#IF THERE'S TYPOS DON'T TELL ME

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[kirby-the-gorb]

[schneiderenjoyer]

The reason the whole age discourse is confusing is that bluepoch keeps pulling shit like THIS.

[misc-obeyme]

Could I request a short fic or drabble with Barbatos and a tall masc mc who’s taller than the entire cast + a little bit of an endearing asshole, at least to Barbs? Mc is a bit standoffish but he really likes helping Barbs with anything.

Hi there, anon! Sorry for the huge delay on this. I hope you still see it!

Not sure if I managed the "endearing asshole" thing, but I did my best! I wanted to put them in a setting where MC had a chance to help Barbatos out, so hopefully this is close to what you were looking for!

Barbatos x masc!MC (I think you could read it as gn but there is a use of "he" and the MC is crazy tall lol.)

Warnings: none~

You stood in the entrance of the Demon Lord’s Castle with your arms folded. You had been summoned to have dinner with Lord Diavolo, who was currently discussing something with Barbatos in hushed tones. You tried not to tap your foot impatiently as you waited for them to shift their attention to you.

When they finally did, Diavolo clapped his hands and grinned at you. “I’m so glad you could make it tonight, MC!”

He was almost as tall as you. Almost. It continued to be an endless source of amusement to him that you were taller than he was. His perpetual excitement was both annoying and slightly endearing.

“Did I have a choice?” you asked, your voice and expression somewhat monotone. You were carefully not looking at Barbatos.

“You always have a choice, MC!” Diavolo insisted.

“Right, sure,” you said.

“Barbatos is going back to the kitchen to finish preparing the meal,” Diavolo said. “You can wait with me in the dining room or you can accompany him. I’m sure he would appreciate your help.”

“Ah, that is unnecessary, young master,” Barbatos interjected.

Diavolo was grinning still. He almost exuded an aura of knowingness. He would probably wink at you dramatically except that it would be too obvious. He was scheming to get you alone with Barbatos. You considered saying you’d go with Diavolo to the dining room, just to throw him off. But you really did want to help Barbatos.

You turned to Barbatos. “It’s fine,” you said shortly. “I’ll help you.”

“I am perfectly capable-“ Barbatos began.

“I’m sure you are, but isn’t it nice that MC wants to help? You wouldn’t refuse him now, would you?” Diavolo asked.

You glanced at Diavolo to see a puppy dog look that made you roll your eyes behind Barbatos’s back.

Barbatos sighed. “Very well. Come along, MC.”

You didn’t mind leaving Diavolo behind, following Barbatos as he brought you into the kitchen. He put you to work immediately, stirring a delicious smelling soup of some kind. You didn't ask about it, mostly because you knew it would likely be full of odd Devildom ingredients that you weren't familiar with anyway.

The little Ds were scampering around here and there, being more of a nuisance than assistance. Barbatos took it all in stride, stepping around them deftly whenever he needed to. He moved through the kitchen by intuition and you thought he could probably do it in his sleep if he needed to.

After a little while, you looked over to see Barbatos frowning up at a high shelf in one of the cupboards. He wasn't attempting to get anything out of it, just contemplating it as though he was trying to decide the most effective way of getting whatever it was he needed.

You watched as he lifted himself on his tiptoes and reached up an arm. His fingertips brushed against a serving platter. It was leaning against a punch bowl and as you watched him try to inch it out bit by bit, you could see that the bowl would fall in a matter of seconds.

You left the soup and strode across the kitchen, catching the punch bowl before it could smash onto Barbatos's head.

Barbatos looked up at you, his eyes wide in surprise. "Oh," he said and the tone of his voice was weak. He was very close, your bodies not quite touching. If you simply turned a little, you would be pressed against him.

"Be careful," you said. You pushed the punch bowl back into place and retrieved the serving platter with ease.

You handed the platter to Barbatos, but didn't let go as he gripped the other end of it. "You should've just asked me to get it."

Barbatos blushed beautifully. "I didn't wish to trouble you."

You let go of the platter and returned to the soup. "It's no trouble. I… like helping you. With things."

