory red drops slipping down his glasses and hair, wetting his cheeks and jaw until it reached his lip. Instead of that I just shove him, resulting in him stumbling a step backwards, clearly not expecting the mouse to fight back against the owl trying to catch it.

“Have you ever even glimpsed in a mirror?! You act as if you’re so all-mighty, like the rest of the world is merely ants under your shoe! It’s nerve wracking when you find someone you can’t step all over isn't it? How does it feel to have found the one person in the world that does not bow down to you?” He enrages me, in all truth. I can’t bring myself to understand why it is, that now of all times, he makes my blood boil, in more ways than one, “Does it turn your stomach upside down? Is it the only thing you can think about?”

His chest moved for just a single, shaky breath and by now I knew I was playing with fire. If I got burned by touching the sun, at the very least it means I flew high enough to touch it. My hands moved again, ready to push him once again however just a breath before my lips could part to berate him even more his hands caught my wrists.

“You’re a parasite.” He hisses, lowering his face close to mine, by my reflection in the lenses of his glasses it is plain to see his choice of words leaves a mark, not on my face as a slap would, but on my emotions, “You’re a tiny, disgusting, parasite. You’ve single handedly infiltrated yourself in my modus operandi and I am just waiting for the moment I can finally take a moment to breathe again. Since the day you’ve set foot in that office I have, not once, had a chance to relax.” My body reacts before I can allow it to do so, the red handprint forming on his right cheek and his glasses being askew -almost on the brink of falling- confirm that I did, indeed, strike him in a fit of rage. How I was able to free one of my limbs from his death grip I do not know, adrenaline does some wonderful miracles.

“If I’m a parasite,” My voice comes out in a low growl, “Then you best pay attention I don’t end up killing you.” The more I stand in his presence, in this kitchen, having our chests rising in synch with the slowest breaths we have ever taken, I recognize just how much we latch onto each other, how we’ve stitched our existence together with an obsidian thread the very first time we sat with our knees grazing.

“You’ll be the death of me.” He admits in a whisper I can barely hear. Had our faces not been as close as they are, I’d probably would have thought he’d been mouthing nonsense. One second he’s all I can see, with his monumental figure blocking everything else, the next he’s walking away from me, his glass of wine sits on the tablecloth, still full, untouched.

Now I know how Pandora felt as she unintentionally let the vase she was gifted almost grow empty, now I could describe in meticulous detail what a bee feels after its first and final sting.

I do not join my friends in their gathering. My chest aches with something unfamiliar, comfort certainly won’t be known for as long as I find myself anywhere near Henry Winter.

The moon has reached its place in the sky by barely an hour now, a pearl glistening onto a fabric of pure pitch-black, tiny crystals surrounding it, making sure it will never be alone forever and ever. I’ve never seen a tapestry as breathtaking as the one mirroring on the calm surface of the lake I’m strolling by to gather my thoughts. Henry is somewhat right, deep inside of me I can feel it, I’ll be the death of him one way or another. He’s the king, guiding his troops and his courtesans from the comfortable seat of an opulent throne and I’m an approaching invasion, inevitable and threatening destruction for the kingdom he has built from nothing, rooted in the deepest of sins: pride. Hubris seems to get the better of us both with each breath we take.

My anger had settled in the brief sixty minutes I’ve spent admiring the darkness, by myself. Some fireflies with their microscopic body attempt to irradiate the entire lakeside with light, oblivious to their size or the impossibility of their mission.

Tirelessly I recount my life at Hampden, every single moment I can recall gets forced under scrutiny: “You’ll fit right in,” Julian had told me, in his eyes there lived a conviction I’ve noticed only during his enthralling lessons. I’ve only ever known him to speak the holy truth, doubting feels like going against everything I’ve ever known. In my solitude I find contentment, time flows steadily, mimicking a river in which nymphs could find respite.

“So this is where you were hiding.” A deep voice rises among the chirping of crickets, “We couldn’t find you at the house.” And just like that the incantation I’d fashioned myself in dissolves in the cool night air, joining the fireflies in their dance to please the stars and the moon. I hear him before I see him. A colorless shadow approaches me, in an impossibly inky abyss of nature, it can only be him; out of all our friends he’s the only one that can tell what bizarre chemical reactions my brain produces, he’s the only one that can read my thoughts like they were the very first lines of the Iliad, because more often than not he’s thinking the exact same thing.

‘The wrath of Peleus' son, the direful spring Of all the Grecian woes, O Goddess, sing.’ I recite in my mind as the barely human shadow only gets closer and closer, ‘That wrath which hurled to Pluto's gloomy reign the souls of mighty chiefs untimely slain, whose limbs, unburied on the naked shore,’ his footsteps stop behind me, he wants to speak as do I, but neither dare utter a sound, ‘Devouring dogs and hungry vultures tore: Since great Achilles and Atrides strove, such was the sovereign doom, and such the will of Jove!’

Unconsciously I found more satisfaction in rehearsing the words out loud, “Declare, O Muse. In what ill-fated hour, sprung the fierce strife, from what offended power?” And of course, he continued them effortlessly: “Latona's son a dire contagion spread, and heaped the camp with mountains of the dead; The king of men his reverend priest defied, and, for the king's offence, the people died.” We will never stop trying to compete with each other, it is a losing battle: it’s asking the moon to stop being the unmatchable muse for romance poems, it’s asking the cosmos and all of its constellations to disappear.

“You’re not always honest,” I mumbled, disregarding if he’d consider me weak or frail, ignoring the way I could feel him burn a hole in the back of my head, “Tonight you were what I think is the most honest you’ve been in a long time.” He’s my tormentor just as much as I am his.

His knee grazes against mine in the instant he finds a seat on the grass, next to me. His lingering accidental touch takes a hold of me, it’s addictive. “You are a parasite.” He insists and for a moment I think we’re about to raise our voices at each other again, but then he continues with a softer voice, “You’ve latched into my mind, consuming every corner of my life and I am defenseless to it.”

“What do you mean?”

I can’t perfectly see his face in the moonlight, but if he is by any means like me as I know he is, I can consider correct the hypothesis of his pupils being dilated enough to swallow me whole. He drinks me in, like the salty cup of coffee I offered him, he doesn't leave anything behind, doesn’t waste a drop.

“You’re in possession of a great intellect. For a second in your life, put aside the countless feuds we were active participants in and figure it out. You’re hurling me into unwanted and unknown territory.” I know what he means. He could speak every language in the world and I’d still know what each word signifies, in its deepest meaning. It baffles me that he is able to discern my brilliance. He’d never lauded me so. There’s a first for everything, it seems.

“I am not a threat to your leadership, I’m not trying to be.”

He laughs at my words, to my surprise: dry and void of humor, “It’s not my leadership that’s compromised. It’s my heart and mind. While at first I found our game bothersome and quite frankly childish, I’ve unearthed a yearning for it, so influential on my being that I find myself hopelessly wishing you’d dismiss yourself from my life, with the result that I might go back to when you were not the only thing inhabiting my thoughts.”

“I won’t deny I’ve allowed myself to feel the same.” In the dim lighting we sit, I’m appreciative my confession will be the only truly limpid particle of me, I’m not ready for him to see me as I am, not yet, “I yearn for our arguments, for the furrow in your brow and your disapproving stare with each of our disagreements, most of all I yearn for your stimulating presence. Henry, you’re quite the character.”

“So are you. Impossibly infuriating, and delightfully of the essence for me.”

Our friends are waiting for us, I’m acutely aware of it, nonetheless I find myself giving into selfishness for tonight. It is a long way to go, for us two to build a bridge, but with one brick at a time perhaps it is not only a bridge we can erect, but a whole kingdom, with two thrones instead of a solitary one and no invasion to knock at its doors. If his hand slips on top of mine I pretend I do not notice, just like he doesn’t mention my head resting itself on his shoulder. The lake has never looked better, with a bright spotlight shining onto the calm surface, ripped out the pages of a fairytale. Maybe with enough time and effort the fireflies will be able to shine as bright as the moon.

#fleetingcalypso #calypsodaydreams #henry winter x reader #henry winter #the secret history #the secret history x reader #tsh donna tartt #dark academia #reader insert #writing

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thenovelartist · 1 year ago

Text

Clipped Confidence - Honkai: Star Rail fanfiction

Back on the DanStelle train that I don't see myself leaving any time soon.

“What are you doing?”

It was a valid question, in Stelle’s opinion. Yet Dan Heng looked speechless as he stared at her.

Waiting for an answer, Stelle leaned against the bathroom door frame, her need to use to the bathroom slightly postponed for the moment as she stared at the man with scissors in one hand and a lock of his hair in the other. It had been a few days since they’d left the Loufu, and Dan Heng had transformed back into his more human appearance since then… for the most part. His hair, oddly enough, had stayed long.

Stelle had thought he liked it that way and that’s why it had stayed. But considering the scene before her, that clearly wasn’t the case.

With a sigh, Dan Heng slowly set down the scissors down on the bathroom counter. “I’m… deliberating,” he carefully answered.

Stelle gave a slow nod as she fought for words. “Which begs the question of how long you were standing there.”

“Longer than I should have been,” Dan Heng responded, snatching the scissors and preparing to walk past her. “Sorry, it was not my intention to—.”

Before he could leave, Stelle shot her arm out to slam her hand against the other side of the door jam, effectively trapping him in the bathroom. “Wait.”

He froze, his eyes wide as he looked at her.

Oh, she supposed his eyes were a little more aqua than before, as well. Not the dull almost-gray she was used to before he had transformed. The striking color captivated her more than she would ever care to admit. Her heart always skipped a beat in her chest when those eyes landed on her, but she was sure it was because of the dragon inside him.

