#I feel as though its simply time that we have a rebellion against the rebellion against happy endings
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moonylvs · 2 months ago
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⋆˙⟡ How did it end?
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Summary: Sirius' rebellion against his family begins to become a concern, to the point where it begins to affect others and especially your relationship, can you work things out? is it worth a second chance? ´We must know... how did it end?´
Dedicated to @mayuwolfstar who made me this request: Hi! I saw your request is open so, can I request an angst with happy ending with Sirius x reader where they fight and then he wrote a song for as an apology?
Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader
Words: 5k
ⓘ Warnings: Angst (A lot, and I mean too much that it's painful), hurt/comfort, sirius is an idiot, Mentions of Sirius' childhood (shit), practically a lot of pain, couple fights, both are idiots, second chance trope, fluff, no proofread, let me know if I miss anything!
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The last few days Sirius, in a short, had been acting like an idiot, getting into more trouble than usual and causing others to end up in detention with him.
Ever since you and Sirius started dating you knew of his constant rebelliousness, you knew that most of his actions were a form of rebellion against his family, it never really bothered you, you understood why he did what he did.
You had always adored Sirius's extroverted personality, it was something that contrasted with your more introverted personality, but this time you felt that it was no longer simply his personality, he no longer did things for his own pleasure, he did it with the mere intention of annoying his family and causing a reaction.
You wanted to ignore his actions as much as possible, repeating over and over again that Sirius knew what he was doing, that he had reasons to get annoyed and act like that, but at this point everything was reaching its limit.
You started to get annoyed as Sirius' pranks became more and more recurrent, ending up with him in detention all week, so you could barely see him or spend time with him.
And in the time he wasn't in detention, he spent his time with James, planning the next prank or shit talking about Slytherins.
It wasn't that Sirius excluded you, he always invited you to sit with them, his arm around your shoulders or around your waist caressing your hip, but you had to admit that it wasn't very entertaining to listen to James and Sirius talk for hours, they had known each other for years and had jokes and stories that you didn't know about, this made you feel slightly uncomfortable, feeling that maybe you were left out of the conversation.
Aside from this, Sirius barely tolerated seeing Regulus in the corridors, you knew he had always been like this, but this time Sirius didn't ignore him, instead he would tease him or talk badly about him knowing he could hear him, you clearly felt uncomfortable about this, feeling it was rude.
You had barely engaged in a conversation with Regulus, the little you knew was only thanks to Sirius, who only said that Regulus was a mama's boy and that he was just a puppet of his parents, Sirius didn't hold back with his words, it was constant to hear Sirius talk about how his parents used to compare them too much, saying that Regulus was the perfect son and Sirius was just a disappointment next to him.
You always tried to understand Sirius, he was your boyfriend and you always wanted to be by his side, so you never said anything about the way he talked about his brother, only he knew what he had lived through and why they had that family relationship.
Yet you were never rude to Regulus, if you saw him you simply smiled politely and that was it.
Unlike Sirius, Regulus had tried several times to talk to him, but Sirius always refused, he wouldn't even try to talk things over with his brother, even though Regulus seemed to be really interested in patching things up.
You tried to talk to Sirius, but as always, when it came to his family, there was no way you could change his mind.
“Maybe you should try talking to him…Maybe you can work things out, you don't have to hate each other because of your parents-” You said, trying to sound as calm and understanding as possible, but Sirius wouldn't even let you finish speaking.
“Talk to him? Surely he just wants to convince me to come home so I can go back to being our parents' little doll, what else would he want to talk for?” Sirius replied with some annoyance, snorting at your words.
You knew you shouldn't insist, there was no point, besides you weren't planning on forcing Sirius to talk to his brother, it was his decision at the end of the day.
So you simply sighed, nodding slightly and ending the conversation.
The next few days didn't seem to get any better, Sirius barely even paid attention to you, his mind was anywhere but reality.
The only times he would come back to reality was to tell you about the new prank he was planning, asking you to join him, to which you refused each and every time, you weren't going to break your perfect grades for a prank that would end up with you in detention.
Sirius's pranks were as ridiculous as ever, he started by hiding the Slytherin Quidditch team's uniforms and then placed itching powder on the Slytherin's beds, being especially hard on Regulus's bed.
Each of his pranks ended with him in detention and a new letter from his parents telling him how disappointed they were.
But unlike when he was a kid, Sirius no longer felt sad and distressed, he didn't give a shit anymore, he was glad his parents were pissed off.
You tried to concentrate on your business, you had more important things to worry about than if your boyfriend blew up the Slytherin common room, for example, the OWLs, which were driving you crazy.
The exams, Sirius's idiocies and the little time you had for yourself were pushing you over the edge.
That day you had a project in pairs, which only made your mood worse, you hated working in pairs, you always ended up doing everything while others took the credit.
You thought that at least this way you could spend some time with Sirius, you would do the work together and there would be no problem, in spite of everything Sirius was smart and knew you wouldn't want to risk your grade.
Bloody hell.
Your eyes widened as you watched Sirius approach James to team up, Sirius hadn't even looked in your direction to check if you already had a team, no, he had walked straight towards James, not a care in the world.
You tried to ignore the growing annoyance you felt, it's just teamwork, you repeated to yourself, it doesn't matter that they always do teamwork together, it doesn't fucking matter.
You tried not to show your annoyance, looking around the class in search of a partner, you thought of lily, she was smart and nice, but she was already paired with Pandora, your gaze went to Marlene, but in an instant Mary was already by her side.
You wanted to curse Sirius out loud, you guys always teamed up, you made a good team, but no, today he decided he didn't want to work with you.
You didn't want to take it personally, just because you were a couple didn't mean you had to do everything together, but you couldn't help but be annoyed by the fact that he didn't even look in your direction.
“You don't have a partner?” You heard a voice speak behind you, you wanted to curse even more.
Regulus.
You knew it wasn't a good idea, you knew it was the worst idea in the world, but right now you didn't give a fuck.
“No...Do you want to work together?” You said politely, at that moment you knew it was all going to go to shit.
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“Regulus?! You teamed up with Regulus?! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Sirius' voice echoed in the room, his face utterly annoyed.
The instant Sirius saw you talking to Regulus his face paled, his hands balled into fists and in mere minutes you were in the room, his annoyance unleashed on you.
“It's just a team project Sirius, I needed a partner-”
“And of all people you had to pick my fucking brother! What the fuck is wrong with you?” Sirius replied, shouting in your direction.
Instantly you tensed up, Sirius had never yelled at you, you had seen him yell at other people, but with you he would just walk out of the room until he calmed down, because he didn't want to unleash his anger on you, though his silence wasn't much better than his yelling.
The black-haired guy would often leave you talking to yourself, saying he needed time to calm down, hours later he would come back, mumbling “I'm an idiot, I'm sorry” while hugging you, and then he would go back to normal, he wouldn't say anything about the fight, he wouldn't really apologize or face the problem, and that frustrated you too much.
You felt your chest squeeze at Sirius' words, you hadn't meant to hurt him, maybe deep down you wanted to upset him a bit for choosing James and not you for the teamwork, but still his reaction seemed over the top to you.
“I didn't think it would bother you so much, you teamed up with James, I needed a team and Regulus offered” You said, trying to keep your voice calm, you didn't want to make a fuss, you didn't want to turn it into a fight, even though deep down you knew it already was.
Most of the time when you had disagreements, you were the one who tried to talk to him and ended up working things out, but over time you realized how hard it was for Sirius to solve problems by talking,
In this time you had discovered that Sirius wasn't the best at communicating, you wanted to blame it on his complicated childhood, but finding an excuse didn't make the pain in your chest lessen.
“Are you serious? You're upset because I teamed up with James? How old are you? Ten years old? Grow up please” Sirius said harshly, his tone without a hint of warmth, he was totally blinded by annoyance.
Your mouth fell open in surprise, not a word came out, you didn't understand how Sirius could talk like that, it seemed like all his frustration was coming out after building it up for months.
“Would you calm down?” you said sharply, totally fed up with Sirius' yelling.
“I only teamed up with him because he offered and there were no better options, I'm only doing it for my grade, I didn't think it would be that much trouble but now I see it is” You said harshly, instantly you realized it sounded totally insensitive, you cursed yourself, but it was too late.
“Sure, you didn't think it would be a problem, you never think of anyone but yourself.”
You felt your face instantly pale, his words hit you hard, making a pressure appear in your chest.
Since always you had put the priorities of others above your own, you didn't care if others did things that would hurt you, you liked to please them, you liked to please them, you did everything in your power to make the people around you happy, you kept quiet about your discomfort.
Sirius was the clear example of this, you had ignored his hours making jokes, you didn't say a word when he started spending less time with you for spending time with James, you didn't care when Mcgonnagal scolded you for helping Sirius pass his subject with cheating, you didn't care at all if Sirius was happy.
So to hear Sirius say that you didn't care about anything but yourself was a low blow.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Sirius?” You said, your voice still sounded annoyed but there was something else, hurt.
“Oh come on, now you're going to get in my face about all the things you've done for me, aren't you?” Said Sirius sarcastically, letting out a hollow laugh that made your stomach churn.
“You're just like them” Sirius said quietly, more as a statement to himself.
In that instant you felt your breath catch, you knew perfectly well who he was referring to, “they” were his family, you felt nauseous at being compared to them.
Those people who had hurt Sirius so much, those who had abused and insulted him, those who had made Sirius' childhood hell, Sirius was comparing you to them.
“N-No, Sirius you're being mean, stop it” You said in barely a whisper, shaking your head, you couldn't believe the words coming out of Sirius' mouth.
“Now I'm the bad guy?” Sirius replied sarcastically. “You're the one who teamed up with my bloody brother who I've told you I loathe, you're the one who's been insisting that I fix things with him, you don't care about anyone but yourself, you just want to fix things so you can get on with your perfect bloody life, you want me to fix things with Regulus so that way I can be the perfect little brother!”
Sirius' words were full of annoyance and anger, he knew what he was doing.
“You always try to fix everything around you, you always want everything to be perfect and happy, well I tell you what? You can't fix me! No matter how hard you try you can't do it, I'm never going to be the perfect brother, or the perfect boyfriend, so give up once and for all” Sirius spat in frustration, though you could see in his eyes a glimpse of pain, he wasn't just yelling at you, he was yelling at his family, at all those who hurt him, who made him believe that something was wrong with him.
You felt your chest tighten, tears stung your eyes, you couldn't stand another minute in that room, you felt suffocated, overwhelmed.
“I-I never wanted to fix you, there was never anything wrong with you…” You said in barely a whisper, before leaving the room without looking back.
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You wanted to pretend that you didn't care about the fight with Sirius, you wanted to pretend that you didn't care about the fact that he hadn't come looking for you, but in reality it was killing you.
You didn't understand how it had ended up like this, you had never had a fight like this with Sirius, your stomach turned over just remembering the way you had talked to each other.
You could barely concentrate on your classes, the guilt invaded you, you felt that maybe if you hadn't teamed up with Regulus none of this would have happened.
And about Regulus, you could barely talk to him and it was only for work, you couldn't help but resent him a little, because it was his fault that you had fought with Sirius, even though he hadn't meant to, that's how Sirius felt? Now you understood him a bit, how could you not resent the one who made the people you loved hate you?
You tried not to be rude to Regulus, in your heart you didn't have the strength to blame him, in spite of everything, you wanted to be kind and do the job in peace, but a pressure in your chest settled every time you saw him.
Without Sirius your days were much quieter, sure, you spent time with your friends, but it wasn't even the same, there was an emptiness that you couldn't fill.
You didn't even know what was going on between you and Sirius anymore, was it just a break? or was it the end?
You didn't want to believe it, you didn't want to think that your relationship would end because of a stupid fight.
It had only been a week since the fight and you could barely stand it, the guilt and the feelings invaded you, the thoughts overwhelmed you so much that you could hardly find the strength to get out of bed.
Sirius wasn't much better off than you, his pranking streak had stopped, not a single prank had happened since their fight, if you saw him with James he barely spoke, James couldn't find a way to get his attention, Sirius' mind was elsewhere.
As distressed as Sirius looked, he wasn't looking for you, and it was killing you, if he was hurting as much as you were why wasn't he trying to fix things? Sirius wondered the same thing about you.
By the weekend the news spread quickly that Gryffindor was having a party, Sirius wasn't thrilled at all.
Sirius, along with James and Remus, used to play at parties, sort of like a little band, it was just for fun, they would play covers of their favorite songs and every now and then a song they had written themselves.
But Sirius didn't have the heart to play, you were the one who always cheered him up, who was always in the crowd cheering him on and looking at him with those bright eyes, but if you weren't there what was the point?
James insisted for hours, telling him that he had to get out of the room and live a little, but Sirius couldn't find the strength to do it, he wanted to make things right with you, but he didn't even know where to start.
“Why don't you invite her to the party? It's your chance to fix things with her” James said, to which Sirius instantly scoffed, as if James had said something stupid.
“And you think she's going to agree to come after the way I talked to her? That's the stupidest idea I've ever heard” Sirius replied with annoyance, when it came to you he was totally defensive.
“I'm just trying to help you, you're not helping yourself you know” James replied more firmly, he was the only one who dared to put Sirius in his place when he acted like that. “I can tell Lily and have her bring her in, you take care of the rest” James offered, his face softening slightly, he knew Sirius was hurt, you were hurt too.
Sirius hesitated for a moment, his lips tightening as he thought, he knew he didn't have much of a choice and time was running out, so he ended up sighing slightly before nodding.
This was his last chance.
When Lily showed up at your door that night you knew you were screwed, you knew what she was coming for.
“I'm not going, it's not up for discussion” You said the moment Lily suggested you two go to the party.
You weren't in the mood to go to a party, especially when you knew Sirius would be playing there with his band, you didn't want to see him, your stomach turned at the thought of it.
“You can't stay in your room forever” Lily said with a small smile, sitting down next to you on the bed. “It would do you good to get out a bit, you always loved the gryffindor parties.”