You glanced over your shoulder to see Barbatos looking positively stunned. And then he smiled, sweet and delicate and full of a fondness you didn't often see directed at you.

"Thank you, MC," he said as he set the platter down and began to arrange food on it. "I will keep that in mind."

And he did, after that. You noticed when Barbatos always made an effort to ask for your help, even with simple things. And you were always rewarded with that gentle smile.

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[elinekeit-artstuff]

That projectile titty rocket flew so my agender ass could walk 💞

[achillesdaily]

DAY #6

>posting Achilles until he arrives at my doorstep.

Achilles, introduce yourself.

[rottmnt-residuum]

I know you didn't win the au comp, but since you said send in bonus comic ideas, would you still be interested in showing us what happened when Donnie first woke up in the facility?

If not that's ok!

i always get hung up on the 'when he first woke up' part, as he woke up multiple times before he got to the facility. But when he woke up at the facility itself was quite literally right before that first scene in the comic.

what i was considering as spoilers here was the fact he woke up before he got to the facility

[sanasanakun]

I think my favorite part of the dlc’s final boss is how it (can) directly mirror your Tarnished, and by extension, their relationship with Ranni. Obviously, this is coming from me, your resident Ranni glazer who will make everything about her if I can, so please understand this is my interpretation. 

My interpretation is that Miquella/Radahn act as a foil to Ranni/Tarnished, specifically when it comes to the themes of love, consent, and freewill. Now, I know it’s up in the air about how consenual the pact between Radahn and Miquella is. Personally, I see it as non-consensual; Miquella resurrected and controls a puppet of Radahn and/or bewitched him to be his “promised consort.” Given the theme of control with Miquella, I don’t think FromSoft would turn that around on us at the last second. Radahn’s situation is meant to be the final nail in the coffin; a demonstration of what Miquella’s “love” exactly means. Total control over one’s entire self and mind. Anyway, I digress, let’s get into how I see their situation mirroring, and acting as the antithesis, to Ranni and Tarnished. 

First, we’ll examine Miquella and Radahn. Miquella is presented almost throughout the entire game as a beloved figure. He is literally called “Miquella the Kind,” and his actions at the Haligtree paint him as an even more heroic figure. A demi-god who wants to help the weak, the oppressed, and anyone in between who has been scorned by the Golden Order. As we discover in the DLC, Miquella wants to create an “Age of Compassion.” But there’s always a catch, and Miquella’s plan is no exception. Why? Because his new age would remove the free will of everyone by giving him total control of how they feel, act, etc. He’ll make them happy and at peace because they’ll have no choice; they’ll have no self. This is exemplified in literal form with Radahn. The relationship between the two brothers presents itself as a one-sided obsession on Miquella’s part. Though we don't know a ton about them together, I think it’s safe to theorize Radahn didn’t willingly go along with Miquella’s plan. Radahn is canonically a fan of the Golden Order given his admiration of Godfrey and his father, Radagon. I can’t see him wanting to disrupt the current way of things. Plus, I don’t believe Maleania and Radahn would stage a fake war just to get Radahn into a position where he could be resurrected via Mohg. Too many hoops to jump through, so Occam’s Razor says Radahn rejected Miquella. 