At least that was what she told herself.

She swallowed. Now was not the time to go speechless on him. “I’d thought… er, so you don’t like your long hair?”

Wow, her ability to speak was outstanding.

Dan Heng paused, his lips pursed. “It’s not that I don’t like it, per se.”

“Sooo…”

He shook his head. “It’s unimportant. I should leave if you need to use the bathroom.”

“I do, actually—”

“Then—”

“—but!” she cut in. “I also asked a question you still hadn’t answered.”

Dan Heng looked hesitant, and several seconds passed before he sighed in surrender. “I’m just… not used to this. This long hair, I mean.”

“And you don’t think you can get used to it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then you want to cut it?”

Taking a step back, he turned back to the mirror, staring hard at his reflection once again. “I was thinking about it.”

For some reason, those words held an unfinished air about them, and Dan Heng didn’t seem to want to finish it any time soon.

With a sigh, Stelle patted his shoulder. “This is going to be a long conversation, isn’t it?”

Dan Heng just quirked a brow at her.

“Look, I want to listen—really, I do—but I’m not sure how long my bladder can hold out.”

At that, Dan Heng finally smirked. “Then I should let you go. That is if you’ll let me go.”

“I’ll hunt you down to talk after?”

He sighed. “I’ll be in my room.”

“Perfect.” Having finally gotten an invitation, she moved out of his way, allowing him to leave the bathroom. “You better have a real answer for me when I get out,” she warned him as he walked past her.

A grimace twisted his lips but disappeared so quickly she thought she’d imagined it. “I’ll do my best.”