“That was because Sirius was with me” You muttered under your breath, more as an affirmation to yourself, but Lily came to hear you.
“You could try to talk to him today, you know, try to fix things” Lily suggested, bringing her hand to yours and giving it a gentle squeeze.
You hesitated for a moment, before shaking your head slightly, sighing.
“I'm tired of being the one who fixes things, while Sirius acts like it's nothing, I seem to be the only one who cares about the relationship” You said, feeling your chest tighten.
Lily looked at you sympathetically, squeezing your hand lightly, she understood your frustration and couldn't blame you for feeling this way.
“I'm not asking you to go to the party for Sirius, let's go together, if you feel it's too much we'll come back here and pretend nothing has ever happened” Lily said softly, giving you a small smile “And only if you want you can talk to Sirius, I know you don't want to leave things like this, you've never been like this."
You felt your chest tighten, you knew that lily's words were true, you didn't like to stay like this, without an ending, you wanted to tell sirius how you felt, you wanted to understand what he felt, but you also knew that you were tired, you didn't want to keep trying.
“I…fine, I'll go” You answered quietly, you weren't going to fix things with sirius, you were going to talk things over with him, to tell him why you acted like that, to find out why he acted like that, you weren't going for your boyfriend back, you were going for your peace of mind, because you needed to know, you needed to be calm, you needed things to end well.
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The music and the smell of alcohol flooded the gryffindor common room, everyone seemed to be in their own world, laughing and dancing as if they didn't have any problems in life.
You on the other hand felt as if all your problems were in that common room, as if they were drowning you.
Lily's hand on yours were the only thing keeping you grounded, you could hear Marlene and Mary shout Lily's name and yours from across the room, trying to get your attention.
In a few moments you walked through the crowd of people, reaching the improvised bar where the girls were seated, both greeted you, Marlene ruffled your hair affectionately, saying how pretty you looked that night.
Marlene seemed to you to be the only one who didn't treat you with pity or shame, sure, you were grateful that they were considerate about your situation with Sirius, but they all treated you as if without Sirius you were no one else, as if you were going to die without him.
Deep down you felt that way, but you hated to think that others saw you that way, Marlene was the only one who treated you normally, who asked you about you and not about Sirius, you had no way to thank her.
You spent the rest of the night drinking and dancing to the music, you realized how much you missed spending time with your friends besides Sirius, this is how Sirius must have felt with James.
You didn't see Sirius all night, this only increased your anxiety, you wondered if maybe he wasn't well, for a moment you regretted going, you thought that while you were having fun Sirius must be having a bad time.
But at that moment you heard a guitar start to play, your gaze went to where the sound was coming from, the students had set up a small improvised stage, just a few microphones and some lights, on the stage was Sirius' band.
Sirius was wearing that black leather jacket he loved so much, the same one you had given him for his last birthday, you felt your heart stop for an instant, the world around you seemed to disappear.
Your gaze was fixed on Sirius, your feet moved instinctively, in a moment you were standing in front of the stage, still behind some people, not wanting to make your presence known yet.
Marlene stood next to you, as did Lily, both watching you expectantly, as if they expected you to collapse at that moment, but you didn't.
In that moment you didn't feel pain, you didn't feel like screaming or insulting him, instead, you felt like you were seeing a stranger, like you were seeing Sirius for the first time.
You felt like you were going back to the first day you saw Sirius, standing on that stage, with his shiny black hair, with those piercing eyes.
The rest of the people at the party were in their own world, going to a gryffindor party was like disconnecting from everything else, the atmosphere was pure freedom, the lights were blinding and the music flooded the place, but for you, the moment the band started playing, everything changed.
You couldn't recognize the melody instantly, which seemed strange to you, you knew by heart every song the band played, from covers to the band's own songs.
“I saw her in the rightest way.”
The first line was sung by Sirius, as usual, but something felt different, something about this song was special, somehow it made your heart stir without you knowing the reason.
Your gaze remained fixed on Sirius, each word made your heart beat faster, it felt like a declaration, but it was too unexpected to be real.
In your mind it didn't fit that Sirius could have written a song about you or for you, he had once mentioned it to you, but at this moment it felt too unreal.
“And then, she came up to my knees, Begging, baby, would you please? Do the things you said you'd do to me, to me.”
You could feel your heart beating too hard with each line, something in your heart stirred, as if your heart recognized that melody from another life.
For an instant Sirius' gaze lifted, and fell right on you, his eyes shined like never before, you felt your heart pounding in your chest, just like the first time.
“Oh, won't you kiss me on the mouth and love me like a sailor?”
That line Sirius sang right into your eyes, as if there was no one else in the room, as if he was talking to you and not singing in front of a crowd.
For a moment you felt all the annoyance, frustration and pain fade away slowly, with just one look you felt it all fade away, the way Sirius sang, the way he looked at you, it felt so sincere.
"I don't believe in God, but I believe that you're my savior"
You could swear there was nothing else in that room, Sirius's gaze was fixed on you like the first time, his eyes sparkling with every line he sang, those words stirred something in you.
“You are my savior” You could remember Sirius saying it over and over again, when you helped him with a math problem or when you comforted him after receiving a letter from his parents.
But this, it felt so much stronger.
The rest of the song passed slowly, which you were grateful for, it was as if the song pierced your heart, every single thing you had wished Sirius had said to you, there it was.
“We can go forever until you wanna sit it out.”
Your mind filled with memories, of all the time you had spent with Sirius, each memory making something in your heart stir, all the memories before the fight coming back to you, the endless hours in Sirius's room talking about nothing but understanding everything, those moments where with a single look you could tell each other everything, Sirius's voice seemed to echo in your heart, making you forget about everything else.
At this point Sirius' eyes were shining like never before, there was not only love, there was vulnerability, there was regret, there was sweetness, the song was so personal and yet so public, because everyone in that room knew that the song was about you and for you.
The moment the song ended you felt yourself letting out the air you didn't know you were holding, your heart was beating too hard and you could feel the tears stinging in your eyes, Sirius's look said more than a thousand words, deep inside you still wanted to run, to run away, but this, a song, was what made you stop, because you knew this was just a part of the recovery.
Sirius knew it too, because the moment the song ended he came down from the stage, crossing the crowd until he reached you.
Everyone expected a kiss, something dramatic Sirius style, but the moment Sirius had you in front of him he wrapped his arms around your body, pulling you to his chest and holding you as if he feared you would disappear, you knew this was much deeper than a kiss.
For a moment you stood still, nothing came out of your mouth, a single tear rolled down your cheek, Sirius was quick to wipe it away and leave a kiss in its place.
“You are not like them, you could never be, you are so much better, you are the best thing that ever happened to me, you are what makes me wake up every day, I don't want anyone else, I don't want you to change, I want you and only you.” Sirius murmured in your ear, still hugging you tightly, in just a few days he had discovered how much he missed your scent and holding you in his arms.
“I promise I will be better, for you and for me, because I want to be the best version of me, because I want you to have the real Sirius, the one who has loved you since the first time I saw you from the stage.” You felt something in your stomach flutter like the first time, everything around you faded away, there was nothing but you and Sirius.
“If you need space I'll be fine with that, I'll wait for you as long as it takes, I'll get better and let you have the best version of me, because that's what you deserve, I just don't want to lose you, not you, I want you to be the one I spend the rest of my days with.”
Sirius' voice was so sincere and vunerable, there was not a single doubt in his voice, in that moment you felt everything change, your relationship was not defined by your fights, nor by what others thought, much less by what others considered you, your relationship was you, the real you, those who were truly in love and who recognized their mistakes and knew how to get better together, those who were willing to try.
Your arms wrapped around Sirius' figure, your face going to his neck, your voice was barely a whisper, full of feeling and affection.
“I've always wanted you, I always knew it would be you.”
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Omggg, love writing this, I never write stories with the trope of second chances because being honest I don't give second chances but omg it's sirius so who cares, love writing this, hope you like it, xoxo
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nepenathe · 24 days ago
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Morbidity 
I spend a generous amount of time trying to convince myself that I am worthy of taking up space in a world that often feels haunted by the weight of its own fragility—a world where life and death coexist in an uneasy balance, and where the awareness of mortality looms like a shadow. Morbidity is not just the fascination with death; it is the inescapable reminder that everything—myself included—is fleeting, that the space I occupy today might vanish tomorrow.
In this space, morbidity is an uncomfortable companion. It whispers truths I try to ignore, truths about the impermanence of the world, of relationships, of my own existence. It is the quiet realization that the spaces we carve out for ourselves—our homes, our identities, our legacies—are as fragile as the lives we lead. This thought is neither comforting nor terrifying; it simply is.
There is a peculiar intimacy in morbidity, a closeness to the realities we are often too busy to confront. It invites me to question why I strive so hard to prove my worth when everything I achieve will one day crumble into dust. What is the purpose of taking up space in a world that is, at its core, bound by decay? Why wrestle with self-doubt when existence itself is inherently temporary?
And yet, morbidity is not just an abstract meditation on death. It is visceral. It is felt in the aching exhaustion of a body that reminds me of its limits, in the fleeting moments where I glimpse my own vulnerability. It is present in the news of a distant tragedy that ripples through my thoughts, or in the quiet grief that follows the loss of someone I loved but will never see again.
Morbidity has a way of reframing the everyday. The simplest acts—breathing, walking, speaking—suddenly feel monumental, each one defying the inevitable conclusion that lies ahead. This tension between life and its end is both unsettling and profound. It makes me hyper-aware of the fragility of my existence and the space I occupy, as though the very act of living is a rebellion against the void.
Yet, there is an odd beauty in this morbidity. It strips away the trivial and magnifies what matters. It forces me to confront the rawness of life and death, to see my place in the world not as a permanent fixture but as a brief, flickering presence. This realization, while heavy, carries a certain liberation. If life is transient, then so too are the doubts and fears that weigh me down. If space is fleeting, then I might as well take it unapologetically while I have the chance.
Morbidity does not ask me to fear the end; it asks me to respect it. It urges me to see the impermanence of my existence as a call to live fully, to embrace the fragility of life without being paralyzed by it. The inevitability of decay does not diminish the value of the present—it sharpens it, rendering each moment vivid, each breath sacred.
So, I continue to wrestle with these thoughts, convincing myself that I am worthy of the space I occupy, even in a world that will one day erase all traces of my being. Morbidity is not my enemy but my teacher, reminding me that the weight of existence is not in its permanence but in its fleeting, fragile beauty.
-By me
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moethewriter · 1 year ago
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Hunger games Renaissance is so real. Could you do a fic where finnick and r live by the water after the rebellion. Idk I'm just picturing a quiet life which they deserve !!!
Ask and you shall reciecve! I love how we are all going through a hunger games renaissance hah! This was slightly nervewracking to write! I've been out of the game so long! --- TITLE: And I shall give you, WORD COUNT: 1k PAIRING: Finnick Odair x Reader WARNINGS: NONE TAGS: Lot's of stupid fluff and introspection (in some ways) by the reader SUMMARY: A quiet life had always seemed impossible, until it wasn't A/N: So this isn't beta read and quite literally my FIRST fanfic in four or five years! A bit rusty but I hop eyou enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing Anon! I'm always open to constructive criticism on how to make my writing, and your reading experience better! Lot's of love, Moe ___ The first thing you noticed was the stillness.
The waves gave no sense of urgency, no rushing and rumbling to its next destination … just a subtle lull as they crashed ever so lightly against the rocks along the shoreline. It was oddly warm for an Autumn day, but you weren’t complaining. The warmth was something you cherished, and longed for.
The warmth brought laughter, and it brought many days laying in the sand as you spoke in hushed whispers, basking in the heat of the day. The warmth brought Finnick’s smile, that you so desperately loved, as he ran through the waves to cool himself, waving shells or sea glass or anything interesting he had found, gathered for your collections. 
It had been over a year since the rebellion and any moment spent with him was magical and everything you ever could have wanted. The quietness of your small home by the sea, the domesticity of your day to day life as you both grew and both allowed yourself to become okay with the stillness … Love had gotten you by, if there was one thing you could always count on it was being loved by the man with who had the biggest heart in the entire world.
“For you.” He had said, holding out a small crystal glass that shimmered in the sunlight, he doted on you day in and day out, though you insisted it had never been necessary.
But Finnick did not care, instead saying that you had all the time in the world to be spoiled, and he was more than willing to give it to you. In return you made sure he never wanted for anything, if he was willing to give you the moon, you were more than willing to return the stars. 
“Thank you.” You said, gratefully taking the glass of lemonade, and sipping it.
Things always seemed more gentle now, an odd thing after how you had both lived for so long. There had never been roughness between you, never a moment of doubt but the world you had been born into didn’t allow for moments like this to be had. But now … now  you were content and you were … happy. Happiness had been so foreign at first, allowing yourself to feel it more than you ever had before … the tiniest glimpses of it showing through your life. It had always seemed so impossible reaching it, but alas here it was … shimmering beneath the sunlight in District Four. 
You think in a way you had always known that happiness could be found with Finnick.
You think of the boy who had stood up for you all of those years ago, Finnick. The boy who had been through too many things far too young … Finnick. The boy who had become the Capitol Darling … Finnick. The boy who had always had your heart, and always would … Finnick.
But this Finnick … The Finnick who brushed your hair and made dinner. The man who built your house piece by piece on a vision you had both created together. Finnick who held you like you were the most beautiful treasure in all of Panem. 
This Finnick who is so at ease that a smile could come from seeing a bird fly over your home from the balcony, or when you simply said “I love you.”
This Finnick, your husband and the man who had never given up on you. 
He leaned in to kiss you softly, holding your face with a touch so light you could barely feel it. 
He felt so much lighter these days, so free and full of life like the boy you had once known. 
“Anything for you.” Finnick smiled back, a smile that could make your heart race a million times faster. He traced your jawline with the pad of his thumb, outlining every possible scar and mole that dotted your skin, and kissed your temple. “Always.”
