#When a piece writes itself rather than you writing it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

504py · 2 months ago

Text

A day in a life with Ivan. [ONESHOT]

Warnings below the cut 。。。

⚠️ NSFW, yandere content, alcoholism, reader got tradwifed, stockholm syndrome, domestic violence, Ivan is very blatantly sadistic, size difference, dacryphilia, vague breeding kink, no use of Y/N, forced feminization(?), gender neutral reader.

hey yawll!! i drew this since i wanted to play more with the painting style and color palette i did in my last post, but since i hit 800 followers recently, i decided to write something to go along with it too!

thank you guys so so much for putting up with my bs and enjoying the slop i create LOL. hopefully this will be enough to thank you all and to satiate you guys till i come back from hibernation again 🩵🙏

also!! while this is a gender neutral reader, ivan still refers to you as a housewife. this is pretty much an extension of the headcanon post i did on him.

MAN I NEED TO RECONNECT WITH NATURE AFTER THIS 😭😭😭

┊͙✧˖*°࿐

The average heart rate of a rabbit is a hundred and eighty beats per minute. Much, much faster than a human's at only a hundred, the little hearts of rabbits pump virile blood into their vulnerable bodies in order to outrun the cursed life of a prey animal they have no choice but to live.

Living with Ivan feels the exact same way. You, a human, were reduced to nothing but a prey animal whose only line of defense was either freeze or flight. Ivan prefers the freeze response. Tries to squeeze it out of you as much as he can.

The morning begins normally. You wake up next to his large, minimally clothed body, while you're bundled up as much as physically possible. You don't understand how he's so comfortable in the cold, but you've learned not to liken him to humans. You gently wake him up before you leave the bed– you learned that he doesn't like waking up to an empty bed without any prior notice. It takes a while for Ivan to wake up, he's a heavy sleeper, but when his violet eyes finally open and dilate at the sight of you, the first thing he does is smile and pull you in to trap you in a strong bear hug. Don't struggle, he'll just tighten his grip. Then he kisses your cheek, and just holds you there without saying anything. He'll grumble a little when you tell him you have to leave bed to make breakfast, but he eventually will let you go.

It's a little sick how your current living situation makes chores the best part of your day, given how it allows the most proximity between you and Ivan. Cooking in the early morning is your favorite, since it takes Ivan a long time to recover from his hibernation. Thinking about what to cook is a bit of a meditative process as well, allows you to think thoroughly about anything other than your way of life and the man keeping you here.

Today, you decided to make something simple and similar to something you ate growing up. Luckily, Ivan is not a picky eater, even though he rather obviously prefers Slavic food. He'll eat whatever you make happily, but he'll be in even better spirits if you make something familiar to him.

You do not cook in silence. Silence has quickly become one of your biggest pet peeves since your captivity, and you do anything to drown it out. This damn empty mansion, the way Ivan is so terrible with his words and chooses instead to crush you with his actions, the bleak snowy landscape that greets you if you dare try and find any solace outside of this cage and your captor– It's enough to drive anyone insane. So, you pass the days by drowning out your thoughts with music and movies.

Ivan doesn't allow you a cellphone, or anything remotely modern at all. His home has a terrifying dedication to being so analog, you'd think you'd been transported to the 90's if not for the TV with a few streaming services on it, the only modern piece of technology he allows. He likes to collect cameras, radios, and old phones. Ivan's menagerie of antique goods is so expansive that it earned itself its own room. It's almost like a small museum, and you're very glad he allows you to look at and touch them as you pleased– with care, of course. He can actually be rather charming when he acts as your "museum guide" in this room. One of the few times you find yourself thinking anything remotely positive about him.

Ivan's voice is soft, it always is, but when he talks about these things he's so passionate about and so engrossed in, it takes on a bit more of a stern, confident tone that is easier for you to listen to. And when he's looking at the objects he's explaining, you can admire his side profile more openly. He's caught you multiple times (he has surprisingly sharp senses), and you're met with a flustered smile instead of the usual so-sweet-to-the-point-it-looks-fake type of smile.

"What are you looking at?" He'd ask, his voice quieting back down to that syrupy tone.

"Just you." You'd reply, which makes him pause in surprise for a second, before it earns a soft giggle from the towering man.

"Why? Is something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Vanya." The nickname makes him melt. "You just looked pretty."

The smile falls from his face, and his cheeks redden even more than you thought possible, before his grin returns tenfold. He laughs and looks away.

The memory of such interactions make you feel like buttering up to the man instead of rejecting him so much, then you realize you're just describing stockholm syndrome. As crazy as it is, it feels like, at this point, it'd be better to let it happen than to be aware and hateful every day you live here.

As if your thoughts had alerted him, you hear Ivan's deceptively soft footsteps descend the stairs. He doesn't say anything, and just makes his way to the kitchen to watch you.

He's dressed in more clothing now, a dark blue sweater and gray sweatpants. His neck is left bare around you. When you first met him, his clothing that purposefully covers his neck always went unnoticed by you, because such clothes fit him so well, like they were always meant to be there. It was only after your capture, when he took off his scarf and you saw the bandages around his pale neck did you start to question it.

You've never outright asked him, you worry the subject is too volatile. He just... decided to stop hiding it one day. It was after a shower when you first saw it, the ligature marks around his neck and a few faded pink scars on the front of his adam's apple. Ivan noticed you staring, and you've never seen him look so small and insecure before.

"Is it bad?"

"No." You shake your head. "Does it hurt?"

"Not anymore."

And that was that.

You finish plating up two dishes, one with a significantly heftier portion than yours considering how much he eats. You quickly place the chopping board and all the pans you used in the sink to wash later, and you bring the dishes to the table.

Ivan yawns, rubs at his eyes, and without much event, just picks up a knife and a fork and starts eating. You do the same only after fetching some tea from the samovar.

Breakfast is always quiet besides the background noise of whatever media you chose to play.

"Mm. Ёжик в тумaне?"

"Yeah. I like this one."

"A little somber, isn't it?"

"The hedgehog is cute. I relate to it a little bit."

Ivan takes his eyes off of the television to look at you, and ponders what you said a little more. He doesn't say anything, and continues eating.

"What will you be doing today?" You ask, in case you needed to iron some clothing or prepare extra food for guests.

He hums in thought for a moment. "I'll be going out in the evening to drink with the other nations."

"What will you be wearing?"

"What I usually do."

You nod, "I'll have it ready soon."

"What about you?" He asks.

"Hmm... I'll wash the dishes, then iron and press your clothing. After that, I'll think of what to cook for lunch while cleaning the house, and I'll prepare a meal for you before you leave. Then while you're away, I'll clean up some more and prepare dinner. And if I have some time, I'll sit and watch some more movies."

Ivan hums in satisfaction. He enjoys how strict to routine your lives were. Familiarity and stability are what he desires most, and he believes you're the only one who can grant him that wish.

"Perfect." He smiles, petting the crown of your head with a large, broad hand.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

You adjust the dusty pink scarf around his thick neck after finishing wrapping the scars on his throat with bandages. You do it neatly and comfortably, as opposed to how Ivan does, quickly and efficiently, learned from decades of routine, yet it's still so much more uncomfortable compared to when you do it.

"How is it?" You ask. Ivan replies by taking your smaller hands in his and leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"You do it perfectly, любовь моя." He sighs, before pouting slightly. "I wish I could just stay home."

"You'll be alright, Vanya. Alcohol is like water to you anyways."

He snickers and rolls his eyes. "That just means it'll be boring for me, then."

"Just try to have fun and relax. I'll be safe and quiet here."

A mousy smile appears on his pink lips. You've said exactly what he wants to hear. "Alright. I'll just get it over with." He presses one last kiss to the top of your hair before leaving.

"Don't cause any trouble!" Ivan sings, before exiting the living room and closing the door behind him. You get a glimpse of the blindingly white outside world, and a gust of stinging cold air brushes against your skin like a warning.

You let out a taut breath, finally feeling like you're able to breathe without his crushing presence. You dust off your hands, from nothing in particular, before going off to do just as you said to him earlier. It bothers you how much he still affects you without even being around.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The sky is dark, and all that is heard is the droning of soft music and the burbling of something boiling on the stove. Its tranquility is broken by the door opening with more aggression than usual.

"Vanya?" You call out, hoping the sweet usage of his nickname would quell whatever spawned this roughness within him.

All you hear is something vaguely resembling a groan and a sigh, and his heavy, thudding footsteps. Your heart starts to race a little.

"Is something wrong, Vanya?" You ask meekly, approaching him with caution. He reeks of alcohol, and his movements seem all sluggish. Jesus, how much did Russia of all people need to drink in order to get this wasted?

"I'm alright." He huffs, taking off his gloves and his coat with slight difficulty. You step in closer to help him undress, taking off his scarf. You don't miss how he tenses up, so you freeze and meet his constantly intense stare to gauge his expression. His eyelids are low, pupils contracted, eyes darker than usual, and cheeks flushed like they always are. He seems to be pouting a bit. He doesn't do much else, so you continue, stripping him of his large overcoat. All he's left in now is a black sweater and thick brown slacks.

"I've made dinner. You can just sit wherever you want and I'll bring it to you–"

Ivan leans in so quickly, you couldn't even register it in order to dodge or deflect his kiss in time. This time, it lands on your lips. He doesn't do this usually at all, unless he was planning something. The blood drains from your face when his large hand finds the back of your neck, and holds it stiff, preventing any chance of backing out.

His skin and the inside of his mouth are impossibly warm, and the bitter, sterile taste of vodka is the only damn thing invading your senses. You grip the fabric of his knitted sweater, it makes him part from your lips to pant like a dog and take said piece of clothing off, now left in a dark gray shirt.

"V-Va– You taste like alcohol–"

"Get drunk off of me." He whispers, before grabbing the sides of your arms and kissing you tongue first, lapping at your lips, and at this point, you learned better than to deny him. With all the mental fortitude you could muster, you rigidly part your lips. Despite all your efforts to be as pliant as possible to try and guarantee your safety, you can't help the shiver of revulsion when his tongue invades your mouth like a parasite and rubs against yours.

It feels like time slows down, you can feel the milliseconds before your instincts kick in, and each millisecond feels like a year of dread. Unable to stop raw instinct, you bite down.

Your heart stops when you hear him grunt, and feel his grip around your arms tighten before he shoves you away. He gasps, cursing under his breath in his mother tongue before setting his sights back on you.

Doe-eyed and trembling like a leaf in a hurricane, you begin to plead.

"N-No, no, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Vanya, please–"

He approaches, kicks the back of your knees, before you are grabbed by the scruff of your shirt. The collar of your blouse is yanked back and presses the fabric tightly against your throat as he drags you to the front door. You're coughing and struggling to regain your footing, and the moment you can breathe, you beg.

"Please! Nonono– Vanya please don't do this I'll be good–" The words tumble out like unorganized clutter using the one short breath you were able to catch.

With one more harsh tug, you fall to your knees again, and the door opens. The sight of the snow immediately triggers something within you, and you begin sobbing.

Ivan takes a peak at you, seemingly taking pity.

"Only for a few minutes."

You shake your head in a frenzy, not believing a word he says. Even if he was saying the truth, you'd much rather continue to humiliate yourself over being outside for even a few seconds. What if he forgets about you? What if that door never opens again? What if you die a miserable death, separated from your survival by just a few inches of wood?

That's why, the moment he throws you out, you scramble to your feet and shove that damned door open before he can fully close it. You know you're in deeper shit when you hear the door slam against him, and the deep yelp that follows it. You run for your life into the confines of his house.

You quickly make way to one of the bathrooms, the only rooms in the house you're still able to lock from the inside. You knew even that meant nothing, since you're sure Ivan could and would break them down without a second thought. Yet, it was still your best shot.

You lock the bathroom door and sit on the flooring right next to it. You try to calm down your heartrate and your heaving so you could try and listen in on whatever was going on outside this room.

Eerie silence is what greets you. You hate it, hate it so much. Shuddering, you hold your breath and strain your ears just a little more.

And that's when you hear it.

Soft footsteps.

You have to bite back a scream from how much raw fear that little sound sends shooting through your nervous system. Makes your skin crawl so bad that it almost hurts.

Ivan's clearly not in any rush, but FUCK did you wish he'd just get it over with and sprint right at you. You're sure he knows where you are, he just likes to freak you out, you can tell. That sweet smile he always puts on is nothing short of sadistic, constantly has this look in his eyes, some kinda weird sparkle that tells you he enjoys watching you struggle beneath him. Knowing you'll be face to face with those very eyes shortly makes your ribs squeeze around your quaking lungs and heart.

The footsteps approach. You brace yourself for a rough kick to the door or a pipe slamming through it.

Instead, he knocks. This was wrong, what was happening? Oh, god, this was so much worse.

"I won't ask again."

Scrambling to the door, not even sparing any time to actually stand up, you open it. You wince when you strain your neck to look up and see the damage done to him by your outburst. A nasty, bloody bruise on the bridge of his tall nose and that same crimson liquid streaming down his nostril. Your chest shakes like a dying sparrow's.

"I-I'm sorry. Please."

And he smiles.

Ivan is actually, genuinely, extremely pleased right now. He's wanted this all along, for you to fear the outside world so much you'd do anything in the world to stay here, right by his side. He doesn't give a single shit about the injuries you've caused him now and in the past, he's strong, he can take it, and he'll always forgive you over and over again. Of course, it makes him annoyed, because what good housewife would beat their husband like that? But he understands that your circumstances aren't exactly normal, so he'll endure it with irritation. At the rate he's breaking you in, though, you'll soon be as pliant and obedient as he expects you to be. Perhaps you'll even start to love him back. Just the thought of it raises goosebumps on his porcelain skin and makes his hands tremble in excitement.

You don't understand why he's giggling right now.

He sighs your name, and crouches down to meet your stare. You flinch as a droplet of blood hits the tiles. Ivan's grin only widens when your shaking hands reach for his face and try to wipe the blood away.

"O-Oh, Ivan," You whine uselessly, getting up on boneless legs to grab the first-aid kit. He watches with bright, amused eyes. He knows you won't try anything anymore. He's confident in your compliance to him.

As carefully as you can, you wipe off the blood with paper towels, crying harder when it smears instead of going away completely like you'd hoped. It felt like your mistakes were going to be impossible to fix.

Ivan's cheery gaze never falters. Maybe this is the happiest you've ever seen him, despite the blood streaming into the gaps of his teeth and forming a grotesque image. Dusty eyelashes frame his smiley crescent moon eyes, cheeks ruddy as little alcohol-stained puffs of air pollute the cold atmosphere. You jolt when he chuckles throatily.

"What's wrong?" His voice is as sickly sweet as it always is.

"Y-You're mad– I made you mad. I'm sorry." You choke on your own words, trying your best not to drop the bottle of disinfectant in your weak hand.

"What did you do?"

"I–" You hiccup, "I d-didn't– I didn't listen to you. I wasn't good."

Unable to hide his pleasure, he laughs and leans in to give you a chaste, bloody kiss.

"It will be okay. I love you."

You're glad your crying masks the gag reflex that almost makes itself apparent when you know what you have to say next. You steel your nerves and dryly swallow the taste of Ivan's blood.

"I love– I love you too."

He gives you a pleased, closed-mouth smile, and presses a kiss to the top of your head before taking the bottle of disinfectant from you. He begins to tend to his own wounds.

"This does not mean I forgive you, though."

Just as you felt your whole world crashing down around you, Ivan saves you.

He breathes out a laugh, "No, I won't throw you outside again. It's much better staying inside with me, yes?"

You nod in a frenzy. "Yes! Y-Yes, much better. Please don't."

"Well," Ivan prefaces, disinfecting the cut on his nose before placing a bandaid on it. He turns his head to the side and spits out the blood left in his mouth. "You will have to tend to this wound. Kiss it better." And before you could even wonder what he meant by that, his tongue lolls out, brandishing the red bite mark from earlier.

Disgust registers for only a second.

Like an automaton made solely to serve, you lean forward, grasp onto his biceps, and press a needy, desperate kiss to his drooling tongue. He laughs while you lap at his tongue like a wounded dog, warm, alcoholic breaths brushing against your face.

After relishing in the feeling of your worship for a little longer, he gently pushes you to the ground and crawls over your jittery body, placing a hand against the small of your back to hold you up and closer to him, with the other gripping the outside of your thigh.

"You will not bite me this time?"

Nodding fearfully, praying the conviction in your eyes will be enough to warrant his forgiveness, you wrap your arms around his neck.

Sighing happily, he presses his cold lips against yours, taking the lead happily as he moans into the kiss. The sound was more out of the satisfaction of establishing his dominance rather than the actual physical pleasure.

Ivan doesn't usually indulge in sexual fantasies or acts, which surprises you considering how touchy the man is. His mind usually favors daydreams of a stable, domestic life with you. Ivan prioritizes establishing your relationship over anything else, so he doesn't really find the time to lull over menial things like sex. Marriage is one thing, but your total submission is another.

Then again, this doesn't mean that he fully doesn't have any carnal desires when it comes to you. It's you, for christ's sake. When his fantasies of dominance come into play, it seems only obvious that sometimes his thoughts wander into the bedroom.

Ivan fantasizes a lot about having you desire him as much as he does you. He wants you to need him like air. Wants to have you mewling his name and clinging to him like your life depended on it, which would quite literally be the case right now. Wants to see your pretty, pretty tears reserved only for him. Wants to see you fall apart in his arms over and over again while comforting you so meanly and kissing your crying face.