It wasn’t exactly the response she wanted to hear, but her bladder reminded her that it didn’t really matter. She had something slightly more pressing than Dan Heng’s hair to worry about for the next thirty seconds.

~~~

Dan Heng dropped the scissors he held, ones he’d picked up more times than he cared to count in the last three days, onto his desk as he entered his room. He didn’t really know why it was so hard to make this decision. Normally, he was decisive when it came to things like this, yet he found himself floundering this time around. Worst part was that he knew exactly why he hesitated, yet despite that, he couldn’t reason himself into a decision.

And that was immensely frustrating.

Maybe running into Stelle was for the better. Maybe if faced with a force of nature that would demand a decision from him, he could finally make it.

Or maybe being faced with this particular force of nature was the worst-case scenario.

The door to his room suddenly opened, and he turned to see Stelle walking in. “Okay, I’m here. So…” She clapped her hands together, then pointed her fingertips towards him, “I got a deal for you.”

Dan Heng quirked a brow, already not liking where this was going. “What kind of deal?”

“You can either start from the beginning and tell me everything so I can help you make a decision, or I can just let you off the hook and you just have to answer my question from before: do you want to cut your hair or not.”

“I would hardly call that a deal,” he said with a sigh, already feeling tired.

“I would say it is since I was the one greeted with someone wielding scissors in the bathroom.”

“You say that as though you were in danger.”

“I was in danger of peeing my pants in surprise.”

“I… did not need to hear that.”

“And yet, that’s not even the worst thing I’ve ever said.”

Sadly, she was correct.

“So, stop stalling,” she said, walking up to him and putting her hands on her hips in a way that proved she was here to stay. “What’s your answer?”

Dan Heng sighed. “I… don’t know.”

“Then you can start from the beginning,” she said. “What even brought this on? If the length was bugging you, then you’re decisive enough to just cut it. Well, knowing you, you might have had someone help you so it didn’t look terrible.”

He hated that she knew him so well to know that. He also hated how much he loved having someone who knew him so well to know that. Finally, he hated that because she knew him well enough to know that, she would not be appeased with anything other than the truth.

Meaning he had to find the courage to put his worries into words.

“I hate that this long hair reminds others of my past life.”

Her eyes widened, clearly not expecting him to cut straight to the truth. “Then, cut it,” she said. “Why the hesitation?”

“Don’t you like it?”

Her brow knit together in confusion as her head tilted.

He sighed. “Since my return, March, Welt, Himeko… they’ve all mentioned that they like my hair like this. And… I wouldn’t…”

I wouldn’t want to disappoint them.

He didn’t want to complete that sentence because he knew how foolish it would sound. The fact his friends had vocalized their approval should not make him waver like this, yet that same approval meant more to him than he’d ever realized. So no matter how irrational he knew it to be, some part of him deep down didn’t want to disappoint them by changing his appearance. They’d accepted his dragon-esque appearance so easily, so readily. March was always commenting how cool he looked. Himeko commented how lovely his hair was. Welt himself hadn’t made a comment as much as accepting him so readily there was almost no hesitation.

But that was enough to make him hesitate. He didn’t want to lose this approval they’d given him. He reveled in it, found safety in it. Disappointing them after they accepted him would crush him.

“Nevermind,” he finally finished, pulling himself from his thoughts.

“No, you were definitely going to say something.” With that, Stelle leaned even closer into his personal space. “What’s up?”

Despite her eyes being round and imploring, there was something sharp in those golden irises of hers. Determination.

He looked away, his heart doing more flips in his chest the longer he held her gaze. “Do you prefer this?” he asked instead.

“Huh?”

“Don’t you prefer me with long hair, too?”

Forcing himself to meet her gaze once again, he found her looking at him with no small amount of surprise, her mouth slightly ajar as she processed his words.

And Dan Heng waited with a shocking amount of nervousness for her answer.

But what he didn’t expect was the way the surprise in her expression softened. “I prefer you home.”

His brow knit together in confusion. “Huh?”

She then snatched a lock of his long hair, twisting it between her fingers while an amused smile crept across her lips. “Did you think we liked you better this way? Is that why you hesitated?”

When she said it like that, lightly with almost a teasing lit to her tone, he felt so foolish that his face flushed with embarrassment.

“Pfft.”

Great, and now she was laughing at him.

“If that’s the case,” she began, snatching the scissors from his desk and snapping them together a couple times mid-air. “Then off it comes.”

Surprised, his eyes glanced to the scissors she was waving around far too flippantly for his liking before looking at the smug smile she wore. “You… prefer my short hair?”

She scoffed, thankfully aiming the scissors at the floor as she stepped even closer. “What I prefer is you here with us,” she said, her voice quiet since she was so close. “That’s what we all prefer. Whether your hair is long or short doesn’t matter.”

His face somehow grew hotter.

“And another thing,” she continued. “We weren’t commenting about your hair because we liked it better. We were trying to let you know how happy we were that you were back home, no matter how you looked.”

Despite feeling more like a fool with every passing second, Dan Heng smiled. “Truthfully?”

“I swear.”

Those two little words somehow lifted a weight off his heart.

“So!”

And in the blink of an eye, she slipped around him, pulling his hair into a ponytail before hanging her arm holding the scissors over his shoulder. “Am I cutting your hair or not?”

“Now hold on a minute—”

“Nope! No more minutes. I know you’ve made your decision already. You don’t hesitate when it comes down to it. So, what’ll it be?”

He sighed, hating that she was spot on. “Do you even know how to cut hair?”

“No, but I can look up a tutorial. It can’t be that hard, right?”

“Stelle…”

“Trust me, will you?”

Well, he did, but maybe not in this case…

“Wow,” she deadpanned. “Your silence speaks volumes.”

“I-it’s not that I don’t trust you.”

She sighed dramatically, but it was likely for effect rather than her actual feelings. “Can you trust me more than March, at least?”

“…Possibly.”

“Gee, what a vote of confidence.” She snapped the scissors open and closed in the empty air a couple more times. “So answer my question.”

Her persistence proved she wasn’t going to give him an out. His only course of action was to heave a sigh.

Behind him, she chuckled.

“I…” He swallowed. “I don’t want to look like Dan Feng.”

“Well then…” The scissors suddenly disappeared from his sight. “Say good bye.”

“Huh?”

And next thing he knew, she began hacking away at his hair.

Somehow, the surprise gave way to amusement. As a certain fiery stellaron girl continued to strain the scissors to chop off his hair, an errant chuckle escaped him. He knew it would look terrible. Logically speaking, he should have insisted they trust someone else to cut his hair. But he also knew that the girl behind him right now was more concerned with him than his looks.

And he simply couldn’t be mad at that.

“Done!” Suddenly, she flipped around him, waving his chopped off hair in her hand while she shot him a grin bright as the sun. “Alright, handsome, we should go fix the rest of it in the bathroom so we don’t make a mess in your room. Because I’m sure I’d never hear the end of it otherwise.”

Despite the warmth that flushed through him at that one little nickname that he specifically decided not to acknowledge, his own lips still held a small smile.

“And for the record,” she said, shooting him a heart-stopping smile as she walked out the door. “I like you with your short hair, anyway.”

And then she disappeared from sight.

It took him far too long to move, to follow after her, only to spy her already on her phone, likely making good on her word to look up a tutorial.

“Are you just saying that?”

She glanced up at him right as he caught up to her. “Saying what?”

“That you like my hair short after I already made a decision.”

A glimmer in her eye told him he was likely on the right track, and yet that somehow didn’t matter to him. “I guess we’ll never know.”

For some reason, the grin that she paired with those words made that answer perfectly fine with him.

#honkai star rail #honkai fanfic #danstelle #fluff #comfort

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writtenontheport · 2 years ago

Note

Hey, would you write Anthony Lockwood x reader, in which George and Lucy are fed up with the reader and Lockwood arguing and lock them in the basement for the whole night until they reconcile, and at the same time profess their love for each other. Thanks in advance

Skeletons in the Closet but it’s Actually Just Us

Anthony Lockwood x (gn) reader

Warnings/Tags: Romcom levels of fluff, You’ve Got Mail level of romcom, no suggestive content, Lucy and George friendship, They are deeply fed up, ‘Locked in a cupboard until they confess’ trope, Lockwood is a silly guy, confessions, Reader is a bit of a grumpy person, Valid tbh when the love of their life is some self-sacrificing bozo, A bit of angst given the nature of the Problem, mentions of death,

Notes: Just reviewed all the romcoms I’ve watched these past few weeks so this might be extra cheesy. Also I am rereading your request, anon and I am so sorry but I misread it so BAD 💀But also I changed the time a bit from it being night to it being right after a case! I’m so sorry this isn’t how your request put it 😭 I have terrible reading skills VERY LOOSELY EDITED AND SHORT

Summary: You and Lockwood are unable to voice your own feelings for each other, which frustrates Lucy and George enough to take action. An argument, locked storage, and a heart to heart about the nature of your world later, you’re setting up… a date..???

Anthony John Lockwood was an annoying prat who strutted about like a peacock in desperate need of a slap. Now this frustration is usually the result of something smaller; minute, you might even say, but today— oh, today.

“You ran straight into danger—“ You repeat yourself for what must be the 4th time the past hour. Anthony is sitting across from you in the kitchen “—even though George and I had specifically warned you—“

“Lucy went in too!” He blurts, throwing his shoulders up.

“Keep me out of this,” Lucy hisses, narrowing her eyes at him, “I actually brought iron chains with me.”

You gesture at her wildly, nodding in vindication as you turn back to Lockwood, “Exactly. Lucy knew what she was doing, you were just being reckless! I basically had a heart attack when that Visitor nearly ghost-touched you because you—“

“I didn’t need you to push me aside and put yourself in danger, though!” He hissed, just as frustrated. “I knew what I was doing. I’m very well aware of how it looked like, but I swear I knew what I was doing. Even if… I did need your help getting out of the trouble I put myself in after.”

A pregnant pause hangs in the air, frustration and worry laying under tension so thick you could it with a knife. You look away first with a defeated huff. Lockwood raises a brow and his lips split into a wobbly smile, the charming bastard. He lounges back into his seat and rests one arm on the table in front of him— a gesture for your hand. The look would have been more impactful if a bruise wasn’t already forming on cheek and there wasn’t blood drying on his brow. Still, you make your way over to him to fix his tie (which had gotten caught on banisters during the case) and push his collar up. He beams at you when you pat his jacket neat, but you’re still upset.

“Reckless… stupid prick…” You mumble, brushing his hair with your hands.

Under you, Lockwood’s grin grows just the faintest bit soft as he lolls his head back just to watch your frown.

“I think, hear me out, this is just because you’re worried about me,” Lockwood hums.

You scoff, tugging his tie down harshly, “Someone has to with how little you seem to worry about your own life. Like, seriously Anthony? Our lives are on the line—“

“Want to go on a date?” He asks, interrupting you. You choke on air and quickly let go to swat at his chest. Even if he meant that jokingly, something blazing seemed to unfurl in your chest and stuttered your breathing. You’re usually warm around Lockwood, human heater that he was, but this was a feeling that had your palms clammy and your teeth burried into your lips.

“Now is not the time to joking, Lockwood,” you grit out.

“Well I’m not. I really mean—“ he starts, but the sound of a clang startles you both. Lockwood springs up and takes your hand in his, putting himself between you and the basement door. You look around to find Lucy, but her chair’s empty and pushed in. Worry seeps into your bones with a familiarity like the hand holding yours.

“Lucy? George?” Lockwood calls out, stepping closer to find the door ajar.