“You flatter me, Mr. Odair.” You whispered, leaning into his touch. “Has anyone ever told you, you have a silver tongue.” You teased, a bright smile spreading across your face.
“Maybe once or twice.” He chuckled, pulling you into an embrace as you both hit the sand with a soft  ‘thud’, your body relaxed instantly against his despite the roughness of the sand below. “But no one’s ever been you.”
“No one’s ever been you either, Finn.” You tell him, leaning in to kiss his jaw, a small gesture and one of love.
Though everything seems to be filled with love these days, and you didn’t mind one bit. 
“Maybe soon we can start on the painting.” He whispered into your ear, fingers running through your hair, unknotting any tangles that had come from the sea water during your early morning swim. “After all … you are my muse.”
“I’d love that.” You said, softly, closing your eyes.
You held onto one another for what felt like hours, but you knew time had barely passed. The sound of the waves, the quiet chirping of birds in the distance calling to their brothers and sisters. The ocean breeze and sound of his voice sending shivers down your spine, as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear. The sun casting its light on both of you, bathing you in the beautiful rays of daylight. 
Moments like these were no longer few and far in between. The days you spent together, and the time you had to now truly be committed and fully loved would never stop. Even those days, the long terrible days that seemed to darken the doorstep of the new life you had built, were far easier to bare knowing that you had him, and he had you. The life that you had always wanted, no longer a simple dream of two teenagers sitting under the stars wishing and hoping that you would be free.
“A quiet life.” he had once told you, under that moon. “That’s what I want after all of this.” And now under the sun, it was the life you did lead.
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midnightkolrath · 1 year ago
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Time for another chapter of 'Leo analyzing DMC stuff' with something that woke me up at 4 AM to think about, as a sudden ponder point
So, the series has a running joke of impalement, namely with Dante being impaled by some sort of sword. Mostly his own sword, though. This little running gag comes full circle in DMC5, when Dante laments on why he was given Rebellion and decides to impale himself with the handle that then proceeds to combine with the Sparda sword to unlock his Sin Devil Trigger form.
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But thinking about this more, I realized that this sort of thing has been common, not just with Dante himself.
Though, I'm gonna start talking about his thing with DMC3 here.
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With the DMC5 screenshot I've included with Dante's dialogue, plus thinking back about that very moment in DMC3, we know Dante unlocked his devil trigger thanks to Vergil through impalement of his own sword. This is THE main moment we see of a form like devil trigger be unlocked this way.
But, funny enough, if we fast forward into DMC4...we get yet another moment where we have our protag be impaled and awoken to atleast a FORM of their devil trigger...with Nero.
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As a side tidbit, the details of this awakening are elaborated in the DMC4 novel, Deadly Fortune, where Nero recalls a dream he had after gaining his demonic arm, featuring a familiar voice (that we know is Vergil) that he remembers again as he went temporarily unconscious. (Though in the novel its implied he temporarily died before reviving...it states his 'heartbeat stopped', though the way its pictured in the game...who completely knows).
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This moment of remembrance is what triggers not only the first (incomplete) form of Nero's devil trigger, but the reconstruction of the Yamato. This is the second time the domino effect of being stabbed (or perhaps simply overwhelmed in Nero's case...though Agnus did rub the salt in similarly to Vergil against Dante...not with his own sword but with a sword-like object...maybe its a parallel) resulted in the awakening of a devil trigger, or a newfound power.
Now, if we do the fun thing and roll both forward and back, we'll see that Dante and Nero weren't the only ones that experienced a power awakening this way. Thanks to Visions of V, we get a short flashback of Vergil's childhood. This included the very moment there was the demon attack that killed Eva and separated the twins, sending them on their own paths.
A VERY significant moment we (tragically) get to see is a young Vergil getting attacked by these demons, while he's alone. Its horrifying, but also shares a similar theme though much more brutally.
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In fact, its similar to Nero's case, which involves impalement like Dante but grows into being overwhelmed to the point of helplessness. ALSO funny enough, its this bit of helplessness, of feeling that power is NEEDED to get themselves out of the situation they're in to survive for one way or another...that Yamato comes right to their side. When its needed most.
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This is, for Vergil, an awakening to what would become his path to gain power at any cost, to never have to feel this helplessness again while also being haunted about the lack of strength he had to protect his mother.
Its interesting that this moment mirrors Nero's claim to yamato in DMC4, with even the desire and call for more power led to Yamato returning to its restored form and going to Nero's side. Like father, like son.
My original point, though, was how a funny ironic running joke of being impaled one way or another in this series apparently leads to awakening of power or resolve for the Sparda clan. This series has many running themes if you look for them, but this is one I've noticed lately. I wonder if Sparda himself went through something like this in his time (heh).
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mackerel08 · 9 months ago
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its very interesting how lukas the only alnst character without a song(at the moment) and the fact that the alnst team say that outside of the competition, luka is simply used as a puppet by his owner.
This means that the only time luka can exercise his power over other people is in the competition.... (cont in read more)
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Luka's a very ethereal and mysterious character and the fact that he's placed above the rest of the cast doesn't help with the immediate hate the audience has from him because of his antagonistic behavior towards mizi in round 5, literally using her trauma against her like some dirty trick.
And the fact that he isn't elaborated much and thus doesn't make the audience sympathetic to him in the series except for some flashbacks hyuna has in all-in . Its not that Luka's a boring and terrible for no reason. He is an incredibly complex character if you look deeper into his actions.
You can see that he has an incredibly strong will to live, being a returning champion from the last alien stage series coming back to continue his winning streak. you can see this especially during round 5. He is an incredibly receptive person doing everything to show his power over mizi, subtly messing with her by imitating sua and using every dirty trick to get her to crack while not breaking any rules of the competition. In this, we can see immediately why he won all the rounds by a landslide, making his competitors feel his immense aura.
Another interpretation I have for this is that Luka's trying to remind mizi of her place. In 'my clemantis' sua and mizi's duet was a first in the whole 59 seasons of the show. Luka probably knew that both of them were trying to game the system and win together, and is trying to come across to mizi that she cannot win against the aliens.
But the most striking thing(pun intended) in the MV is that mizi fights back! She tips the scales of their power imbalance as she literally beats him up, multiple times mind you, in defiance to him and by extension, alienkind by publically fighting the most beloved human pet. Which is then supported by the fact that she was rescued by hyuna, the de-facto leader of the human resistance and Luka's fellow anakt garden alumni(lol)
Continuing with hyuna's relationship with luka, Unlike his his quiet indifference to the system, used as a tool for the aliens to perpetuate their power over humanity. Hyuna fights back against alien supremacy, invading alien settlements and forming a rebellion to liberate humanity from their status as pets.
Most importantly, luka haunts hyuna in the story. Flashbacks litter the mv, of him killing her younger brother, trying to kiss her (etc...), even though he's not there in the MV physically, You can still see how he is as a character by how he still holds a sort of subconscious grip on hyuna, one of the strongest characters in alien stage, his face looking over her as she breaks Mizi out from the alien stage facilities.
In conclusion, What luka doesn't have in lore (yet) he makes up for it by having the most aura in the series. I am (VERY) exited for what till and his' will round look like considering what he did to mizi and her disappearance following their round together
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inquisimer · 6 months ago
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the answer will be an echo
Day 4 of @tranquilweek! As Cadash & Avexis investigate Redcliffe Village, they learn what became of the other Tranquil.
read it on ao3 here!
Avexis & Female Cadash | Rated T | 1139 words | CW: implied/referenced abuse, chantry critical
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Cadash liked picking locks. It made Avexis wonder, as they waited outside the dilapidated shack in Redcliffe, if that was why the dwarf was always carting her places. She was a puzzle, an oddity—she wondered if Cadash simply saw her as a lock that could only be picked over time.
Well, she mused, thumbing the hilt of her dagger, hopefully she figures something out.
Being in Redcliffe made her itch. There were mages everywhere and odd magic on top of the rifts. It set her teeth on edge. The whole place was a disaster waiting to happen. Or maybe it had already happened. It was hard to say.
Their fear was as palpable to Avexis as her own. It hung in the air like a dense fog, coating her throat when she breathed and sitting on her skin like a cold, sticky sweat. Fear of the Templars, fear of the Breach, fear of the Tevinters and what their presence spelled for the mage rebellion.
Cadash grunted and the door clicked open, creaking ominously. Within, the cabin’s dirt floor was dappled with sunlight through the rotting roof.
“Why was it even locked?” Varric huffed.
They found out soon enough. Over a dozen skulls watched them from makeshift shelves, their empty eye sockets gleaming with Fade-touched crystals. Pointed stumps with odd runes etched into their ends were stacked against the wall and tipped over on the floor. When Avexis brushed her fingers across the runes, they flared a bright green.
For the briefest moment, she saw a face—square jaw, blank, gray eyes, freckles that sprayed up to the sunburst brand that marred his brow. Before she could dig up a name, or even where she knew him from, the vision was gone; the part of her mind that she knew was Cole slipped between her and the magic and whatever it meant.
And that meant only one thing. “Something's not right,” she murmured, skittering back a few steps. Cole was matching her rising panic with soothing comfort, but it was a cycle—the more he soothed her, the more she feared what, exactly, she needed soothing for.
She flinched at the too-loud crunch of parchment in Cadash’s fist. “That is fucked,” the dwarf hissed.
“I had noticed their disappearance, but imagined nothing like this.” Avexis could hear Cassandra’s scowl and that defensive mix of guilt and shame that the Seeker usually directed at her. A horrible realization was coming to her, sinking in her mind like boots in cold swamp mud. As if in a trance, she paced back to the shelf of skulls.
Varric coughed pointedly; she could feel his gaze boring into her. “Maybe we shouldn’t—“ he began loudly.
“It’s them, isn’t it?” she whispered. One hand cupped the smooth arch of a skull, thumb tracing the sharp edge of the dormant crystal. “We found the Tranquil.”
No one answered, not that it mattered. Their silence was all the confirmation she needed.
“Avexis—“
“Don’t,” she choked. Before she’d even taken a breath, her eyes glossed over with tears. She made no move to stem their tide. Her grief fell in heavy drops, each one sending poofs of dust up where it landed on the earthen floor.
Her other hand clasped the same skull and she stared into its empty sockets as though she could divine their identity that way. Who were you? she thought desperately. Did I know you? Is anyone missing you?
Of course not. No one missed the Tranquil. That was how this had happened; how the evidence of it existed right under the noses of the mage rebellion, and yet no one cared enough to know, or even ask.
Avexis trembled, an inappropriate laugh bubbling from her lips as anger ripped through her like an earthquake.
That should be me. Then, out loud: “I shouldn’t have— that should be me, too.”
“No.” Cassandra’s voice was closer than she’d expected and Avexis flinched. Her gloved hands caught the skull where Avexis’ grip left it bare and she slid it gently out of the mage’s grasp. Setting it back on the shelf, the Seeker put herself directly in front of Avexis instead.
“It should not have been you, and it should not have been them either.”
“Why don’t we mean anything to anyone?”Avexis whispered. She clenched her fists. “Why doesn’t anyone care?”
“Hey, we care.” That was Varric, and Cadash, coming closer as well but—thankfully—leaving the path to the door wide open. “We’re here, we see you. We care.”
“You see me,” she repeated, shaking her head. “As I am now. Would you still see me if I remained Tranquil? Would you have noticed that I was gone? Because apparently no one—” she gestured angrily to the shelves “—noticed them.”
Cadash caught Avexis’ fist in her roughened palm. “Hey. You’re right.”
“I—what?”
“You’re right,” Cadash said again. “The Circles used the Tranquil because they were conveniently controlled. Because the comfort of those in power was more important than those lives. Because they could.”
Her voice was steady and grounding. Though Avexis' sorrow remained heavy, the tension wound in her relaxed. She pressed her palm flat against Cadash’s and curled her fingers down over the dwarf’s blunted nails. As she searched her eyes for answers and assurances, the filtered sunlight shifted and caught the casteless brand burned into her cheek.
“But the Circles are gone,” Cadash said firmly. At her back, Cassandra scowled, but wisely bit her tongue. “We’re not putting them back unless we’re sure they can do better. For the mages, the Templars, and the Tranquil.”
Avexis exhaled slowly. She knew that was what Cadash thought, but it was good to hear her say it anyway. And yet—
“They’re still gone, though,” she whispered, nudging her chin toward the shelf of skulls. “They still died like that. Were murdered like that. It’s not something we can fix.”
“They were. And it’s not.”
“That hurts,” Avexis whimpered. She ground her teeth together. “It hurts, and I want it to stop hurting. How do I make it stop if I can’t fix it?”
“Sometimes, you can’t.” It was Varric who answered, but Cadash nodded. “Sometimes you just have to sit with it. It might never go away, but you’ll go on. And eventually, you’ll grow around it, instead.”
“That bloody sucks.”
Cadash snorted. “Yeah. It does.”
“Can we…” Swiping at her eyes, Avexis took a shaky breath. “I don’t want to leave them here. Not like this.”
“There is a Sister up the hill—“
“No.” Cadash cut Cassandra off. “We have time, and they deserve better than the Chantry’s biases. We’ll take care of them ourselves.”
Relief flooded Avexis where she hadn’t realized she’d grown tense. “Thank you,” she murmured, ducking her head. Cadash laced their fingers together and squeezed.
“Let’s go.”
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flowerfluid · 1 year ago
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When I think about political art, I think about Guernica, Spain. I still remember studying Picasso's Guernica in school.
Our art teacher-- kind of a demon woman, but for this one unit and this one unit alone, I respected her-- showed us Guernica. We turned to the relevant pages in our hardcover art history books, and we studied the image ourselves, and we read. It's been too long already for me to remember if we took turns reading aloud, or simply followed along while she did; but I remember something about the screaming horse's tongue. I remember it was described as a dagger, or dagger-like. It struck me immediately, though I'm not entirely sure why.