Ivan tries his best to not let these thoughts make themselves apparent, but fuck, do you make it so hard sometimes. How could any man not be affected by the sight of their adorable little housewife in an apron? Takes so much for him to not just grab you by your hair and bend you over the counter. Whenever you cry for whatever reason, he almost feels guilty over how instantly horny it makes him. Almost feels guilty when all he can think about is licking those tears off of your face and making himself the cause of them. God, he wants to play the role of a nice doting husband so bad, but he can't help but feel you up and breathe down your neck when you try on the dresses and lingerie he buys for you. He can't help grabbing your waist and pressing his erection against your ass– not on purpose, he just wanted to be close to you.

While aggressive in his approach, Ivan never forces any sexual acts that you refuse. Even if he's left high and breathing heavy, he still wants to be someone you don't completely hate. Be a good husband, be a good husband. He always chants to himself. All his prayers proved fruitful when he quite literally cried tears of joy during your first time together.

Ivan doesn't know what was different that day, he didn't expect anything, just to make out and have you reject him after a bit, but you just... kept going, until he was ramming into you, hands tight around your sweaty waist and fucking into you like you were just a fleshlight. He's never seen himself like this, moaning and gasping like a girl and feeling so fucking good that all that he wanted– all that he could think of was breeding you like a bull and how beautiful your family would be. God, the memory of you struggling, doing your best to take his thick cock and crying so cutely just trying to bottom out is engraved into the grooves of his brain. It makes his stomach feel all warm whenever he thinks of it. He wants to carve it under his eyelids so he can see it every time he blinks.

Ivan laughs a lot during sex, call him creepy, it's genuinely because he is just so damn happy that he can't hide it. Why should he hide it from you? He wants to show you just how much he loves you and how good you make him feel. You make him feel so damn happy and complete that all he could do was chant IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou– while whimpering, giggling, his tears dripping onto your face.

Maybe he'll get lucky again.

Without parting, Ivan carefully lowers your back to the tiled floor, straddling your body and snaking his long fingers under your blouse, resting them against your heated abdomen. He smiles into the kiss when you jolt away, tickled by how frigid they are.

The ends of his feathered gray hair tickles your wet face, your body shivering at all the different sensations attacking you simultaneously. The cold tiles, his freezing hands, his hot tongue, the faint taste of blood, the warm drool seeping out the side of your mouth, his arid breathing, the smell of alcohol–

Your hands, still by the back of his neck, reach up to ever-so-slightly tug at his hair to signal you needed a breather. Ivan makes a small noise of surprise, before pulling away.

He looks absolutely dazed, lips shiny with remnants of a spit trail, and lavender eyes heavy and glazed over with a feral lust. His breathing is labored, muscular chest rising and falling as he intently watches every minute expression your face makes. Despite the blatant lack of nudity, this might be the most erotic sight you've ever seen. Fuck, why does he have to look so good when you're supposed to hate him?

Right now, you were so exhausted you couldn't even remember what reason you'd have to hate him, despite there being enough that you could spend the rest of your life listing all of them down.

And just when you try to refuse by backing up, your thigh brushes against his boner and he lets out the most heated, breathy, shivery moan you've ever heard. The vocalization sounded like it was tailor-made to tantalize you, to tempt you into biting the fruit. And you know what? You were a sinner anyways.

"Bed– B-Bedroom."

A toothy grin appears on Ivan's face, and he exhales a breathy laugh. He looks absolutely delighted, and starved.

Without a second thought, he picks you up, and carries you to the closest one.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The next morning begins normally. Your body is sore, and covered in bite marks. That was one of the best sleeps you've had in recent memory. Ivan seems to think so, too, with his arms cradling your torso and a hand resting over your lower abdomen. The ache reminds you about what happened yesterday, you can still feel him in there somehow.

You woke up a little later in the morning compared to usual. Since you're still a little too exhausted to get up and begin cooking, you lay there for a while, listening to the quiet howling of the wind outside. You wonder when was the last time you heard any birds chirping.

Thinking of the outside world brings you a bit of dread, don't really like doing it. But when your life is so isolated and so alone, misery can become a form of entertainment.

The more and more days go by, the more and more do you forget what your life was like before meeting the Russian. The longer you live with Ivan, the more does it feel that he was just always there, and that your life before meeting him was a falsified memory. You're not even sure how much time has passed since, it's always snowing outside, every day feels the same.

That's the one thing you remember from before this life, the feeling of warmth. You're not sure you remember the feeling of it, really, but you're well aware of the absence it leaves behind. Maybe when spring finally comes around, you can open that door, and...

Eyebrows furrowing as a migraine starts to set in, you shake your head weakly. You didn't like thinking about the outside.

Turning over to face Ivan, you gently wake him up before you leave the bed– you learned that he doesn't like waking up to an empty bed without any prior notice. He eventually stirs from his sleep, hugs you, and you do not struggle.

┊͙✧˖*°࿐

487 notes · View notes

azullumi · 5 months ago

Text

"it's you hiding in limelight" ; aventurine

requested by anon — “can you do or already done pre-relationship aventurine headcanons? like what is he like before and how he warms up” premise — it takes a lot for him to trust someone. it’s a gentle and steady process; the fire burns slowly between you and him, and despite the uncertainty whether the flame is going to burn out or consume him in the end, he lets the warmth seep through the cracks of his soul. content tags and warnings — pairing: gender-neutral reader w/ aventurine | pre-relationship, fluff, a little word vomit, not proofread | wc: 0.7k ; headcanons

note from me — i was so conflicted while writing this,, and it doesn't help that i'm trying to figure out if my cat is pregnant or just fat...

It’s not easy to make AVENTURINE warm up.

He doesn’t trust anyone easily, seeing relationships as superficial, as something that is simply a give-and-take thing, a bet, a deal. He has quite a one-way view on relationships, only seeing it as something that would be beneficial to him—it’s not like he knows how to maintain such relationships either. He thinks that showering them with gifts, no matter how expensive, would make them stay, a key to securing loyalty and affection.

So when he finds himself slowly being drawn to you, being at ease whenever you’re around, as he initiates small talks and silly bets, he wouldn’t know how to break it down from there. You’re just so warm and easy to talk to, it’s comforting (like a gentle breeze). He simply keeps everyone at arm’s length, maintaining a careful distance, and yet, like a living paradox, he can feel intimately close at times to you—it’s his subtle flirting, consistent compliments, and often lingering touches.

He is hesitant in all of his bones, hard to grasp, complex and distant, but if you reach even for a little, he’ll let you hold him in your hands. He’s confusing; the thread of his words and actions are intertwined with each other but you can never find the meaning of it. It’s a heavy needlepoint of embroidery that can never be finished, a small part missing from the piece and you could never figure out what it is that you’re lacking. It’s not easy to tell if he sees you only as a friend or something more than that.

You need to be patient and persistent with him, understanding that he himself struggles with the idea of vulnerability; he fears that opening up to pain and disappointment, leaving him on his own in the end. However, over time, he eventually lowers his guard and allows himself to trust you, finding solace in your presence. When the two of you first met, his shoulders were always tense and he kept his emotions guarded behind a mask, but now, he lets go of what he carries even if it’s just for a bit, as long as it’s you he is with.

You can feel the distance closing in, the fine-drawn line of vulnerability and wariness seaming into one. You can almost touch the vanishing point between you and him, intertwining with each other, and you don’t fail to recognize the subtle shift in his actions, in his gestures, in everything about him and all that you knew.

It may be a small and mundane thing but his tendency to shower his “friends” with expensive gifts and asking to choose among which one that they would like—albeit he also does to you on some occasions—all contrasts with the simplicity of the tokens he gives you. He reserves a different kind of gesture for you, one that is laced with thoughtfulness and sincerity rather than the utter value of the gift itself.

Probably brought a bracelet one time and told you of it, but didn’t mention that it has a pair, a matching one, which he bought for himself (and never wore). He has it hidden in his drawers, amidst his precious items, only to take out from time to time to stare at it. It’s a secret he’ll forever take to his grave.

Your constant reassurance, gentleness, and kindness breaks down his defenses, the mask crumbling into unrecognizable pieces. He didn’t think he would trust someone this much, nor would he ever harbor such soft feelings—velveted affections, sweet sounds of laughter, benign words that buries itself in his chest, finding solitude in one another’s presence, basking in the warmth of it all.

Oh, to have someone see him beyond the walls he built, it scares him in some way—when you have forever listened to the chorus of condemns orchestrated by your mind, you’ll only think that you’re unlovable to anyone, that’s how it was for him, and yet to you, it comes easy as if he’s simply tangled threads that only needs to be unraveled carefully and gently. He didn’t know nor did he ever think that you'd see stars on his scars when he laid himself bare for you to see the marks that dusted his skin.

Aventurine feels like he could drown in the feeling. It’s a gentle tide that crawls to the shore and drags him along with the warm currents (the smell of blood is replaced with the taste of salt on his lips); a tender fire that burns slowly, and despite the uncertainty whether the flame is going to burn out or consume him, he’ll let the light in.

GRAH DRUM ROLLS PLEASE IM ANNOUNCING THE PRESENCE OF THE OUTSTANDING AND AMAZING FELI @dr-felitas (sometimes i type in your old user and wonder why it's not popping out and then i just go oh!) anyways, this is for you my fellow dry-talker npc,, i honestly find it cute that we're starting to adopt each other's mannerisms or texting language or pattern cause like i only started saying "right!?" (when i agree on something) because of you (back then i only say real or just nothing at all :D) and i think i began to use some of your vocabulary 😭. and somehow my ability to understand and read through typos are getting better all thanks to you 🔥🔥🔥 the world will end first before you even get to spell that word properly jkjk i love you with all of your typos, incoherent words, stupid autocorrect mwamwamwa (i say as if im im not the same) !! anyways you are a light in my life and you're one of the reasons why i still continue to pick up the pen and write !! you've been of great help and inspiration in my writings <33 without you, i probably wouldn't be able to get through the hell hole of last month, thank you. ily lots mwaa !!

641 notes · View notes

mononijikayu · 3 months ago

Text

ikaw lang— fushiguro megumi.

"Thanks. he muttered, his voice softer this time, almost shy. He still wasn’t used to letting people in, but for some reason, with you, it didn’t feel so bad. You smiled again, that same warm smile that made something inside him flutter. "Anytime." you replied, and Megumi knew you meant it. “Let me take care of you again, okay? When this happens.” “......You didn’t need to—” You shake your head, smile even wider. “But I want to, okay?”

GENRE: Alternate Universe - Canon Convergence;

WARNING/s: Fluff, Romance, First Love, First Meeting, Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Friendship, Confessions, Humor, Mutual Affection, Love, Pining, Hugging, Mention of Injury, Mention of Fighting, Mention of Blood, Depiction of Medical Aid, Fushiguro Megumi is In Love, Sorcerer! Megumi, Non-Sorcerer!Reader, Megumi and Reader Are A Bit Older;

WORDS: 6.5k words.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this song is really cute. i should rest after this because ive been writing all the other poll related works and my eyes hurts. i might open commissions some time so i can get new glasses 🤔 but anyway, i hope you like this as much as i do. i love you so much 🫶

main masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

:•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:

HE WONDERS WHAT HE DID TO BE THIS HAPPY. Fushiguro Megumi often finds himself lost in thought, trying to piece together how he ended up with someone like you as his lover. It’s a mystery to him, one that he turns over and over in his mind, especially in the quiet moments when he watches you from across the room.

The two of you couldn’t be more different. Megumi has always been reserved, the kind of person who prefers the solace of a quiet corner, away from the spotlight. He’s never been one to seek attention, content to blend into the background, observing rather than participating.

And then there’s you, today. The person he loves the most.

You, who are the complete opposite of everything he thought he needed. You walk into a room and light it up effortlessly, drawing people to you like a lighthouse in a rough storm. Your presence is magnetic, radiant—wherever you go, you leave a trail of warmth and joy, like the sun casting light on everything in its path. If the sun existed in Megumi’s universe, it would undoubtedly be you, the brightest star in his sky, illuminating even the darkest parts of his world.

Sometimes, Fushiguro Megumi wonders how someone like you could ever be drawn to someone like him. He’s not flashy, not outgoing or overly expressive. But then, you’ve never needed him to be. From the moment you met, you saw something in him that no one else did. You didn’t mind his quiet nature; in fact, you seemed to appreciate it, to cherish the way he found comfort in the shadows while you thrived in the light.

Every time Megumi sees you, his heart races uncontrollably. It’s a feeling he can’t quite describe, this mixture of awe and disbelief that he’s lucky enough to have you by his side. You have a way of making him feel things he never thought possible—emotions that run deep and wild, far beyond the calm exterior he usually shows the world.

And whenever you flash him that smile, the one he loves so much, he feels his composure slip. His face turns scarlet, his heart stumbles over itself, and he panics slightly, wondering how he’ll ever survive the intensity of his feelings for you.

But what truly leaves Megumi breathless are your eyes.

He’s always been captivated by them, even before he realized he loved you. There’s something in the way your eyes shine that draws him in, that makes him feel like he’s seeing something otherworldly. When you look at him, it’s like the rest of the world fades away, leaving only the two of you in a moment of pure, unfiltered connection.

Your eyes are windows to your soul, reflecting every emotion, every thought, every ounce of love you hold for him. And Megumi, who is often so unsure of himself, finds a sense of peace and belonging in those eyes. They are his sanctuary, his guiding light, the proof that he’s not alone in this world.

Sometimes, when you catch him staring, you’ll tilt your head and ask him what he’s thinking. And every time, Megumi struggles to find the right words, because how can he possibly explain the way you make him feel? How can he put into words the overwhelming mixture of gratitude, love, and fear that courses through him whenever he’s with you? All he knows is that, in those moments, he’s reminded of just how extraordinary you are, and how incredibly lucky he is to have you.

You are the sun in his universe, the brightest star in his sky, and with every passing day, Megumi falls deeper in love with you. And even though he’s not always able to express it, he hopes that when you look into his eyes, you can see just how much you mean to him—how much he adores every part of you, and how grateful he is to share his life with someone as wonderful as you.

Each time you raise your head and let Megumi gaze into your eyes, he’s struck by how they seem to shimmer with an otherworldly light. It’s not just the way they sparkle, but the depth and complexity they hold within them, as if your eyes contain entire galaxies, full of stars, planets, and endless mysteries.

To Megumi, your eyes are like a universe unto themselves—vast, beautiful, and impossible to fully comprehend. He can never quite find the words to describe the wonder they bring him, because, in truth, they’re unlike anything he’s ever known. They’re out of this world, something magical and extraordinary that he’s lucky enough to witness every day.

And every day, Megumi is reminded of just how fortunate he is to have you by his side. There are moments when he’s caught off guard by the simple yet profound realization that someone as remarkable as you chose him.

He’ll be lost in thought, or caught up in the routine of daily life, and then you’ll look at him, your eyes meeting his, and all those thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. In those moments, nothing else matters—just the connection between you, the unspoken bond that ties your hearts together.

Megumi finds that the most beautiful part of his day is when you look back at him. Your eyes, shining with a brilliance that words can’t quite capture, speak volumes in a language only the two of you understand. They tell him of the abundant love you hold for him, a love that fills his heart with warmth and light.

He’s always been shy, a little reserved, and sometimes he struggles to put his feelings into words. But when you look at him with those sparkling eyes, he wishes he could find the courage to tell you just how much it feels like heaven on Earth when you let him see the hearts hidden behind the bright beam of your gaze.

Megumi knows that you’re patient with him, that you understand his quiet nature, but sometimes he worries that he doesn’t show you enough how deeply he loves you. He wishes he could be more expressive, that he could find the words to tell you everything he feels.

But when words fail him, he hopes that you can see it in the way he looks at you—in the way his breath catches, in the way his heart races, in the way he’s completely and utterly captivated by you.

To Megumi, your eyes are not just beautiful—they are a reflection of the love you have for him, a love that he treasures more than anything in the world. Every glance you share, every moment your eyes meet his, is a reminder of how lucky he is to have found someone like you. And even though he may never fully grasp the magic you bring into his life, he knows that he will spend every day trying to show you just how much you mean to him.

To Megumi, it feels like stars might actually be falling from the sky, captured in the light of your gaze. Every moment he gets to see those eyes, he feels like he's witnessing something otherworldly, something that makes all the differences between you melt away, leaving only the overwhelming love he has for you.

Even though Megumi isn’t always good with words, he sometimes wishes that you could simply look into his eyes and just know that he loves you more than anything in the world. He hopes that you no longer feel the need to ask over and over, like you used to, because the truth is, you’re the only one he has ever truly loved—and the only one he ever will.

But sometimes, a nagging doubt creeps into his mind. He worries that his quietness might not be enough to convince you of how much you mean to him. He fears that he’s not doing enough to show you just how deeply he cares, because he struggles to express his feelings out loud. Yet, despite those fears, Megumi is determined to try harder, to find ways to show you his love so that you never have to doubt it.

If there were a way, Megumi wishes you could look into his heart and believe without a shadow of a doubt that you are the only one his heart has ever loved. And as he gazes at you now, he silently hopes that you can feel the depth of his affection in the way he looks at you, even if the words aren’t always there.

