#also obsessed with the implications of this piece please talk to me about it

[louwhose]

LOU'S 200 DTIYS!!

So, recently I got 200 followers, and after thinking about it a bit I figured I wanted to do a dtiys. And I was planning on including just the lineart as part of it so that anyone who was interested could participate with that, but after I was done with the lineart I so profoundly did not feel like coloring it that I chose not to.

If you want to draw your own rendition of this piece, go ahead! If you just want to color it, do that! If you're a writer or some other kind of creator that wants to do it in some other kind of way, go for it! All I ask is that you tag me so that I can see it.

This is just for fun, no prizes, no deadlines, do it whenever you want!

[icantdothistodaybruh]

oh, are you familiar with the BoM side story? where arthur dreams of different characters in different fairy tales? i’ve become so! obsessed! with the snow queen versions of sebaciel. ciels outfit is so pretty on him!! but i love a ciel that left everything behind to stay with sebastian.. and sebastian, he’s been so lonely for so long that when he gets a pretty boy he can’t let him go. when someone tries to save him they not only get a “no” but get forcefully snow-blasted right out the door. they understand each other because no one sees the beauty in desolation like they do… so of course they stay isolated in a castle together.

there’s the panel where sebastian’s wrapping his coat around ciels whole body… sebastian acting so smugly to ciels rescuers… the line where ciel says he belongs to the devil… i could live here forever… please consider this cold angle of sebaciel

I AM! AND IT'S ONE OF MY FAVE EXTRAS OUT THERE!!

The implication that the whole dream was of Sebastian's doing (which he is very capable of judging by GWA) brings out such an interesting twist to it - we can see a glimpse of Sebastian's actual opinion on other characters! But I'm of course going to talk a little about Ciel solely for today hehe

I might be wrong since I only have ru and eng translation at hand, but the way Ciel talks about his heart being frozen and eye belonging to the devil makes me think of these acts as essentially same thing, especially given that he "adapted beautifully to the world of Ice" by Sebastian's words. I mean that his heart being frozen doesn't equal to death or inability to feel, but rather just that, adaptation and belonging.

Now I know it sounded far-fetched, but the reason It caught my attention in the first place was the mentioning of the heart at all. It's a dream made by Sebastian, the 'emotionless' and 'unfeeling' demon, with clear analogy to the contract built on power, revenge, and hunger for one's soul, or at least that is how it always was portrayed before. So why would his made up dream-Ciel suddenly bring a heart into equation?

You should've seen my face when I got to the chapter were Elizabeth escapes to rCiel. Call me delulu but it suddenly made so much sense when Sebastian started talking how "human hearts are mysterious, complex things" and "no matter if you are demon or god it is truly and utterly impossible to shackle another's heart." Before that I wouldn't even think he'd have any opinion on the matters of the heart, let alone it be a stated fact to him that he can't have it in a way he can own souls or bodies.

And so that man, in his made up dream, with a made up Ciel, made that Ciel say that not only his soul (eye) belongs to the devil, but heart too. Knowing for a fact it can't belong to him in reality. I'm speechless.

Also when I got your ask yesterday I thought I should make a fanart or a redraw of that scene, and once again, you should've seen my face when I found the page:

and if you don't know why I was so surprised I'll gladly explain with two more pics:

My head exploded.

Three pieces. Representing their change of masks and roles. Yet each is the same in it's core. And one of them is character's fantasy while other two his reality. I'm so done with this show.

...could it be that Arthur's dream made by Sebastian is yet another lie becoming truth?...

[wishingstarworld]

A Tempest's Amity, Pt. 1

Vasco x Female OC (Sylvie de Sardet)

Word Count – 2.1k

Warnings – brief mentions of drugged wine, mild swearing

Masterlist

Vasco's yearning to discover his true name has been reignited, but he needs help to find it.

It was hardly the first time someone had insulted him. Vasco had been called far worse by far better men and women. Gods, his own Naut brothers and sisters had called him worse than that in jest. You come to expect it in his line of work, learn to let it roll off your shoulders without a second thought. He’d long since learned that lesson. Words never got to him.

“Uncivilized, homeless, unwanted bastards shipped off to the Nauts because no one wanted them.”

Until now, that is.

Vasco sighed, running a hand over his face as he paced back and forth, that blasted noble’s words ricocheting around in his head. They just wouldn’t stop. For days, every time he seemed to forget, they would storm right back in like a hurricane. They shouldn’t affect him so much. He’d heard worse.