I was supposed to be reading more, learning about the Spanish Civil War and how it was the true beginning of WWII, about how Guernica was seen as a cultural symbol for all of Basque and attacked for supposedly being a bastion of the resistance, about the role Hitler and Nazi Germany played in the Spanish Civil War and about how Picasso unveiled the painting directly in front of the people responsible. About how many times it has been censored and covered up and attempted to be buried, and about how it instead became the world's most famous piece of anti-war art.
(Did you know a tapestry of it exists in the UN headquarters? In 2003, it was covered up as to be invisible in the background of press conferences regarding the Iraq war. If it hadn't been, the screaming, contorted figures of Guernica would have been behind the faces of the men arguing in favour of war on Iraq.)
Instead, enraptured, I pored over this miniature version of a mural named for a town I had never heard of. The horse with its dagger tongue, the ceiling lamp surveying like an eye. Those are the parts I remember most clearly. I remember feeling stunned, and a little ashamed; I had, previously, in my teenage rebellion against the popular and the mainstream (and against my teacher), written Picasso off as a pretentious hack. While his art usually doesn't personally speak to me much, I regret holding this opinion, and it shattered the minute I saw Guernica. The more I looked at it, the more disturbed I became.
Then we were told to close the books and look up at the projector display. We did, and were greeted by the grainy, sepia footage of tanks rolling through Tiananmen Square.
We were silent. We were usually a very talkative class; in that moment, you could have heard a pin drop. We watched him calmly walk in front of the tank. We watched the tank approach until it could've touched him; we watched it slow to a stop. I think I remember hearing someone exhale.
I don't quite recall all my teacher said on it; aside from a general historical context, all I remember is that any discussion or expression of the massacre-- particularly artistic-- was strictly prohibited in China. Her decision to show it to us, immediately after we'd just processed Guernica, is something I genuinely respect to this day.
We studied a few Chinese artists-- all of whom were activists, many of whom were performance artists. We turned our attention between Guernica and Tiananmen, between Pablo Picasso and Ai Weiwei. The similarities were striking. They were haunting.
This unit struck the deepest chord with me. Poring over Picasso's Guernica and reading about his grief and desperation to finish the painting (it took 35 days); watching a man stand in front of a tank and reading about the artists who risked their lives express their pain; as nothing else in my life has, these things hammered into the importance of artistic expression. The rawest and most honest of art comes from sheer, desperate passion; and usually, activism. Art about your world pours itself out of you with unimaginable urgency, a burning feeling that cannot possibly be ignored. Stifling, or even just putting off the need to express and create feels like suffocating.
(It's indescribable. Though I've just tried, even what I've said doesn't fully encompass the wave of emotion that is needing so desperately to do something about what you're seeing and feeling and thinking you feel like you'll explode.)
So we studied Guernica, and we each chose a piece of it to replicate as a cardboard sculpture. Despite having it as an elective, I was not an overly skilled artist, and though the horse is what caught me, I chose something simpler; the detached, ghostly head, hair trailing behind it, a look of confusion and horror on its face. She (my sculpture, I decided, would be a woman) would hang suspended inside a cardboard box, at once emerging and trapped. I remember my classmate silently drawing, with surgical perfection, the warped tears of the wailing mother's face.
Much of Guernica is metaphorical. To analyse it piece by piece, section by section is one thing; but to understand it you only need look at it as one image, one agonising cacophony of grief and chaos. Mangled shapes and illogical bodies, warped faces and overlapping lines. Guernica is a piece you feel more than visually understand. It is not meant to be seen coherently. It is not meant to be intellectually dissected. You see it, the twisted limbs and frantic linework, and you understand. To look closely is to see the heartbreaking, individual suffering, devoid of metaphor; the gored horse, the broken sword, the dismembered soldier; the wailing mother, holding her murdered child, who to this day I feel like I can hear. To look altogether is to see an atrocity.
I researched more about Guernica and Tiananmen myself. About the artistic protests that swept through China in the wake of the massacre, and the persecutions that followed. About the experimental bombs and incalculable death toll, because too many bodies were blown apart. About the waves of students peacefully standing in front of tanks and being gunned down. About the Nazi official seeing Guernica and asking, Did you do this? , and Picasso's simple reply of No, you did.
To say I love Guernica isn't accurate. How can anyone love something so violent? But it was the first piece of art that truly and deeply disturbed me, and therefore truly and deeply resonated with me. It holds a place in my heart quite unlike anything else I've experienced. Every part of it made me want to look away, shove it in the back of my psyche, forget what I'd seen. To a degree, I did; it was only recently I was reminded of the piece, in seeing Guernica's indescribably powerful, public display in support of Gaza, Palestine (audio warning). It brought everything flooding back, including that I wanted, in retrospect, to hate that painting. I wanted to hate it for the sheer volume and severity of everything it made me feel. I could not possibly bring myself to.
Today, Guernica and Tiananmen Square are forever linked in my memory. Regardless of my teacher's intentions, I cannot help thinking of one without the other. It makes me think of censorship, of how similarly the two events were received in the art world; and now, in 2023, it calls notice to how similar both are to the ongoing attempted genocide of Palestine and horrific assault on Gaza. I was already a self-described anarchist punk, and staunchly anti-war, but Guernica and the Tiananmen footage still managed to radicalise me in a way not much else has.
On my main blog, in the tags of the video I linked earlier, I said this: "Guernica and its history gives me much hope for Gaza, odd as that may sound. Guernica survived and restored her heart; so too will Gaza."
My point, overall, is this; to every artist right now, who feels like they aren't doing "enough": keep creating. Fuel that burning fire in your chest, and keep your chin up. Your work and your activism matters. You are raising awareness, you are forcing this into the public eye, and you are documenting what is already being suppressed and censored and lied about. You are changing the world and restoring the narrative, one piece at a time. The importance of what you do cannot be overstated. We are part of a terrifying future history, and your work is instrumental in maintaining the truth of it.
Don't lose hope.
Free Palestine.
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arthur-lesters-balls · 1 year ago
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Been seeing talk about Orpheus and Eurydice and thinking about satosugu being like a dark version or subversion of them. Like Kenjaku forcefully bringing geto back from the dead to force gojo to look back and have a moment of weakness, of hope, even despite his better judgement and dooming him in an even more tragic way than how Orpheus was doomed (because at least it was their choice). Idk...but I feel like there could be something in thinking about the parallels and also the differences.
hello, sorry for taking so long to answer but i was kind of busy and i wanted sooo bad to sit and think properly about this wonderful concept before saying anything. (BTW THANKS FOR THIS ASK IT RUINED MY LIFE)
to get started i have to talk briefly about orpheus and establish my point of view on his act of looking back. this scene is, in some interpretations, about a lack of trust or defiance of hades' orders. i am, however, much fonder of the more popular interpretations (and the same as yours) about how he looks back not in rebellion, but in wistfulness. so thats the route im taking here. this is ironic, because even though stsg is in my brain 24/7 i've never put gojo and orpheus together, and i feel particularly dumb because whats gojo's story besides him keeping looking back again and again even though he knows he's not supposed to?
"[eurydice] now, who must die a second death / did not find fault with [orpheus], for what indeed / could he be faulted for, but his constancy?"
when it comes to the differences between those stories, what i like the most is the details of what they had to lose and gain, and how many chances they got to do so because, as you said, gojo's dooming is even more tragic than orpheus'. orpheus reward for obeying this rule was gaining eurydice back. when he looks back too soon (in most of the tellings by mistake), it's because he considers that moment the greeting of their new start, a greeting he simply couldnt wait to have in front of him. im most definitely sure that, if given another chance, orpheus wouldnt make the same error. whilst gojo, by not looking at geto, doesnt have anything to win, he only has something to avoid losing. his choice of glancing back whenever geto is there doesnt have any other meaning behind it, its just looking at him for the sake of remembering what he is grieving for. and not only that, but gojo has multiple chances to stop doing so, but he doesnt. he never goes forward. geto dies his premature death when gojo lets him go in shinjuku. then he dies the second time in jjk0, hearing something so kind that he has to ask to be cursed, he has to ask gojo to stop looking back. and now he's "back" again, to his third death, because kenjaku knew gojo would still look back. because gojo's worst fault (when it comes to geto) is his constancy. and this connects to the last point, which is the possibility of kenjaku using this against him again. my opinion is that, if gege plans to keep the coherence of gojo's arc, you're totally right and that'll surely be part of his ending. yes, the main point of his fight with sukuna (from a plot relevance perspective) is obviously weakening him before he fights kenjaku. but this, to me, is much more about laying the groundwork for a heavy and final fight, than to actually being the reason why it'll be special. gojo is a man equivalent to a deity, whose only real weakness is his heart, so if he gotta lose, it'll be through that. it'll be because no matter what he has to give up, he cant keep his eyes from going back to geto. and thats not only if he is to lose, obviously. if gojo survives, he needs closure. we need to see him freeing himself from the mourning of his lost days and make the conscious choice of keeping his head forward.
also, this is just an obs but i really hope we get to see geto at least once again, so we can have his perspective on this whole situation. as much as gojo is similar to orpheus, i can see geto being similar to eurydice. while i do think he will be furious at gojo for being captured because of him (we already saw how he thinks gojo should hate him by now), i cant help but also see him being quite understanding. in jjk0 geto gets to hear gojo expressing how important the days they were together were for him, so his view of that has changed a little now. what could geto say about gojo, but that too well he loved?
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ckret2 · 2 years ago
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Ive only read one fic that dives deeply into bill being from flatland (flat dreams, though its popular enough, you probably heard about it from someone). And while i love it, im realy intrigued by your ideas cause its taking things in a widly opposite direction
Not only have I heard about it—multiple times!—I've also already had a couple of folks comment on my posts in a way that makes it clear they're assuming my headcanons are inspired by/based on Flat Dreams, rather than simply based on Flatland.
This is the first time someone's said they're intrigued because it's different from Flat Dreams. I feel like there's probably gonna be a lot of people measuring up my headcanons against the other fic they all know and there's not much I can do about that, so I appreciate hearing something positive!
At the moment I haven't read past chapter 2—through absolutely no fault of the author's own, it's pretty irritating to have credit for one's own writing & ideas be given to somebody else who had nothing to do with it, and it's put me off from reading the fic for now—but I have gone out of my way to get as thoroughly spoiled for the fic as I can just to make sure I'm not, y'know, accidentally retreading the exact same plot as the most well-known backstory fic in the fandom.
And yeah, by the sound of it, I just decided to veer off in a completely different direction from Flat Dreams right from the outset.
Between Bill's monologue during Weirdmageddon and "EDWIN ABBOT ABBOT HAS A DECENT IDEA" it makes perfectly logical sense to go "Flatland exactly as it is can be treated as 100% canon to Gravity Falls -> Bill is an extremely weird guy from an extremely repressive & controlling world -> Bill was trying to undo his society's oppression, went way too far, and became the villain," and get a narratively compelling backstory that fits perfectly with canon and does exactly what everyone kinda expects Bill to have done based on what we know.
However, it also happens to be a narrative that personally rubs me the wrong way. I don't think it's bad, and I still enjoy stories that use it—but it bothers me enough that I don't want to write it myself.
Conversational detour time! I've been in Transformers fandom for about 20 years, and—to oversimplify a complicated and protracted series of narrative reboots—over time, the writers of the franchise decided to give the evil villainous Decepticon army more narrative depth by stating that their home planet used to be extremely corrupt, oppressive, and controlling (you can safely compare it to 1984, Flatland, and a whole bevy of other dystopias), and the Decepticons rose up as a rebellion against the oppressive government—but then went too far, turned evil, devastated their planet, started conquering and slaughtering the rest of the galaxy, etc. etc.
The problem with this is the Decepticons are the antagonists' faction, which means the heroes are usually the surviving legacy of the corrupt oppressive government—and so for a long while you got stories with unintentional implications like "are the oppressive government and the underprivileged minorities fighting back against the government actually equally bad?" or "maybe if we let the most painfully oppressed people in society exercise any political power, their first instinct will be to oppress other people" or "sure, cops are bad and nobody wants a police state, but maybe the best solution is to find the nicest cops and put them in charge."
I say this as somebody who loves Transformers dearly, and Transformers does take some stabs at grappling with these moral issues. I don't even necessarily think it's always a bad idea to write a "faction fighting for a Good Cause goes too far and becomes worse than the thing they're fighting" story.
But several years of grimacing at the same bunch of Unfortunate Implications made me personally lean away from writing any story ideas that could be summed up as "—and attempting to fight systematic oppression made him evil."
So right from the get-go I was always going to avoid the most straightforward "Bill became a villain over the course of fighting Flatland's oppression" backstory—and trying to come up with something entirely different that still fits his claim that he "liberated" his "flat-minded" world pretty much guaranteed I wouldn't write a backstory that had much in common with Flat Dreams.
And from everything else I currently know about Flat Dreams, it seems like on most big plot points, I just sorta decided before I knew anything about the fic besides "it's Bill in Flatland" that I would do something different. "Bill gives me hella only child vibes, and that might make a good contrast to how the main cast all have siblings to help emotionally balance them." "I think I'd rather characterize his home world as less like a dystopian Victorian England and more like vaguely-modern vaguely-Western society—something that's easier for the audience see echoes of our world in than a satire a century removed from its context." "Bill doesn't strike me as someone who's good at making or maintaining friends, so with the possible exception of the Flatlander-looking guys I bet his Henchmaniacs are an ever-shifting gang of shallow brief friendships, so he's probably only known most of them a few years." "In the main fic and in Bill's backstory, as much as possible I want to introduce and play with new ideas rather than have major plot points depend upon plot devices we've already seen used in canon (for instance, ruling out Globnar as the source of Bill's power)."
I dunno what this says, except that two writers can take the exact same source materials and decide to construct a narrative with the exact same overall arc about the exact same character guided by the exact same canon quotes/details, and still come up with two wildly different stories depending upon the writers' individual tastes, priorities, and interests.
so uh tl;dr: yep I've heard of Flat Dreams; I respect its position in the fandom but haven't read it yet; based on what I know about it, I think I'm just interested in telling another story than Flat Dreams' author, and that's neither better nor worse but it is different. (And I really appreciate hearing "I'm interested in seeing something different"!)