Fushiguro Megumi vividly remembers the first time he saw you for the first time. That was that day, during middle school. It was an ordinary day, and he wasn’t expecting anything to change. And for that change to be for the best.

He was known for being a bit of a loner, someone who kept to himself and occasionally got into trouble for his rebellious streak. He wasn’t exactly a model student, and most people gave him a wide berth, not wanting to get involved with someone who had a reputation for being a delinquent.

But then there was you, when you were younger.

He had just been reprimanded by one of the homeroom teachers for getting into another fight—something that had become more common as he struggled to navigate the challenges of his teenage years.

Or rather, just the annoyance he had for people he considered to be cruel, horrible people. But he supposed he was also angry, frustrated with the world, and on the verge of lashing out again when you approached him.

You were new, just transferred to the school, and Megumi was sure that you, like everyone else, would steer clear of him. But instead, you walked right up to him, your eyes full of concern rather than fear or judgment. You were like the sun blocking his eyes when he met you. You changed his whole world that day, he likes to think.

"Hey! Are you okay?" you had said softly, your voice calm and soothing. "Oh no, you got some dirt on your shirt—is that a cut on your side?"

Fushiguro Megumi had been taken aback for a long time. The last time must have been when Gojo said he’s taking him and Megumi in. There were very few things that had Megumi fazed, stuck in his tracks, and at a loss for words.

Perhaps the act of kindness being shown to him was one of those points. But he doesn’t think you’ve blamed him. He wasn’t used to anyone talking to him like that—without the underlying wariness or caution. He didn’t know how to respond, so he just shrugged, trying to brush you off.

“I’m fine.” he muttered, his tone gruff, hoping you would just drop it and leave him alone. "Don't worry about me. Move on."

But you didn’t leave. Instead, you stood your ground, your eyes filled with a concern that he hadn’t seen in a long time. It was as if you could see right through his tough exterior, straight to the part of him that was hurting, and you weren’t about to let it go unnoticed. You shook your head, your hands reaching out to gently tug at his sleeves, drawing his attention back to you.

When he finally looked at you, he was surprised to find that you seemed more distressed about his well-being than he was. There was a softness in your gaze, mixed with a quiet determination that caught him off guard.

"It doesn’t look like it! See? It hasn’t stopped bleeding. you replied gently, your voice free of any reproach, but filled with genuine worry.

Megumi followed your gaze to the cut on his arm, a wound he hadn’t given much thought to in the heat of the moment. But seeing the concern etched on your face made him pause.

You hesitated for a moment, as if unsure of how to proceed, before speaking again. "But if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay. I just… I just wanted to make sure you’re alright."

“Don’t worry about me—”

Your voice wavered slightly, betraying the depth of your concern, and it made something inside Megumi’s chest tighten. "At least maybe let me help you clean that nasty cut."

Megumi blinked, taken aback by your persistence. He was used to people either ignoring him or chastising him for getting into trouble, but you were different. You weren’t trying to fix him or tell him what to do—you were simply offering to help, to be there for him in a way that no one else had been. It was a kindness he wasn’t used to, and he didn’t quite know how to respond.

For a moment, he considered brushing you off, telling you he didn’t need any help, that he could handle it on his own. But something in your eyes stopped him. There was a sincerity there, a genuine desire to take care of him, and it made him realize how rare it was for someone to care like that.

"Fine." he finally grumbled, though his voice had lost its earlier edge. He couldn’t quite bring himself to meet your gaze, instead focusing on the ground as he added, "But it’s really not that bad."

You didn’t seem convinced, but you didn’t push him further. Instead, you smiled—a small, relieved smile that made his chest feel warm in a way he wasn’t used to. "Let’s just get it cleaned up, okay?" you said softly, leading him to a nearby bench.

As you carefully tended to his wound, Megumi found himself stealing glances at you, wondering why you cared so much. You were new to the school, new to his world, and yet here you were, going out of your way to make sure he was alright. It was strange, but also… comforting.

"Why do you care?" he asked quietly, surprising even himself with the question. It wasn’t something he’d meant to say out loud, but now that the words were out there, he couldn’t take them back.

You paused, looking up at him with those kind, worried eyes. "Because you deserve it." you replied simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Everyone deserves to be cared for, you know?"

Your words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, Megumi didn’t know what to say. He’d never thought of himself as someone who deserved kindness, especially not from someone like you. But hearing you say it so matter-of-factly made him wonder if maybe, just maybe, you were right.

You took Megumi to the nurse’s office, your concern evident in every step you took. He had tried to brush off the cut on his arm as no big deal, but you weren’t having any of it. As you entered the office, you headed straight for the supply cabinet, rummaging through it to find the emergency kit.

Megumi watched you with a mixture of apprehension and admiration. His face was tense, a mixture of discomfort and embarrassment clearly visible. He had never been one to draw attention to himself, especially not for something he considered minor. Yet here you were, focused and determined to make sure he was taken care of.

You pulled out the first aid kit and set it on the counter, your hands moving quickly and efficiently. “Alright, let’s get this cleaned up,” you said, your voice steady and reassuring.

Megumi shifted uncomfortably, clearly aware of the fuss you were making. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble. It’s just a scratch,” he muttered, trying to downplay the situation.

You gave him a stern look as you began to clean the cut. “It’s not just a scratch if it’s bleeding. Besides, it’s my job to make sure you’re okay. You’ve been taking care of everyone else, so let me take care of you for once.”

He sighed, though he couldn’t help but feel a little comforted by your persistence. As you carefully applied the antiseptic and bandaged his arm, Megumi stole glances at you, noticing the focused expression on your face. Despite his initial resistance, he was grateful for your concern.

“You really don’t have to do this,” he said again, though his voice lacked conviction this time.

You glanced up at him with a small, reassuring smile. “I know, but I want to. You’ve always been there for me, and it’s only fair that I return the favor. Besides, you look like you’re in no condition to argue right now.”

Megumi managed a small, appreciative smile despite his discomfort. “Thanks. I guess I’m just not used to this… kind of attention.”

You finished wrapping the bandage and patted his shoulder gently. “Well, get used to it. Because I’m not going to let you get away with not taking care of yourself. And don’t think I won’t be checking on you if you ever get hurt again.”

He looked at you, the tension in his face easing as he met your gaze. “I’ll try not to get hurt then. Or at least try to let you know before it gets this bad.”

You laughed softly, your eyes crinkling with warmth. “Good. And remember, if you ever need anything—whether it’s help with a cut or just someone to talk to—I’m always here for you.”

Megumi’s heart swelled with a mix of gratitude and affection. Even though he had tried to downplay the situation, your unwavering concern made him feel valued in a way he hadn’t felt before. He knew that no matter what happened, he could always count on you to be by his side.

As you finished bandaging his cut, Megumi felt a strange sense of calm settle over him. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel so alone. Maybe it was because of the way you looked at him, or the way you didn’t push him to talk about things he wasn’t ready to share. Or maybe it was just because you were there, offering your help without expecting anything in return.

"Thanks....I guess." he muttered, his voice softer this time, almost shy. He still wasn’t used to letting people in, but for some reason, with you, it didn’t feel so bad.

You smiled again, that same warm smile that made something inside him flutter. "Anytime." you replied, and Megumi knew you meant it. “Let me take care of you again, okay? When this happens.”

“......You didn’t need to—”

You shake your head, smile even wider. “But I want to, okay?”

He didn’t know how to reply. He rubs the back of his neck. “You’re a weird one.”

“EH!? But I’m not!”

As the two of you sat there, the world seemed to quiet down around him, leaving only the gentle presence of the person who had somehow managed to slip past his defenses and show him a kindness he hadn’t realized he was missing.

Megumi didn’t know what to say. He was used to people either avoiding him or giving him grief for his behavior, but you were different. You weren’t trying to lecture him or push him away. You were just… there, offering your kindness without expecting anything in return.

From that day on, you always treated him with the same patience and understanding, even when he continued to get into trouble. You never judged him, never scolded him. Instead, you listened, offering support when he needed it and giving him space when he didn’t. You seemed to see past the rough exterior, recognizing that there was more to him than just the delinquent reputation he had built.

At first, Megumi didn’t understand why you were so kind to him. He didn’t think he deserved it, and part of him expected you to give up on him eventually. But you never did. No matter how many times he got into trouble, you were always there, offering him a smile or a word of encouragement.

Slowly, he began to soften around you. He started to look forward to the moments when you would seek him out, your presence becoming a source of comfort in his otherwise turbulent life. You became his anchor, the person who made him believe that maybe he wasn’t as bad as he thought.

It wasn’t long before Megumi realized that his feelings for you had grown into something deeper. At first, he had tried to convince himself that what he felt was simply gratitude, an appreciation for the way you treated him with such genuine care and respect. But as time passed, he found himself thinking about you more and more, his thoughts lingering on the little moments you shared.

Like that time in the library, when you had insisted on helping him with his homework. Megumi had been struggling with a particularly difficult problem, his frustration mounting with each failed attempt to solve it. You had noticed his struggle and quietly slid your chair closer to his, gently guiding him through the problem with a patience that both surprised and comforted him.

“There, see? You’re getting it!” you had said, a bright smile lighting up your face as you watched him work through the problem.

Megumi had looked at you then, really looked at you, and something inside him had shifted. It was the way you had been so kind, so encouraging, without a hint of judgment or condescension. The way you had treated him like he mattered, like you genuinely wanted to see him succeed. It was a feeling that was foreign to him, yet it warmed him from the inside out.

Another moment had come when the two of you were walking home from school. It had started to rain unexpectedly, and Megumi had cursed himself for not bringing an umbrella. But before he could worry too much, you had pulled out your own and held it over both of you, smiling up at him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Come on, let’s share. Can’t have you getting soaked.” you had said, your voice cheerful despite the downpour.

As the two of you walked side by side, your shoulders brushing occasionally, Megumi had felt his heart do a strange little flip. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, noticing the way the raindrops clung to your hair, how your smile remained unwavering despite the weather.

In that moment, something had clicked for him. It wasn’t just your kindness that drew him to you—it was the way you made him feel safe, understood, and… cared for.

The realization had hit him one afternoon when you both were at the park. You had been talking animatedly about something, your hands gesturing as you spoke, your eyes sparkling with excitement.

Fushiguro Megumi had been content to just listen, watching the way your expressions changed with every word. And then, without warning, you had turned to him, catching him completely off guard with a look of such warmth and affection that it nearly knocked the breath out of him.

“What?” you had asked, laughing lightly when you noticed the way he was staring.

Megumi had opened his mouth to respond, but no words had come out. Instead, he had felt a strange mix of emotions bubbling up inside him—nervousness, excitement, something that felt suspiciously like hope. It was then that he realized: this wasn’t just friendship or simple admiration. It was something deeper, something more.

He liked you. A lot.

The thought had sent a rush of warmth through his chest, leaving him both exhilarated and terrified. Megumi wasn’t used to these kinds of feelings, and he wasn’t sure what to do with them. But as he looked at you, standing there with that bright smile on your face, he knew one thing for certain—he wanted to be around you, to make you smile like that as often as he could.

“Nothing.” he had finally managed to say, a small, shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I was just… thinking.”

“Thinking about what?” you had asked, tilting your head curiously.

Megumi had hesitated for a moment, but then he had decided to be honest, even if he couldn’t say everything that was on his mind. “About how… I like spending time with you.”

Your smile had grown even brighter at his words, and you had reached out to lightly punch his arm in that playful way you always did. “Well, I like spending time with you too, Megumi.”

And just like that, Megumi had known that he was done for. He liked you—really liked you. And even though the thought scared him, it also filled him with a strange sense of happiness, one that he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt before. From that moment on, Megumi couldn’t deny it anymore. He liked you, and he wanted to see where these feelings would take him.

Looking back, Megumi often finds himself reflecting on how profoundly different his life might have been if you hadn’t approached him that day. It was a pivotal moment, one that he now sees as the turning point in his journey.

Before you, he had felt like a perpetual outsider—misunderstood, labeled as a troublemaker, and largely ignored by those around him. He had been resigned to his role, to the way people saw him, without much hope for change or growth.

But then you came into his life, a beacon of kindness and patience in a world that had been mostly indifferent. You saw something in him that no one else had—a potential for change, a person worth caring for. Your approach had been gentle but resolute, offering him a friendship and understanding that he hadn’t known he needed.

You didn’t judge him for his mistakes or his quiet demeanor; instead, you reached out to him with a genuine concern for his well-being. It was this unassuming kindness that started to crack open the hardened shell he had built around himself.

Now, years later, Megumi often wonders if he would have ever found the strength to change if it hadn’t been for you. He thinks about the way you had treated him back then, how your unwavering support had slowly begun to reshape his view of himself.

It was as if you had quietly whispered to him that he was worth something, that he had the potential to be better, and that there was more to him than just the surface-level troubles. And in doing so, you had planted a seed of hope and self-worth that gradually grew into something stronger and more resilient.

As the two of you sit together now, the evening sun casting a warm, golden glow through the window, Megumi can’t help but be reminded of how far he’s come. The comfort and familiarity of your presence have become a cherished part of his life.

He often steals glances at you, unable to fully comprehend just how lucky he is to have someone like you by his side. The way you’re sitting there, so effortlessly at ease, makes his heart swell with a deep affection that words can hardly capture.

You’ve caught him staring more than once, and each time, you respond with that soft, knowing smile that makes his heart skip a beat. It’s a smile that reassures him, that reminds him of the love that started on that day in junior high, when you saw him not as a problem or a troublemaker, but as someone worthy of care and respect. That smile, simple yet profound, continues to be a source of comfort and joy for him, a daily reminder of how much you mean to him.

In those moments, as he looks at you and sees the warmth in your eyes and the gentle curve of your lips, Megumi is filled with a deep sense of gratitude. He thinks about how his life might have been different without your influence, and he realizes just how much you’ve changed him. The love he feels for you is rooted in that initial connection, and it has only grown deeper and stronger with time.

Megumi knows now that the love he has for you began with that first act of kindness you showed him, and it has only been enriched by the years you’ve spent together. As he sits there beside you, basking in the glow of the setting sun and the warmth of your presence, he can’t help but feel that he has found something truly extraordinary��something that started with a simple gesture of care and has blossomed into a love that he never thought possible.

You lean in slightly, noticing how quiet he’s been. "Megumi. Oiiiiiii, Megu–Megu~ Gumiiiiii!”

He sighed, looking at you. You have energy again, after resting. “What is it?”

“You truly okay?" you ask, your voice gentle and inviting.

He hesitates, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. "It’s nothing. Don’t worry about me.” he mumbles, looking down at his hands, fidgeting slightly. "Just thinking about the past. Nostalgia."

You tilt your head, your eyes sparkling with curiosity and affection. You smiled. "You’re always so cute, Megumi.” You sighed, as you reached out gently to touch his hand. ”You’ve been staring at me all evening. If you have something to say, you can tell me, okay?”

Megumi swallows, gathering his courage. "It’s just… your eyes…" he finally says, his voice barely above a whisper. "They’re… really beautiful. And just…..you. I think how lucky I am to be with you.”

You blink in surprise, not expecting such a heartfelt compliment from him. "Oh, my beloved Megumi." you murmur, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "Thank you."

Megumi slowly looks up at you then, his own eyes filled with a tender sincerity that makes your heart flutter. He took a breath before letting his eyes wander at the sight of you, his beloved marvel. His wonder in life. He gives you a faint smile.

"When you look at me like that… it feels like I’m seeing stars." he continues, his voice growing softer, more vulnerable. "Like… every time I see your eyes, it’s the most beautiful part of my day. And… I don’t know how to say this right, but… it’s like there’s love shining behind them, so much that it feels like heaven."

Your heart swells with emotion, and you squeeze his hand gently. You lifted his hand to your lips and looked at him tenderly as you pressed your lips against the top of his hand. He doesn’t know when his heart will calm down. But when it’s you, he doubts if it will ever happen.

"Megumi, that’s one of the sweetest things you’ve ever said to me." you reply, your voice filled with warmth. "And just so you know, when I look at you, I feel the same way. You make every day feel like the brightest one I’ve ever had. Because when I look at you, I ask, ‘how did I deserve this boy?’ Because, you’re too good to me.”

He smiles shyly, his blush deepening as he takes in your words. "I’m glad….that you feel like I do too." he murmurs, his fingers intertwined with yours.

"I always will." You reassured him, grinning at him lovingly.

"I… I’m not good with words, but I want you to know how much you mean to me. Every time you look at me, it’s like… it’s like I’m the luckiest person in the world."

You lean in closer, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "You don’t have to say much, Megumi. I can see it in your eyes too." you whisper, your breath warm against his skin. “That’s more than enough for me, know that. Okay?”

Megumi’s heart swells, and for a moment, he forgets about his usual shyness. "I love you." he says softly, the words slipping out before he can stop them. “More than you’ll ever know.”

Your smile widens, your eyes shining even brighter. "I love you too, Megumi." you reply, your voice filled with the same sincerity and warmth that he sees in your gaze every day.

And in that moment, with your hands intertwined and your eyes locked, Fushiguro Megumi knows that there’s nothing more beautiful than the love you both share. And he truly believes that. He thinks that you’re the love of his life. And he has no intention of letting you go.

Megumi's heart races as the words hang in the air between you. He's never been the best at expressing his feelings, but something about being with you makes it easier—like the words come naturally when you're around. You pull back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes again, your own filled with the same warmth and love that makes his heart flutter.