“Uncivilized, homeless, unwanted bastards shipped off to the Nauts because no one wanted them.”

Vasco tried to take some comfort in the sounds of the sea he could just barely hear through the open window, grateful that De Sardet had insisted on a house as close to the water as possible for her official Legate residence. And even more grateful that she had let all of them stay there. It was almost starting to feel like home.

“Uncivilized, homeless, unwanted bastards shipped off to the Nauts because no one wanted them.”

He was not unwanted. The Nauts wanted him. They cared for him. They were his family. Even Kurt, Siora, Aphra, and Petrus seemed to like him well enough. And De Sardet…

“Uncivilized, homeless, unwanted bastards shipped off to the Nauts because no one wanted them.”

And he was not nameless. He had a name.

But what good is a name if he didn’t even know it?

“Uncivilized, homeless, unwanted bastards shipped off to the Nauts because no one wanted them.”

Vasco growled and punched the wall beside the window, one of the picture frames falling off its nail from the force.

“Uh, Vasco?” he jumped and spun around, coming face to face with a cautious but concerned-looking De Sardet. “Is everything alright?”

He cleared his throat, straightening his jacket, “Absolutely.”

She looked pointedly at the broken picture frame lying in pieces on the floor and he opened his mouth to assure her again but she seemed to read his intention and cut him off, “Vasco, please. Even if you hadn’t taken it upon yourself to redecorate my house, I can tell that something is troubling you. And I would like to help if I can.”

Vasco hesitated a moment before sighing, “How do I explain this…do you know how one becomes a Naut? Beyond volunteering, I mean.”

She nodded slowly, “My understanding is that a child born on any of their boats automatically becomes one of them.”

“You are talking about the Sea-born but there are also others named the Sea-given. They are…entrusted to the Nauts by their family to honour contracts.”

De Sardet looked positively horrified as the implication dawned on her, “How can parents give away their children as a contract?”

“They do not always have a choice,” Vasco hesitated before continuing, “That’s what must have happened to me. I was given away.” She suddenly looked very sad and he hurried to continue, not wanting her pity, “I don’t know anything about my real family, except that they are probably affluent and from the Congregation. When I was born, the Nauts and the merchant princes had a…complex relationship. I must have been used to settle a debt or forge a truce but that doesn’t matter. The mystery of my origins has now become an obsession. I need to know where I come from.”

A stormy look suddenly crossed her face, darkening her eyes, “Vasco, if this is because of what that stupid bastard said the other night—”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” he said hurriedly. She looked at him with an impressively unimpressed look and he sighed. By the seas, this woman was far too good at reading him for his liking. “Alright, yes. What he said did get to me but this is something I’ve always thought about. If I were patient enough, I’d wait to become a fleet commander and then I would be told. But since being laid off, such a promotion seems somewhat improbable.”

“And you want me to help you find this information.”

Vasco paused. A part of him didn’t want to get her involved in this. By the seas, he didn’t want to be involved in this. It wasn’t her problem to solve and she already had so much on her plate with her official duties. But then he looked at her, looking at him with a sincerity he hadn’t seen before, and… “The records of all seamen stationed on the island are in their respective ports. Mine must be in the harbour office in New Serene and it must contain my family name. But if I go there, I’d be spotted right away. Could you…could you go there and bring the file to me?”

“Of course. But you will have to come with me to the port and tell me a little more.”

“Right,” he nodded, “Also, I don’t want any Nauts to be hurt in the process. Despite my desire to know my origins, the Nauts are still my family.”

“Don’t worry, Vasco. We’ll be discreet,” De Sardet said in such a soft, reassuring tone that he immediately felt stupid for even insinuating she would be anything but, “How do you want to go about this?”

“The harbour office is well-guarded, both outside and inside. Getting through the main entrance is impossible.”

De Sardet crossed her arms, humming thoughtfully, “There must be a blind spot. There’s always one.”

“You could dress as a Naut and go through the back door,” Vasco suggested, “but someone may recognize you inside.”

“I’ll need to be much more discreet,” she tapped her finger on her arm, “A potion could help…”

Vasco winced but nodded, “That is an option, yes, but since I’d rather avoid hurting any Nauts, I made some enquiries…”

She raised an eyebrow, “You really have been giving this some thought.”

He shrugged and continued, “The harbour office has an…arrangement with Dieter, from the brothel. Girls come every night, with wine.”