Now that’s great and all, but the real meat I want to analyze comes from the actual boss fight, or more specifically, the twos’ body language during the fight. Radahn is an empty shell. He doesn’t have any dialouge aside from small grunts. He doesn’t address us at all, which is entirely unlikely for how he’s been described. He’s a ferocious warlord who values the strength of both his allies and enemies. At the very least, he would address someone as prolific and talented as the PC Tarnished. Yet, he doesn’t. Radahn is literally there to act as “the muscle;” he is the strong and powerful lord that Miquella admired him to be. However, by making Radahn only act like this, Miquella has erased the true essence of what made Radahn. He lacks his soul. Miquella might be the more interesting of the two when it comes to body language. I think Miquella’s theme of control really shines with how he places himself on Radahn during the battle. He is literally draped over Radahn with his arms wrapped around his neck. Obviously, at first glance this is meant to imitate an embrace, solidifying the two as both a team and lovers. Yet, Miquella’s position doubles in meaning when considering his need to control. The arms could represent a collar, with Miquella acting as the leash. His hovering gives off a “helicopter” vibe (for a lack of a better term). While playing I called him a “helicopter parent,” comparing him to where they are constantly looking over your shoulder and trying to direct you. Essentially, Miquella is caging Radahn in his embrace, revealing his need to control the situation and Radahn himself. Miquella is the personification of control; he won’t allow free will to happen because he thinks it causes too much pain and uncertainties. And Radahn, he embodies the fate of those who would live under the Age of Compassion; he is a puppet. Specifically, he is Miquella’s puppet in both battle and love. He doesn’t have a choice in the matter at all. 

So, how is this the antithesis to our beloved blue wife and the Tarnished? Ranni doesn’t appear to help the Tarnished during their fight with the duo, which I’ve seen a few complain about. While I would love to fight alongside my support princess (and I have downloaded the mod lol), I think Ranni appearing would undermine the character FromSoft has established and her relationship with the Tarnished. Ranni is very hands off. She gives her vassals the tools to work with and then tells them to do what they wish with it. She never forces you to do anything you don’t want to. When you confront her about her role in the death of Godwyn, she willingly admits it and then asks you if you’d like to pledge service to her. She doesn’t say, “You know my secrets, therefore you will be in my service so I can keep an eye on you.” Instead, it’s a choice; a choice for someone far below her in class and power, but she gives it to you nonetheless. For Ranni, the ability to choose and live the way you desire is incredibly important. She seems to dislike outside forces messing with the ability to expereince life (as she says feel, see, taste, etc). 

Therefore, in the final battle with Miquella and Radahn, Ranni is there with you via the tools she’s provided and the faith she has in you (you can interpret this as her blessing with the “we will see each other once more”). She doesn’t need to be hovering over you, arms wrapped around your neck; she trusts the Tarnished above all else to succeed and fight for her. But should they choose not to, she’ll be heartbroken but she won’t stop you. As for the Tarnished, our character is not a shell of a person. They are someone teeming with ambition and the will to fight for their chosen successor. They fight because they want to be there and challenge whatever comes to face them; they don’t need Ranni telling them “go fight Miquella and Radahn for me pls.” 

Their “Age of the Dark Moon” also is the antithesis to Miquella’s “Age of Compassion.” Whereas his is about control, Ranni wants to remove all outer god influence from the world. She wants people to experience their lives without the intervention of any god; to experience life on their own terms, whether they want otherworldly guidance or not. She literally takes her order and leaves the planet (?) with it and you. 

Ok, that’s enough of me rambling about whatever the fuck comes to my sleep deprived mind. I have a flight to catch in three hours, so I’m gonna leave it here. In closing, Ranni good I love her very much mwah<3

[bendreality-a]

all hail Rolan, master of Ramazith's Tower.

[shyravenns]

yeah yeah yeah Soap is dead, but how about Soap coming back and haunting every member of 141 like the clingy bastard that he is

Farah who never really knew Soap as well as the others, but still feels the gaping hole that his presence left. Farah, who finds herself standing beside Ghost underneath the cool night sky, and surprises herself (and him) with a joke that's so oddly distasteful about the state of their recent mission and feeling a soft warmth flutter in her chest at his light huff of laughter. Laughter that she feels as if she hasn't heard in months. Remembering hours later that herself that she could have sworn that there had been a brief, additional gust of laughter along the wind that neither of them bothered to acknowledged.

Alex who feels the unsettling quiet that's grown between all of them at all times as if it were a blanket. He knew Soap as well as one might expect from the very few times they worked together, and oftentimes thinks about the blossoming friendship between them that had died along with him. Alex, who often wonders about the kind of leader Soap would have been and places him in the tiny cranny in his heart that's reserved for every man and woman that's worked alongside him and died. Alex who feels the unwelcome *push* of hands that cause him to stumble so hard he feels as if his teeth has knocked out, and just barely remembers that he's in an active warzone before he glances up and sees the tall tale imprint of a bullet in the wall right where his head had been.