Distantly you hear both of them call for you and Lockwood, sounding distressed. You push yourself in front of Lockwood into the spiral staircase down, dismissing the small click of his tongue from behind you.

“You’re being reckless now,” He whispers harshly, which you ignore.

It’s a quick trip to the bottom (with Lockwood likely frowning the whole way down), as you rush into the basement. Lucy and George are standing by the ‘high security’ storage room, something unreadable and determined in their expressions. You rush forward, checking on both of them and giving each a hug after.

You flutter about them both, brows furrowed in worry, “Are you two alright? Are you hurt? Is everything—“

From behind you, Lockwood’s hands rest on your shoulders then rub up and down along your arms in a soothing gesture. “What’s happened?”

Lucy gives George a look, and he clears his throat to say, “We found something in the storage. I couldn’t see it that well, and Lucy—“

Lockwood, the absolutely reckless prick, was already making his way inside. You take a breath through your nose and follow right after him, sending reassuring smiles to Lucy and George as you step in. You whip back to glare at Lockwood’s head, ever the reckless hero he was.

“Lockwood don’t just walk in without even hearing about the situation.” You check a shelf for the sources you keep locked away, Lockwood taking the opposite. A quiet moment passes as you run a hand along the line of the shelf, trying to sense for anything out of the ordinary.

“Probably a Visitor took a break from being in one of our… usually foolproof containers.” He looks over a small, see-through box to check for any cracks or breakage.

You whip back to glare at him, feeling not only worried, but frustrated as well. “Which is exactly why you shouldn’t have just waltzed in, Anthony. This is exactly what I mean when I say you’re completely reckless sometimes—“

The door to the high security storage clicks closed, and you both startle. You make your way over to push the door open, but the lock is keeping it shut.

“Shit,” Lockwood rasps out. Yeah, that’s fair.

When you got home from the case that day, you didn’t think the rest of the night would be spent being locked in the basement storage for the next morning. After a quick argument with Lucy and George (who promised to be back whenever ‘you two (you and Lockwood) had stopped arguing and acting like idiots’) where they had insisted they wouldn’t be too far and to just yell for them if anything went wrong.

Now, Lockwood sat beside you with your backs to the door. Lucy had had the foresight to leave you behind with medical supplies, and you found one of George’s sticky notes on a tray of quick snacks. Messily scrawled in the way only George ever could, was Get yourselves together, thanks.

If getting yourselves in order and making up looked like awkward silence and Anthony’s self-soothing stretching and everything you did to self-soothe, then it was looking fantastic. Lockwood had yet to say anything but a few curses when he tried to open the door, though he’d given up half an hour in. Now it was just you two munching on biscuits in a semi-awkward silence.

“I meant it, you know,” He says suddenly, as you’re patching him up and cleaning his wounds. His eyes don’t mean yours when you look up, but you know what he means.

“It was a terrible time to suggest that kind of thing, Anthony,” You bite back, careful to dress his wrist properly.

“I meant it though.” He says sincerely; challengingly. He was always like this, baiting for you to fight back or ague for more, even if you could never tell why.

“Then we’d go on a date, do whatever it is people who like each other do, then I…” you rest your fingers over his open palm, and he slides his own in the spaces between yours “… I watch you throw yourself into danger— into sure death and just wait for either our talents to dry up or for either of us to die?”

“No,” he hums, peering at you through his long lashes, “Well, sort of, just—“

“What else, Anthony?”

“I wouldn’t word it like that.” He squeezes your hand and you purse your lips. Here you are with someone you love dearly wondering if the next time either of you go out there someone dies.

“Then how would you word it, Lockwood?” You want to hope, voice cracking under the weight of your need. Your soft heart lurches from the thick walls of your chest— through the ribs and the muscle and whatever the fuck else was there— reaching with its sharp claws for a scrap.

“We… go on a date. Because I like you and you like me, and because even without the problem hanging over us, we could die at any minute. I, for one, wouldn’t want to waste any of it I could have with you, now or after.” Like a ray of hope, the twinkle in his eyes. Like a ray of hope, that punchable, kissable grin. Your heart lurches and your breath stutters.

You take a free hand to tuck loose strands of his hair out of his face, humming, “How are you so sure I like you, Lockwood?”

“I don’t,” he admits sheepishly. He’s boyish like this, whispering and grinning at you with something not so cocky and infuriatingly cute. “Just a guess really.”

“George told you.” Even though you never told George.

“George did tell me he had a theory, yes… Backed it up with evidence and everything”

You glare at him for a moment, this ray of hope your heart has chosen to cling onto in these times and troubles, and find yourself faltering.

“One condition. Then we can go on however many dates you want for however long you’ll have me,” you offer, dropping your hands down to look proper into his face.

“Anything,” he says easily, shuffling closer to you.

“Try not to be so reckless. We can’t have you dying before even the first one— or any of them, understand?” You pinch his nose lightly, earning a gentle swat back from him.

“You have to try, too. I can’t lose you either.” He brings your hands to his lips, pressing kisses along each knuckle.

I love you goes unspoken, but he sees it in the way you smile so warmly at him, and you see it in the way he holds your hands like it’s the world. Not today, but maybe someday you will tell each other. Today you yell for George and Lucy to finally let you both out and face the world hand in hand.

A/N: I’m such a fan for the “couple who’s not yet a couple bicker endlessly with each other over every little thing” cause I find it so cute. I am a ‘love at first argument’ girlie to the core. Some of my most major crushes have been people I argue with near constantly. Also, because you didn’t anon specify I flipped a coin and it landed on (gn).

Side note: This is especially short because I’m still thinking on how to go about a few things I’m writing. Been having ideas for an angst fic for either Lockwood or Lucy (x reader, ofc) and continuing George’s series because I am deeply in love with him

#anthony lockwood x you #lockwood x reader #lockwood x you #anthony lockwood x reader #portie writes fanfic

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cicimunson · 2 years ago

Text

What You Deserve

Author's Note: I'm easing back into writing, so this fic is super short but it's basically therapy for me rn. I do plan to resume all my series, gonna be on here much more.

Story Summary: You get your heart broken, and Eddie is there for you.

Ship: Eddie Munson x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Reader is really fucking sad, there's a stabbing joke, idk if that would bother someone but just in case.

You burst into Eddie’s trailer without knocking, practically sprinting down the hall to his room and flinging open the door. He and his friends jump when you barge in, startled, Gareth practically falling off the bed.

“Jesus, Y/N do you knock-” Eddie trails off as he notices your tear streaked face. “Alright guys, out.” He says immediately, waving a hand dismissively.

Jeff groans. “You’re kicking us out? We’re in the middle of campaign plotting!”

“Out!” Eddie repeats, pushing them towards the door.

“Of course his girlfriend ranks above us guys, don’t act surprised.” Dustin teases, tugging on Jeff’s arm.

“She’s not my girlfriend, for the millionth time.” Eddie rolls his eyes. He wishes though.

“Mhmm, tell us that the next time you kick us out.” Gareth grumbles.

“You don’t…Eddie, never mind, I didn’t realize you were busy.” You manage to choke out.

Dustin whirls towards you when he hears the pain in your voice and realizes you’re sobbing. “Nah Y/N, it’s totally okay, we were pretty much done.” He smiles sympathetically before elbowing Jeff in the ribs.

“I’m sorry.” You mumble.

“It’s okay Y/N, we really were wrapping it up.” Jeff pats your arm as they leave.

As soon as they’re out the door, Eddie pulls you into his arms, hugging you tightly. “Sweets, what’s wrong? What happened?”

You start to sob again, burying your face in his shoulder. “He chose her. He told me he was moving on and he chose her.”

“Oh fuck. I’m so sorry. Fuck.” Eddie snuggles you closer, stroking your hair. “You deserved better than that fucking prick anyways.”

You sniffle. “Stop, he wasn’t a prick. He told me we’d never be together and I kept on deluding myself into thinking we would somehow.”

“He also told you he was in love with you knowing that you two could never be. He never should have told you. He should have left you alone.”

“Stop, you always blame other people when I’m upset. This was on me. I saw him pulling away and I knew he was trying to move on and I still held on to hope. It just hurts. I was so fucking stupid.”

“Don’t ever say that about yourself again.” Eddie says sternly, brushing tears from your face with his thumb.

“It’s true. Of course he chose her. She’s perfect. She’s skinny and beautiful and uncomplicated and everything I’m not. I knew. I fucking knew he was gonna choose her.”

“Stop it. You are fucking perfect and if he can’t see that, if he can move on like you’re nothing, he’s the fucking stupid one.”

Eddie’s heart is breaking for you. To see you sobbing and hysterical, to see you so fucking broken, it’s almost more than he can take. You were the most amazing person he’d ever known, and he hated the guy for making you doubt that.

“I want him to move on and be happy, he deserves it. But I didn’t know it was gonna hurt this badly. I know it’s selfish but I can’t help but think “What about me? What am I supposed to do?”

“It’s not selfish. You are allowed to feel whatever you feel. Your feelings are valid and fuck anyone that makes you feel otherwise.” Eddie insists, hugging you close again. “I’ve got you, okay? I’m here for you, always.”

“Can we lay down? Please? I’ve cried to the point of exhaustion.” You mumble. All you’d done the entire day was sob and your eyes were so swollen you could barely hold them open.

He pulls you onto the bed with him, shifting onto his back so that you can rest your head on his chest. “Anything you need, sweets. I’m right here.” He murmurs, kissing the top of your head.

“Thank you. I’m really sorry that I interrupted your stuff with your friends.”

“Don’t apologize. You needed me. I’d drop anything if you needed me.” Eddie admits, grateful that you can’t see the blush creeping up his neck.

“You’re so sweet. I don’t know what I would do without you.” You lean up and kiss his cheek. “I’m so lucky to have you.”

He blushes more. “You’ll always have me, Y/N.”

“Your face is red, are you hot?” You start to lean back but he tugs you against him again.

“I’m fine. Stay.” He insists.

You snuggle into his arms, reaching a hand up to twist a lock of his hair around your fingers. Your tears stop after awhile, your sniffles subside. Eddie rocks you in his arms, humming a song soothingly.

“He broke my heart, Eds.” You whisper after a bit. “And I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay again.”

“You will. In time you won’t even remember him. Someone will mention his name and you’ll draw a blank. I promise you.”

“I don’t want to forget him. I just want the pain to stop.”

“It will, baby. Just give it time. And do whatever you need to do to feel better. Your feelings, your mental health, that’s what matters right now and fuck anyone that can’t see that.”

“You’re so insanely loyal, you know that? I could kill someone and you’d say it was their fault for running into my knife.”

“Shouldn’t have been running around sharp objects, totally their fault.” He quips, smoothing your hair as you look up at him. “Seriously, you will find happiness again. You don’t need anyone else to be happy. It comes from you, sweets.”

“You’re amazing, you know that, right?” You smile at him and realize it’s the first time you’ve smiled in days.

“There’s that gorgeous grin, I’ve missed that.” He can’t help but run his thumb over your bottom lip. Your breath hitches and your lips part as if they have a mind of their own.

Eddie groans softly, eyes fixated on your mouth. “Sweets…” His tone carries a warning.

You close off the space between the two of you and kiss him. Eddie returns the kiss, caught up in a moment of weakness. He should stop this. You’re not in the right mindset. But he indulges for a few more seconds before pulling away.

“We can’t.” He murmurs. “You need time and I understand that.”

You blush, starting to pull away from him. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

He tugs you back, shaking his head. “No, I’m glad you did. And I want to revisit this, when you’ve gotten over your heartbreak. I don’t want to be a rebound or a way to forget about him. I want to know that it’s real, Y/N, cause it’s real for me.”

“It is for me, too. But I agree, I need some time to process and move on from this.”

“Of course, sweets.”