"You know, Megumi." you start, your voice soft and affectionate, "I always feel like I’m the luckiest person too. Because even when you're quiet or shy, I can feel everything you don’t say in the way you look at me. It’s like you’re telling me a million things with just a glance."

He bites his lip, trying to find the right words to respond. "It’s hard for me to… say things out loud sometimes. And it’s hard to be honest at times." he admits, his gaze lowering for a moment before meeting yours again. "But when I’m with you, it feels different. Because when I’m with you, I’m just….me.”

You smile at him, a soft, understanding smile that makes him feel even more at ease. "You don’t have to say everything, Megumi." you reassure him. "I can see it in your actions, in the way you care for me, and in those beautiful eyes of yours. You’re always telling me how you feel, even when you think you’re not. I love that about you, don’t worry.”

Megumi blushes, the compliment making him feel a mix of embarrassment and joy. "You… you think my eyes are beautiful?" he asks, his voice small, almost disbelieving.

"Of course I do." you reply, leaning in to rest your forehead against his. "They’re one of my favorite things about you. They’re so expressive, even when you’re being quiet. I can always tell what you’re feeling just by looking into them. Your eyelashes too. They’re always pretty!”

His breath hitches at the closeness, your words making his heart swell with emotion. "I… I’m glad you think that." he murmurs, his eyes locked onto yours. "Because… When I look at you, I see everything I could ever want.”

Your heart skips a beat at his confession, and you close the small distance between you, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. It’s soft, sweet, and full of the love that you both share, a love that needs no words to be understood.

When you pull back, you see that Megumi’s face is a deep shade of red, but there’s a small, content smile on his lips that makes your heart soar. "You really know how to say the perfect thing, don’t you?" you tease lightly, brushing a stray strand of hair away from his face.

He chuckles softly, his shyness momentarily forgotten as he looks at you with nothing but affection. "Only because it’s you." he replies, his voice steady and full of sincerity. "You make it easy."

You both sit there for a moment, just enjoying the comfort of each other’s presence. Megumi’s hand is still entwined with yours, and he gives it a gentle squeeze, as if to remind himself that this is real—that you’re real, and that you’re his.

"I never thought I’d be this happy, you know?" he admits quietly, almost as if he’s afraid that saying it out loud might break the spell. "But with you… it’s like every day is a dream."

You smile, your heart swelling with love for the boy who, despite his quiet demeanor, has given you more happiness than you ever imagined. "Then let’s keep dreaming together, Megumi." you whisper, leaning in for another kiss. "Because I never want this to end."

The warmth of the setting sun bathed the room in a golden hue, casting a gentle glow that seemed to amplify the intimacy of the moment. Megumi and you were nestled comfortably together, sharing a quiet sense of peace that had settled between you. This was paradise, Megumi thinks. This was heaven on earth. You and you alone, in his arms — he could not ask for anything more.

Megumi glanced at you again, his eyes reflecting the soft light. “What good did I do to be with you?”

You tilted your head, smiling at him with a mixture of curiosity and affection. “Why do you say that? What makes you feel that way? You did everything good. You do deserve me."

He hesitated, his gaze falling to the floor as he tried to find the right words. “It’s just… you’ve always been there for me, even when I didn’t really know what I needed. I was so closed off and messed up back then. But you saw something in me, something I didn’t even see in myself.”

You reached out, gently placing your hand on his cheek to lift his gaze to meet yours. “I saw a person who needed kindness and understanding, and I’m really glad I could be there for you. But you did the hard part, Megumi. You changed and grew, and that’s all you.”

He shook his head slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. “I couldn’t have done it without you. And now, every day with you feels like a gift. I keep thinking about how different things could have been if you hadn’t come into my life. It’s overwhelming sometimes.”

You chuckled softly, your fingers brushing his hair back from his forehead. “Well, I’m glad I did. And I’m glad you’re here with me now. It’s like we were meant to find each other, don’t you think?”

Megumi nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “Yeah, it does feel like that. I keep thinking about how we met and how everything just seemed to fall into place after that. It’s like you were the missing piece I didn’t know I needed.”

Your eyes sparkled with affection as you leaned closer. “And you were the person who showed me what it means to be patient and understanding. We’ve both learned so much from each other.”

He smiled, a rare, genuine smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “You’ve made me a better person. I feel like I’ve become more open, more willing to trust and care. It’s all because of you.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you wrapped your arms around him in a gentle hug. “I’m just glad I could be a part of your journey. And I’m excited for everything that’s still to come for us.”

Megumi returned the hug, holding you close as if he never wanted to let go. “Me too. I want to make sure I’m always there for you, supporting you just like you’ve supported me. I don’t want you to ever doubt how much you mean to me.”

You pulled back slightly to look into his eyes, a soft smile playing on your lips. “You don’t have to worry about that. I know exactly how much I mean to you. And I’ll always be here for you, just like you’ve always been there for me.”

As the two of you sat together, the warmth of the setting sun casting a gentle glow over the room, Megumi felt an overwhelming sense of contentment. He knew that with you by his side, every day would be brighter, every challenge more bearable.

And as he looked into your eyes, he realized that the love he felt was a constant, reassuring presence—one that made everything feel right in the world.

427 notes · View notes

crowgvts · 1 year ago

Text

How to start a pair of punk patch pants

(a potentially really shitty tutorial)

I've seen a couple videos on this but a lot of them seem to skip out on some really key information and tricks so I thought I'd just write a probably really long and really rambly post about it!!!

Step one: gathering supplies

In terms of supplies the main things you'll need are:

The pants

Approximately 4 rolls of dental floss (this can change depending on number of patches and your pant size)

A needle with a big enough eye to fit the floss through

Acrylic paints

Brushes

Scrap denim or other scraps of fabric for the patches

Pins

Some kind of marker or pencil that will work on the fabric you've chosen

I will be going into some detail below about why you need each of these items!!

The pants themselves

personally I prefer either using a pair of jeans I already own or thrifting a pair to be as sustainable as possible, however if you really need to go out and buy a new pair for whatever reason get a high quality pair, this will help in the long run with preventing them from falling apart as easily.

The second main point I want to make is that the pants should not be skinny jeans. This is because when you sew on patches it slightly cinches in the fabric, and with skinny jeans generally being stretchy, this is going to result in the thread of the patches stretching out and snapping. Your patches will all just start falling off and it'll ruin your hard work.

This is why I'd recommend using a pair of jeans or pants that are a bit looser of a fit, such as straight legged pants or a pair of pants a size up from your actual size if possible!

Dental floss

The reason it's generally suggested to use dental floss rather than actual thread is because dental floss tends to overall be a lot stronger than your average thread, as well as often being more easily accessible to buy.

Needle

This ones pretty self-explanatory, just make sure you get a needle with a long/wide enough eye (the hole the thread goes through) for your floss to be able to fit through without trouble.

Acrylic paints

You may be wondering why I'm suggesting acrylics over fabric paints and there are a few reasons!

The first is simply that they're both cheaper and far easier to purchase for the average person than fabric paints, and I want this tutorial to be as accessible as possible for as many people as possible.

The second reason is that fabric paints require a lot of fucking around with setting the paint, whereas acrylics can just be left to dry and be finished, and so long as your pants are hand washed, the paints won't come out (unless you layer it on super thick or are really rough when you clean them).

Brushes

Another pretty obvious one, these are needed so you can actually paint your patches!!!

Fabric/spare denim

You need fabric or scraps to be able to actually create patches for your pants, so this is essential.

Any kind of scrap fabric can do, a lot of fabric stores tend to have bins of scrap fabric that are either pre-priced or priced by weight and that can be a really good opportunity to acquire the fabric you need!

Another way (the method I tend to use) is thrifting a few pairs of jeans alongside the pair I want to patch and then ripping them up into patch-sized pieces!

Either way, I really advise against buying straight up new fabrics by the metre for this as it kinda goes against the entire idea of sustainability and reuse.

A really big tip I have for when you're cutting the fabric of your choice up for patches is to actually only cut a little slit, and then rip. This produces a really nice distressed edge and will help add some texture and more of a fucked up look to your pants a lot quicker than if you waited for the fabric to fray by itself!

Marker/pencil

This is literally just so you can draw your designs onto your patches! I've personally found that either a black or white (depending on how dark the fabric you're using is) pastel pencil is generally good enough to get the general gist of what you want down well enough for you to paint it on.

Pins

These are literally just to hold your patches in place and literally any kind from proper sewing pins to safety pins will work! (just don't forget they're in the jeans before you put them on I promise you it isn't fun to put on a pair of jeans full of pins).

Optional: a sketchbook

You may want a sketchbook or alternatively scraps of paper if you have any kind of original concept for a patch so you can draw it out a few times first to really nail it, and it's also helpful to have if you aren't as confident in your painting and drawing abilities!

Step two: patch making

I personally pre-rip/cut all of my patches before I paint anything on them generally speaking and then fit whatever design I want onto whatever piece I think it would fit on, however if you want to paint your patches and then rip/cut the design out that's also an option (and probably a much smarter one I'm just incredibly stubborn).

For punk pants you want a good mix of both punk bands, politics, and also maybe something a bit daft (I have the "he scream at he own ass" possum on the back pocket of a patched skirt for example). If you don't have bands and such, it kinda defeats the point of them being punk patched pants.

I personally generally pick a theme (eg. colourful patches, all black and white) when making anything patched because I think it makes everything look a bit more cohesive, but that is by no means a rule you actually have to follow I'm just autistic a fuck tbh.

Step three: the assembly

I personally put my main/bigger patches on first and put them on in a few different places until I get the placement I like, and then sew them on with the floss like this:

The main thing you want to do to make sure your pants don't wind up looking a bit weird or bare is to fill in any gaps between your painted patches with small, blank patches. Like this:

and that's pretty much it!!! I can't really explain via written text how to sew and how I personally tie off etc but if anyone would like a video tutorial lmk!!!

#punk #alternative #cripple punk #queer punk #diy or die #punk patches #diy punk #punk diy #patched pants #crust pants #patched skirt #punk skirt #crust skirt #punk pants #crust punk #punk style #punk fashion #punk culture

2K notes · View notes

qvrcll · 1 year ago

Text

the little things they do — luffy, zoro, nami, usopp & sanji.

summary: what do they do that makes you tick? that makes your heart glide through your chest and fester at your throat? that makes you glissade through hell itself, for the pleasure that it brings?

warnings: slight tension but no nsfw, fluff, nothing too bad!

notes: i started binge watching op / opla recently and decided to give i a go at writing for them! literally could not stop my fingers from typing this out. i’m a little new to op, so i hope you enjoy nonetheless :-] i promise im working on another part of college melodrama! i just wanted to try something new to get the brain juices flowing <3

sanji — moves you by your waist

sanji is keen with his women, but with you, he’s even more so. he’s gentle with it, even if he doesn’t need to be, because you make him aberrantly nervous, yet vilely confident in his etiquette — and today just cements it. it’s a boring day, and that prompts you to keep yourself stationed in the kitchen, where the rest of the straw hats find their own circles to situate themselves in (pure boredom, much to sanji’s dismay). the space is overcrowding and you’re halfway into disputing something that luffy insists is true fact, when sanji’s mellow palms come to gripe gently, carefully, at your waist — “excuse me, beautiful,” he mouths, fiendish and close to tasting his teeth in a marvellous grin as he effortlessly moves you, gingerly in so many ways, so he can reach the cabinet. you stutter out some convoluted version of a yes, o-of course! … safe to say, you can barely pay much consideration to luffy’s rebuttal as the tepedity of the cook’s hands lay in repetitive, illusive strokes against your hips for more times than one to just consider it an act to retrieve spices from a cabinet.

zoro — has one hand in your back pocket

he’s silent, mischievous with his antics. the upper part of your brain warns you of his skepticism, his cruelly hard body, his thick cheek. but your heart buds violently under what you can only assume is his effect. and it’s only furthered, when you are too close to him for comfort in this mini-party the crew has going on atop the going merry. you spot him nodding off in the corner of your eye, barely even knowing of his current footing in his chair as he slumps off. you urge him to go to bed, to ditch the drinks and gain a full night’s rest. but he shakes his head stiffly, his rather large hand slinking into the back pocket of your pants, where it lays dormant and so, so close to squeezing. “stay. this way, i won’t lose you.” you fail to yelp, because every nerve has been short-wired. twisted. re-twisted. re-wired. you can only stand close, fluxing against the warmth of his palm in your back pocket, as the faintest of reds colour his cheeks. a smile is welcome.

luffy — hugs your waist

being a captain is luffy’s share of the burden that comes with his quest of finding the one piece. he swears its easier than he allows it, but his body is different on days like these. days when he’s laying, tired and inaccessible to his usual bouts of energy. days like these, you can’t navigate around his lethargy, that comes slow and unmoving, similar to his resolve. his arms are around you, tight and interlocking further like a snake, his face buried against your stomach as he uses you as a stationary pillow. and you try to remind him that there are things you need to resume, things you need to conduct on the going merry, but when you turn to move, excuse yourself, he tightens, and his nose brushes against the sensitive skin beneath your button up in a nimble attempt to get you to stay still. “mmm… five—no, ten more minutes… i promise.”

nami — rests her head in the crook of your neck

it’s not an easy job sorting the day’s itinerary into tidy, little boxes and shelves, whilst the boat rocks to a cathartic beat around you. nami is here, to help you, but you are unable to shake off the tension wearing you down. your skin feels like paper and the bottom side of your shoes are sticky with sea water and your hands feel like rubber. you could rival luffy. it makes you feel awful, gets you hot and antsy so quickly, that nami blinks twice. of course, you apologise. you always have. but nami gets the directive before you do, and she reaches forward to hug you close to her chest. her nose tickles your neck and the space is living with her breath — the crook of your neck. “how about we stay like this for a bit, hm?” it’s more for your own means to find ground amongst your frustrations, to help you calm down, but nami has always loved being close to you. she always has.

usopp — holds you close to protect you

the great captain usopp. mighty warrior of the sea. well, not the great when the sea is colliding into rows of wood at maximum speed, which rocks the entire great vessel. you try to be less of a deterrence, try to find your own standing in the room you’re in with usopp, but your body is thrown across the room in one fell swoop, where you meet halfway into usopp’s chest. there’s a messy string of syllables that leave your lips, a creaky apology as you try to maintain some space between you (for the sake of your enervated heart), but he’s quicker. an ability derived from his sharp-shooter skills, you’re sure. his arm wraps around your waist and he allows you to crowd his chest. allows you to hold him like a pillar against the raging sea when it sends a rather alarming rock to the ship. “hold on tight — you’ve got nothing to worry about with captain usopp here. you hear?”

#one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece imagine #sanji x reader #sanji x you #sanji x yn #zoro x reader #zoro x you #zoro x yn #nami x reader #nami x you #nami x yn #usopp x reader #usopp x you #usopp x yn #luffy x reader #luffy x you #luffy x yn

3K notes · View notes

a-dinosaur-a-day · 1 year ago

Note

Hi would it be okay if i asked you why you detest richard dawkins?? Cause i also hate him to pieces and would like to share some indulgent hatered of this fucking old ass shit man. Please go off

I mean, to go FULLY into it would require me to write an entire essay, and I just don't want to?

But the short version is

antitheism is cultural genocide and patently bullshit

focusing on genes rather than the whole organism in evolution is patently ridiculous when the minimum unit of evolution is the *population*, not the gene

in fact, when you realize the minimum unit is the population rather than the gene, you see that altruism and social behavior are very beneficial, even across species (see: symbiosis), and "selfishness" "red in tooth and claw" "law of the jungle" are just bullshit things some people made up to justify their crappy behavior (re: racism. their crappy behavior was racism.)

IQ and intelligence are smoke and mirrors we invented to convince ourselves we're more evolved than other animals (we're not, and every organisms has the intelligence it needs for its environment, adapted for its ecology, and that means that a diversity of intelligences is actually a good thing like diversity of anything is a good thing)

the man is a eugenecist and that speaks for itself

I hate him, and I hate that we live in a world where he is still alive and Stephen Jay Gould is dead, zichrono livracha

#richard dawkins #stephen jay gould #antitheism #evolution #the selfish gene #altruism #sociality

2K notes · View notes

ayakashiz · 7 months ago

Text

Alien Stage R6 Analysis

VERY LONG compilation of my interpretations, impressions and unanswered questions about Round 6 of Alien Stage. I just wanted to write this to put all my thoughts in one place so I can finally rest (in pieces). TW for mentions of suic*de/suic*dal ideation.

The most debated is no doubt the kiss/choking scene and Ivan’s motivation for doing so in the first place.

I think from the very beginning, even before R3, Ivan was planning to go out with a bang. That’s the immediate impression I got from the comic where he mocks/criticizes Sua for planning to “selfishly” die for Mizi and feel good being the “heroine” rather than having to deal with the trauma of being the one left behind.

(I'm too lazy to edit the whole translation as of now, but might do so when I have more time.)

Ivan tells her how he’s “relieved that he’s not the only who’s that twisted” = He’s comparing himself to Sua. He thinks they’re both ‘twisted’ for planning to do the same thing, but from Ivan’s perspective, he at least isn’t fooling himself into thinking his motives are altruistic. He tasted the feeling of being ‘abandoned’, and he knows he doesn’t want to experience it twice.