Rudy who had the privledge of actually becoming Soap's friend, and remembers the exact moment he heard the news. They weren't *close*. Not in the way that Soap was close with Ghost or Gaz or even Alejandro, but he still felt as if a bullet had pierced his own heart at the confirmation of his death. Watching at the brief flicked of emotions crossing Alejandro's face at another soldier lost far too soon. Rudy who flips through the long forgotten sketchbook that Soap had left during one of his visits to Las Almas, and delicately places his fingers on the sketches. Rudy who doesn't remember falling asleep, and wakes up with the scent of a long forgotten friend floating in the air and a sketchbook that's been left on an empty page he doesn't remember seeing. He stands up to get his pencil.

Alejandro who takes every death to heart, and keeps every dog tag that he can find stored in a drawer in his desk of all the men and women he had the honor of fighting alongside with. Alejandro who grieves at the absolute unfairness of it all, and vows to kill Markarov himself if he should ever have the chance. Alejandro, who still wants to believe that there is some sort of afterlife and that maybe there's a point to all of this. Alejandro, who loses *another* soldier and feels the weight of a hand on his shoulder that squeezes, and thinks that just for a moment that he can hear the faint whisper of bad spanish with a slight scottish accent in his ear. Words barely perceptible even by his own trained ears, and yet it brings a small smile to his face.

[shoshimakesstuff]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Spotify | PSD ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

[phantomsf0rever]

oh to be a journalist interviewing the most doomed woman in new jersey about her cute little outfits...

i hope tumblr doesn't compress her... i usually use big canvases and it turns out fine but this file was particularly diabolical

[zhouxiangs]

tagged by @negrowhat 🩷

no pressure tagging: @sherrymagic @clairedaring @sanvees @ahxu-laowen @ciizerutricha

[wernerherzogs]

wait youre so right about platonic hickeys buddie

because like theyre each others person even if they arent dating so of COURSE theyd be laying claim to each other!! theyre just each others best best friends of all time!!

JUST BESTIE THINGS. it starts as a joke, or maybe a dare from chimney during a team night out who's kinda secretly hoping that maybe one instance of something like this could be enough for buck and eddie to get their heads out of their asses, but naturally he's wrong.

but unbeknownst to chimney and everyone else, it becomes A Thing. and during that time eddie genuinely tries to go on like 3-4 dates, and buck only goes on one (1), but then pretends to go on more while in reality he just goes back to his loft after a hickey hangout with eddie and has a sad jerk-off session to from the dining table by harry styles even though it doesn't apply to his life whatsoever while a fresh hickey from eddie blooms somewhere over his skin. and ever since that first joke hickey, buddie keep egging each other on and daring each other to put the hickeys in increasingly ridiculous (risque) places, and buck always ends up with his shirt off somehow, and the air always becomes a little more charged than the time prior every time they do it. until one evening buck gets to eddie's and his voice only shakes a little when he asks eddie to put one on his thigh. and eddie swallows, but honest to god intends to try, and he's feeling So Normal about all of this. he swears. He And Buck Are Being So Normal. but when he starts unbuttoning buck's ridiculous wide leg trousers of bisexuality that he secretly hates because he can't ogle buck's legs in peace while buck's wearing them, he can see that buck's already getting hard, and then his hand accidentally-on-purpose brushes over buck's dick and buck's breath hitches, and then it's On. and buck ends up ass naked on the kitchen counter and eddie's trousers are pooled somewhere over his feet and they just rut over each other and last maybe five minutes tops. and then buck drags eddie to the bedroom where they strip each other fully naked and spend a lazy hour just biting and licking at each other. then they attempt to have a round two, but end up kissing and crying the whole time instead. and then they fall asleep wrapped all over each other. somewhere around 10 pm christopher Mr Popular diaz sends a text to eddie asking if he can just spend the night at aiden's place after all since eddie was supposed to pick him at 9:30, but didn't. at 10:30 pm chris sends, "??????". at 11 pm he writes, "gee should i just go back to texas. 🙄 did buck come over or", and at 11:15 pm it's, "well i'll call you in the morning. you two have fun!". at 11:45 pm it's, "happy for you but if you acknowledge this in any way, i AM going back to texas. love you or whatever".