~~~~~~~~~~

And Eddie does that. He gives you space and time, staying by your side to help you through your heartbreak. He holds your hand, he makes sure you eat and get some sleep, he listens to you cry and vent and scream and do everything you need to do to move on.

And one day someone brings up the guy you lost in conversation. Eddie’s eyes immediately flicker over to you, frowning.

But you’re okay. You barely register his name, your expression doesn’t change. You nod politely when someone tells you he’s engaged now, no trace of sadness or remorse on your face.

And that night, Eddie kisses you again for the first time in months. He cups your face and holds you close and tells you that he’s proud of you, that you’re amazing, and that you’re all his. Because after all, being happy with Eddie is what you deserve.

~~~~~~~~~~

Tag list: @cluz1babeabe @aunicornmademedoit @neewtmas @harrystylesandthegoobs @cancankiki @cal-is-not-on-branding @cltopp199999

#eddie x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson comfort #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x yn #eddie munson x you #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson reader insert #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x y/n

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sukunasun · 2 years ago

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im not sure if you've already done it but would you write a dom reader?

maybe growing disinterested in nanami kento is a given.

you try to think about him at night, calling out his name right as he steps through your bedroom door. slipping your panties to the side, you make him watch in between your spread legs. fingers working over your clit in patterns he knows by heart. and he sees every bit of the action, eyes narrowing behind glinting glasses. he steps closer, so close he could push his hips up and make you feel the heat of his bulge there under khaki-coloured slacks, a hardness, a weight you desperately long for...but you stop completely.

all the ways he's perfect and yet, it isn't the same. he just...doesn't do it for you anymore. doesn't do you...period. you've tried to understand where he's coming from, he's stressed, it's been hectic, his dick and mind aren't in sync. all very valid reasons he exasperatedly, repeatedly, emphasizes on.

it's nothing personal, just a phase that shall be forgotten and left aside the moment the two of you get over this itching, dreadful, dry spell. conjured up with every inch of distance that grows, every uncomfortable silence that lasts a little too long, the heavy sighs when he's forgotten the details again, missed the good spots just by an inch, every "not tonight, i'm too tired," and "i'll just take care of it myself," that pierces right through your pride, your ego. especially when he's standing right there with a tent in his pants, his boxers, or his towel. one he's grabbed immediately. almost too quickly at the sound of you walking in on him jerking himself off in the shower. guilt and shame plastered across his face.

it used to sting a lot more back when the rejection was still fresh. now it only makes you look at him without second glances, without thought. a gaze devoid of warmth or wanting. giving him a sympathetic quirk of the lips and a pat on a sweaty shoulder—while he's still atop you and shaking in frustration from how absolutely nothing works. this isn't sexy or sensual, you know it isn't— 'there, there, it's alright that you can't make me come,' the gesture speaks without words, he feels the way you try to comfort him, like you almost pity him.

it's not your resigned sighs he wants, like you know exactly what he's lacking, but that sadistic part of him wishes you'd make him suffer the same urges that you bury deep down. make him feel the need and know you'll never give him the satisfaction. not for now at least, not until he begs and whines and pleads. not until he sobs the words 'im sorry' and means it. punishment in the worst form but...

he looks even better like this. on his knees and flushed red from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. you chuckle at how he's suddenly gone speechless. "careful now, they were expensive," you tell him, pressing the point of your heels to his chest and pushing him back, telling him, ordering him, "you know what to do."

nanami's obedient hands cup your ankle, slowly grazing it up your shin, your calves, and your thighs. feeling the skin he's so longed to touch, then slipping off the shoes before planting a kiss on your knee. he starts to whisper something unintelligible, "you saying a prayer?" you grin, hair a mess, falling down your shoulders as you unclasp the clip keeping the tempting locks in a neat do, fluffing it out and watching his pupils grow twice in size.

"just a short one," he answers breathlessly, "i have the rest of the night to worship you," and you deserve it. you know you do. it's not even about obligation, not about what you're owed but this is how it should have always been. a temptress coming alive. you've been walking on eggshells, both of you. nanami has to always perform, to be the one on top. his wish to control he releases slowly now into your hands. the restrained, repressed urge to bend to your will, to follow after your beck and call now realized.

nanami who is so accommodating, so subservient...it doesn't even occur to him that in the midst of trailing his lips down and leaving sweet pecks of persuasion behind, he's grown hard, so hard he's practically leaking through the fabric of his very expensive trousers.

"forgive me, i'll make it up to you," the words taste so good on his tongue, like he's meant to say it. your dress he's gently pushed up and away from where his tongue longs to be, hands on each thigh, he parts them and goes in like he's been dying for it, lips kissing, sucking you in, clit throbbing to the deep hmmmms he groans out, rumbling from his chest. the taste of you familiar and addictive and oh how he's missed this.

there you go again with the not-so-gentle tugging of his hair, blonde locks grasped between your fingers, how pretty it was styled just a few moments ago. he's spent a while getting it to lay just right, but you don't apologize for it. not when you pull his face up, hearing his gasp for air, then to the guttural wail he grits out, all from the delicious ache in his scalp. to see his lips swollen and eyes dazed, heavily lidded and glassy. "please, let me make you come," he pleads so nicely, with bated breath and a hopefulness, eagerness laced in his voice.

still, you remind him, "you haven't been able to do that for months," grinning at the whine he lets out, pained and restless. he's still fully clothed and the sweat starts to saturate the fabric. you'll let him take it off, but slowly, he has to wait for instructions. he knows you have rules. one being that he's not allowed to finish before you, and the other is alot more hard to comply to.

there will be no missionary or doggy style or any of his usual favourites. he'll only be bound and gagged by a licorice red rope. arms up and torso flexing, each and every muscle on display. you drag a finger down the ridges, tutting when he tries to maneuver his way out, fighting knots so tight and he loves the way it rubs against skin, against his hardened nipples, his cock standing upright and leaking like a faucet, bobbing and sensitive to every brush of soft, supple skin as you straddle him.

the bonds dig into his wrists, his chest, stinging and scaring. some part of him hopes you'd kiss the chaffed marks and soothe them with aloe vera later, just like he does with you. maybe hold him close for a little while. he doesn't want to ask, doesn't think he could after all those months he's left you unsatisfied. but you squeeze down on him, loving the tight furrow of his brows, the sweat that runs down the side of his temples, shaved undercut glistening in it. "that's it, just like that," you praise him.

you sound so lovely, like a balm over a wound. "i'm sorry," he croaks, the words come out hoarse and helpless. teeth biting into the weaving and saliva dribbling forth. nanami yearns for your release just as much as you do but he won't last, won't be able to salvage whatever scraps are left of his composure, his resolve, it's all too much. he begs and begs, exhaustion teetering, limbs numb and aching. "i just wanted to—" he gasps, words choking in his throat before he realizes he's crying, "—to love you right."

when had he started to fail you, when is it enough to make up for it. the tears spill in a sticky mess, clumping his lashes, and painting his eyebags in a wet glow. his stomach coils, building up into something big, something he's been dying to release for ages, and he feels like he's about to pass out. baring his teeth, he places his feet flat on the mattress and desperately ruts up into you. thrusts erratic and sloppy and just rushing to get there. to the end of all that worthlessness he feels.

with foreheads pressed together, he notices your tears too, barely keeping up the dominant facade. "you're so good, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me," you whisper, and he doesn't know if it's the honesty in your voice, his own trust reflected in your eyes, or that it's so obvious now, that you absolutely, wholeheartedly adore him, care for him, love him still. yes, you're still interested. just like that nanami's orgasm hits, sending you over the edge too with a final thrust so deep, so hard, he doesn't hold back. rope breaks and so do the legs of your bed frame, nanami releases a with a cry and white flashing behind his eyes, a jolt shooting up his spine and you feel it just as much when his seed settles inside you.

#ugh fine i'll write nanami again #didn't finsh my nanami bday fic in time so heres a short tidbit to make up for it #nanami kento #nanami kento fic #nanami kento hcs #nanami smut #ask #anon #sunpiece #saturated #nanami kento x reader #dom reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fic

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darkcacaocookieandfriends · 11 days ago

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📔(chco werehound write something about licorice)

I feel a bit confused today (I know, what else is new, but listen! I can write about what I want!). Even after everything's been done and over, I still think about the Princess Trials. Not about the last reasons I wrote about (okay maybe that) but there's something else I think about. It invades my mind every so often and I guess I just feel too weird about it to really talk about it. So, I'm just gonna write it here and hope no one reads this while I'm not around...and if I find out they did I'll make them flatter than they were before! That and...well, I'll die of embarrassment and I really don't feel like explaining myself! I gotta wonder...is it weird that my feelings are changing....Well, about Licorice Cookie? When I first started working for him, it was all about the power, being useful! I got the be the brute force and kick some dough! He was kind of a jerk, but I knew what I was getting into. I was tough! I could take any tongue lashing he gave me! Besides, I was there to protect a puny little cookie! Already proven what my worth was, no matter how much he screamed at me for failing. Wasn't just my fault, either...But, that's not why I'm writing this! When you get to stay around a dessert long enough, you get to know them a lot better. Deep down, he's just someone who wants to be respected and noticed. Can't say I don't feel the same. It's nice having validation. Makes us two peas in a pod in a lotta regards. It's why I try to treat him respect. I'm no Dark Enchantress, but I know what it feels like when it seems like the world is against you. I mean, everyone wants at least one guy in their corner, right? That brings me to the point I'm trying to make. Even if it was all fake, maybe I thought it was nice. I got to be a princess, if only for a little while. Got to have a beautiful dress and rub shoulders with the high class flatsters. Even got to have a boyfriend...and maybe that's the issue. It could be the hopeless romantic in me, but I liked being treated like that. Liked being called his 'darling'...at first it was something I went along with. We were on a mission, after all. But after a while it felt nice, a little too nice. Made my heart flutter a few times and I felt strange. I argued with myself. How I was supposed to just pretend we were dating? That it wasn't real, but maybe the idea of being the one who made him happy made ME happy, too. It's all I wanted, to protect him and see him smile. To do good by someone for once instead of getting my crumbs handed to me. In that moment, I saw a different side of him, one I rarely saw through his never-ending ambitious trials of getting a single head-pat from Dark Enchantress. Maybe I sorta wished I could be someone that made him happy, to show him the praise I think he deserves. Maybe I wanna make him feel like he's worth something, and that he's got nothing to prove to anyone because he's already great! Maybe I... Well... I won't say that. It'll just make things worse. It's probably wrong to feel this way. I'm...well...I'm a cake monster and he's a cookie. I'm his servant. Why would he ever see me as anything but? Why am I thinking this way about a dumb, flat cookie? Why does he make me eat my words about every time I ever looked down on cookies? Why does he make me feel all warm and happy when I'm around him? Why does it make my heart flutter when he calls me stupid pet names? My head's just a mess of thoughts and I don't know how to get rid of them. Now I just feel weird when we're together...I think I liked it better when we were acting. Wished I could have just stayed in that moment, as delusional as it may sound.