De Sardet's eyes lit up, “I see…you want to spike the wine so they sleep during our search.”

“It’s a proven technique. And I can assure you they do not sniff the wine before drinking it.”

She laughed and some of the heaviness lifted off Vasco’s chest, “Right, let’s get a sleeping potion. Then we’ll go see this Dieter…”

For the second time that day, Vasco found himself pacing back and forth but this time, it was on New Serene’s docks, far enough away from the harbour office to not draw attention but close enough to keep an eye out.

It was a sound plan. De Sardet had easily acquired a sleeping potion and after some…encouragement, Dieter was more than willing to season the nightly wine. It went off without a hitch and now the whole office was sleeping soundly while De Sardet was searching for the documents. Everything was going according to plan. Everything was going right.

So why was he so on edge?

Well, he had an idea.

Possibilities ran through his mind, each a new possible origin story. Maybe he was the much-loved son of a prosperous family whose loss led to much grief. Maybe they fought to keep him, begged to give the Nauts something—anything—else. Maybe they tried to hide him and he was ripped from his sobbing mother’s arms.

Or maybe…maybe he really was a bastard whose loss was celebrated…

“Vasco!” he spun around and saw De Sardet jog over to him, smiling wide and holding up a file, “I was able to recover your file. And nobody saw me!”

A grin practically split his face, “Wonderful! You did everything perfectly! So, let’s see what this file can tell us…” Vasco took the offered file with suddenly shaky hands and after taking a deep breath, he started leafing through the pages slowly, absorbing each word with fervour. “So, I was right…” he mumbled after a few minutes of reading, his stomach twisting into knots, “My real name is Léandre, son of the d’Arcy family from Serene…nobles, I suppose?”

“Yes,” De Sardet confirmed, looking surprised, “I must admit that I had no idea they had given a son to the Nauts.”

He closed the file, shaking his head, “To think that I spent my childhood polishing ship bridged when I could have been wearing silk…”

De Sardet winced, “I’m sorry for you, Vasco, but growing up in nobility is not as simple as it sounds.”

“Really? Well…whatever. I’ve learned my real name thanks to you. That’s what I wanted.”

De Sardet hummed like she was trying to remember something, “Léandre d’Arcy…I remember coming across a d’Arcy at my uncle’s court…your brother, no doubt…”

Vasco didn’t think he could have looked more shocked if she had slapped him across the face with a fish, “My brother? What was he like?”

She shook her head, “It was a long time ago, we were children…I couldn’t tell you what he looks like today.”

“A brother…” Vasco breathed, trying to picture him in his mind, “I wonder if we are alike despite our completely different lives…” He blinked, refocusing, “Thank you for sharing this. And for telling me about him. You gave me back my identity. This is more important than the Nauts care to admit.”

“Have you ever heard about the d’Arcys before?”

He shook my head, “No, I have not. As you know, there are many noble families in Serene.”

“I don’t remember your family very well, but I could tell you about them if you want,” she offered.

Vasco couldn’t help but smile, “I would have loved to have met them, but I’m afraid that hearing about them may only reopen old wounds.” She looked troubled and he hurried to assure her, “You’re a good person, De Sardet, and I’m touched by your solicitude. But I think we’ve done all we can for tonight. Let’s head back to the house.”

She hesitated a moment before nodding and they started back.

Vasco couldn’t help but let his mind wander as they walked. The d’Arcys…a mother, a father…even a brother. He wondered what they looked like. Did he resemble his mother or his father? Or was he a perfect fusion of the two? And then his brother…did they look alike? And what were they like? Did he get his love for sailing from them? Did he get any of his mannerisms from them?

He was pulled from his thoughts when he noticed De Sardet looking at him from the corner of his eye. Once he saw her looking, it was like he couldn’t think of anything else. Finally, he huffed and stopped, “De Sardet, I can practically feel you staring at me. If you have something to say, then say it.”

She paused, chewing her lip like she was debating asking before continuing, “Do you wish you were never given to the Nauts?”

He didn’t say anything for a moment before sighing, “How could I not be regretful? I never got to experience a mother’s love or a lavish youth…”

Her brow furrowed, “Don’t you have any happy memories?”

He nodded, “I do. Of course, I do. For example, I remember the first time I climbed up the shrouds…the incredible view, the dizziness, the sensation of complete freedom! It was an unforgettable moment.”

She smiled wistfully, getting a far-off look in her eyes, “I know exactly what you mean. It’s amazing.”