[specific-dreamer]

the people have spoken and i shall be writing the pic where pony and johnny never went to dally

BUT i can’t decide if it should be in darry’s pov or pony’s so i’m gonna write the start to both under the break and then you guys pick

for the people who asked to be let aware here are your tags, it's not done but here's a progress report i suppose: @theleopardstalker, @darry-queen, @skaryskeletons, @too-damn-good-for-growing-old, @dancertori24, and @johnnyburntcake

(save for when you have time because it is v important to me that you know i’ve only written the introduction, the thesis if you will, and pony section is 642 words and darry’s is 375 words. and im not even done i simply forced myself to stop there)

darry’s

darrel shaynne curtis is not a rough person. full send. well, okay, he was rough during football, but you can’t play ball and not be rough. especially not when you’re captain. then again he also loved ganging up on sodapop with ponyboy when they was younger, and well let’s just say darry always ended up bribing soda not to snitch to their mama at the end.

okay fine, maybe darry was a rough person. maybe it was that part of him that hit pony tonight. it was that part of him that scared his baby brother so bad the poor kid ran away. from him. darry was never going to forgive himself.

“darrel?”

he was never one for dramatics but he had half a mind to cut his hands off, just to make sure he never messed up like this again. he’s not too sure how’s he’d cut his left hand off after cutting his dominant hand, but that was a problem for later. then again, who’s gonna pay the bills if he has no hands to get work done.

“darrel?”

right. scratch that idea. it wouldn’t be fair on soda anyways, leaving him with the responsibilities of paying bills and keeping everyone together because darry was too fucked up to be useful.

his eye starts to twitch and his leg starts shaking. something that usually only happens when darry is real scared. it goes without saying it hasn’t done it since his mama and daddy died.

glory, he really fucked up didnt he? what if ponyboy doesn’t come back home? soda would hate darry for that. or what if pony doesn’t want to come back unless darry was gone? soda might not like it for a day or two, but his littles had always been closer with each other than they ever were with him so he might not mind so much.

darry’s not much for dramatics, he preferred to leave that to pony, but if it came down to it, darry would leave just as fast as their parents died. (…too soon?)

“darrel!”

darry jerks so hard he can taste that metallic twang that blood has. he bit his tongue and somehow, the hurt that came with it quieted his mind a little.

pony’s pov

when ponyboy wakes up, his first thought is that sodapop had to stop throwing him in the lake. no matter how many times soda threw him, pony would never learn how to swim like that.

he sits up to say just that to soda when his eyes sees someone laying on the grass. okay… he's never been at the lake without his parents before. and it’s dark outside which is really weird; his mama never lets him outside past the street lights, the last time he was out late his mama was in a worry and his dad was so mad he was honestly a little worried he was going to get the breaks beat off him if darry hadn't stepped in and took the blame.

staring at the person, pony rubs his eyes. that doesn’t matter, right now he needs to figure out which one of his dumb brothers were laying in the grass before they got a crook in their neck or before they dad came looking for them. he’s not sure what’s worse; on the one hand, whichever brother it is would surely complain and blame pony for the crook in their neck even though it’s totally not his fault. on the other hand, if their dad finds them they’d surely get the lecture of a life time and would never hear the end of it.

yeah, pony thinks with a shudder. his dad finding them would definitely be worse. pony shakily gets to his feet and walks closer to the figure. he’s only about three feet away when he sees the pool of blood and the mop of brown hair. his stomach drops before his brain remembers neither of his brothers have brown hair.

it’s only then that it occurs to pony that they aren’t at the lake. it’s only then that ponyboy is brought back to the present. that he realizes he doesn’t have to worry about his mama worrying or his dad coming to look for them. (they’re never going to worry or look for him again and, god, pony has yet to accept that, but he can’t wait for the day it hurts less to remember it.)