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emotionalcontaigion · 24 days ago
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Morbidity 
I spend a generous amount of time trying to convince myself that I am worthy of taking up space in a world that often feels haunted by the weight of its own fragility—a world where life and death coexist in an uneasy balance, and where the awareness of mortality looms like a shadow. Morbidity is not just the fascination with death; it is the inescapable reminder that everything—myself included—is fleeting, that the space I occupy today might vanish tomorrow.
In this space, morbidity is an uncomfortable companion. It whispers truths I try to ignore, truths about the impermanence of the world, of relationships, of my own existence. It is the quiet realization that the spaces we carve out for ourselves—our homes, our identities, our legacies—are as fragile as the lives we lead. This thought is neither comforting nor terrifying; it simply is.
There is a peculiar intimacy in morbidity, a closeness to the realities we are often too busy to confront. It invites me to question why I strive so hard to prove my worth when everything I achieve will one day crumble into dust. What is the purpose of taking up space in a world that is, at its core, bound by decay? Why wrestle with self-doubt when existence itself is inherently temporary?
And yet, morbidity is not just an abstract meditation on death. It is visceral. It is felt in the aching exhaustion of a body that reminds me of its limits, in the fleeting moments where I glimpse my own vulnerability. It is present in the news of a distant tragedy that ripples through my thoughts, or in the quiet grief that follows the loss of someone I loved but will never see again.
Morbidity has a way of reframing the everyday. The simplest acts—breathing, walking, speaking—suddenly feel monumental, each one defying the inevitable conclusion that lies ahead. This tension between life and its end is both unsettling and profound. It makes me hyper-aware of the fragility of my existence and the space I occupy, as though the very act of living is a rebellion against the void.
Yet, there is an odd beauty in this morbidity. It strips away the trivial and magnifies what matters. It forces me to confront the rawness of life and death, to see my place in the world not as a permanent fixture but as a brief, flickering presence. This realization, while heavy, carries a certain liberation. If life is transient, then so too are the doubts and fears that weigh me down. If space is fleeting, then I might as well take it unapologetically while I have the chance.
Morbidity does not ask me to fear the end; it asks me to respect it. It urges me to see the impermanence of my existence as a call to live fully, to embrace the fragility of life without being paralyzed by it. The inevitability of decay does not diminish the value of the present—it sharpens it, rendering each moment vivid, each breath sacred.
So, I continue to wrestle with these thoughts, convincing myself that I am worthy of the space I occupy, even in a world that will one day erase all traces of my being. Morbidity is not my enemy but my teacher, reminding me that the weight of existence is not in its permanence but in its fleeting, fragile beauty.
-By me
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So I took these screenshots from a video about people gettin' BIG MAD over the Hot Topic Announcement TM instead of trying something useful and boycotting Harry Potter HT Merch cuz uh, it's so funny to me?
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Um, it lewk liek............ Moar Scene Stuff TM iz on da wai u poor wittle meowmeow? :o
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Are the coon tails, black on blonde streaks, Ghoulia Yelps Style Glasses, heavy black eyeliner, black lipstick, choker, black and red cardigan with hamburger pattern, and the way this bitch types on patreon and twitter not enough for you or what? Do you want some Cotton Candy? Do you need more Giant Sparkle Wolves with Rainbows in their vaginas rn?
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Because I think we have Plenty of those...
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And oh, the one from the (fellow) MCR Fan here is SENDING ME... (Also teehee why weren't u "done" when they started selling Harry Potteh merch, lurv? But also like????)
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Like? HELLO?????
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Is someone just super angy that our boy used to look like a Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge Era Gerard Way Ripoff just as Charlie used to look like a GDT Hellboy Ripoff before Viv actually got good at her job or what?
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And here's the sugar on the cream though... (and oh, how fitting, My Lord ...):
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LIKE, RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW BABY!!!! :D
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Now, can all the whiny weeby poser loser babies hot topic vulture or otherwise please stop making simply supporting vivziepop feel like some small counter cultural act of punk freak rebellion against all the hatred and bullying? 💀🩸 Because I know it technically shouldn't feel this way, but its really starting to, especially since all this time we've had to make all our own fan merch if we wanted anything good besides a T-Shirt and now we have names like Kesha Rose and John Waters starring in Viv's indie project that you can watch entirely for free on YouTube! 💖🌈🦩🪡
Again, if you hate Hot Topic so much now that Hazbin merch will be sold there, where was that threat to "never shop there again" when Harry Potter merch started being sold there? And again, instead complaining like a Caroline Carr, why don't you do something actually useful and go burn down every Hot Topic you can find selling Harry Potter and Fnaf Merch before any officially licensed A24 Hazbin Hotel Merch has to be forced to share the same space as those franchises? Because that's the only thing that's Truly Cringe about this announcement! 💀🩸🔪
Oh, and speaking of announcements, happy four seasons my little demons I don't wanna spread misinfo but the reason why the playbill is taking so long is probably because they're working out the details of Lady Gaga's contract since Lilith is like the the second character introduced and she probably needs her voice credit in advance! 😈🎶🗝️💒🥂🖤 X.O
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blondiehasthoughts · 8 months ago
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She Likes Girls
Check out more at www.blondihasthoughts.com
Writing usually comes easily to me, but for some reason, I can't get anything to come out the way I want it to. 
So here I am, 11 pm on a Monday (it's now late in the evening of Saturday as I'm posting this), desperately trying to reword this blog post, hoping it will turn into the masterpiece I know it can be, that it deserves to be. And it's not that I'm have writer's block that is causing all this hemming and hawing (though I have been in a slump); no, I've written this blog five times over the course of four weeks; it's the fact that I don't know where to start and where to end when it comes to writing this.
There is so much I could talk about, so many stories I could tell, lessons that I learned; all that deserves to be shared because they are the foundation of what I've come to know to be true and to leave one bit out feels like I'm telling a lie, or doing a disservice to others because, without one, the others wouldn't have made sense, and therefore would've never mattered. But it would also be disrespectful to try and cram everything into one piece of writing, so here we are: my dilemma.
This isn't the first time I've attempted to write about being a lesbian; I wrote a piece back in December, and though vague and confusing (it was confusing to read; I was confused writing it), it served its purpose for me; a way of coming to terms with who I am.
But it's time to put the vague and confusing part of my life behind me, and it's time to actually write about what it means to be a lesbian, at least for me. I want to explain myself, and I want it to make sense, and I want it to do the journey justice, for those in my life who have watched me go through it and those going through something similar that might one day stumble upon this blog. 
So, it's never been simply: do I like girls? For me, it was easy to acknowledge that I liked them, but it wasn't easy for me to understand why so that I could, in the end, actually accept my attraction to them. But using words like acknowledge and accept makes this all sound so much simpler than it actually was and is; instead, words like deciphering, navigating, and maybe even deprogramming might be better; deciphering what attraction is, navigating the way society conditions everyone, deprogramming from compulsory heterosexuality. 
It's times like these that I wish I were the type of person who could simply throw some buzzwords around and tell a cute little story about my first-ever girlfriend, but I can't because it feels wrong; it feels wrong because it excludes all the hard work; blood, sweat, and tears, I and those before me put in so that I could have the ability to be out as a lesbian; because if it weren't for the fact that I live in the 21st century, with all of my gadgets and research, I would have never known I was one (even with lesbian parents).
So here we are, me driving myself insane for the sake of art with no better reason except that I want, even might go as far as to say need, to write this, because coming to terms with being a lesbian has saved me, saved me from an unfulfilling life, from the toxic habits that plagued me while hiding from my attraction, and from hating myself. Being a lesbian is more than just a sexuality; it's a rebellion, an act of radical acceptance; and it's connected to so much more than just being gay.
Even if you don't identify with the idea of rebellion, you can't deny the history and sacrifice that has crafted the term lesbian (and I'm not speaking strictly about Sapphos.) Being a lesbian means rebelling against the norms of society, a label that breaks patriarchal norms, one of survival and resilience. And it took all those things for me to come to terms with identifying as one (The way God intended! *Sarcasm*).
Everyone knew I was a lesbian; that was part of the reason I denied it for so long. And while everyone knew, it wasn't everyone knowing that stopped me from accepting it; it was actually only one person who interfered. I didn't care if my parents knew, or my sister, or even my semi-bigoted neighbor down the hall; I did care if the person who tormented me for two years knew they were right; that's why the memory of me sitting in my abuser's apartment, having them tell me they only saw me marrying a woman, played in my head every time I got close to finally admitting I was a lesbian. 
It was a conversation that came up frequently: attraction, a taboo topic for me, one that left me feeling vulnerable and out of control, two things I had learned to prevent from happening in the early stages of my life, two things my abuser constantly forced me into. 
Even back then, while disconnected from myself, living in a constant state of fight or flight, something in me knew they were right, or else I wouldn't have fought so hard to prove them wrong. It wasn't the fact that I didn't want to be gay that caused me to push back; it was that I couldn't let them be right because their being right about me being a lesbian meant they could be right about anything or, worse, everything, and nothing they said could be true, simply for my peace of mind.
Coming to terms with my sexuality was like a ship on the horizon, an end to a very long-suffering, one that started in childhood. I was only able to admit it to myself years after escaping my abuser's torment and after a shit ton of therapy breaking down my childhood. Admitting I was a lesbian was like removing the chains that left my existence burdened and heavy, the key being my acceptance of what had happened to me, allowing me to gradually take back my power.
But I knew I was attracted to girls before I ever met my abuser; I just locked it away and suffocated it because attraction meant getting hurt, attraction meant being vulnerable, losing control, and I was so afraid of being vulnerable, not having control; but locking it away didn't stop my fears from happening; as I would later come to find out, it would just make everything worst. 
A constant theme in my life that played a huge part in my sexuality is needing to prove myself (hence the not knowing where to begin this blog and end it, over-explaining); prove that I am worthy, prove that I am strong and capable. 
So much of being a "woman" in a patriarchal (sorry, buzzword) society is having to prove yourself; it's why I sought out male validation for so long, why I suppressed my feelings and my emotions, so I could prove to the world that I was acceptable, that I was worthy because that's what society teaches us to do, something that has been ingrained in most women, past down as a curse from mother to daughter, even lesbian mothers and daughters, because women are nothing more than resources to the men of this world.(More sarcasm, kinda.)
I saw women as pretty and wanted to kiss them and sleep with them, but I thought that everyone felt that way because what was not a woman's purpose if not to be pretty and sexualized? I didn't understand what my feelings for girls meant; I just thought that I wanted to be them because I wanted to be a cool girl with cool friends and a cool boyfriend.
And then there's the topic of how women are deeply conditioned to view and use attraction for power and control. I wanted to fit in, have friends, and be deemed successful; you know, who doesn't get any of those things? Gay girls in the south, pre-TikTok.
I've always been good at observing, picking up on patterns, and adapting, and it was made very clear to me that in order to fit in, I had to adhere to a set of social markers, so I did. I wore a Vineyard Vine shirt because the pretty girl with the long blonde hair did; I bought a Vera Bradley backpack because the tall, long-legged volleyball player had one. And it wasn't only material things that allowed me the opportunity to fit in; it was also adapting to social norms, how one talks and walks, understanding  the social hierarchy; the games of who you hang out with, especially who you dated.
Boys are currency the same way girls are in a patriarchal society. The more popular a boy is, the more he did for your social status, and the more likely his friends were dating the cool, popular girls who would, inherently, become your friends through dating him (duh! Social acceptance!)
Crushes were, to me, mere distractions, tools to keep me occupied and appear as a "normal" girl. Emotions were unnecessary, only there to make me lose control. 
But that facade can only go on for so long because one day, maybe at the age of fifteen, living in your ignorant, miserable bliss of societal norms, you'll meet a girl with hazel eyes and shaggy blonde hair, and you'll no longer know how to behave. 
Fun fact: I came out as bisexual at the age of fifteen; I even went on to have a girlfriend my senior year of high school. But the thing was, I still could not accept the fact that I was gay, and the older I got, the more I started to view my attraction to girls as a "phase," something I was growing out of. I would still date girls here and there, but with age, I began to find it hard to be around women; how competitive I felt around them, how the warmth I once felt for them was now damp and cold, almost numb. 
Somewhere between fifteen and nineteen, my brain began to shut off in an attempt to protect itself. See, the reason why I paid such close attention to social norms as a kid was because of how ostracized I felt by society. So, I adapted. But with that adaptation, I began to remove, lose, and conceal parts of myself as a means of protection. No flaws meant I was worthy; no flaws meant nothing could be picked and prodded, I am socially acceptable; and if there is nothing to scrutinize and I am acceptable to society, then there is nothing that can be used to hurt me, and therefore, I am safe; I win.
Moving to New York City, surrounded by beautiful and amazing people, especially at a world-renowned school, really brings out insecurities you aren't unaware of. It was too much for me to handle: the insecurity, school, the city, the pressure; conceal, conceal, conceal, adapt, change. I couldn't offer myself the emotional support I needed; any form of judgment, no matter how small, left me winded, so I went looking for comfort and acceptance.
I developed this idea that having a man, specifically one who was hot and wanted by others, would cure everything 'wrong' with me. I could sit here and try to explain how I came to this conclusion, or most of my solutions back then, but the further I step away from that time in my life, the more I can't make sense of it, any of it. I had turned myself into something I thought would protect me, that would get me the furthest in life, and I guess through my social conditioning, my brain somehow created this narrative of being rescued by a "prince charming." 
It wasn't even that I liked the men that I dated; every time they showed any actual interest in me, I grew annoyed with them, always seeking out a girl to keep on the sidelines to fill the void these men left in me, emotionally cheating. But every time they began treating me like shit, I would become convinced they were my soulmate.