In the end, that's all it'll ever be....Even I know that...

#muse: schwarzwälder #written in the scrolls #have some angst #or confliction #or something #it definitely something

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vohtaro · 8 months ago

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pats ur shoulder. are u winning the gender thought wars son

i feel like if i had better personal fashion sense, i’d feel closer to genderqueer than i do nonbinary…. the terms kind of overlap in my head a lot too. i’m not entirely sure tho. i guess i currently don’t feel especially inspired by dressing like my dad but in jeans instead of cargo shorts LOL. i’ve undeniably fallen into the ‘dress vaguely masc since ur nonbinary’ trap. i’d like to read more about it all: the experiences ppl have w their genders (& maybe specifically where ppl draw al line btwn these two i’ve mentioned in particular). but i mean the lines are also personal and subjective right. the way i see it for myself, being one or the other doesn’t rlly change anything, bc gender =/= pronouns. perhaps genderqueer is something of a constant state of flux whereas nonbinary is an intentional choice to stand somewhere either at the center of, or outside of, the binary. i’m kind of a ‘labels don’t mean much to me’ kind of person, tho sometimes i find social situations get difficult to navigate when i don’t have an “easy” answer re:my pronouns esp since my pronoun are they rn.

anyways. i’ve been thinking about it for like months now tho i don’t feel in any kind of rush to have an answer. my gender is whatever feels right, and my pronouns being they is a good enough fit. really my issues are physical. i’m kind of glad i’ve taken time to be patient w myself w regards to my physical self, tho i still have desires to make a change one day. being cursed with dd’s/e’s has given me loads of dysohoria, as has being fat. that dysohoria has been fed by both societal expectations and personal life experiences too. it’s been easier to just dress baggy and dress casually than to explore expression while also having self confidence in my appearance, regardless of what vibe the appearance gives off. i’ve been trained into thinking that dressing femme invalidates my they pronouns in peoples’ minds. it shouldn’t, obviously, but the training tells me that dressing like a dad is a safer bet than allowing myself to wear something like a blouse or something colorful and cute.

happy belated father’s day from your local dad. i am currently wearing a Champion crew neck navy blue sweater and was considering getting a pair of New Balance shoes the other week. I bought a drill set from The Home Depot last week and i know where the water shutoff is in my place. but i think i need to engage in a different kind of fashion and have the trust in those around me that my pronouns won’t change unless i want them to, and to confidently correct people if they incorrectly identify me.

(tl;dr: to be clear fashion doesn’t identify gender and u should dress how u like and how u want and never let clothes define u unless u want them to. consumption (in this case, clothing) for validation is not the way. this is mostly me in a long-winded manner saying ‘brother u need a lil confidence’ to myself )

#fully just a gender ramble LOLLL #anyways. back to work.

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kellyscowboy · 2 years ago

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꒰✧ᯇ✦꒱ DON'T BE SORRY FOR LEAVING AND GROWING OLD || ch. 1

ᯇ summary ! ✦ Jack Kelly finally gets out of New York and makes something of himself. Though, he's never been good at goodbyes and David won't answer his letters. || read full thing on ao3 now WRITTEN FOR THE NEWSIES FIC EXCHANGE ᯇ tag list ! ✦ @bound-for-santa-fe @bunniebusiness @hotelbxllamuerte (taglist form is in my pinned post if you would like to be added!!) GIFT FOR @daveysjackie !! (sorry for the tag) ᯇ warnings ! ✦ cussing & angst 1230 WORDS © 2023 , 𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐲𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲

next part

“Were you ever going to tell me, Jack?” David asked. His lip was in a deep pout, and his hand was placed disappointedly, loosely, on his hip.

Jack bit his nail nervously. “Uh-huh.” It was a lie and they both knew it. In fact, not a single person was meant to know. Jack was supposed to quietly slip away in the middle of the night and never have to face the sorrow of a goodbye. It had been a solid plan, until Racetrack had found the ticket underneath his pillow.

They had been arguing for a while when Racetrack punched him and left a nice shiner on his cheekbone. “You’re a coward,” He screamed. And he was right, Jack knew as much. He was a coward.

“I don’t owe you anything!” Jack yelled. I owe him everything. “What have you, what have any of the newsboys done for me? Huh?”

There was a festering bubble of guilt that steadily grew inside of Jack. The newsboys had done more for him than his own family had. They had taken him in. They had saved him from himself after he had been in the refuge. Quite frankly, he owed them his life.

In his mind, these were valid reasons for him to not say goodbye. They were a family. He knew that if he ever told them that he was leaving, that he would never make it to Santa Fe. Jack would be tied to New York forever. He couldn’t risk that; he couldn’t risk staying there any longer. It would destroy him.

“Whatever, Jack. Who needs you, anyway?” Racetrack had half the mind to rip up the ticket, to force the boy to stay. “Wouldn’t be the first time you left us in the dust.” He honestly believed he never wanted to see Jack’s face ever again. Conflicted with his feelings of betrayal and hatred, he spat at Jack’s shoes.

Jack was quiet for a couple of seconds. “You’re not gonna tell anyone, right?”

“No. No, I won’t tell no-one. On the promise that you never show your ugly mug back here ever again.” Race dug a finger into the boy’s chest. “You’re gonna hurt everyone who ever had faith in you. And I hope you never feel anything but guilty for it.”

After that, everything was fine. No-one else knew, and he could still slip away without having to say goodbye.

Then, the day before he left, David let his curiosity get the best of him. In the middle of the line at the circulation gate. “Hey, Jack. I’ve been meaning to ask, where’d the bruise come from?”

Jack saw the finish line stretch farther away, felt the bubble of guilt in his stomach begin to expand. It had been a couple of days since he got it, and he was riding on the fact that everyone was too scared to ask. Leave it to David and his stupid words. “Oh, uh-”

“Yeah, Jackie. Why don’tcha share with the fellas, huh? Where’d you really get the shiner?” Racetrack interrupted. “Or should I tell ‘im the truth myself?”

David gave him a sideways look. “Jack? What’s he talking about?”

“I dunno. You know Racer, he’s always yappin’ on about something. Don’t mind him. He don’t know what he’s talkin’ bout.” Jack threw an arm around David’s shoulder and gave him a small grin.

Racetrack scoffed, then shoved the boy away from David. He replaced Jack’s arm with his own. “You want to know why Jack’s been acting so weird?” He gave a few pats to David’s pec over his shoulder before he pointed at Jack with the same hand. “Why he ain’t been around so much?”

“Um…” He looked at Jack and wished he could ignore the guilty look the boy wore. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Well! Our Jackie boy—he’s got himself a one-way ticket to Santa Fe, New Mexico.” Racetrack stated, then gave David a sarcastic smile. “Ain’t that nice? He’s catchin’ the 8 o’clock train tonight.”

Les shook his head. “Jack wouldn’t. He wouldn’t! ‘Specially not without saying goodbye! Right, Jack?” Jack looked like a dog with its tail between its legs as he avoided Les’ gaze. “Jack?”

That’s where he found himself. His nails bitten and David demanding the truth.

“Don’t lie to me, Jack.” David said. “Please. Don’t lie.”

Jack frowned. “I just-”

“Just what, Jack? Just didn’t think we deserved the decency of a goodbye?” David yelled. “You know, every single one of us has had your back since the day we met you. I blindly helped you lead a fucking strike. And even after you abandoned us—for the first time, I guess—we all came together and helped you. We at least deserve a goodbye.”

Jack’s hands swung helplessly at his side. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. Deep down, he knew David was right. But he couldn’t admit that. Not there, not now. So, he deflected. “You promised you wouldn’t tell anyone, Racer.”

“Well, excuse me. I didn’t realize the breaking of trust had to be one sided in this ‘friendship.’ You’re full of it,” Racetrack said.

“Don’t get mad at Racetrack because you’re a shitty friend.”

“I’m the shitty friend? I finally get a chance to get out, to be in the place I’ve dreamed of since I was a kid. And all you care about is the fact that I was too busy to think about saying goodbye? You should be happy for me, David! All of you should be!”

Racetrack scoffed. “Don’t pretend like you just forgot to tell us, Jack. We ain’t stupid.”

“Why would I be happy for you? You’re leaving behind everything that was ever good to you.” David said. “You’re going to ruin yourself, Jack Kelly.”

“Yeah, well.” Jack looked David up and down before staring at him. “I’m also leaving behind everything that was ever bad to me."

"Really? When have we ever been bad to you?"

Jack was silent for a moment. "Didn't ya always say I could be something more? That my art could get me somewhere? What happened to that, Dave?"

"You can be something more here, Jack-"

"No. I can't! You don't get it!" Jack's face was red as he yelled.

"No! I don't! I don't get why you have to go halfway across the country just to paint!" David yelled back.

"I ain't got no inspiration out here, Dave!"

David frowned. "Really, Jack?"

"You can't find no inspiration in us, Cowboy? Really? After everything we've done together?" Racetrack was livid. "We took down the biggest paper company there is, and you can't find any fucking inspiration in us?"

"No. I can't."

"You're unbelievable." David scoffed. "I just can't understand you!"

"Whatever, Dave. Who needs the lot of ya?"

Jack angrily stomped his way to Wiesel and bought his paper. He let the Delancey brothers’ snide remarks consume him. The bubble in his stomach grew bigger.

Jack made one fatal mistake; he turned around for one last glance at the boys. Racetrack and David were seething, they had their fists tightly clenched together and were biting down on the inside of their cheeks.

And Les looked up at him with big eyes, wide with betrayal and disbelief. His usual wonder-struck gaze filled with sorrow. The bubble in his stomach popped, and he walked away into his new life without another word.

#all 5 chapters on ao3 #the rest will be posted on here soon!!#newsies #jack kelly #david jacobs #newsies fic exchange #javid #livesies #newsies live #˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ newsies // fics ❥

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savebylou · 1 year ago

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The redefinition of success after One Direction.

I listen to Demi Lovato on the Zach Sang Show and they talk about the type of validation they recieve after releasing a project: "I wasn't patted on the shoulder after a, you know, like playing a soccer game and saying good job, I was rewarded by awards and places on the charts and that came with a lot of responsability".

Thinking this with the members of One Direction, in the book Who We Are they mention how the record label and management told them they need it to get the # 1 single and album, always want the bigger venues. Their expectations always have to be big.

After the hiatus, is interesting how each of them has redefine their concept of success and what they want as solo artists:

-Louis said in 2019 [About the measure of success in 1D]"We're obviously chasing the biggest tours, the biggest singles and stuff like that whereas you know, I've done that. I've done some amazing things in the band, I've play some amazing venues you know, I got some amazing awards along the way, so I just sat in my room one day and I was just thinking what more do I want? I might just as well do what I love, so it got a lot easier after that".