He also probably thought that his death wouldn’t be as impactful on Till as Sua’s death on Mizi, and therefore his own selfishness is more justified in his mind. This most likely plays a role in how cold and biting his words are towards Sua –he’s jealous of that difference between them.

I hadn’t noticed this detail the first time I watched the video: Not only did Till look absolutely miserable and defeated from the get go, but he completely gave up and stopped singing at some point. If you look at the video, we can hear the audio that was supposed to be sung, but Till is quiet and still, and THIS is the moment Ivan chooses to act.

Although they do not show the votes at that particular moment, stopping mid song would have definitely taken a hit to Till’s score as it’s basically forfeiting –a huge contrast to his previous match where he didn’t even let his opponent utter a single line.

In response, Ivan doesn’t just walk towards him but throws his microphone to the ground, explicitly forfeiting as well in order to then pull a drastic move like it was foreshadowed in his interview.

The kiss itself imo was the less calculated/arguably unplanned part. He could have just choked Till from the start and it would have gotten him the same if not better results (since it was the act of violence against another contestant that ultimately lowered his score and got the counter to stop).

That kiss was authentic and for himself entirely, both as a last desperate attempt at conveying his feelings and a selfish way of leaving a strong impression on Till that he wouldn’t be able to forget (a hypocritical move going back to how he criticized Sua). In that sense, I don’t think Ivan was seriously trying to take Till down with him –although that’s up to interpretation. As I see it, that would contradict his actions up until that point.

Till was VERY CLEARLY suic*dal (once again, he gave up singing), and after the initial shock of Ivan squeezing his neck, this fiery, rebellious man who is KNOWN to fight tooth and nail, simply closed his eyes and relaxed his body, waiting for Ivan to end him without fighting at all.

The thing is, no matter how suic*dal one may be, the fighting response when being actually suffocated is automatic and completely involuntary. People mention there not being marks on Till’s neck but I think the most telling sign is him not going red, not squirming, not struggling or holding onto Ivan’s wrists (again, expected involuntary responses), his eyes not watering or having blurry vision while we see Ivan from his POV, not opening his mouth even a little to gasp for air and not coughing or gasping either when he was finally released.

Ivan definitely had him in a strong grip, might have even made him a bit lightheaded, but the reason why Till could look so relaxed in the first place is because he had given up and was waiting for Ivan to go ahead. If his closed eyes and limp posture were due to the choking itself, he would have fallen or stumbled when being let go, but we see that his eyes open as soon as he feels Ivan’s hands slipping away and he looks shocked instead.

So then what was Ivan’s motivation, if not to kill him? Yes, there’s the already discussed plan to get himself disqualified. But Ivan glances at the screen only a few seconds after he starts the choking, confirming that the voting had in fact stopped with Till having the higher score. He then goes for one last ‘goodbye’ kiss before continuing to choke him, holding his grip even as he starts getting shot.

We see a closeup of him, his eyes and hands trembling, looking more frustrated/emotional than in Till’s first POV where he looks rather stoic. It makes me think that the reason he refused to let go was simply because he wanted Till to look at him.

They strongly imply throughout the whole video that being annoying or mean or violent was the only way Ivan learnt how to make Till focus his full attention on him, but now even as he’s threatening his life, even as he himself is dying, even after that kiss, Till wouldn’t look.

It took him getting fatally wounded and realizing there was no turning back to reach a state of acceptance. His bittersweet expression here reminds me A LOT of his smile after Till runs back during the meteor scene, although this one seems a lot more tender. He seems to accept the fact that Till will never love him back, but Ivan cannot stop loving him anyways and he at least got to put his feelings out there.

(The parallels here are driving me insane. The way there is light in his eyes in both instances as he looks at Till even while 'losing him' in a way. The struggle between wanting to posses him yet realizing his free spirit/strong will is part of what he loves about him. That last genuine gaze from a character who spent his whole life putting on a mask. Yes I am very normal about this.)

Until then, Ivan’s more tender/vulnerable side is only shown while Till is unconscious or looking away.

(That soft, loving nuzzle to Till's face has me in SHAMBLES.)

But ironically, it’s only when he releases him and shows him this vulnerability without a mask that Till really looks at him for the first time. I’d go as far as to say that it was this moment, and not the kiss, that finally made Till understand Ivan’s feelings. And in turn Ivan gets that little shot of euphoria as he falls to the ground.

Going back to the survivor’s guilt… I can only imagine it’ll go completely downhill for Till from now on. Not only does he already think Mizi might be dead and is angry at himself that he couldn’t save her (as seen in the shot where he punches his own picture), but now he has most likely realized that Ivan intentionally fumbled their match for his sake –which would lead to the realization that he was the reason why Ivan chose to run back to Anakt Garden after him in the first place, and that choice ultimately lead to his death.

Even though we see them fighting a lot as children through the videos and comics, it’s also implied that they were always together and they shared some quiet moments –the “Mizi didn’t play with you, I played with you” art, all that art of the main 4 playing together, those bright smiles as they ran away together during the meteor shower scene and Till looking so guilty when he let go of his hand.

There are a few cute doodles of them for those who are on Patreon, and some more lore in the Anakt Garden kit –so they were at the very least friends in their own way (as best as 2 very traumatized and abused children could), constantly fighting and making up. Which God… it shows that despite appearances Till must have actually had the patience of a saint when they were little lmao.

But what I’m trying to say is that despite what Ivan may have thought, his death will most definitely have an impact on Till and the narrative going forward, and I’m excited to find out how that reflects in the final round (if the resistance doesn’t manage to get back up in time to disrupt it).

Despite how much I adored (and SUFFERED WITH) this round, I still have MANY questions that were left unanswered, both about Ivan and Till, and the lore in general, and I wonder if there’ll be time to answer them all, as I can imagine the next MV will be focused on Luka’s perspective, the only one we haven’t been presented with.

One of the most pressing questions being: What’s the relationship between Ivan and that alien dog? Did he tame it? It is implied that it was Ivan who somehow led Till and Mizi to it in the first place in that one scene, and if so I wonder what his motivation was? Normally jealousy would be the first thing to come to mind but Ivan wasn’t interested in Till until AFTER he saw him stand up to the beast to protect Mizi, so it couldn’t have been that.

This is something that was also teased on Patreon and I was looking forward to the explanation on the MV, but it never came, and now Ivan is dead, so the next video will most likely not be too concerned with his backstory any longer. (Which, also, I was really curious about his life in the slums before being captured, auctioned and brought to Anakt, as that would have played a huge role in his twisted personality/dark tendencies –once again teased on Patreon very briefly, but not explained beyond that frame of him looking famished.)

The second is, how is Ivan able to open Till’s collar/muzzle so easily? This is a question I’ve been having since R3, but chalked it up to Ivan being sneaky and figuring out some kind of code to the cell door and that somehow automatically deactivating the locks on the restraints… or something. But with how many times he does it in R6 with just a touch it’s very clear that that isn’t the case and also imo they’re trying to point this out as a significant detail.

It may turn out that I’m just looking too much into it, but I find it really curious and interesting. Not only is he the only child without a collar (Mizi and Sua still had them despite being just as well behaved as him), but he seems to be the only one able to take them off –or at least Till’s. I’m pretty sure the children wouldn’t normally be able to remove them by themselves as it seems to be a control mechanism. So how can Ivan? This might explain a lot about how they were able to escape, and also add a layer of tragedy knowing that Ivan could have chosen to escape by himself at any point, but refused to leave Till behind.

Last but not least there’s all the human experimentation Till was subjected to, which was the main topic of the teaser and we see the same images show up in the very beginning of the MV. They help emphasize Till’s suffering and distressed state of mind, but then they’re never expanded on or mentioned at all for the rest of the video. That’s a huge piece of lore that I also hope isn’t forgotten.

I mean, I really doubt it will. So far VIVINOS & co. have been incredible with their ability to hold back information and release it at the moment where it’s the most impactful, which is refreshing to see. So I trust we’ll get some answers eventually.

Really curious to know why they would experiment on an ALNST contestant in the first place, especially one that is undoubtedly talented and described as a musical genius (aka. has good odds of doing well on stage and earning the segyein revenue). A very plausible theory might just be that he was just getting constantly drugged to make him less of a threat/more submissive –like we see on the karaoke room scene. But it might as well be something bigger.

As for my expectations for the next round… I’m still just trying to process this one, as you can see by the sheer amount of text. There are many things left to address, and the Hyuna/Luka confrontation has been strongly teased. I wonder also, if the round goes on without interruption, what would Luka’s strategy against Till be? Would he go for provocation again, trying to imitate Mizi/hint to his recent trauma with Ivan? It probably won’t be that simple.

I mean, VIVINOS has been known for subverting our expectations with each round:

The ominous/callous framing that was given to Ivan by the end of Black Sorrow and the art that followed, making us suspicious of his intentions, only to have him die for love. The lifeless/doll-like framing given to Luka, vulnerable and cornered by flashing lights, only to have him be the cruelest/most calculating one (that we know so far). The rebellious, rowdy, willing to do anything to survive framing given to Till, only to have his fighting spirit completely break and willingly waiting to die by Ivan’s hands. The naive, complacent and passive image given to Mizi, only to have her snap, beat the shit out of Luka and join the rebellion –and with how things are going (and her being the protagonist) I wouldn’t be surprised if she, and not Hyuna (the one who was framed as the most strong and reliable, giving us a false sense of security going into R6), is who will have to try and rescue Till (and Luka???).

There are still a ton of things that keep me awake at night about R6 –my favorite character dying aside. I could talk about it forever, but I’ll leave it here.

Feel free to share your theories, delusions, interpretations or any detail I might have missed with me. God knows we need group therapy after this as the cute chibi keychains can only heal us so far. Thanks for reading my rambles if you made it this far. :’)

#alien stage #alnst #에이스테 #ivantill #vivinos #ivan alnst #till alnst #im GOING INSANE idk if you can tell... hahah #the only reason i didn't flood this with more videos and pictures is cause tumblr gave me a limit of 30 :')

492 notes · View notes

stellanix · 10 months ago

Text

(genshin impact spoilers incoming)

one aspect of furina's characterization that's pretty understated but that i really really really love is her intelligence and curiosity. usually in genshin, when a character's intelligence is an important trait of theirs, there are aspects of their design, writing, voice acting, etc, that very clearly tell you "hey this character is smart." albedo, for example, wears a labcoat, is always saying big sciency words in a calm, rational tone of voice, and other characters are always talking about how smart he is

but furina? nothing about her on the surface suggests that she's a "smart" character - quite the opposite, in fact. superficially, she's introduced as a bratty, conceited, overconfident person who actually has no idea what she's doing. we eventually learn in the archon quest that that was all an act, but even after she regains her freedom, nothing about her really seems archetypically intelligent, at least at face value

instead, furina's intelligence is always shown rather than told (the only exception being nahida's voiceline about her). she had an intelligence network across teyvat feeding her information, and we saw in the flashback how she directed researchers to study the prophecy and potential ways of stopping it. before things like lyney's trial or directing the two musketeers, she'd stay up all night planning and piecing things together all on her own. she loves learning new things, she has lines in the teapot about how, when she's interested in something, she wants to become the most knowledgeable person in the topic, and also how she'd like to disassemble the teapot itself to learn how it works, and she's quick to learn new skills (like surfing). and, of course, she's well read, and quite possibly teyvat's foremost expert on the performing arts

i like how furina sort of defies the concept of character archetypes. she's initially presented as an archetypical bratty, dramatic, spoiled popular girl, but that was a role she forced herself into because it's what people expected of her. but the real furina, while still retaining some of the flamboyance from her archon persona, doesn't really fit into a clear mold. she's smart without being a super-genius, and she's kind without being a soft-spoken doormat. it makes her feel multifaceted and real, and i really love that!

anyway, this is why it makes me mad whenever i see people calling furina stupid, cuz she's not!

#furina #genshin impact #don't mind me just rambling about my blorbo #tbh given her love of learning and how old she is i imagine furina could her own against zhongli in a quaint trivia contest #furina's true traits being shown rather than told is both great storytelling but also kinda frustrating because some people miss it #and end up mischaracterizing her as a result #but then again some people will also ignore character traits that are explicitly told so it's maybe not the writing that's at fault here

568 notes · View notes

pikahlua · 3 months ago

Text

Okay, here's my MHA criticism.

Everyone has their own personal hangups about the MHA ending, but mine is not about the ending itself. The epilogue doesn't feel rushed to me--the entire final act does, ever since the PLW ending.

But I can't say that the issue is actually rushed writing. There was a change in the writing, and it came with pros and cons. Ever since this change, a lot of people felt a lack of Izuku's introspection, but I still see his introspection all over the place. It's just not compelling introspection, and it's the natural consequence of this writing change.

The thing that changes is the way Horikoshi depicts character interaction and reflection.

To cap off the story's themes, Horikoshi chooses to focus on select emotional beats involving specific characters as short, finite set pieces. Some of them work great, like Katsuki's apology. But what is lost in this process are the other emotional beats Horikoshi doesn't spend time on, such as Izuku's quick, comical, emotionally dissonant reunion with All Might back at UA after going vigilante. The set pieces Horikoshi chooses to focus on at Tomura's end are two moments, one between All For One and Yoichi, and the other between Izuku and Tomura. But what is lost in this case is the strangely off-screened encounter between Nana's and Tomura's vestiges, and we're just given the fact that Nana preserved Tomura's sense of self as an offhand remark. This is a recurring theme where Horikoshi lands the set pieces he has likely visualized for years but that somehow don't have the same impact as the emotional scenes from earlier in the story. The details that build up to these moments are lacking, and it's because the characters don't interact as they should.

Horikoshi has overall messages he wants to focus on, such as the unity in everyone coming together inspired by Izuku at the end. But he places so much focus on his entire cast of characters at large to achieve this theme that the story becomes unbalanced. We as readers have read about his characters over the years, and we've grown especially attached to some of them. Even if there are minor characters we may enjoy, if Horikoshi is doing his job as a writer, the majority of us should be here for the main characters. If Horikoshi wants to feature every single one of his characters in the final arc, then he has to do so with balance. The main characters should be given more emotional weight than the side characters.

Hanta Sero can have his cool moment no problem, but why does it come so late into Izuku's final battle??? It makes no sense emotionally for it to be there. At this stage in the story, we would expect any other major character to fill this role. Hell, Iida is sitting right there with not much going on for his character this arc.

And the same emotional underwhelm goes for so many other moments. Why is the primary character screaming in agony over Katsuki's death Neito Monoma??? Aizawa is right there, and all we get from him is a horrified face but no reaction otherwise. He fades to the background immediately. Izuku's reaction to Katsuki's death is built up so much and yet not nearly enough time or weight is devoted to the actual moment when it happens. Compared to such iconic reactions to death in the shounen genre that came before it such as Goku's super saiyan transformation in response to the death of his best friend Krillin, Izuku's reaction to Katsuki's death is utterly forgettable.

The issue is not that Horikoshi gave Sero and Monoma these moments. It's that he either weighted or timed them and many others like them poorly. No one reading MHA wonders what wisdom Sero would have to offer at the end or what sort of reaction Monoma would have to Katsuki's death--or rather, they don't wonder these things more than they wonder about the main characters themselves. Main characters are the characters we're SUPPOSED to care about. If you give Sero and Monoma big moments like what they got, then the main characters have to have even bigger moments following in order to still be impactful. But we don't get that. We get the set pieces, but we don't get any of the logical character interaction and reflection these set pieces beg for. If I have to choose between Izuku's reaction to Katsuki's death and Monoma's, I want Horikoshi to spend all his time and effort on Izuku's every time. It's nice to see how main characters interact with side characters and to hear those side characters' perspectives but NOT at the cost of the main characters interacting and sharing their perspectives. Horikoshi makes too much space for his side characters, and so we lose the detail that could have gone into important moments between the main characters. The overall story remains coherent and complete, but it also leaves something to be desired for the characters themselves. As a result, I find myself both given closure and longing for a more robust, impactful resolution for the main characters.

tl;dr Horikoshi gave too much to his side characters and not enough to his main characters, which particularly affected the interactions between the characters we all care most about

#my hero academia manga spoilers #final arc spoilers #meta

217 notes · View notes

wolvesroampastelgalaxies · 3 months ago

Text

Edit: All chapters up on tmblr & ao3 :p

Okay, so I got alot of hits on my last FoP:ANW ficlet. Which had me re-reading it frequently. So instead of healing, I desperately wanted to fix this situation. I think I am genuinely affected that Timmy isn’t the MC anymore.

My child hood = 💀

Anyway, I made a continuation kinda. I’m much better at introspection than writing out actions (I think). So if this piece is not of the same quality as the last. Lemme know, I really wanna do this concept justice. :p

On a Wing and A Wish 🪽

I wish Timmy Turner got back all the memories of his fairies and could be apart of his family forever.

“What is this?” Dev asks, “Whose Timmy Turner?”

Peri harshly shushes him, hovering in close while darting his eyes around Dev’s room.

Begrudgingly, the kid whispers, “What’s the deal? No one is here. What. Is. This?”

This - was a note looped with periwinkle ink on what was balled up paper. Peri couldn’t believe what he was doing. Sneaking behind his parents’, and worse, the Fairy Council’s back, asking his own god-kid for a wish. He never thought to go through with it, even if he did frequently imagine the outcome. But it was the one thing he’d wanted since his brother left.