and it is then, when ponyboy is staring hard at the brown hair and the pool of blood, that he remembers where he is. he’s at the park. because darry hit him and he- oh god, he came here with johnny, where’s johnny?

pony whips around, his heart once again dropping. but johnny's still alive. shaking and wiping his blade on the grass, but alive. that’s good, pony doesn’t think he’d be able to make it up back home with his sanity in tact if that was johnny bleeding out.

ponyboy is so in his thoughts he can hardly hear johnny speaking, “i killed him. i killed that boy.”

pony can’t bring himself to look at johnny for too long, out of fear that his mind will start to replace the body with johnny. but yeah. he's right, johnny did kill him. pony can’t really recall his biology class real well right now, but he can remember something about how the human body can only lose so much blood and that boy has definitely lost it.

darry’s gonna be so mad at pony for getting caught up in a murder case. thats if he’s not mad at pony for getting nearly killed himself. his stomachs twists at the thought.

glory.

ponyboy almost died tonight. he knew it was always a possibility, he wasn’t going to live forever. but god. those socs really wanted to take his life tonight and for what? talking to a girl? he’s not soda, it’s not like pony ever even had a shot at cherry, even if he wanted one (and he did kind of, but not if it risked his life).

pony was shivering something fierce when be finally looked away from bob. “johnny, i think im gonna be sick.”

he barely hears johnny giving him the go ahead as he does his best not to vomit all over bob. he never liked bob but pony can at least show him a little respect since it’s his fault the kid's dead.

[6okuto]

why the heck isn't sugawara real i just know he gives the best hugs

yeah . cw for implied depressive episode at the end ("when you're having a hard time..") & small eating mention

there's the excited hugs where you're both cheering and jumping up and down, spinning in place. maybe you've both won something, or you've just accomplished a goal you set because all your wins are his to celebrate too.

there's the hugs when you haven't seen each other in a long time where his face lights up at the sight of you jogging closer. he squeezes his eyes shut as he laughs and wraps himself around you, fingers wrinkling the back of your shirt from how tight he's holding on. he says some silly joke before a sincere "i missed you."

there's the hugs on stay-in date nights in front of the couch, where he pulls you in before falling back with an "oof!" you hit his arm and roll your eyes every time, but the smile on your face motivates him to do it again the next week anyway

there's also the "cheer up!" hugs when you're feeling stressed or overthinking, but it isn't too serious. whether he's offering or you ask, koushi opens his arms with a smile—maybe pats his chest twice, calling you to bury your head against him. the both of you sway from side to side as he hums or says sweet words of encouragement.

and there's the hugs when you're having a hard time. he can tell you're overworking and tired, or you've been quieter than usual, declining plans and isolating yourself, eating quicker meals instead of ones that'd be filling.

he's quieter when he comes to check on you. something always tightens in his chest when he sees you struggling—he wishes he could just make it all better, but he knows he can't. so he just does his best, gives you as much of his love and himself as he can to fill the parts chipped away.

"you okay?" koushi's voice is quiet but stable, different from your wavering "yeah," muffled behind the blanket you've curled yourself into instead of him.

but he's still koushi, he still huffs and pokes you with a frown as if you've just stolen his chips and hidden them behind your back. "you know you're a really bad liar."

you wonder how he does it—effortlessly balance teasing words with gentle voice and eyes.

when you peek your head out to look at him, he exchanges the frown for a smile. his voice runs over you like a river smoothing jagged stones, "you don't have to tell me everything, but i'd rather you at least tell me you're sad instead of hold it in."

the blanket moves when you do. "...i'm sad."

"...okay." the hand that poked you comes to rest against your cheek. "can i come in?"

and it's a wordless shift as he tucks himself in bed beside you, quiet as he pulls you into his chest and starts tracing stars and "i love you" against your back.

but at least he's here now, at least you've let him in. that's all you both need, you think, because at least as he hugs you, you can focus on his breathing and warmth instead of everything else.