The men got progressively worse the older I got, worse in the sense of character and how they treated me. I always left relationships exhausted and on edge, sometimes even growing sick, only to miraculously heal once the relationship was over. I had panic attacks almost every time I was supposed to see one of these men; the heart palpitations grewing stronger when I was around them. I chalked it up to butterflies because butterflies make you sick to your stomach, right?
It took two years of intensive therapy, even going as far as to study psychology (hello, psych minor), to realize what was happening in my body and how I had ended up in the situations that I did. I was living in a constant state of fight or flight, something that had started in my childhood and got exacerbated once I met my abuser, leaving me completely disconnected from my body and, therefore, my feelings.
The more my nervous system regulated, the more sensitive I became, the more in-tuned I became with my emotions. I hadn't realized that anxiety and anger were the only emotions I felt for the greater portion of my young adult life; loud, aggressive emotions masking the quieter ones.
As I began to reconnect to my body, the more I started to feel these softer emotions, like the soft, dreamy feeling that sat at the top of my head and slowly dripped its way down the back of my throat into my stomach when I caught the way the orange light from the sunset outside my window reflected off the blue tint of my wall or the way my throat tickled in rhythm with my heartbeat when I saw a girl with the high cheekbones and shiny hair; the small details you miss when you are constantly looking over your shoulder or having panic attacks because someone looked at you wrong. 
I met my last boyfriend a month after moving to Colorado. He wasn't like any of the other boys before him; he was kind to me, and I felt safe with him. It was the safety he offered me that allowed my body to continue the healing process, to figure out who I was. We dated for nine months, my longest relationship to date.
My softer feelings had started to come back before I met him, but through the space he gave me, I began to fully understand how those feelings connected to certain aspects of my life, how they played a part in my attraction.
Halfway through our relationship, I realized those feelings (the soft ones) were dormant around him. I went back and forth on whether my lack of attraction for him was because of our healthy relationship, how he didn't trigger me like the boys before him did.
Or maybe it was because I was simply not attracted to him.  
During the summer of our relationship, I met a girl. We worked together, which allowed us the time to develop a friendship. Through my conversations with her, I realized why I didn't have soft feelings for my boyfriend. It wasn't because he was stable or healthy or treated me kindly; it was because he wasn't  a girl. 
We broke up in November of 2023.
It took me until January of 2024 to fully admit that I was only attracted to girls, in fear that I was jumping the gun, possibly confusing novelty with attraction the way I did with anxiety all those years ago. Fortunately, the longer I go with identifying as a lesbian, the more sure I am of the label and the more I understand how it plays into my past and future. 
I've gone on a couple of dates with women since January, each date being the healthiest attachment I've ever experienced in my life and the most fulfilling.I also didn't know that attraction felt like this: silky, comfortable. 
I wish I could fully explain the way that liking and dating women feels different than dating men, but I'm still not ready to be that vulnerable on the internet. (There are still some things I have to work on.)
I will say that dating women is the most control I've ever had in my dating history. Being a lesbian has set me free, free from having to perform for the male gaze, allowing me to simply just be a human and not a doll, and free from caring if I'm acceptable, worthy because I no longer care if I am, because being acceptable and worthy are only things I needed to care about when adhering to the patriarchal norms, and being a lesbian is the furthest I can get from that.
It's all of this radical acceptance that has allowed me not only to gain peace in my life but also the ability to go back to being myself, no longer needing to perform. I had a friend the other day tell me that since I've come out, I've started to dress more myself and act more at peace, my acne even clearing up.
It's also funny how light I feel in my body now, no longer hating my existence living in it. And I could go on and on, giving an hour-long presentation on how being a lesbian has opened my eyes to a whole new understanding of the world, but that is deserving of a blog post all on its own, so I will say this: being a lesbian means more than just liking women, it's rebelling against what society believes a women should be and choosing radical acceptance of yourself instead, even if it means being at odds with the rest of the world. It means embracing who you are, even the parts you hate about yourself, because they are beautiful in other women, which makes them beautiful in you.
For me, being a lesbian means taking back my power by letting go of control and allowing myself to be vulnerable, allowing myself to just be a human.
So, Happy Pride! This is me no longer being vague or confused.
This is also me saying, God, do I love women.
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vegadaone · 2 years ago
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Chapter One
Chapter Two: The Farmland.
A bulk of the remnants mobilized, Val and four hundred and fifty men, moved west. They march through wet plains, stomping on the little plant life there was, with little discretion. Wind brushes against the planet's foliage, and the foliage, in turn, sways as if dancing to the calming feel of the breeze. Left, right, left. The night sky glooms against the remnant force, as they march. Left, right, left, their legs move, almost in synchrony. Val led his men from the front, Chimeras lined at his side, two Leman Russ battle tanks spread at his flank, and infantry, throughout the grassy fields. They were approaching their destination. A farmland with large shoddy man-made walls, noticable even from where they stood. It looked as if made in a time crunch, though nonetheless serving it's purpose. It stood tall.
     The Commissar looks to the large walled farm in the distance, 'We dropped where the xeno started this rebellion, and we were pushed back, soon scattering.' He continues staring, talking to himself, 'for a month, we fell back in it's opposite direction. I assume, we can call that the capital.' He clenches his jaw, looking to the Lieutenant, walking at his side. 'I continue to wonder, why do they have defences? We were never deployed out this far.' He ordered the halt of his remnants, after those words.
     Lieutenant Mein speculates with the Commissar, 'No wildlife around here, we've walked for miles, it couldn't be that.' She shouts to the nearest soldier with magnoculars.
     A young man walks forward and salutes, 'Scout Majo, sir!' He moves his hand and equips his magnoculars, as if already knowing the assignment. 'No tau insignia, defenders, human, are looking this way, it seems they're unsure if to attack or not.' He states. 'I have been keeping my eye on them sir, and, I do not believe they will engage. However, the far left of the wall, about 50 meters from that guard tower, has a weak point.' He points in its direction, 'It's evident that if we strike there we may breach easier, sir.'
     Commissar Val extends his arm, wanting to receive the magnoculars. Scout Majo places them in the Commissar's hand and he begins looking at the fortified farmland. He firstly peers to the guard tower, and there are several poorly armored defenders, equipped with auto-guns, aiming at them. He then moves his eyes to the weak point in their wall, surely enough, the scout speaks truth. Blackish markings lay around the damage, as if an explosive caused the significant crater in the metal and stone wall. One tank round could have it collapse. Upon further inspection, there are human corpses scattered at where the wall was attacked. 'I'm impressed with you, scout, none of the others could give me this detail. You stand with me from now on, Majo.'
     Scout Majo smiles briefly, saluting again after receiving his magnoculars back from his superior, 'I will not fail you, sir!'
     'Why would the defenders not join our cause?' Lieutenant Mein throws a question out of the blue.
     'Well, I would believe they think these xeno can give them independence from the Imperium, yet don't realize they're simply serving scum. That, I believe, is why.' Val scowls, looking down to his Lieutenant and speaking again, 'As you know, this is an Agri-world. they have the supplies we need. If they will not give us what we need, or join us willingly, they must die. As much as I'm against the notion, if they align with the alien then they are traitors.'
     'With that, sir, I believe it would be in our best interest to see if they'll willingly join us.' Lieutenant Mein takes her gaze off the Commissar and looks to their destination. 'We need the numbers. From what we know, the Tau have lifted the bulk of their own force off-world, we can steadily gain our ground if there are inhabitants that wish to take back their planet.'
     Val questions her, 'You believe these people have been forced to join the alien?'
     The Commissar had never been on deployment against the Tau, this was his first. The general he worked with had greater knowledge, but she was dead. Debriefs and musters, several months ago, informed him that the alliance was deliberate. The humans were rebelling.
     'I do, the Tau will take by force, if they do not get the answer they want,' She replies,'It has happened before.'
     Commissar Val nods, Looking to his men at arms. 'Okay, Lieutenant, we will question for their compliance.' He says, as he returns his gaze to her. 'We will split the force, you will take two-hundred men, along with a tank and three Chimeras, to the farmland's rear. Entrench yourselves and wait until my saying to engage, at dawn I shall approach.'
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luxora · 3 years ago
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Blackpink -> {Dystopian AU} -> Falling for a rebel
Requested: No
Group: Blackpink
Genre: Fluff. Angst.
Warning: Social hierarchies. Injustice. Violence. Swearing
A/N: So this is kind of my first time dong a Dystopian au, so please let me know what you think. And for future requests, please specify what you would like in this au, otherwise I’ll just go wild with my guesses. I’m kinda going with an Arcane type of vibe.
Jisoo
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Even though it was incredibly barbaric, combat for sport was often something which everyone adored watching, even though it was usually to the death. Even though her family enjoyed it, Jisoo could not stand watching people fighting to kill each other. She has never been one to enjoyed the sight of blood, much less literal gutting of somebody else while the crowd roared in approval at the ruthless display.
If Jisoo had the power, she would end it, but that would mean that she would have to go against the very government herself, and even though her family is well connected, there is no way that she will be able to make a big change by herself. Something bigger has to challenge the wrongs of this twisted society, something much bolder than herself.
And that is when you come in.
Jisoo had to be careful when slipping away from her family as they watched the bloody sport, two dozen of men and women fighting to the death for the hope of some kind of freedom, or simply for another day to live. She kept her head down but kept making sure that she was not followed as she exited the arena and walked to the back of it, where she saw your figure leaning against the wall, puffing at a cigarette. The second you saw her, you tossed it to the floor and crushed it with your foot.
“Jisoo.” You breathed, the sound of her name leaving her lips making her smile immediately as she walked into your arms, wrapping her own tightly around your waist. “Were you followed?”
“No. The fight had just started, everyone is betting on who the winner will be.”
It honestly disgusted Jisoo with how people took pleasure from the sport of killing others, and it was an opinion which was shared furiously with you as you scowled deeply but made sure not to take out your anger on Jisoo as you lifted a hand to cup her cheek.
“Unfortunately for them, they aren’t going to see a winner. We are going to free everyone trapped in here today.”
You indicated towards the barred gate at the back of the arena, where usually the enforcers s and arena coordinators used to access the fighters quarters, which were more cells than actual rooms. Jisoo furrowed her eyebrows at it, noticing that no one was near them, but she felt you press a kiss to her forehead.
“We managed to sneak in posing as some enforcers. Thanks for the clothes donation by the way.” You rewarded her with another kiss to the forehead, which made Jisoo smile.
Even though there was not much that Jisoo could do in regards to making a big change in society, there was plenty that she could do in regards to your organization. You fought against everything that the government implemented in society due to its cruelty and unfair treatment towards people like you, not cut from the golden cloth as the higher society members such as Jisoo. You were a rebel, a thorn in the government’s side, a radical.
But also Jisoo’s love.
“Be careful.” She pleaded, her hand fisting the material of your shirt as she could already imagine what problems you and the others will face with your intentions of freeing all of the fighters and prisoners. You covered her fist with your hand and squeezed it.
“Always am. You know that I have too much to live for.”
“You mean the rebellion?”
You chuckled before leaning in to press your forehead against hers, gazing into her eyes while squeezing her hand on your shirt with your own.
“That, but also for you. I’m not ready to leave you yet.”
“Yet? So you intend to leave me eventually?”
Jisoo didn’t mean for her words to sound so bitter, because she knew that you were just trying to lighten the mood, but at times she couldn’t help but feel that you may care for the rebellion more than her because of the personal connection that you had to it. You were trying to make a change in the world they lived in, that was something much bigger compared to a relationship with a politician’s daughter.
But you immediately shook your head and leaned in to kiss her, it being quick but warm as you pulled away and gazed deeply into her eyes.
“No ways. I play for keeps. You’re mine.”
Jisoo smiled at the small possession, slowly relaxing her fist and releasing your shirt from her vice grip. She moved to cup the back of your neck, letting out a sigh before rubbing her nose against your own.
“And you are mine. Please don’t do anything too dangerous. I want to find you in the same condition as you are in now, ten fingers and ten toes.”
“...All attached?” Jisoo smacked you on the shoulder and you laughed before pulling her into a kiss, a bit more passionate than before but still brief before you pulled away entirely, the only thing you left holding being Jisoo’s hand as you lifted it to your lip and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “I promise I will be care.”
“Good.”
Jennie
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Your pained hissed made Jennie stop from her ministrations, waiting for you to collect yourself before she could continue with her mending. You were in pretty bad shape, the enforcers not going easy on you during your surprise attack at the town centre. While she was not there, Jennie knows that blood was spilled over the copper stones, and judging from your appearance, she knows that some of it belongs to you.
It was probably wise for you to lay low for a while, especially now that you and the rebellion has gotten the enforcers hackles up in defense in preparation for anymore surprise attacks. The upper city will also be on the defensive, the attacks becoming more and more frequent that it was causing quite a bit of civil unrest, especially with the higher social circles that Jennie was a resident participant. It was later that afternoon did she hear about the attack on the town square, and that immediately prompted her to try see you tonight.
And it was very well that she did. You were in a very bad shape. She was certain that at least two of you ribs were broken, and you had been shot twice in the arm and once in the leg, the bullets deep and needed cleaning before it came infected. Fortunately Jennie was quite knowledgeable with medicine, courtesy of her many privileges that include complex studies, and she always put it to good use when tending to you.
“Fuck that hurts!” You cursed, biting down hard on your bottom lip as you tried to restrain yourself from screaming in pain as Jennie dug into your arm and eventually pulled out the second with a pair of medical pincers she had brought with her. Jennie had a solemn look on her face as she placed it on the plate that she was using for your fight souvenirs.
“I’m trying to be careful.”
“Well not careful enough!”
Jennie didn’t respond at your shout, instead focusing on cleaning the bullet wounds on your arms with disinfectant, the burning sensation making you hiss and curse again while you slammed the first of your other arm down on the bed, clawing at the mattress as you tried to deal with the pain. Once she had effectively cleaned it, she took some of the white bandages she had brought and wrapped it tightly around your arm before finally tying it.