No. Not left. He forgot. They made him forget. He never left us.

Never left me.

He sighs, resuming the usual distance. Dev can finally breathe in air that’s not Peri’s cologne and takes in his god-parent’s appearance. The fairy did not look good. Usually quaffed hair was flat and tussled, like he forgot to shower then tossed and turned all night. Which, ew, he probably hadn’t showered or poofed himself clean or whatever fairies do based on the pit stains. Sweat was also causing clammy hands that were attempting to wring themselves dry. His usual calming, lavender eyes were bloodshot from what he could tell. Well, when they weren’t searching for a haunted house jump scare.

Dev waves his arms, “Hello? Earth to Peri!”

The beat of wings is audible as Peri jumps a foot higher in the air.

“Are you broken? Can fairies malfunction?” Dev gets a dimmadome idea, “Do I get a new one if you do?”

This absurd question has Peri descending from the (literal) high level of anxiety to a level of annoyance. That level being eye to eye with his god-kid, where purple and blue begin a standoff. If there was a movie in the pinpricks of their eyes, it would reflect a tense western gun fight. Peri would have a wand at his holster and Dev would be there, arms crossed and smug as can be. His mouth loaded with the bullet 'I wish…' and Peri would be dead on the dusty road.

A wing and a prayer is the saying. He had wings, he just needed the prayer.

Or a wish.

Peri surrenders, realizing picking a fight will not work in his favor.

“Fairies can’t grant their own wishes.”

The ginger scoffs, “That’s it?” He thought his fairy was dense, but he didn’t realize Peri was actually challenged. “Just, have another fairy grant your wish.”

Rather than meeting with some Peri-fonted, copy-paste of Da Rules, Dev saw as his god-parent open and close his mouth. Pale lips pressing in a thin line. His small body seemed to curl in on itself, shielding not from Dev, but the irony of what he had said.

Without looking at him, Peri said, “They can’t. It’s not how it works. Only a god-kid can make wishes.”

The hitch and crack at the word 'can’t' did not go unnoticed by either. Peri flinches. He had spent all week wrestling with the notion. It was only last night that he had scribbled the note down. There was nothing in Da Rules about another kid wishing for someone to not lose their memories. His mom was right, there are a lot of loopholes.

Peri had hoped and hyped himself up enough that being a godparent would fix him. If he could recreate it, he wouldn’t feel the dreams of his childhood each night turn to mourning. Deep nostalgia for a time that seemed imagined rather than the most impressionable years of his immortal life. Hijinks among his and his parents’ god-kids flooded him with memories. Waves of jealously crashed down as Dev and Hazel shared their youth, times they’ll have forever.

Peri could not live eternity drowning.

The human boy felt awkward, it never occurred when he wasn’t the most grieved one in the room. Dev knew, though not consciously, that grief was not just losing someone. It was being lost yourself. Each day happened, it was not unnoticed, but it wasn’t remembered.

“Well….what would I even be wishing for? I was taught not to sign something before reading it, err wishing.”

Peri’s wings flutter briefly. Was Dev considering it? What was he supposed to say? He gathers himself as much as he can to stop shaking from nerves.

“Timmy Turner is someone really important to me. Like, he’s kinda the whole reason I exist.” He pauses, waiting for Dev’s reaction.

“I thought the green fairy was your dad?”

“No, not like that. Although, I guess he did wish for my dad to get pregnant.”

“Your dad was WHAT?” Dev shouts but Peri is quickly on him again, hand pressed tight over the kid’s mouth. Dev only briefly struggles to push him off, dramatically gasping for breath.

“It’s complicated okay? I just, it would mean everything to me, to my parents, if you could wish this.” Peri interjects before Dev can close curtain on his overreaction.

Cutting a glare that isn’t so much as throwing the knife but threatening to, Dev straightens himself. “What’s in it for me?”

Whatever miserable feelings Peri has disappear into steam when he reddens from frustration at the kid’s incredulousness.

"'In it for you?!' You literally have anything you have ever wanted at your finger tips. You have ME! A fairy! With an endless amount of wishes. There is nothing I can’t give you if you want it!” Peri hisses. He might pass out, all the breath pushed from his lungs at this nightmare of a child. He takes a deep breath.

“It’s a favor. I’m asking a favor Dev.”

The kid did feel a little stupid saying that. It was such a habit. He’s never been in a situation that wasn’t an exchange. It’s not like Peri was going to stop granting him wishes if he said no. And besides being less annoying, there was nothing more the fairy could do if he said yes.

Dev sighs, he knows he’s going to make the wish.

“Do you know why kids get godparents to begin with?” Peri’s tone is drained of any animosity. It sounds hollow, like an echo instead of the real words.

He isn’t sure if Peri is looking for an answer, but Dev is still feeling sheepish after his own selfishness.

“No...”

Fairy eyes are known to have a slight shimmer in their iris’, as if they held infinitesimal pieces of glitter. Dev hopes that it’s just the light magnifying the effect in Peri’s and not him on the verge of tears.

“Because life isn’t fair. When life isn’t fair, kids get fairies. The fairies stay until life gets better or they grow up. But,” he falters then, a strained attempt at composure, “but they always forget.”

He flutters down onto the side of Dev’s bed. Wings mirroring his melancholy as they droop. This is not a reserved sadness, it’s not something you can leave till nightfall, not anymore. Not now that he has to face it every day, worse that’s of his own volition. It’s a lonely feeling that twists and winds itself so tight he can’t stand it. Something had to be done.

“I just can’t forget.” And there is a tear now, one he hopes his god-kid cant see with his head bowed.

Hesitantly, Dev sits down. It’s rare for them to be on an even level when he’s not hovering. Peri is so small compared to the 10 year old, who feels like moving an inch might shatter his fairy.

“Was he your first god-kid? Is that how, fairies like, reproduce or something? You run out of fairies for kids and when you need more you just…..your dad?” Dev can’t decide between disgust, curiosity, or confusion.

Peri chuckles, plugging any leaks he has with a sniffle. He guesses he’ll get a few awkward questions on that later.

“Eh, no. We grew up together. He’s kinda like - he’s my brother.” The statement is the only solid thing he can cling to. That one simple fact.

He’s my brother.

“I know it doesn’t make any sense, and it’s a lot to go over. But I promise if you do this for me, I will explain everything. Anything you want to know.”

There is another thing that makes Dev feel like an idiot, and that’s his dad. Anytime there might be a sliver of a chance for him to pay attention or choose Dev over some money scheme, Dev falls for it every-time. A swell of hope and admiration fills his chest and then he’s getting the breath knocked out of him when, surprise, he’s never his dad’s choice. Peri was right about life not being fair. And it doesn’t just seem unfair for humans. But, if he got a fairy to even it out for him, maybe he could try too.

Besides, he was going to-do it anyway.

“Hey Peri?”

He rubs his eyes with his sleeve for good measure and gives a mosaic smile of all the shattered hurt inside.

“Yeah kid?”

Dev takes a breath.

“I wish- “

#fairly odd parents a new wish #peri fairywinkle cosma #poof fairywinkle cosma #dev dimmadome #timmy turner #this is not up to snuff for me #fairly oddparents #this is not coping or healing this is sabotage

198 notes · View notes

callme-holly · 2 months ago

Note

Could you maybe write dally with a reader who's in the middle of a depressive episode? Like can't leave their bed, stopped brushing hair and teeth etc...?

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 [𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - in which dallas does his best to show he cares 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - im back from my break but content wont be as frequent bc im going into my final year of high school and stress is high 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 1k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - mentions of depressive episodes, not eating, etc

Dallas knew something was wrong the moment you didn’t pick up the phone. He knew something wasn’t right the second it went straight to voicemail, that dull, grating tone sounding through the line instead of your usual soft voice. Something was wrong, and the fact that this was the fifth time he’d called you with still no answer didn’t bode well with his growing concern.

Maybe that’s why he found himself balancing on the ledge outside your window, desperately trying to figure out a way to get in without getting caught by your parents—or showing that he cares too much. He’s got a reputation to uphold afterall, and while it’s not entirely untrue that you’re important to him, he’d rather look tough than risk appearing vulnerable by throwing himself into your room and demanding an explanation.

With a carful and much practised ease, Dallas manages to make his way onto your windowsill, flicking out his blade and jamming it into the gap just under where your lock would sit, twisting and turning until the lock releases from its place in the frame with a quiet click. You were going to kill him one of these days for how many times he’d left little marks against the woodwork or broken off pieces entirely, but there was a time and a place for everything and he knew better than to mention the new scars on the paintwork to you right now.

The inside of your room is uncharacteristically dark when Dallas slips in through the window, lit only by the small lamp on the your desk, the dim glow casting tall, looming shadows across the walls. It’s as if the entire room were swallowed up, consumed by the darkness which has cast itself over every inch of your space, hiding you away, making you seem smaller, weaker, somehow.

Your bed is a mess of blanket and pillows strewn about haphazardly, and tangled in the midst of all the chaos is you, curled in on yourself like you have been all day, face hidden from the light of the world, eyes shut tight. You breathe deeply, in and out, in and out…

Dallas has never seen you so still before, and even though he doesn’t want to disturb you, he knows that you're way too caught up in your own head, too wrapped up in your own self pity, to notice him standing in the middle of your room. He can see the rise and fall of your shoulders and chest, can see the way you shift every now and then, the tension and sadness clear in every movement, as if you’re fighting off some invisible demon.

The sight frustrates him, the thought of you sitting here alone, unable to do anything against your spiralling mind causes those gears to grind within him. He knows what it’s like, how it feels to be trapped in your own head, and he hates to see you suffer from it.

“Hey,” he murmurs softly after a moment of prolonged silence, attempting to break you from the trace you’re submersed in without startling you. He takes a tentative step forward before carefully moving to sit on the edge of your bed, not really knowing what to do from there. “You good?”

You don’t respond immediately, your response getting stuck halfway up your throat, struggling to get past the thick wall of emotions blocking any kind of sound from leaving your lips. You swallow heavily, the action painful and raw, and your words come out in a tiny, hushed whisper, barely louder than the wind whipping through the trees outside.

“Don’t know.” The word comes out as more of a sigh than an actual word, and though your mouth opens to continue the conversation you’ve cut it short, unable to force another syllable past your throat. It seems as if your brain had completely gone blank, the thought of continuing speaking seeming impossible. There’s a pause between you two. A moment in which you’re both waiting for the other to speak, to say something, but neither can find the words to fill it. It stretches on, almost unbearable in its intensity, the silence so thick and heavy with unsaid thoughts and feelings you could cut it with a knife if you wanted to.

Finally, it becomes too much and Dallas is the first to break, shifting awkwardly to sit beside you. He's not good with this sort of thing, emotions aren't exactly his area of expertise, but he isn't completely heartless and he sure as hell isn't gonna leave you like this.

“Have you eaten anything today?” There's a strange note to his voice, and even though you don't turn to glance at him, you feel his eyes on you. You shake your head in confirmation and he huffs. “Then eat,” he says simply, reaching forward to brush some of your knotted hair from your face.

The gesture is gentle, comforting almost, but his touch is still firm despite his attempts at being a calming presence. That much about him doesn’t change.

You want to tell him that it’s not that easy, that you haven’t actually left your bed since yesterday morning—except to go to the bathroom—and even then, the effort it took drained what little energy you had left. You want to say that the thought of forcing food down your throat feels impossible because your stomach hasn’t stopped feeling like lead weights. But instead, you bite your tongue. It’s too difficult to explain something like that to Dally, and honestly, you’re not sure you could handle his bluntness right now.

Instead you reach out blindly for him, gripping onto his wrist tightly and pulling him close, ignoring any protests he may make. He sits stiffly, unsure how to react to the sudden contact, but after a moment of hesitation he allows himself to relax, one arm coming to wind around your middle.

He doesn't smother you, doesn't tease you for wanting him so close like he normally would. Instead, he remains quiet, offering nothing but silent support. And you appreciate that; you appreciate how he doesn’t push you away, how he doesn’t leave you alone to deal with things yourself. You appreciate that, despite it not being his scene at all, he stays beside you, lets you cling to him and rest in his arms without complaining. And then you realise, maybe Dallas Winston isn't as heartless as everyone makes him out to be.

Maybe, just maybe, you mean more to him then he lets on.

#the outsiders x reader #dallas winston x reader #dally winston x reader #dallas winston imagine #steve randle x reader #johnny cade x reader #sodapop curtis x reader #darrel curtis x reader #darry curtis x reader #soda curtis x reader #sodapop x reader #ponyboy x reader #ponyboy curtis x reader #pony curtis x reader #two bit matthews x reader #two bit x reader #two bit mathews x reader

188 notes · View notes

literatureloverx · 2 months ago

Note

Hello! This is my first time asking anything so, sorry if this doesn’t make any sense. I love the way you write & your ideal type for Fyodor. I was curious, how would he have met his ideal type? I understand if you’re busy! Thank you

Hello dear!♥️ You’re not bothering at all, and I’m so happy that I’m the person you chose for your first request.♥️

I’m sorry it took me so long, and I hope you enjoy reading it!♥️

Fyodor likely saw you in a serene and sophisticated setting, such as a café, a theatre, a library, or a museum. I chose the Musée Fabre for this scenario.♥️

Religious themes, art interpretations, intrigued and manipulative Fyodor.

“A Beauty to Behold”

You move a loose strand away from your face, which reveals your pale, small, innocent face.

Fyodor’s gaze lingers on you for a few moments longer, an odd thought crossing his mind. No one else seems to notice you. You were beautiful, and that alone was captivating. The fact that others weren’t even watching the art they came to see only added to the allure, making his gaze fixate on you even more.

You, a beautiful young woman, dressed in fine stilettos and a figure-hugging, midi-length crème knit dress, holding a coat and a small bag of the same color in your arms, appeared to be the only one genuinely interested in the art before you—reading the text beside it and admiring the piece for more than five minutes now. ‘The Fallen Angel’ by Alexandre Cabanel.

He takes a calm stride toward you, coming to a halt just beside you—like a predator, one might think. His cool aura contrasts sharply with your warmth.

Fyodor moves a little closer to observe you more clearly, studying the way you react to the painting and the little facial expressions that appear on your beautiful features while you’re deep in thought.

After a moment, he hums, his voice light and charming.

“What do you make of this one, miss?” His eyes rest on the painting itself.

He finds himself intrigued by the sight of such innocence and naivety, and he can’t help the slight, cold smirk that spreads on his lips.

You look at him with your doe eyes, widened slightly as his approach seems to have come unexpectedly. You seem like an introverted person, and rather shy.

An unrealistically handsome man, tall and dressed in a dark suit that seems to match the intensity of his gaze. It takes you a few seconds before you’re able to speak.

You speak with a soft voice. “When I look at it, I feel the weight of what it means to turn away from God's light. The angel, once so radiant and close to God, now sits alone, his face full of sorrow and defiance….”

You pause for a brief moment. “….It still does not make me feel less empathetic towards the angel that is depicted in the painting. Because he does not embody the true evil that is the devil.”

Fyodor listens attentively, his smirk transforming into a small, more genuine-looking smile. Your words are not only interesting, but they also show a certain maturity. His gaze glides over you again, taking in the details of your face and figure in a subtle, almost nonchalant way.

“It's truly interesting, and also curious to hear someone not just throw around shallow, superficial phrases but instead look at the painting at a deeper, more analytical level, isn't it?”

“Are you agreeing with my opinion, sir?”

You say softly, with a shy undertone, subtly analyzing his fine features. Clearly intrigued in your own, feminine way.

A quiet, gentle chuckle leaves Fyodor's mouth. Your shy, innocent manner of speaking and acting amuses and delights him, and he likes the way you’re looking at him, even if your gaze is shy, almost a tad timid. When he speaks, there's a slight hint of playfulness in his voice, though his sharp eyes never leave your pretty features for a second.

“That depends. Are you expecting praise, my dear?”

This was something that you did not expect, which makes you blush softly.

“Oh, I wasn't...”

You stutter mildly.

“I…was...just asking if you agree with me.”

You recover quickly. “Do you have an opposite statement you would make?”

A smirk appears on Fyodor's lips again at the sight of your blushing and stuttering, and suddenly, he's very much enjoying this conversation. He can't put his finger on it, but there's something about this. About you. Something that is new. A lovely young woman that draws him in, makes him want to keep talking to her.

He lets out a small hum before he answers your question, his deep, melodic voice barely above a murmur.

“No, miss. I think you're absolutely correct.”

Your eyes widen, as if saying, 'you do?’. You look at the painting again, and then at Fyodor. He seems rather cold, calculating, analyzing, looking into your soul, piercing through your comfort zone by playing a game of cat and mouse, in an almost nonchalant way.

He must be either bored or lonely.

“And you have nothing to add, sir?”

He shakes his head, his smirk turning into a small smile as he continues looking at you, amused and intrigued himself that you seem so interested in his opinion.

Your voice is so soft and sweet, he feels himself drawn to you without even realizing it, the desire to prolong their conversation suddenly appearing in his head.

The corner of Fyodor's lips curls up into a very subtle, almost mischievous-looking smile. He likes how you want to extend the conversation, and he decides to play along, simply because the thought of leaving you, this charming, beautiful young woman, alone does not please him.

He can tell that you’re alone—a sweet, beautiful person like you, all by yourself in this grand museum, pursuing your passion. He figured out most of this —and more— within the first few minutes of meeting you.