In the same interview Louis explains his measure of success: "I think doing what I love and you know being able to go on their roud and do things like that I think I'm halfway there like definetely, because you know I'm comfortable, I'm happy doing music I'm doing, I'm gonna be able to get out and see the fans that's all I hoped really".

In 2022 Louis mentioned: "We did it all in the band, so like that's been an interesting thing for me of kind of redifining what the word success means to me and what's gonna make me ambitious and what's gonna make me happy and what I need to, you know, what I've got left to achieve." "Is not that I don't feel I can't lose right now but if I don't win on radio, if I don't get radio support you know, if my record label decided tomorrow that they didn't want to be with me anymore etc., etc., I still have my fans and I still have my tour."

-Harry in his documentary in 2017 said: "The thing with the band is that it went so well from the start, that it felt everything have to be a little bigger each time and I think at some point it's quite stressful, there is only so high you can go at some point, you're not gonna make that expectation." " Going out on a high and now feeling like I'm starting fresh, came to terms with the fact that was so great and if I never get to do that on that level again, that's okay".

In 2020 Harry commented: "The worst thing that can happen is that I make a record that I think everybody else wants to hear, and then it doesn't do well. And you sit there going "Well I wish I'd just made the record that I wanted to make." I think if you're making what you want to make, then ultimately no one can tell you you're unsuccessful, because you're doing what makes you happy. That's the biggest thing that I learned this time."

-Liam said in an interview in 2023 : "I finally have something to say. I think you know trying to learn yourself in such an envoiroment it's a difficult thing and kind a need it to go away for a little bit just to kind of find out more about myself before I came back to it." "I love the new sound that we've got and I think everybody will enjoy it as well." "I'm just happy to put the record out and if it works it works if it doesn't it doesn't".

-Niall in 2017 mentioned: "I know in my heart of hearts that no matter what any of us do individually it will never be as big as One Direction,” “I have stuff that I want to write about I have a sound I think I’ve got down. It’s a competitive world out there and if it’s a world where I can bring this sort of music out there and be somewhat successful, I’m happy with that."

In 2023 Niall responds about his plans for the next 10 years: “I’d like to still be doing this, going around the world, still playing to thousands of people. I’d like to win a Grammy. I’d like to be happy. And to still have decent skin.”

-Zayn in 2017 said: " I don’t really want to do shitloads of promotion. I’ll do the music interviews and stuff like that, that actually have something to do with what I’m doing." "I don’t buy into that side of things. I just want to do my music. If people hear about me from their friend, it’s cooler than me being in their face all the time."

For Zayn I couldn't find interviews that talk about his measure of success, but for what we have see over the years, he has prefer releasing music and having a more private life without doing a lot of promo and not going on tour (althought he said recently he wants to go on tour).

Reading all this answers, for my perspective, the boys accept what they achieve in 1D, but in their solo career they didn't put their projects to compare on that manufacture expectation. Each of them decided to follow the music they wanted to make regardless if that will be popular. I'm just so proud of them, that they found their own path and are happy doing the music they want to make and growing as artist and finding their own solo success.

#one direction #louis tomlinson #thoughts about one direction #liam payne #zayn malik #niall horan #some of this quotes i did take it from videos so sorry in advanced for errors or gramatical mistakes

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wonderrose · 18 days ago

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The place where she belongs to.

Though I didn’t believe it at first, curiosity led my feet to wander through the forest. Searching, hoping for answers—until suddenly, someone called my full name.

"Lauressa Aeris..."

My head immediately turned where the sound came from, I witness a lady with the big pretty wings, also the crown above her head, everything was so unreal. My eyes stayed wide, unblinking, until her hand gently tapped my shoulder. "Oh, my daughter!"ㅡI gasped.

She led me through the forest, guiding me with warmth as she spoke about Elfame-Ville. Everything was so majestic—until my eyes caught sight of that rose garden. The one I’d always daydreamed about. "I sent this garden as your vision, do you remember it?" She asked, her voice soft and lovely. I nodded, unable to take my eyes off the garden.

As then sun sets down, she sent me to my roomㅡ room for myself to tidy up, sleep, and everything! I just realize that she is the head fairy of Elfame-Ville and I didn't say hi properly to her. Without a second thought, I ran out of my room, hoping to find her. Thankfully, she hadn’t gone far.

"Miss, I sincerely apologize for not greeting you properly. But I’m truly grateful—you invited me, chose me, and even sent me a vision. I should have realized it sooner. I’m sorry for making you wait so long." I said in one breath.

"My daughter, look at you! There's a valid reason why I chose you. No need to apologize, I know about your mind and heartㅡso, get back to your room and prepare yourself for the welcoming ceremony tomorrow. You'll find your friends there." She said with her sweet smile while patting my head.

A wide smile was my only response before I dashed back to my room. And oh—everything was *chef's kiss*! You wouldn’t believe it that there are clothes, uniforms, shoes, and so much more already. Everything I could possibly need was already here, neatly prepared. I couldn’t even list them all!

I love this place, I love my little wings, hehe.

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leandra-kinard · 2 months ago

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About the other day...

I’ve had a few days to think about the whole debacle and the successive fallout; I’ve talked to people outside of the tumblr-sphere about it who were various degrees of constructively critical and empathetic, and I’ve read and looked up what people elsewhere said about the very same issue. I’m not going to get into that part in detail, but I want to get something across – as a general PSA if you will.

First of, I am going to concede that it wasn’t clever to post my opposing viewpoint in the same post; I should have made my own one. People who are passionate about a point and think they’re being righteous in expressing it (because they do come from a good or at least valid starting point of wanting social justice and awareness for specific issues) don’t want someone disagreeing with them in their own post. I personally always found that to be a pity because I truly believe we need discourse to open our eyes to other viewpoints, which is needed to find common ground and to live together in society instead of succumbing to pure tribalism, group think and polarization. But it is what it is. People will get defensive (sometimes justly, sometimes irrationally), and that’s a fact I should have understood long ago instead of naively hoping for something else.

Secondly – and there was my biggest mistake – I allowed myself to be petty about it. I thought I had laid out my argumentation rationally and factually, and for the most part I did, but I slipped into smug pettiness with one part of the argument, namely the part with the slashes being too much effort. That’s not even something that matters to me in the grand scale; it’s just the surface-level ‘symptom’ of the initial conclusion and resulting claim. It was always about the logical fallacy first and foremost to me, and I didn’t bring that across in the right way.

So, for those two things – assuming other people, like me, generally welcome debate on most issues, and allowing myself some pettiness and thereby irrationality – I apologize. (Which most of you who have made up their minds about me will see as a non-apology, but I do have some integrity and am not willing to give it up to suit you).

Despite what I just said in parentheses, I can’t deny that the whole fiasco didn’t wear on me, even hurt me. I’ve had an incredibly difficult year mental-health wise; the state of the world and the political landscape more than just worry me; I’ve had personal setbacks and challenges, and on top of it, a ‘fandom war’ that’s impaired my enjoyment of my main fandom to a not insignificant extent. So, all in all, 1/10, would not recommend.

In light of all that, what happened those few days ago on here directly but also elsewhere was tough. The wild conclusion jumping, the unchecked lies that some people found okay to spread to other users via anon messages – just blatant generalizations without context – were infuriating and hurtful. I should not care what some strangers on the internet think and say about me, and for the most part I don’t, but I do care when it affects online relationships I valued, when even mutual accept these claims without taking a moment to go “Wait a minute, is that really so?” i.e. “Is she really this and that type of bigot or are people jumping to irrational conclusions here?”

But that’s a general flaw with tumblr-culture. One person marks someone or something as problematic, and the rest of the group – or a large part at least – automatically accept it. It’s the same way with fictional characters, or themes/storylines in TV shows. When one person says Ted Templatechar is a racist/homophobe/misogynist, a good portion of the fandom who also didn’t really like Ted Templatechar will agree and will pat themselves on the shoulder for recognizing the problematic aspect in the media they consume.

Here lies the hypocrisy that I so often observe and find very frustrating, because the same people who make Ted out to be a misogynist will defend Rod against another group in fandom who accuse Rod of being a homophobe. And so on.

All of that stems from an initial bias. None of these people are completely neutral or rational when they make these claims about characters (or actors… or other fans), because they will pick and choose what they agree or disagree with and then defend their position with passion and vehemence.

And, in a way that is fine. We are allowed to defend our beliefs, and we’re allowed to “curate our experience” and to cut out people who defend beliefs that annoy us.

What we should NOT do, in my opinion, is always setting these beliefs up as absolutes. If someone brings up enough and solid enough arguments against an initial interpretation, we should at least open ourselves up to see it as an alternative and maybe equally valid take. Few people are capable of doing that, especially here on tumblr – which is at the very least disappointing, given the level of (often academic) education people on here have as opposed to other spheres.

Now, opinions on fictional characters and how we interpret their actions should not matter as much. In an academic environment they would not (and nobody would accuse the interpreter for being a bigot just because they don’t see the same kind of bigotry in the fictional character as someone else interprets there to be), but, despite the aforementioned higher educational standard, tumblr is not academia (and here’s another of my mistakes, because I too often treat it as such).

Tumblr is a melting pot of ‘misfits’, of in large parts members of LGBT+, in large parts mentally ill or neurodivergent, predominantly female, and possibly with a larger POC percentage as other groups (not 100% sure on that part, but possible). In short, we are the ones who get ostracized by society more than people who don’t belong into those groups. I belong to three of the aforementioned groups, so I do know what that’s like, namely living in a real world that is not as accepting and supportive of issues that are specific to my identity and my struggles, and then finding likeminded people on here who just get it.

Until they don’t.

There’s a lot of “us vs. them” group think on here, of wanting to protect oneself by identifying enemies and people that may want to harm us. That is understandable, but it is also very often wrong, and very often causes the same harm that people aim to oppose. In pointing the finger at someone else for an assumed bigotry (and yes, that includes fictional characters because there is always a projection onto the ‘messenger’ when discussing these interpretations; if Ted Templatechar is a racist, then Tumbrluser123 defending Ted is a racist too!), we easily fall into the trap of potentially becoming a bigot ourselves.