“There. Done.” She said, allowing you to inspect your arm while she began to pack up all her medical supplies that she had brought with her journey to your home. But your hand suddenly grabbed hers, halting her from her packing. She lifted her head and saw you looking at her with an apologetic expression.
“I’m sorry Jen. I...I shouldn’t have yell, I know that you were just helping. I’m sorry.”
Jennie softened at your apologetic expression, your eyes filled with genuine remorse at shouting at her while she was tending to your wounds. She knew that they were only said in moments of pain, so she reached out with her other hand to cup your cheek, stroking it with her thumb.
“It’s okay.” But you shook your head.
“No it’s not. You came over here and...took care of me. I shouldn’t have shouted at you. I’m sorry.”
“Y/N its okay. Bullets being removed from your arm isn’t exactly painless, I don’t blame you shouting at me.” She said lightly, hoping to lift the mood, and she succeeded slightly as you chuckled before looking back at her with a small frown.
“I’m still sorry.”
“And I said that it is okay. Stop apologizing.”
Jennie shuffled closer to you and gently wrapped her arms around you, not wanting to apply to much pressure to your battered body which she has already bandaged up. You wrapped your good arm around her waist and sighed, pressing your face into her neck and inhaling the vanilla perfume which she often wore. Her favorite, in fact. She pressed a kiss to your temple.
“I’m just glad that you are safe.”
Safe is hardly a word that could be connected to you, especially since you had a wanted poster plastered all over the walls in the alleyways in the upper city, along with a few of your colleagues which participated a lot in your rebellion acts against the government in the city. You lived a dangerous life, the opposite to Jennie as she was a socialite in the upper city, and yet the odds of the world brought the two of you together in more ways than one. You pressed a kiss to her neck.
“And I’m glad you’re here.”
Jennie only hugged you a little tighter, just relieved that you had managed to walk away from the attack with your life, unlike a few of the comrades which you had lost today. While the two of you will probably talk about it, both of you were content to just hold each other and savor the warmth that your respective bodies provided.
Chaeyoung
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Chaeyoung tangled her finger into your hair as you kissed her, pressing her against the wall of the balcony that she was fortunately standing alone on, the sounds of the party happening inside being the only think masking the sounds of the two of you kissing, as well as keeping everyone occupied as the two of you remained alone, a rare occurrence given how security has been buffed up in Chaeyoung’s neighborhood.
Your lips were hot against hers and dominating, pressing your entire body up against hers as you continued to kiss her, it being more than a week since the two of you had last seen each other and you were trying your best to make up for lost time now. Even though you were a little dirty and sweaty from the entire trip from the under city to get to her home in the upper city, Chaeyoung did not care because she has missed you.
The two of you eventually pulled away from each other when air became a necessity. You grinned at her.
“Hi.” Chaeyoung smiled back.
“Hello.’
You leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek, giving it a small lick which caused her to smack your shoulder in retribution, making you chuckle before you pressed several kisses along her cheek and jaw before finally nuzzling your head into her neck, squeezing your arms around her waist.
“I’ve missed you.” You confessed, causing warmth to fill Chaeyoung’s body. She squeezed you back with her arms around your body.
“I’ve missed you too.”
The circumstances of the relationship between the two of you was hardly ideal, you being a member of the rebellion that wanted to destroy the social structure which Chaeyoung’s family revels in, while she is the daughter of a very high governmental official that had a high social standing in society that implements most of the changes and values that negatively affect people of your kind, people from the under city.
Chaeyoung peered around the balcony, her lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed in concentration while she massaged your scalp with her fingers in your hair. You hummed in approval at the sensation, but lifted your head when Chaeyoung finally spoke again.
“How did you even get up hear? This is on the third floor.” You grinned at her and wiggled your eyebrows.
“I am a person with very unique talents. Tis but a fence for me to climb over.” You teased, making Chaeyoung shake her head but smile at the same time.
“How did you even know that I was going to be out here?” You shrugged.
“I didn’t. My original was to somehow sneak into your room, but lucky me when I spotted an angel taking a moment for herself on the balcony.” Chaeyoung blushed at your nickname for her, prompting you to lean in and press a kiss to her pink cheek before looking back at her. “Is everything alright? Why are you out here in the first place?”
Chaeyoung sighed.
“I needed the fresh air. Everything is just too much inside, I needed some space.”
“Too much is an understatement.” You said, eyes feinting towards the doors of the balcony which lead back into party. Chaeyoung huffed.
“Don’t start, I have heard enough lectures tonight.”
“From?”
“My parents. They don’t want me going out as often anymore. You and the group have caused a lot of tension around here.”
“Not my fault. I wasn’t a part of the raid which happened here.”
“Doesn’t matter, it still happened. And now I am suffering for it.”
“Don’t get me started on suffering Chaeyoung, I am a veteran of it.”
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry.” Chaeyoung apologized, already sensing your hackles raising at her careless words. She rubbed her hands along your back and shoulders, her expression soft. “Let’s not fight please? We don’t know when we will see each other again.”
You sighed, knowing that Chaeyoung was right, so you decided to not get into it with her, especially since the two of you were in a risky enough position as is, being just a few meters away from the balcony door where anyone could walk through. You nodded and leaned in to press a kiss to her lips, not deepening it like you usually did as you did not want to press your luck with the two of you being uninterrupted on the balcony, but the love behind it was evident as Chaeyoung closed her eyes and reveled in the feeling. You pulled away after a few moments.
“I’m going to find a way to your room and wait for you there. Don’t leave me waiting too long.” You teased, playfully tapping Chaeyoung’s chin. She smiled and batted your hand away.
“No promises.”
The two of you shared a warm smile before you pulled away from her and leapt over the railing, Chaeyoung just catching sight of your figure as you disappeared into the shadows. She immediately missed your warmth, but she will be reunited with it soon. Perhaps she can feign a headache and retire early to her room. She didn’t want to leave you waiting too long after all.
Lisa
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Lisa wasn’t supposed to be there, or rather, you didn’t know that she was going to be there when you and the rebellion had struck. Bombs had been planted earlier that day, and the rebellion waited patiently until it was packed with people before detonating them, a necessary action to disrupt the normal living for all of the upper city socialites and civilians to get their point across.
The rebellion was not going to remain silent to all of the corruption that was taking place, that lead to all of the poverty being experienced by the under city. That was all what today's bombing was supposed to be about, to make their statement and to affect the upper city in some kind of way.
You just didn’t know that Lisa would unintentionally being the in the crossfire of the explosion.
Lisa was not hurt enough that she had to remain overnight at the hospital for surveillance, but she did not escape the attack unscathed. Her friends had suffered the same fate, all of them ordered to remain at home to recuperate, which was something which she hated the most because she had always been someone who was unable to stay still. It also did not help that her parents had been wary about her leaving home a lot more lately due to the rebellion’s random attacks in the city. They worried that Lisa could get hurt by one of them, but she assured them that she would not.
Except today happened, proving her parents worries, which meant that she was practically grounded at home despite not doing anything wrong.
Her parents had been stuck to her bedside the entire time since she returned from the hospital, and only now in the evening was she finally alone because her parents had finally gone to bed. She sighed and flung her head against her pillow in frustration. An attack just had to happen today of all days when she had managed to convince her parents to do out shopping with her friends.
tap. tap. tap.
Lisa lifted her head in confusion, the sound of tapping catching her attention, and she eventually turned in its direction to just make out a figure at the glass door at her balcony. While usually the sight would send a socialite like her screaming for help, she recognized the form of the shadowy figure and she immediately knew who it was despite the darkness.
She winced as she got off the bed and slowly walked towards the door, her body still sore from the impact of the explosion, and she quickly unlocked her balcony door to let you in. Your eyes immediately locked on Lisa’s arm cast, Lisa needing it as she had broken her arm on impact on the pavement on the street from the aftershock of the explosion. You then looked up and saw the stitches on Lisa’s chin, five of them to be exact, along with the scrapes and bruises that she had gotten from her fall. You immediately looked at her with regretful eyes.
“Lisa, I’m so-”
“Stop. Just...don’t say anything.”
There was nothing that you could really say. You and the rebellion carried out a mission and fulfilled it, Lisa just so happened to be in the area when the mission was carried out, and Lisa quite honestly did not have the guts to ask you if it was worth it.
Because really, even if you did know if Lisa was going to be there, would you have done anything to stop it?
She didn’t think so.
“You have to know Lisa, if I had known that you were going to be there-”
“Would you have done anything about it?” Lisa asked, apparently her guts deciding to take a leap of courage as she locked eyes with you. You shrunk under her gaze.
“I...” You looked down at your feet and rubbed your fingers together, something you did when you were trying to come up with an answer. “...I would have tried to warn you-”
“Really Y/N?”
Even that type of reasoning sounded weak, even to Lisa, and you realised it as Lisa just sighed before walking back to her bed, you noticing the slight limp with her left leg before she settled back into her mattress, laying down again. You stood on the spot, unsure on what to do, while still staring at Lisa. She sighed. “I hope it was worth it.
“Lisa-”
“Mom and Dad have practically grounded me to the house, so if you want to see me, you are going to have to come visit me here when they go to sleep.” She continued, cutting you off from your attempted interruption. She glanced at you and you nodded slowly.
“I can do that.” You said softly, Lisa almost missing it with how softly you spoke. She sighed again.
“Listen, I’m tired and sore, and quite honestly...I don’t want to see you right now. I still love you and everything, but I need some space. Come back in a few days, alright?”
Usually Lisa craved your presence, but she was still rattled from the explosion and she did honestly want to be on her own, especially since the rest of the day she was stuck with her parents hovering over her. You nodded in understanding and turned to leave out the balcony door again, but paused before turning back to her.
“I love you Lisa, and I’m sorry that you got caught in it. I hope you know that I would never purposefully put you in danger, not even for the rebellion.” Lisa looked at you, not saying a word for a small while, before she nodded.
“I know.”
You flashed her a sad smile, making it look more like a grimace than a smile, before you exited through her balcony door, softly closing it behind you before taking off into the night. Lisa sighed and tugged her bed sheets up to her chest, hoping that rest will come to her given the events she has experienced today.
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saintshigaraki · 4 years ago
Text
THESE ARE HARD TIMES FOR DREAMERS
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title from bones by ms mr
pairing: yandere nanami kento x f!reader
word count: 2.6k
excerpt: You wish you’d studied the stars more, ingrained them so deeply into your psyche that you’d carry the night sky with you, always. 
You wish they’d never been stolen from you in the first place.
a/n: nanami if ur reading this i’m free thursday night. 
tags: yandere, angst, reader is once again full of rage, nanami love what have you done, overuse of the word hate
warnings: yandere tendencies, obsessive and possessive behavior, slight infantilization, noncon/dubcon, gaslighting (?), kidnapping, slight stockholm syndrome, mention of past suicide attempt 
MDNI!
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You can’t exactly pinpoint where it all went south. There’s not a specific date that stands out to you when you actively noticed things taking a turn for the worst. It’s like that fable. About the frog slowly being boiled alive. Except, in this case, the frog is you and the boiling water is Nanami. And in this case, this is not some story your mom used to read to you about the dangers of gradual escalation, it’s your life. If you can even call this monotonous hell you’re living a life. 
You’ve got to hand it to him, you really didn’t see it coming. Nanami’s always been smart like that. Even now, after everything, or maybe even especially now, after everything, you can’t deny that. 
You don’t bother moving from where you lay, sprawled out on the floor, when you hear the first click of many locks signaling that your sweet and doting lover has returned. 
You used to try to rush him, or get the jump on him with the heaviest thing you could find. Once you started to get really desperate, you just screamed over his shoulder before he had time to clamp a large hand over your mouth. 
None of it ever worked, of course. 
It was months ago that you decided hopeless escape attempts simply weren’t worth Nanami’s wrath. He’s faster than you, stronger than you, and far bigger. And he always will be. 
When your relationship with Nanami was still somewhat normal (though looking back you can’t help but notice all the things that weren’t normal, you suppose hindsight really can be quite the bitch in that regard) you never really thought too hard about how much stronger he was compared to you. In some ways, it might’ve even been comforting, instead of just horribly depressing. No one could touch you when your hand was tucked in his. 
It hurts more than you’d like to admit that something you once found such solace in, is now what stands between you and any semblance of normalcy and shred of happiness. 
(And fresh air. God, you miss fresh air so much it hurts, a dull never-ceasing ache deep in your chest. You miss the stars too. Sometimes, when you’re laying on the floor like you are now or in the dead of night when it’s all you can do to swallow down your screams, you try to map out constellations on the ceiling. You’re not very good at it though, and the few constellations you actually remember are starting to slip from your memory like water through fingers, no matter how desperately you try to hold onto them.
You wish you’d studied the stars more, ingrained them so deeply into your psyche that you’d carry the night sky with you, always. 
You wish they’d never been stolen from you in the first place.)
It takes Nanami’s slightly disapproving hum to snap you out of your celestial spiraling. 
You tilt your head back, just enough to find he’s towering over you. His mouth set in a grim line. His glasses, jacket, and tie have already been discarded, his shirt rolled up to his forearms. The sight of him like this use to make your cheeks burn. Now, it’s hard to rein in the urge to spit at his feet and hiss out every seething thought you have about him burning below the surface. 
But the lecture you’d receive after a ‘tantrum’ like that wouldn’t be worth it. He always manages to twist your words, your own feelings, sometimes even your very sense of self, until you can hardly tell what’s up and what’s down. Until you can hardly distinguish your reality from his. Until all you can hear is Nanami’s voice in your ear, reminding you of everything you’ll never be. Of just how helpless you are. 
(It’s like his hands are around your throat, choking and choking and choking.)
And once you’re nothing but a sobbing heap on the floor, he’ll pull you into his lap, tuck your face against the curve of his shoulder, and rub soothing circles into your back while saying something along the lines of ‘It’s okay, it’s okay. I’ll always be here take care of you’ until your sobs have quieted to the occasional hiccup.