Vasco remembered her telling him of the first time she climbed a crow’s nest on his ship all those weeks ago and smiled back, “I wouldn’t trade that memory for all the gold in the world…” He paused then chuckled, shaking his head, “How do you do that?”

She titled her head in a way that should not have been as cute as it was, “Do what?”

“Lift my mood, just with your words and presence.”

Her face flushed brightly and Vasco smirked. It was rare to see her flustered and he couldn’t help but feel proud that he was the one who did it. She cleared her throat, “Well, I…I’m glad you feel better. I guess we should…head back then.” She hurried off, tilting her hat down to cover her face. He chuckled and followed after her, finally feeling lighter than he had all day.

[megashadowdragon]

an analytical breakdown of sukuna

There is an interesting pattern of how Sukuna's characterization as an “enlightened” hedonist is done. Of course, he does whatever he pleases every time he's on panel. But more importantly, the central theme is how his ideals are consistently treated by the story as “correct.”

Gojo didn't have a real sense of self → got locked up. Yuki worked with Tengen and didn't fight with her own domain → got bisected and had to blow herself up. Yuji, a cog, fights for a system, and God knows I don't have to mention how much my boy has been beaten down.

Gojo is the pinnacle of the current Jujutsu system, and Tengen is the symbol of the old Jujutsu order. The implications of the both of them being affected by Sukuna from a meta perspective are obvious for the larger story.

Moreover, the expressions on Sukuna's face are vastly different when you consider the panel where we objectively know he's staring at Jogo's burning corpse vs when he's talking to him. There are stronger grounds to state that the conversation happened in Jogo's head too.

In fact, that was the point of putting the word enlightened in quotation marks in one of the very first tweets of this thread. The idea that he's enlightened comes from the iconic "tenjō tenge" line being delivered by the narrator/Nanami, not by Sukuna himself.

Consider how he is based on a Shinto deity of the same name. This piece of information also plays a substantial role in our perception of his enlightenment.

Of course, this is explained by how Gege plays around with the traditional idea of enlightenment. More on this later. detective critics · Mar 17, 2023 This assertion that he adapts to the perceptions of those viewing him is supported by his very characteristic matrix. One of his abilities, Cleave, literally adapts to his opponents.

Moreover, when he temporarily got control of Yuji's body, the primary threat was Mahoraga.

And what is Mahoraga's special ability? That's right, it's to adapt. It all fits perfectly.

At the risk of getting lost in a tangent, this sequence concretely foreshadows Sukuna's connection to angels as well.

The Cherubim are called the "many-eyed," and, along with the Seraphim, are depicted in flames. This is because of their close proximity to God. His radiant fire is reflected in the depictions of the Seraphim and Cherubim. Sukuna has many eyes, and he also has flames...

Much to Jogo's surprise. In fact, Sukuna even reasons that a cursed spirit wouldn't know about this, meaning humans, who are privy to Christian lore, would be able to make the connection.

Further, in said lore, angels appear to humans as and how it's necessary.

Not to mention, Sukuna explicitly states he's not going to change back to his four-armed form, because his current form is more suited to fight sorcerers. He has forever been seen adapting to the situation, the reiteration of this concept is almost obsessive.

So far, we've explored Sukuna's character before a certain turning point in the series, which is none other than Sukuna leaving Yuji's body and occupying Megumi's.

Ever since then, we've learned a lot about Sukuna. The difference is that we learn about him FROM HIM.

detective critics · Mar 17, 2023 Sukuna is the ultimate example of what you get when you optimize CE. In fact, Kenjaku models his plans after the revival of the Heian era, when Sukuna ruled as the King of Curses.

Yuki explicitly states she wants to research Maki as an example of away from CE. detective critics · Mar 17, 2023 This contrast also extends to Maki's portrayal as a true enlightened being vs Sukuna's enlightenment obviously being an imposition of perception, and it further emboldens me to claim that Sukuna has as much characterization from a meta perspective as Maki. detective critics · Mar 17, 2023 Final point: In the latest chapter, Sukuna summons Mahoraga. But this time, Mahoraga's wheel, the symbol of perfect adaptability, appears over his head like a halo.

This likely points to Sukuna's newly gained agency; to adapt or not is his privilege. detective critics · Mar 17, 2023 To wrap up this thread, I believe Sukuna is one of the more overlooked characters in JJK right now in terms of quality of writing, and hope I substantiated that belief in this thread.