“Ted Templatechar is a racist!” – “No, he’s not. But he’s gay, so you’re actually a homophobe!!” – “You’re just saying that to hide your own racism!” – “No, you’re just saying that to hide your own homophobia!” – “I’m a lesbian.” – “Well there’s internalized homophobia.”

And so on, you catch my drift.

Which isn’t me saying it’s never okay to point out things that could, in certain contexts, fall into any of the aforementioned or other bigotries, but the blanket assumption – unchecked, unquestioned, unreflected – that something is what you initially perceive it to be is a sign of intellectual failure and dishonesty, of prejudice on your own part. And more so, the exaggerated generalizations to go from one instance that may be bigoted and mark the whole person out to be a bigot in their entirety is not only intellectually flawed, it’s dangerous in multiple ways. “That thing that you just said? You know, that’s kinda homophobic,” is a completely different challenge than “You are a homophobe.” There’s no redeeming that once you bear that mark.

I know what I stand for; I know what I’ve opposed and spoken out against, and what I've defended, not just online but actually in real life, many times. I remember conversations I’ve had where I challenged people in real life on their beliefs. I know what I believe about others and the rights and protections they deserve. I know my understanding of power structures and systemic oppression. I know what I’m about. It should not matter as much what some highly biased, close-minded strangers on the internet think about me. But, in many ways, it does. It does more than I wish it did, because I, too, am part of this group of misfits and have a ‘home’ here. There are issues that people in real life don’t understand as deeply as people here do. And beyond that, there simply are interests, a type of humor, an enthusiasm for the same things that I do not find even among my close real-life friends.

So yes, the last few days were tough for me, because this is my community. My hobby, my source of escapism from a world that doesn’t ‘vibe’ with my personality the same way the tumblr-sphere does, and from a world that isn’t always so accepting and understanding of individuals.

Apparently, neither is this world, though. People everywhere are guilty of group-think, or tribalism, of bias and close-mindedness. My need to push people to challenge their own views because I naively, desperately want to believe that we can be better than that (better than irrational, egocentric and entitled people who put their own narrow world-view above all others), means running head-first against a wall. And as I said before, by now, I’ve been ‘concussed’ often and drastically enough to have learned my lesson. And yet…

It’s incredibly hard for me to hold back in such situations because my mind just keeps circling around these topics. I’ve had situations in which I couldn’t sleep because my brain would not STFU about it, to the point where I had to get back up and type out my reply/post on whatever matter bothered me. This is a me-problem, but it’s got a lot to do with my ADHD (for which I finally have a diagnosis now, which explains so much… If I were super petty I could accuse all of you who don’t want to empathize with that as ableist. See? This whole game of being super aware and super social-warrior-like active can backfire so easily!).

I do have to learn to let those things go, and to observe more than interfere, to understand that tribalism is – while regrettable – natural and can only be fought with gentle pushbacks at the opportune moments, and maybe not even then. You don’t deradicalize a neo-Nazi by calling them stupid, and you also don’t deradicalize the “I am offended, therefore you and everyone else who disagrees with me is a bigot” crowd by trying to win a debate contest. To assume I could achieve that was arrogant, I’ll admit that (but, as I said before, also naively idealistic, because I don’t want to be right just to be right; I want to be right to make things better.)

I also have to accept that tumblr isn’t the real world; it’s a microcosm of its own that, in many ways, is very far removed from how the real world operates, and me wanting to combine and reconcile the two spheres is an often futile endeavor. My interests are rooted here, but my mindset is much more rooted in the real world, which certainly is a challenge to balance that I have, evidently, once again failed.

This has gotten really long already, and I doubt most of you will even read the whole thing. I can’t blame you if you don’t, because ‘ain’t nobody got time for that’, but if you just skim-read this and come at me with wild accusations, I won’t take you seriously. If you want to constructively, politely debate with respectful dialogue, I’m all for that.

I’ve been on here for 13 years, and even though I was close to just leaving it all behind Marie Condo style (because yeah, no joy sparked lately whatsoever), I am not going to do that. I’m not leaving. You can’t drive me away just because some of you have set your minds on me being one of the enemies. I know you are wrong in that; like I said, I know what my beliefs are and what I stand for. If you see me vastly differently then you don’t really know me.

I am more than just my online presence. It’s time I fully understand that, too and learn to stop defining myself so much by my fandom activities.

I will also try to not engage in controversial topics (as much). There’s little point to it that actually brings me or anyone else a true benefit.

It’s regrettable, but it is what it is.

#personal #long post #psa #fandom discourse #personal discourse

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ellemusing-it · 7 months ago

Text

Into Me, I See: Unveiling the Depths of Intimacy

in the quiet moments of my day, when the clamor of the world fades into a distant hum, i find myself grappling with a longing so substantial that it often feels almost shameful to admit. it's a craving for something simple yet profound—a man's touch, a man's kiss, a man's hug. i can almost hear the echoes of my own self-criticism, the voice whispering that to desire these things is somehow indifferent. it's as though the very act of wanting makes me less, rather than more, of a person.

the complexity of my feelings extends beyond just the physical aspect; it's deeply influenced by the dissonance between words and actions. men’s promises and declarations often seem like mere reflections of what i want to hear rather than genuine expressions of their intentions. this mismatch creates a chasm of trust, making me wary of believing that their words are sincere. the stereotype that men are just liars only exacerbates this distrust, as it reinforces the belief that their spoken assurances are unreliable. in this outlook of deception, the touch becomes a tangible reassurance, albeit fraught with its own set of contradictions. it’s a stark reminder that while actions may speak louder than words, even they can be fraught with uncertainty and mixed signals.

i grew up in the shadow of an absent father. he was a ghost in our house, a phantom that never materialized. his absence left a void, a gaping chasm that i’ve tried to fill in countless ways. but no matter what i did, that emptiness remained, gnawing at my insides. i swore, with the fervor of a desperate child, that i would never allow myself to depend on a man, never succumb to the need for male affection. as a bisexual woman, i promised myself that women would be enough, that i would find solace in their arms, in their kisses, in their touch.

a man’s touch—whether it’s a gentle hand on my shoulder or a reassuring pat—holds a kind of comfort that is both foreign and familiar. it’s not just about the physical sensation, but the emotional assurance that comes with it. a man’s kiss, on the other hand, feels like a promise of intimacy, a sharing of space and warmth that i find myself yearning for. and a man’s hug—well, it seems to be the embodiment of safety and closeness, a haven from the chaos of the world.

yet, the desire for a man’s touch persists, like an itch i can’t scratch. it makes me feel weak, inferior, pathetic. why should i need a man to complete me? why should i crave something that feels like a betrayal of my own identity? it's as though society has conditioned me to believe that my worth is somehow tied to a man’s validation, that i am incomplete without it. and that notion disgusts me.

maybe this is why i've always romanticized the idea of the first man i'll ever fall head over heels in love with. what is it in him that i’ve fallen in love for? i don’t know if this is vanity, but for that time, i swore that i would never love another. not until i fell in love for the second time. this time, it humbled me. there was something in him i couldn't explain that subdued me. i surrendered everything to him like a war i was sure of not winning. what will i do now that there are parts of me in him and him in me? how will i ever forget that?

there’s a romanticism to the idea of the "first." the first man to touch me, to see me bare, to hold me in his arms. he would be lucky, i tell myself, because he would be the first to penetrate the fortress i’ve built around my heart. but even as i entertain this fantasy, i feel a pang of guilt. am i betraying my principles? am i conceding to the very thing i’ve sworn to reject?

is this why physical touch is my least preferred love language? it’s something that seems alienating to me, something i’ve never sought out or yearned for. in my childhood, it resonated through my subconscious, leading me to avoid it. this aversion may explain why, when someone does touch me, my brain interprets it as inherently sexual. i can’t help but assume that any touch is driven by physical attraction or lustful intent. this belief has perhaps prevented me from experiencing the pure, affectionate power of touch.

to be a woman seeking a better half in a man feels like a cliché, a narrative spun by centuries of patriarchal storytelling. why does it have to be a man? why must we perpetuate this tired trope of heteronormative completion? i look at the women around me, strong, independent, and capable, and i wonder why we still buy into the notion that we need men to complete us.

but perhaps it’s not about completion at all. perhaps it’s about connection. the human need for intimacy, for closeness, for touch, transcends gender. it's a fundamental part of our humanity. and while i may struggle with my own desires, grappling with the tension between my principles and my longings, i’m beginning to understand that wanting a man’s touch doesn’t make me weak. it makes me human.

i suppose i’ll forever be shadowed by the echoes of moments when i failed to safeguard my own sense of self, whether those failures were deliberate or accidental. each experience, whether marked by sincerity or insincerity, has sculpted the person i am today, leading me to an awakening of sorts—the delicate art of discernment through the healing power of touch. it’s a paradoxical liberation that only came about through the encounters with men who, for better or worse, ignited the sparks of this realization. their ‘touch’—both literal and metaphorical—became the catalyst for a profound sensory awareness, a deepened capacity to ‘feel’ in ways i never had before.

it’s an odd gratitude i hold, that these interactions, though fraught with complexity, have ultimately paved the way for a richer, more nuanced understanding of my own emotional landscape. their affection, their tenderness, and even their absence have guided me towards an awakening, revealing the subtleties of feeling that i might have otherwise missed. it is through their 'hands' that i learned to truly feel, and for this unexpected gift of enlightenment, i offer my heartfelt thanks.

so, to the man who might one day be my husband, my endgame, know this: you will be blessed, not because you have conquered me, but because you have earned a place in my heart that i’ve guarded so fiercely. and to myself, i say this: it’s okay to want. it's okay to crave. it's okay to need. because in the end, we are all just searching for connection in a world that often feels so disconnected. as i await the day we will be united, i want to share with you a promise that comes from the deepest part of my heart. in this season of singleness, i commit to tending the garden of my soul with purity and devotion, nurturing it with love and faithfulness. i promise to live a life that is pleasing to Him, honoring Him in all that i do, and preparing myself to be the partner you deserve.

until then, come find me ... 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘪𝘣.

#Spotify

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