He takes a step closer, now standing right next to you as he looks at the painting as well, his eyes roaming over the colors and shapes that create a fascinating composition.

“Well, I suppose I could say a few more things. Would you be interested in hearing them?”

You nod softly. “Yes, please do.”

Fyodor is satisfied to see that you seem to desire more, and he can’t help but let his gaze flit from the painting back to you, lingering on the soft, innocent features of your lovely face for a moment before he speaks again.

His deep voice is as melodic as before, but it’s clear that he’s more interested in you than in the art at the moment—a fact only he is aware of, something you could never tell.

“You're already correct when you say the angel does not embody true malice, but I think, in order to understand the pain and defiance on his face, it's important to look at what has led to his downfall.”

“You mean to say... the rebellion?”

He nods, a sly, almost mischievous smirk appearing on his lips once more with how he watches your reactions to his words, enjoying seeing you paying so much attention to his point of view.

Everything about you is sweet, and Fyodor is slowly becoming more and more intrigued, wanting to see more of it the longer you talk.

It is truly strange. He feels a certain way, and his frozen heart does not seem to keep up with this feeling.

“Precisely, my dear. The fallen angel chose to go against the Creator. That's what caused his downfall. His choice, no one else's.”

You nod thoughtfully, whispering softly.

“One is responsible for whatever one does. Only strong minds can withstand corruption by the seven deadly sins... but no one truly can withstand them, because being human means having weaknesses. One could say that human beings are sinful and foolish, because they can’t help themselves but be corrupted. But then again… it is what makes them human.”

The quiet, barely audible sound of your voice is like music to his ears, and his smile widens slightly at your words. You clearly possess a wisdom and intelligence that goes beyond your age, and this makes the interest and amusement he feels for you only grow. You’re so… proper.

You make for a far more interesting conversation than any intellectual or even philosophical topic he could go on about with other individuals. You lack his level of intellect, sure, but he can’t deny that you’re not someone who bores him.

Rather than challenging him, you present an understanding of his own perspective, which is more comforting than threatening. Something he is not used to. Not naive, but simply pure.

A power so few people have. An objective view on the matter of humanity.

His smirk turns sharp, and the subtle mischief in his eyes is more obvious as he continues looking at you while speaking.

“So very true, my dear. To fall... is your own choice indeed.”

You smile sweetly at him, your gaze demure and soft with intrigue.

“It is not common for me to find someone who shares my views.” You say gently.

“I heard interpretations about his tragic beauty, contrasting with the sorrow and defiance in his expression, symbolizing the consequences of pride and ambition. It's often seen as a romanticized portrayal of Lucifer's fall, emphasizing themes of rebellion, loss, and the fragility of even the most exalted beings.”

You look at the painting. “But it never seemed enough to me.”

He hums in thought, allowing his gaze to flicker from your delicate features to the painting and back again as he listens to what you have to say.

Your words are eloquent, and they show an intelligence and depth of understanding that even people a lot older than you are lacking.

And yet, there is still something so innocent and sweet about you, something that makes him want to see those beautiful doe eyes of yours looking up at him in awe... He has to suppress a small smirk, keeping his voice in a tone just as soft as yours is.

“So it seemed insufficient to you?”

“No one ever truly depicts the true evil in its pure form, don't you think? It was not easy to understand. The idea of there being a true, pure evil. I believe that is why so many people are romanticizing it…”

You gaze at Fyodor. “…Because they can’t understand that he is simply, purely, evil. He chose to defy God and rebel—not out of altruistic ambitions, but because of his pride. He’s no human. He should’ve known better.”

You smile sweetly. “But it is nice to know that at least someone agrees with me.”

His smirk returns, and his expression turns sharp as he leans towards you ever so subtly, his deep voice still as soft and melodic as ever, though the slight mocking tone in his words is clear.

Ah, so you crave attention and approval from someone more capable of seeing what others cannot? How very cute. Not that he didn’t already figure that out.

“I couldn't agree more, miss...?”

You say your name softly. “…a pleasure to meet you, mister...?”

You extend your hand towards him in a warm, friendly manner. Fyodor takes it, your hand slender and delicate in his larger, paler one.

His grip is firm but gentle, as though afraid of breaking you. That is unlike him—he is used to breaking and destroying things.

And yet, there is something about you that makes him feel at ease. Your touch is almost like a relief. A sense of serenity in this twisted world.

The smirk on his lips never leaves, and for a moment he holds your hand a second too long, enjoying the feel of your soft skin underneath his fingers.

“Fyodor Dostoevsky.”

The electricity between you two could almost be felt from a hundred miles away.

“…Mister Dostoevsky,” you say softly.

He hums, the way you say his name making his smirk turn into a small smile.

Your voice is even more lovely when his name falls from your lips, and he can tell you’re not just another pretty young woman who pretends to have some knowledge about the topics discussed—not when just the way you pronounce his name makes a pleasant shiver run down his spine.

He gently lets go of your hand, although reluctantly, and his eyes never leave your pretty face as he continues speaking.

“You’re not a local if I’m hearing the right accent, are you, miss?”

“Yes, I’m not. I’m (any heritage). And you are… Russian?” you ask softly.

He nods, his eyes never leaving hers as he gazes at your innocently curious expression. You’re so open, so pure and genuine in the way you speak and present yourself, and it amuses and fascinates him in a way he can’t quite describe as he listens to your soft, melodic voice.

“Russian, indeed. I take it it’s rather obvious?”

You giggle softly. “The accent, yes, but the name says it all.”

He lets out a quiet, deep chuckle at the sound of your soft laughter, the corners of his lips curled up into a small smile. He likes your laugh and your voice, how gentle and sweet you are. It is like a fresh breeze.

“Ah, I was correct, then. You truly know more than the average young person.”

“I learned a little bit of Russian at home—that is why—because I enjoyed reading Russian literature, but I’m afraid it’s not good enough for me to present it to the ears of a native speaker…”

You sound shy. He can’t help the way he smiles at the thought of you trying to learn his language, and the fact that you’re doing it out of interest in his nation’s literature makes it only sweeter.

You truly are an interesting young lady, and the more he learns about you, the more your innocently demure appearance and your shy behavior intrigue him.

He’s well-schooled enough to keep it hidden behind his polite smile.

“I would be delighted to hear you try, darling.”

You look shyly at him, seemingly regretting having admitted that you know a little Russian, stuttering:

“I—I’d r-rather not…”

Fyodor’s smile only grows at seeing your shy, embarrassed reaction. You truly are adorable, blushing and stuttering as you try to get out of speaking. He decides to have mercy on you.

“Very well, if you’re not comfortable doing so, I won’t pressure you.”

His eyes continue to study you, and he still has a hard time figuring out what it is about you that makes him want to continue this conversation. Normally, he’d have already left such a naive, young girl, but you’re different…

You sigh softly, preparing yourself to bid this interesting stranger goodbye with your innocent gaze. Oh dear, he can read you all too well.

“Mister Dostoevsky—”

“A moment, my dear.”

You are flustered because he seems to have such a sharp mind, which is both thrilling and unnerving in a positive way. The way he could tell that you were trying to leave without a real sign is truly admirable.

“I’m listening, Mister Dostoevsky.”

“There will be a party of artists and intellectuals in a few days, here at the opera. One of the more important ones, it is. I would enjoy having someone as intelligent and lovely as you there.”

(That’s a lie; there is no party and no intellectuals—only his rats, which he will use to create the ambiance.)

His purple eyes never leave your face as he speaks, observing every little expression you might make while listening to his words. He can’t deny that he’s interested in you, a form of interest he’s not used to.

A very dark, and deeply rooted desire that seems to shine through his icy walls.

Your eyes sparkle as you listen to his words, recognizing the slightly flirty but cool undertone of his words.

His gaze is intimidatingly direct and deep, which makes your cheeks flush softly. You can’t help but be flattered by the invitation. And you certainly cannot say no to him.

There is just something about him that makes your heart flutter with joy and excitement. And you do have time at that certain timeframe before heading back to your own country for college. So… why not?

“I would be delighted, Mister Dostoevsky.”

His smile turns into a soft smirk, and he hums in slight satisfaction as you agree. The feeling is quite intriguing, to say the least. He gives a slight bow, not once taking his eyes off your face.

“So am I, considering I’ll get to see you there, my dear.”

You try to hide your flustered face by tilting your head innocently.

“Is there any dress code I should look out for?”

Fyodor hums for a moment. He has already calculated that you would ask this, as you seem to be a very proper young lady who does not wish to overstep. And you will, of course, wear what he wants you to.

“No, not really. The evening’s theme is white, so it would be best if you wear a white, elegant dress. Other than that, there’s not much to know. However, I am certain you shall look enchanting no matter what you wear.”

You blush. “Thank you very much. Then… s-shall I give you my phone number?” You ask nervously.

He smiles at your flustered reaction. You really are adorable, blushing like a little schoolgirl being asked for her number for the first time.

He cannot recall having had a woman so nervous about giving him, a man, her contact information, and he enjoys watching just how shy you get while doing so.

He takes your number with the same polite smile, but he does not use his phone or write it down anywhere.

“Thank you, and I will ensure to text you the details of the event later on, my dear.”

You are confused because he did not write your number down anywhere. No way he’d be able to memorize it this quickly, right?

“And… you can memorize it this instant?”

He doesn’t try to hold back his amused chuckle this time at your confused expression, and the smirk that’s back on his lips is one of mild mockery.

“Of course, my dear. I happen to have a good memory. It would truly be foolish of me not to make use of it.”

Woah!!! I had so much fun writing this. I’m down bad. ♥️

#bsd fyodor #bungou stray dogs fyodor #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #fyodor x reader #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #fyodor x you #yandere bsd #bsd

177 notes · View notes

targaryen-dynasty · 1 year ago

Text

DEPRAVITIES.

Prince Regent!Aemond Targaryen x female!Reader

When your husband feels overwhelmed reining in the stead of the severely wounded King, it is your duty as his wife to comfort him.

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT–MINORS DNI; profanity, lactation kink, lactating, pregnant reader, p in v, cuckolding, degrading, humiliating, tiddy slapping hehe, blink and you'll miss the size kink, very brief breeding kink, female Reader, Prince Regent Aemond

WORDS: 1.8 K

NOTES: Re-posting something I really enjoyed writing before going on hiatus.

Credit for the center piece goes to @justkwordme on twitter.

When the Great Hall slowly cleared, it was your turn to approach your husband, still seated on the large Iron Throne and the Conqueror‘s Crown atop his silver-blonde mane.

His shoulders and head dropped slightly with the heavy doors falling shut behind the last person leaving, clearly displaying all the pressure that rested on them. Your lips had dropped as well, into a pout that showed the pity you held for him.

You approached him with slow, careful steps not to startle him as if you were a hunter stalking towards its prey, not making a sound to strike in an ambush.

And when your hand eventually brushed his shoulder, he released a long sigh.

Without either of you saying anything, you positioned yourself onto his lap, straddling his thighs with your arms wrapped around his neck and the skirts of your dress rucked up around your hips.

Ever since you got pregnant, you hadn’t touched any of your normal dresses–the fabric either too heavy or too tight for your changing body. Lighter dresses with much less embroideries and other decorations filled your closets, a new one being fitted to your growing bump and breasts at least every fortnight.

Much to your husband’s delight, since he was utterly infatuated seeing your body swell because of him–or much more his seed.

Aemond fully embraced your advances and the position, head tipping forwards to rest his forehead against your swollen bosom, enjoying the simple proximity and comfort you brought.

Your marriage with him hadn’t always been like that, starting cold and with him showing no emotions other than the sense of duty for your arranged marriage.

Only after you both had learned Aemond had put a child into you, something primal in him set itself free, making him protective of you… but also obsessed.

Your pregnancy was nearing the seventh moon, and your breasts were swollen enough for your back to ache from the weight and for your feet to hurt with each step. It was rare you even left your marital chambers, mostly laying in bed with your feet positioned atop a few pillows.

The dowager queen had told you it was normal for a woman carrying a Targaryen offspring to experience such terrible side-effects during their pregnancy, as both she and her daughter had shared the same fate many times before.

You believed her–but only because you didn’t have another choice.

Your breasts were hot and tender to the touch and already swollen to the point one easily overfilled Aemond’s large hands. And just like now, they always tended to strain against the low cut necklines of your dresses, the fabric cutting into the skin and making your flesh appear to spill over it. That had earned you the curious glances of more than one man of court, much to your husband’s dismay.

The swell of your belly put some distance between your bodies, and Aemond had his hands planted on either side of it–a habit he had picked up rather quickly with your unborn babe starting to kick just mere nights ago.

When he pressed his chiseled lips to the exposed and flushed skin over your breasts in a soft kiss, the familiar warmth spread throughout your body, settling at the apex between your legs. It was a subtle movement as you ground your hips down on his, but still enough for Aemond to groan against your body.

A dark-blown pupil gazed up at you with his eye widened slightly, the lilac almost completely eclipsed by black, not having to say anything for you to know what he wanted.

You gave him a reassuring nod, and in no time, he had pushed the neckline of your dress down enough to free not one, but both your breasts out of their confines.

From the heavy sigh you released it was clear you felt relieved already, more so when his lips wrapped around one of your hardened buds. But the familiar stimulation of his fingers around the other one was missing–until you eventually felt his hand eagerly undoing the laces in the front of his breeches.

It was difficult for him to do so with you sitting on top, so you slightly raised your hips, allowing him to pull out his hard and throbbing cock.

You were surprised he went that far, especially because you were in the Throne Room with the possibility of someone barging into the room–but you also were excited.

“Aemond,” you spoke softly. “We cannot.”

Though your words were a weak attempt to protest, there did not really come any objection from you as he fisted himself between your bodies, yours already craving what your mind still needed to process.

He pulled back from you with a lewd pop, just a bit of your milk resting in the corners of his mouth. It was obscene, but in your eyes he had never looked so good. “We can,” he all but barked. “I will have the head of anyone that chooses to interrupt us right now–regardless of who it is.”

With that, he tugged the center of your smallclothes aside enough for his digits to tease your entrance, positively surprised you were already soaked for him and whining at the contact.

“I did not know I have married a whore,” he teased shamelessly, bringing the fingers covered with your arousal up to smear it around the areola of your right breast. “Are you certain my brother did not fetch you from the Street of Silk or Flea Bottom even? Or is everyone in the Reach just as depraved as you are, sweet wife?”

The profanity of his words sent a shiver down your spine, and if there even was a sense of restraint still left in your body, it vanished with your hand entangling into his silver mane to tug his head towards your bosom, clearly wanting to silence him.

“Enough,” you scolded teasingly, biting the tip of your tongue to suppress a smirk from taking over your features.

When you eventually sank down on his throbbing length in one swift movement, you shuddered, and Aemond and you both released a contented moan.

His lips locked around the bud that was covered in your arousal, sucking it in the rhythm your core clenched around him. There was no need for you to move–no, you didn’t even want to–fully satisfied with the way his member was just buried inside of you.

Your head tipped back in pleasure, and you tried your best to stifle your moans, only quiet whines and whimpers leaving your lips at the stimulation.

As the pressure in your breast slowly subsided, you were finally able to feel him suckle, and when you looked down, you were blessed with a sight that was truly created by the Seven.

Aemond’s chiseled lips were wrapped around your little bud, his eye half closed and his cheeks dimpled from the suction, amplified each time he swallowed the bits of your milk.

His tongue flickered over your hardened bud, eliciting a soft moan from the depths of your chest. You were able to feel him throbbing inside of you at the sound, followed by a growl that vibrated through your whole body.

You not-so-gently tugged on his hair again, seeming to spur him on even more, and whined a ‘you will have to do the other as well.’

As he pulled back once again, you couldn’t stop yourself from pouting, which was mended by the sight of him licking over your bud to gather the remnants of your milk–all while he kept his eye locked with yours. No matter how badly you wanted not to moan, you couldn’t stop the sound from spilling past your lips. It was certainly getting a reaction out of you. The possibility of being caught long forgotten.

“Stop being greedy,” Aemond panted, and you just bowed your head in submission and nodded. “You should be grateful.” As if it was not him asking for permission to suck your breasts in the first place.

“Y-Yes,” you mumbled in feigned humility, choosing to play into his game.

“Yes, what?” Aemond asked, serving a slap to your sensitive breast that had you wincing.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Better.”

And with that, he locked his lips around your other bud, but not without groping your rear to pull you closer towards him and deeper onto his cock–at least as close as possible with your swollen belly between your bodies.

You sat just right with the hem of his tunic rubbing against your pearl, every lap of his tongue and squeeze of his fingers around your other breast sending a bolt of pleasure straight down between your legs.

But then your hips started to move on their own accord, grinding down on him, riding him while he sucked every last drop of milk from you.

The aching of your back and breasts was long forgotten as you chased your pleasure.

A couple of moments passed until you felt Aemond’s breathing growing labored, his chest almost heaving with more and more muffled grunts and groans escaping his throat. He was loud–much to your surprise–but your body seemed to keen at that, the knot in the pit of your belly tightening at a rapid pace.

And then, you toppled over the edge of your peak with a loud cry of his name.

Your body crouched forward while both arms just wrapped around the back of his neck to pull him closer into your bosom, the coldness of the crown pushing against your collar bone a stark contrast to the heat soaring within your body.