[natsumebookss]

State of the Nebula

I'll get the good news out of the way first--I'm remastering and finalizing Espoir and Bijou's designs and commissioning a new piece featuring my magical girl duo! It'll be '90s style manga art, so I'm super excited!

But you know what I'm not super excited about? Writing the damn thing. I've been in a creative rut since finishing Imperfect Storm, and I've mostly been writing little scenes from future books instead of prioritizing a Book 2. For awhile, I didn't know why or where to go from here, but now I do. And the reason is that...I've been hiding some stuff about Premiere Nebula from everyone.

(Discussion/critique of what I'm gonna call "Tumblr magical girl culture" will be down below. Just being a magical girl fan on Tumblr doesn't mean you're one of the people I'm talking about. It's like the difference between an "adult who likes Disney movies" and a "Disney adult.")

So I don't think we talk enough about self-censorship in the writing community. Sure, we talk about things like how actual book blurbs are starting to contain words like "unalive" now, but we don't talk about the more insidious and pervasive version that comes from censoring out dark topics altogether. The utter fear that, if I write this thing or this subplot, the people I want to market this to will hate me for it. And because I want to please the people I want to market this to, I don't write it, even if it fits perfectly into the plot.

This is the hell Premiere Nebula has been in for years. Yes, it's a story that's essentially about kidnapping and the various mental health effects it has on its victims, but it can't be too fucked-up because it's also a magical girl story. Plotlines like the Manufacturer liking the dark spirit he's created from day one, even though she's resided in Valka's body since she was a minor, were scrapped and left only to implication until these plotlines came to the attention of my pre-readers. In complete opposition to what I thought they would say, they said things like "this adds a lot to the story" and "it's almost creepier if a mass child kidnapper didn't have some weird obsession with kids in that way." They loved the criminal psychology behind it, something I've had a morbid fascination with since I was a kid.

But even then, I couldn't write it.

This is where I might offend some people and get some anon hate, but I'll say it anyway: magical girl fans on Tumblr can be just as toxic as those sorts of cartoon fans. (Again, talking about the Disney adults of magical girl stuff, which likely doesn't include any of my followers on this blog.) Ever since Madoka Magica came out, there's been this boiling hatred of darker magical girl concepts that has never fully gone away and an assumption that all dark MG series are inherently exploitative. There's also a silent pressure to make your stories more in the Precure or Sailor Moon style (or at least, what's perceived as "Sailor Moon style;" there's a discussion to be had of how the manga is pretty damn dark and the people who call Sailor Moon "light" may not be fully familiar with the original source material, but that's magical girl mansplaining for another day). Anyway, for awhile, that's what I thought I wanted PN to be--a story about both a rebel group and a group of friends who had funny moments and fought enemies that were, in hindsight, watered down versions of what I wanted them to be.

The ideal Premiere Nebula that I want to write is probably somewhere in between Madoka and Utena. A lot of the elements I've toned down so far are the Utena-like ones that deal with child exploitation and how manipulative adults like Akio take advantage of minor's naive perceptions of the world. People joke about Utena as "the magical girl series with trigger tags," but when I rewatched it, it made me realize that my original concept of PN had been like that, too. Just off the top of my head, I can think of "ideal PN" as having the following TWs:

kidnapping

frank discussions of mental health

suicide (no explicit depictions, mostly talking about how the rebel leader Valka is immensely suicidal and how her friends have had to talk her down many times)

physical and verbal abuse (mostly from Omega's ex, who she leaves in Book 1)

child abuse

non-consensual magical acts (brainwashing, as well as Stelle being forced to exchange magic with Alarice akin to a forced fusion in Steven Universe)

addiction

grooming (mostly looked at through a non-sexual lens with a ton of vampire/thrall imagery, long story short I've been listening to that one Olivia Rodrigo song a lot)

the aforementioned pedophilic implications of falling in love with a spirit in a child's body, like if Victor Frankenstein was even more fucked-up

Many of these have been self-censored to varying degrees in the finished Nebula product, with the last one being practically non-existent. But here's the thing: I'm not sure I want it to stay this way. I want PN to be a magical girl series that's "for adults" in more than just a superficial sense--I want to discuss things in it that happen to teenage girls and adult women in ways that children's media can't.