You hate it, how he manages to make you feel so dependent on him. He’s so, so good at knowing just what string to pull so that you’ll unravel completely, just so he can put you back together again with his painstakingly gentle hands. 
Nanami’s smart like that. 
So, you’ve learned to bite your tongue. 
“You’re insistence on laying on the dirty floor when we have a perfectly good couch and bed truly astounds me,” he says, monotone. 
You don’t justify his sarcasm with a response, partly to stall what inevitably will come after this and partly to annoy him. Nanami doesn’t like it when you ignore him. It’s one of the few things you have the power to do that manages to get under his skin. 
It’s these little rebellions, you’ve found, that make all the difference. 
You eye the couch warily, it’s plush and huge. The perfect place for an afternoon nap. Nanami had traded out the smaller one he’d had before, for this one, a few months after you’d started dating. He’d wanted one big enough that you two could comfortably lay together as you slept and he read. You spent countless hours there, tucked into his side, with the setting sun warming your skin. 
It’s also where you had told him that you wanted to end things. That he’d gotten too overbearing, too controlling. That you felt suffocated. That you still loved him dearly, but that you couldn’t do this anymore. It’s where you left him as you walked out with only a single bag in hand. 
That night you went to sleep in some shady motel room and woke up back in Nanami’s bed with a padded handcuff chaining you to the frame. 
These memories from before have a way of coming back to haunt you, they pass through the walls, whispering poison in your ears, caressing your skin one moment just to dig their claws in deep the next. 
They mock you as you sit and rot and dream of stars you’ll never see again. 
“You’re stalling.” He always manages to sound so distinctly unimpressed with you whenever you don’t follow one of his unwritten rules (and God even if you were actively trying to follow them, there are so many that keeping track of them is nothing short of an impossible feat).
You finally get to your feet, wringing your hands in a way that you know makes you look weak and pathetic. Just the way Nanami likes you so that he can swoop in and take such good care of his little darling love. 
“Kento, I-” 
“Save it,” he says, already walking towards the bedroom. 
You could put up a fight, but all that’d do is make him angry, and then you’d have to do what he wanted anyway and deal with being tethered back to the bed for a few days while Nanami fusses over you like some sort of deranged mother hen.
You make your way over to the bedroom, already starting to strip, ready to get this over with as soon as possible. 
You’re half-naked by the time you enter his room. 
Even after months and months of this, the humiliation of standing nearly naked in front of him while he stays fully dressed never dulls, it’s still just as sharp and awful as the first time he made you do it. 
(It’s like you’re peeling back your own skin, defenseless as he rubs salt in the wound.) 
You suppose you should feel lucky that he lets you keep on your bra and underwear. Not that the undergarments he bought you really cover all that much, but in these four walls, beggars can’t exactly be choosers. 
He takes off his watch, setting it carefully onto his dresser before walking over to you and starting his nightly inspection for any cuts or bruises you may have received (or given yourself) throughout the day while he was off at work. Off in the world you’ll never see again. Just the thought is enough to make you want to scream. 
You used to be able to wiggle your way out of this, before the incident, as Nanami has dubbed it, but now it’d be a cold day in hell before he doesn’t painstakingly go over (almost) every inch of your skin with a careful eye and calloused hands. 
His thumb always brushes terribly gently over the scar a few centimeters to the right of one of your jugular veins, where you had attempted to slit your throat after you realized that you would probably never escape this place. Never escape him. 
You’d never seen Nanami as scared as when he walked in on you holding a knife to your throat. And you’d never seen him as angry as after he’d wrenched it from your hand using a type of speed that shouldn’t even be humanly possible. 
He took a full month off work after that which coincidently also happened to be the worst fucking month of your life. 
He cups your face in his large hand and presses a kiss to your temple. A sign that he’s deemed you just as pristine as when he left you and that he’s very pleased by it. 
You want to bite his hand. You want to rip his flesh from the bone. You want to hold his heart in your hand and crush it. 
(You want to go home. You want to feel the earth beneath your bare feet. You want to sit on a roof in your childhood neighborhood and watch the sun dip below the horizon and drown the world in golden light. You want to step out on an autumn day with winter just around the corner and smell the crispness in the air, feel it claw its way into your lungs. 
You want to remember what it’s like to be human.)
Nanami’s lips are on yours before you can think, soft and enticing. You could push him away or just say no. He’d listen. Not even he can apparently justifying forcing you. 
(We all have our limits, don’t we?)
But you don’t. You haven’t in a long while. And you hate yourself for it more than you could ever hate him.
He loses his shirt rather quickly and you manage to discard your bra before he lifts you up and tosses you on the bed. You don’t get a second to breathe before he’s over you, monstrous and awful and so terribly beautiful. 
He takes a moment to caress your face, his knuckles brushing over your cheek so tenderly that it nearly makes you sick. You’re thankful when he finally says, “Open up.” 
You do as he says and in the next second two of his fingers are stuffed into your waiting mouth. 
“Suck.” 
And you do, without hesitation, because you know what’s coming next. You know that for the next hour or so, there’ll be no denying the fact that you’re alive, that you’re not some ghost haunting these halls. It’ll prove that it’s blood that flows through your veins instead of stone, that you have not yet started to rot in your own skin. 
He he pulls his fingers from your mouth without a word and leaves a trail of burning kisses down your sternum and stomach. He wastes no time pulling your underwear off and attaching his calloused thumb to your clit, rubbing tight little circles in a way that has you keening almost immediately. 
In an embarrassingly short amount of time you’re wet enough for him to comfortably slip a finger in. Just one of them reaches spots you never quite manage to hit on your own, and you hate how much you love it. It has you moaning, nearly loud enough to drown out the lewd squelching by the time he adds a second finger. 
“You’re so, so good for me,” he murmurs, voice rough. It sends a shiver down your spine.
You hate that the praise has you clenching his fingers in a near vice grip. You hate that he still affects you in any way after what he’s done to you. After what he’s reduced you to. 
You don’t have time to stew in your self-loathing before his fingers find that spongy spot inside of you that has you seeing stars. 
(And this is the reason you don’t push him away. 
You’ll never step foot under the night sky again. But here, with his fingers hitting all the right spots in your cunt, you’ll make your own galaxy and pretend that it holds a candle to the real thing.)
With the pace he sets, his constant low grunts of just how lovely you are creaming around his fingers, and the way his thumb never lets up on your puffy clit, you’re coming within minutes, you spasm around his digits so hard that the stars you so love burst behind your tightly shut eyelids. 
He eases his fingers out of you and licks them clean, his dark eyes half-lidded and nearly glowing in the dimly lit bedroom, burning straight through you. 
You’re the one to look away first. You always are. Shame settling heavily in your gut. Shame that you enjoyed it, shame that you didn’t push him, shame that you’ll do this all over again tomorrow.  
When he finally sinks into you, he does it slowly. Sometimes you wish he wouldn’t, sometimes you wish he’d make it hurt. It’d be easier to hate him instead of yourself if he did. 
When Kento fucks you like this, chest to chest, there’s not a single part of you not swallowed whole by him. 
You hate it. 
You hate yourself more for moaning when he changes the angle and starts fucking you so hard and fast that your hands can’t help but scramble for anything to hang on to, they tear down his back, drawing blood which seems to only spur him on to go harder. 
“Kento I-- I’m-,” but you can’t finish the sentence, not when you can feel your orgasm teetering on the edge, so, so close that it’s painful, you just need- 
“You want to come?” He asks, his voice annoyingly steady.  
It’s unfair of him to expect you to be able to answer when he has you nearly folded in half. You can hardly even think. 
(But when has Kento ever really been fair?)
“Use your words, darling.” His lips are right against your ear, his tone unbearably condescending, and maybe a bit mocking. 
You hate him for asking you to beg. 
You hate yourself more for giving in. 
“Kento, please,” you whine. 
He laughs, low and mean, you feel it in your own chest and for a moment it really is as though you are nothing but an extension of him, a limb left useless without Nanami guiding you. You hate it. You hate it.
Eventually, he relents and brings his thumb back down to your clit, resuming those tight, firm circles, and that’s all you needed to finally push you over the edge.  
This time, when you come, there are no stars to comfort you. Just Kento’s eyes, bright and burning. 
Your cunt clamping down on his cock is all it takes for him to let out a low groan and still completely inside you, the warmth of his cum flooding your cunt is awful in it’s familiarity. 
His eyes finally close as he drops his forehead against yours, breathing your air and forcing you to breathe his. 
He closes the gap between your lips, gently, sweetly. You can almost pretend for a moment that this is the Kento you knew years ago. Who held you so sweetly and smiled when you smiled. 
You don’t realize you’re crying until he kisses your temple tenderly and wipes away your tears. He’s not worried, you cry more often than not after he fucks you. You don’t really want to think about why. 
You let your mind wander as he carries you bridal style to the bathroom, where in a minute he’ll run a warm bath for you two to share, then afterwards he’ll dry you off with the utmost tenderness, then dress you himself before carrying you to the kitchen where he’ll set you on the counter as he makes dinner (you won’t be allowed to help, of course) then he’ll force every last bite down your throat if you refuse to eat (he hasn’t had to do that in a long while though), then he’ll have you curl up on his lap, head tucked into his shoulder, as he reads. After about an hour he’ll bring you back to the bathroom where he’ll brush your teeth for you because you never do it right, and then he’ll drag you into bed no later than 10:30 PM so that you can do it all over again tomorrow. 
“Do you want the lavender or rose soap today?” Nanami asks you. 
You ignore him in favor of trying to remember the details of your galaxy, but it’s already faded away to nothing by the time you close your eyes. 
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a/n pt 2: i feel like it was painfully obvious that this was my first attempt ever at smut. i’m so sorry yall. i really did try. 
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happi-tree · 3 years ago
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I’m having Thoughts about the Calamity Trio’s outfit designs - particularly their armor - and the symbolism of it all again, so naturally, I am going to make it everyone’s problem.
Sasha's most defining piece of armor is her shoulder pauldron. This girl is carrying the weight of rebellions and the weight of her own mistakes upon her shoulders, and she continues to shoulder those burdens as the story evolves. Out of the three girls, it’s Sasha’s armor that remains the most consistent (at least, in terms of placement). In season one, she’s carrying the weight of her own personal rebellion against her captors while simultaneously putting pressure on herself to find Anne and Marcy again. In season two, she’s attempting to lead a rebellion alongside Grime and the toads against Andrias but she’s also being affected - weighted down - by her actions in Reunion and their consequences in terms of her relationship with Anne. In season three, she becomes the sole leader of the Wartwood rebellion for a time, which is obviously an immense burden to carry, and she’s also juggling the weight of her mistakes from the past two seasons - but this time, she’s really acknowledging their presence and trying her hardest to make a deliberate change for the better. Notice how her pauldron grows larger with each updated design - as the scope of her command and the depth of her self-reflection grows, so, too, does its size. Another key component is that Sasha has only one pauldron and not two - it’s inherently asymmetric, inherently unbalanced. Keeping one shoulder bare of armor like this could also represent the moments of vulnerability we see from her, a physical representation of her trying to find balance between her tough exterior and her caring nature (because Sasha truly cares so much and so deeply). 
Sasha’s most defining piece of armor rests upon her shoulder because she's Strength. 
While Sasha and Marcy’s designs both have armor in multiple areas, Anne's only piece of armor is her chestplate. It should be noted that unlike Sasha, Anne only gets this armor partway through season two - there are no previous iterations of her armor because, in contrast to both Sasha and Marcy, she hadn’t felt a need for armor before. Against the backdrop of her school uniform and unmatched footwear, it looks almost jarringly out of place, but it isn’t! Anne’s always been a very emotional character - she’s very in tune with others’ feelings as well as her own, and up until season three, she makes her feelings very clear - she has an open heart, simply put. However, an open heart, exposed and vulnerable, is prone to heartbreak, and as the show progresses, Anne’s is broken repeatedly by grief, by loss, and by betrayals. Symbolically, her chestplate shows her character growth in that she’s had to learn the hard way to protect her heart - to guard herself from the onslaught of others’ ill intentions, to attempt to minimize the toll that these betrayals and losses have on her emotionally. The colors of her armor are also interesting - gold with blue accents. Anne is one of those people who have what is known as a heart of gold - she’s so inherently compassionate that her sympathy reverberates from her very core (ha), and it affects everything she does. However, the blue accents, focused at the borders and at the very center (the heart of the piece, if you will) could represent that her soul has been tinged with sorrow. While blue is the color of sorrow and sadness, though, it’s also a color of tranquility - Anne needs to make peace with that sorrow and grief, reconcile the mess of her negative emotions with her kind nature, in order to best move forward. 
Anne’s only piece of armor covers her chest because she's the Heart.
As for Marcy’s most prominent piece of armor right now… that would be the helmet. We’ve had the least amount of time with this silhouette - while Sasha has had her pauldron for the vast majority of the show and Anne has had her chestplate for a bit more than one season, the helmet only comes into play once season 3 is well underway. Marcy’s mind, her intellect, is her greatest asset, and yet it has also become her biggest downfall, as it was her knack for strategy and her sharp wit that made her the perfect host for the Core. Unlike the other girls, who wear armor to protect themselves from outside threats, the helm that Marcy wears while under the Core’s control is trapping a malevolent force within rather than keeping it out. It should also be noted that while Sasha and Anne’s prophecy-assigned colors are present in their most prominent pieces of armor, not a trace of green can be seen in this helmet - only gunmetal-black is present in its construction, alongside the burning orange-yellow of the Core’s many eyes. 
The design that Marcy’s body wears currently features a helmet as its most prominent piece of armor because Marcy is Wit, and that Wit poses the one of greatest threats to Andrias and the Core’s plans. Thus, it’s Marcy’s head that the Core needs to keep under control the most (itself being a hivemind), so a helmet - one that can filter out not only sight and sound, but also the wearer’s own thoughts - is a chillingly effective choice. 
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