You were trembling astride him, whining when you felt how your peak’s contractions were practically forcing the spend out of your husband’s cock.

Just like he was sucking you dry, you were milking him for every last drop of his spill, too.

And as he spilled inside of you, he released your breast to curse your name and bury his face between your now soft and tender breasts.

There was silence between you safe for your heavy breathing, before you leaned back enough to look down at Aemond. His lips were red and swollen, a soft flush covered his cheeks and neck, and the lilac of his eye was still completely drowned out by black.

Your head bowed forwards to capture his lips in a kiss that was shy of gentleness, the remnants of your milk on his tongue and lips spreading over to yours.

When he pulled back, a sly smirk was draped over his lips–a smirk that couldn’t mean any good.

“Let us retreat to our chambers, wife. I am not yet full.”

Aemond was insatiable, you had learned that very early into your marriage. And that meant you were in for yet another sleepless night, preparing you for what was to come once the babe was born.

1K notes · View notes

repulsiveliquidation · 10 months ago

Text

If I have to ask, I don’t want it.

Alexia Putellas x Reader [ANGST.]

Years into married life, Alexia gets bored of you. Based on a quote from Frida Kahlo.

I’m not asking you to kiss me, nor apologize to me when I think you’re wrong.

“Where the hell were you?” you ask Alexia, confronting her after she walks into the house way past midnight. It’s four hours past she promised to be home, having gone out with the girls for a drink after training. You were home all day waiting for her but she sounded like she needed some time to relax after being cooped up at home from her surgery so you told her to have fun and sorted yourself out. She had promised to only be an hour or two, but it turned into six hours without even a phone call or text.

“Don’t start with me, I’m not in the fucking mood for one of your lectures,” she growls, throwing her bag down and walking into the house without even a glance at you. Your eyes fill with tears, hands clenched into tight fists by your side as she slams the bedroom door behind her.

You follow her, tears flowing down your face. She’s in the bathroom brushing her teeth, rolling her eyes when she sees your crying state in the doorway.

“What does that mean?” you ask her, arms crossed before wiping away your tears.

“I wanted to drink, it’s none of your business what I do.”

“You promised me you’d be home by 8.”

“I’d rather be out with them than stuck at home with you.”

I won’t even ask you to hug me when I need it most.

Tears rolled down your cheeks when the doctors told you you couldn’t have children. Your heart shattered into a million pieces when he uttered those words to you and your wife. Alexia looked almost distant, you figured that she was simply devastated by the news and didn’t know how to process it. The moment you got home though, she had lots to say.

“You’re telling me you didn’t fucking know?” she yelled the moment the front door closed.

“Ale, I’ve never had problems before! I-”

“Save it. You know I wanted to start a family and now you fuck things up.”

“Ale, I’m sorry…I’m so so sorry,” you tell her, moving closer to her. you reach out for her hand but she flinches away.

“Save your apologies for someone who cares.”

I don’t ask you to tell me how beautiful I am, even if it’s a lie, nor write me anything beautiful.

You’re at an award ceremony with Alexia, she’s sat at the table chatting away with Aitana while you are backstage waiting to receive an award. The beige dress you had on matched Alexia’s suit, there were many compliments hurled your way the entire night. One person hadn’t said anything to you yet, not one compliment from the person that mattered the most to you. Even if you knew that you didn’t come close to being hers.

“She looks stunning in that dress, doesn’t she?” Aitana compliments you as you walk out on stage. Alexia is on her phone, texting someone who’s clearly more interesting than her wife receiving an award on stage.

Aitana slaps her arm, getting more and more annoyed at her friend.

“What?” Alexia says angrily, Aitana just rolls her eyes.

“Alexia. She’s looking at you.”

Alexia looks up at the stage just in time to hear you thanking her for being her beautiful wife and for sticking with her through all the rough patches throughout your career. She forced a smile, knowing that there was surely a camera on her.

You know her well, and that itself hurts because it’s when you walk off stage and you see her smiling at her phone that you know you’ve lost her.

I won't even ask you to call me to tell me how your day went, nor tell me you miss me.

Three days. It’s been three days since you last heard from Alexia. You were both on international duty, the England camp was going smoothly when Sarina called for a quick break. You sit beside Leah and go on your phone, hoping to see if Alexia has texted you. Nothing. Your shoulders slump a little and your best friend notices, a look of concern across her face.

“What’s up?” Leah asks, genuinely curious.

“Nothing, it’s,” you contemplate telling her. telling her that you know Alexia is seeing someone else. Loving someone else. Kissing someone else. Fucking someone else. But you hold your tongue. You force a smile like you’ve seen Alexia do in front of you lately, hoping it’s enough to convince your best friend. She doesn’t buy it but knows not to pry, especially when she can see that you’re hurting.

“It’s nothing.”

I won’t ask you to thank me for everything I do for you, nor care about me when my soul is down.

“Dinner’s on the table,” you tell Alexia as she walks into the kitchen. You look up to see her all dressed and ready to go out, your expression changes to one of sadness.

“You go ahead,” she says, grabbing her car keys. “I’m meeting someone for dinner.”

“Is it the woman you’re always texting?” you ask quietly, back turned to her. You were a coward, your mind told you; you couldn’t even bear to see the expression of pure surprise on her face that quickly turned into one that was serious.

“I am texting no one,” the front door opens, “Don’t stay up.”

I won’t ask you to support me in my decisions.

Having requested to be loaned for the rest of the season, you were excited to see what clubs would want to have you for a while. Arsenal had always been interested in you, having played alongside Leah in the academy when you were younger. So when their legal team got into negotiations with Barça, you immediately agreed.

Things at home hadn’t at all improved, you figured that some time apart would be good for you both.

“Can I speak with you for a second?” you sheepishly ask Alexia who was sitting in the living room on her laptop working away.

She doesn’t even look up at you, nodding her head for you to continue.

“I’m moving to Arsenal for the rest of the season.”

“Why?” she asks with a sharp tone, eyes narrowing in an accusatory fashion.

“They don’t need me here at Barça, besides, it’s not like you need me either.”

“So your solution when we’re having issues is to run away to England? You’ve always thought about yourself and not the team.”

“Don’t you dare say that, I have given this team my everything.”

“And yet here you are, throwing it away because you’re mad at me!”

“Who the hell says I’m doing this for you?” she looks taken aback when you raise your voice. You rarely did, and it takes her by surprise.

“I am doing this for us. You can’t even LOOK at me without looking like you’re disgusted by me. I am going, whether you fucking approve or not.”

I won’t even ask you to listen to me when I have a thousand stories to tell you.

“She’s having the time of her life there! Did you see that goal she scored over the weekend, that’s goal of the year material no?” Patri talks to Lucy and Ona about you, the girls missing you, and having spent the weekend bonding and watching your game against Watford.

“Sí, it was perfect. She is thriving at Arsenal, but I hope they give her back!” Ona says with a light chuckle, leaning into Lucy’s side in the locker room after training.

Alexia walks in, Patri yelling at her to join in on the conversation. It was her wife they were talking about anyway.

“Did you talk to your wife at all today? She called me last night and said that she misses you.” Lucy tells her, watching the captain sit in her cubby and undo her shoes. Alexia shakes her head, immediately getting on her phone.

“No, I didn’t have time last night. I’ll text her.”

“What could you possibly be doing except sulking when she’s not at home? You didn’t have a drink with us either, quite frankly you seemed eager to leave after watching the game yesterday.”

“What I do or where I go is none of your fucking business,” Alexia stands and walks across the room to them. She shakes with rage, eyes filled with pure anger at the insinuation of her being unfaithful. She was, but the thought of her friends finding out that she was doing this to you ate at her. You were perfect in their eyes, the person who would be there for anyone, no matter what. And there she was, being the very thing she promised never to do to you the day you got married.

I won’t ask you to do anything, not even be my side forever.

Divorce. That was where your marriage was headed. As you sat in your lawyer's office drawing up the documents, you were devastated. Pictures of Alexia with another woman surfaced just before you got home for Christmas. The plane ride was the worst 2 hours of your life. Alexia and you were through. She hadn’t loved you for a very long time but you had tried so hard to ignore it and convince yourself that it wasn’t true. Those pictures were a slap to your face.

She looked happy with her.

She looked content with her.

She looked in love.

You set the papers in front of her at lunch with the girls. They sat in silence as she read the stack, slowly realizing what you had just handed to her. She tried to get you to take them back and work things out but you firmly held your own.

You knew your worth.

You didn’t need her anymore.

You didn’t need to ask for her love ever again.

Because if I have to ask you, I don’t want it anymore.

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas angst #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #woso x reader #woso soccer #woso imagine #woso fanfics #fc barca femeni #woso #woso community #womens football #liquidation writes

971 notes · View notes

genshingorlsrevengeance · 10 months ago

Note

Can I see Furina, Navia, Lynette, and Yae Miko dealing with their S/O who wears a mask all the time and never seen your face before? S/O got hurt badly protecting them and they took S/O mask off and see what S/O looks like and help them.

(Genshin Impact) Furina, Navia, and Lynette with a S/O who wears a mask

This is the way. I'd do Yae but my brain is at maximum capacity writing for the three, so remind me to write Yae later!

POTENTIAL POST-ARCHON QUEST SPOILERS FOR THE FONTAINE CHARACTERS UNDER THE CUT!

Furina had become very used to the sight of her S/O's mask.

It was reminiscent of a theatre mask, fittingly enough. The holes for the eyes were completely black, and there was no expression for the mouth.

No one could identify what S/O was feeling, other than determining it by voice alone.

Many people found it suspicious, but she wasn't one to judge.

Especially since Furina herself wore a metaphorical mask for the past few centuries.

And besides, there were far more suspicious people in Tevyat than the one person just covering their face.

Furina had grown to love S/O since they did the same for her. They cared for the person underneath the facade, and Furina did the same.

During their travels, they had come under attack by rogue Meka and were caught off guard.

Although Furina cannot not die, S/O very much could, and had gotten terribly injured during the skirmish.

===

(Furina) "S/O!"

Furina quickly dispatched the last Meka with her vision, a burst of Hydro sending it tumbling into the waters below in pieces.

S/O had finished off their attackers with a sword bisecting the machine. However, they were breathing heavily and leaning against a nearby rock, sliding down.

The mask betrayed nothing of what they felt, but she could tell they were hurt.

Panic began to set in Furina's head, quickly scrambling to help. Her eyes glowed a bright blue before a familiar appeared next to S/O, healing the worst of their injuries.

(Furina) "S/O, are you okay?!"

Her usual bravado was absent though it was slowly starting to come back when she saw their breathing begin to steady itself.

(S/O) "Could....be worse, thanks."

Furina's hand placed itself onto her chest, breathing a deep sigh of relief.

(Furina) "Thank goodness! Come now, we shall get ourselves some rest and-"

A red stream trickled down S/O's face, coming from underneath the mask and catching her attention.

(Furina) "Your head! Allow me to-"

Furina's hand stopped itself as it quickly reached for their mask. She had never seen S/O without it, and she wasn't sure if they wanted to be seen with it off.

Silently answering her, S/O's hand gently reached up to her arm, and nodding.

(S/O) "Not a word of this to anyone."

Furina gave them a weary smile.

(Furina) "It depends on how handsome/pretty you are, S/O."

Hearing their pained chuckle, Furina slowly took off the mask and saw their face for the first time. She couldn't help but stare for a few seconds before moving to clean the blood from their head.

It scared her so much to see them hurt, but it was also comforting to see them give her a reassuring smile back, and to see those eyes staring back into hers for the first time.

(S/O) "...D-Don't just stare at me like that, Furina."

(Furina) "How could I not? You look incredible, simply marvelous!"

(S/O) "Even with blood gushing out of me?"

(Furina) "Hah, especially so. It makes you look rather dashing."

S/O could tell she was joking, as her hands were still gripping tightly onto theirs from worry.

(S/O) "Once I actually look presentable and not beat up, you can stare all you like."

(Furina) "I will hold you to that. Now, let's get you cleaned up!"

Furina not so subtly stared at S/O on the way back, smiling back when S/O noticed her and broke off eye contact. How cute!

Navia did raise an eyebrow at S/O upon first meeting, but she quickly became accustomed to it.

It's not like she dressed all that subtly herself after all.

And besides, what matters the most about a person is what's on the inside!

And to Navia, S/O was one of the most trustworthy people you could meet, weird mask aside.

She did not pry on their reason for wearing it, only wanting to ask when the time seemed right.

But that time came quicker than she thought after a dangerous encounter with bandits.

===

(Navia) "Feeling lucky?!-"

Her umbrella gun's blast blew away the ground the bandits were standing on, sending them flying back.

After seeing them retreat after dealing with the remaining ruffians, she smirked in satisfaction.

(Navia) "Serves you punks right, now get out of here! Hah! S/O, did you-"

Turning back to brag about her skills to S/O, she suddenly noticed that they weren't responding, and worst of all, they were on the ground with red on their hands.

Navia stopped breathing for a split second before nearly sprinting over to them, quickly lifting them up.

(Navia) "No! No no no, please, no!"

(S/O) "...N-Navia-"

(Navia) "Please, stay with me! I can't lose you too!"

Navia's hand brushed against the side of their head, her eyes welling up with tears as her heart raced.

S/O's hands wiped away the tears from her face before speaking up.

(S/O) "I'll live. They just grazed me. Promise."

(Navia) "Y-You...You better...!"

S/O slowly reached for their mask and took it off to look Navia in the eye. A small amount of blood came from their lips, but they thankfully displayed no signs of bleeding out.

Navia stared wide eyed at the sight of their face, taking it in. This was the first time she had ever seen them with it off, and this was not the time she was expecting to.

(S/O) "S-See? Heh, perfectly fine...OW!"

Navia suddenly grabbed their face, squishing it repeatedly with one hand as she rubbed off the blood with her thumb.

(Navia) "Why...Why in the world did you not take that off sooner?! You're simply breathtaking!"

(S/O) "Becushyewd'dewdis!" (Because you'd do this!)

They could not form the sentence correctly with how Navia's hands were squishing their cheeks together, as if she were squeezing a ball.

S/O gently grabbed Navia's wrist and lifted it off their face, chuckling lightly.

(S/O) "Not that I don't mind your hand on me, but can you at least do so without feeling me up like a toy?"

(Navia) "A-Ah, my apologies! You're hurt as well, so we need to get you to a doctor!"

Throughout the trip, S/O caught Navia taking several glances to examine their face.

Lynette had kept her eye on S/O the moment she heard rumors about a masked individual going around Fontaine.

She had learned to watch out for any signs of danger in a person, especially if it concerned herself or Lyney.

What had shocked her the most was that S/O had displayed no reason to distrust them, other than the mask.

In fact, they were one of the most trusting people she had met, looking into any information about them, nothing about their past was particularly alarming.

So that meant their reasons for wearing the mask was less to conceal an identity and more personal.

The two had gotten to know each other after S/O was found taking care of a few stray cats around the city, both of them quietly enjoying their time.

After that, it became a lunch or two, and a few conversations here and there.

Eventually, it blossomed into something more as the two spent time, neither of them fully revealing everything about their past.

S/O didn't pry, so Lynette didn't either. At least not after she got to know the person behind the mask.

But after S/O had saved her from rather vicious wildlife...

===

S/O and Lynette took a moment to breathe, escaping to higher ground from the creatures attacking them.

(Lynette) "That was too close. S/O, thanks for-"

Her ears turned sideways as she realized there was blood falling from S/O's head.

(Lynette) "You're bleeding! Sit down!"

(S/O) "O-Ow...No need to tell me twice."

S/O almost collapsed before Lynette caught them, slowly making them lean against a nearby rock as she grabbed their mask.

She took it off without thinking and was stunned by seeing their face for the first time.

Her ears immediately straightened up as the words got caught in her throat. Lynette almost forgot what she was doing until seeing the blood trickle down.

S/O made no motion to stop her, only giving her a small smile that made her heart race even faster. After cleaning the injury on their head, she averted her gaze.

(Lynette) "...Sorry. I should have asked first."

(S/O) "You were worried, so you acted. If anything, I'm flattered."

Hearing their voice so clearly was messing with her head. To finally connect their soothing voice to a face was almost unnatural to her. Part of her was convinced that she'd never actually see it, at least not this soon.

(S/O) "You told me quite a bit about yourself and Lyney already, I think it's about time I returned the favor, anyway."

Lynette returned their smile, albeit hers was not as big.

(Lynette) "I suppose that's a fair trade."

She was finally able to look them in the eye for a few seconds before putting the mask back into their hands.

(Lynette) "...You should have that mask off more often."

(S/O) "I'll do that if you promise me you'll do the same...As long as it's only the two of us."

Her ears twitched for a brief moment, processing what they were asking.

She sincerely doubted at this point they were the type to blabber about anything they were told, something she was thankful for.

And if she got to see the true them, maybe that wasn't the most outrageous demand they could make.

Lynette had seen worse deals, anyway.

(Lynette) "Only for the two of us."

S/O responded by holding her hand tightly, and she responded in kind.

(Lynette) "First, we need to get back to the city. I've had enough outdoors for today."

(S/O) "Heh, agreed."

On the way back, Lynette could not keep her eyes off their face and felt a tad disappointed watching them put it back on as they reached civilization again.

#genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact headcanons #furina x reader #navia x reader #lynette x reader #furina genshin #navia genshin impact #lynette genshin impact

638 notes · View notes