I have no problem with people who love traditional magical girl stories and children's entertainment. I'm one of them! But sometimes, I feel like the vocal minority stifles my creativity and, since most of the magical girl people I've met have been on here, makes me scared that there's no place for a story like mine as I want to write it. Sometimes, I wonder if that's been my real biggest fear after all.

I don't know how to end this, really. I may delete it down the road if I feel like I've vented too much here. But I want Premiere Nebula to stay a concept that shows my love of both dark and light media, something I jokingly call "pastel goth." I feel like anything less would just, well, not be Premiere Nebula anymore. I don't want to keep pretending it's something it's not anymore, even if it loses me potential readers. I want to get back to the way I was before, where I'd just write a scene without wondering how the fandom at large would see it.

Most of all, it'd be a disservice to the people who've read and followed my Premiere Nebula content until now to not receive a finished product written how the writer fully intended it. You all have been thoroughly amazing to me and gotten me through more hard times than you'll ever know. If Premiere Nebula--Alexandria's Version (as much as Taylor Swift annoys me, this is the best metaphor I have for this situation) isn't your cup of tea, I completely understand and wish you the best. But if you're the type of person who some darker social commentary with your magical girl stories, I hope I can do the concept justice for you.

Either way, I hope I was able to give you a fun experience with what little I have now, and I hope to keep doing so with a renewed inspiration.

[skitskatdacat63]

Read your prev lore post and thank you for just letting me throw ideas right at you. Honestly more fun than I ever imagined so lets keep on rolling :). Okay this time I want to know about Vettonso’s music preferences (or even potential instruments they know how to play)

— Penalanon

And thank you for throwing me so many good ideas!! I have a lot of random ideas for future ones in the back of my head, but these are so helpful and fun because it’s not just, extremely self serving all the time LOL! You force me to think about things I’d usually be like “this is too much to research,” but then cause you asked, I HAVE to, and it ends up being very enlightening. And also expands the world building a lot!

misc lore drop day 45/?

Okay this one might be a struggle bcs it means I'd actually have to implicate real historical figures in my, already rpf, yaoi 😭😭It’s one thing to make double layered rpf, but to reference them interacting with actual historical figures is…IT’S FINE! I mean obviously my first and only thought is: Vivaldi. I know I’ve talked about this on my blog already because I am a broken record with my favorite fun facts but, I don’t care, I’ll say it again. My favorite Charles VI(who Seb is paralleling) anecdote is him being such a big fanboy of Vivaldi that he reportedly talked to him more in their meetings in 2 weeks than he had to his own ministers in two years; he also gave him a medal, and made him a knight because he loved his music that much. Gaaaahhh I’m just so obsessed with that actual historical record that shows people back then were just as fanatic as we are about the things we love! Whoops, sorry, history lesson. That’s the most I’ll say about specific artists, because again, I don’t know how I feel about naming actual musicians. Though maybe somebody like Charles could be a young and upcoming composer(that’s also a prince hehe) that Seb is a huge fan of. I like to fit in more of the drivers, so that could actually be pretty good lmao. 

As for music in general, it was actually a pretty important thing at this time for royals to be musically trained, or at least interested in music. They really honored the arts at this point, especially music, to the point where they’d hire composers(and a large variety of musicians) to both play for the court but also teach the monarch how to play/compose Also opera was sooooo big, definitely one of the most popular pastimes/events for them. So please imagine vettonso getting dressed up in their fanciest clothing, and sitting together in their special, honored seats in the theater. Seb definitely likes the more comedic ones, whereas Fernando prefers the dramas, and makes fun of Seb for crying during tragic scenes. But is also weirdly touched about seeing such an intimate side to his husband, and how easy it is for Seb to show his emotions so openly. He always ends up lending Seb his handkerchief. Then always denies it when Seb tries to hand it back, like “I SWEAR YOU’RE TEARING UP TOO RIGHT NOW!” Fernando, subtly wiping his eyes, replies, “no talking during the opera.”

Also hmmmm if I had to pick instruments. I think they both play, but Fernando is more talented and focused, whereas Seb is willing to try anything, even if he’s not always great. Fernando seems like a harpsichord kind of guy to me, he would go crazy with it. I think he’d like how much dexterity and focus you need to master it. Meanwhile Seb’s like, “which is the loudest/most fun?” So I think he’d be at least okay with most baroque instruments, but prefers to learn new things rather than spend all his time just mastering one. Now I’m imagining them playing a duet together…of music they composed together. Aghhhhh imagine sitting together at a desk, adding parts to the piece, and arguing with each other over it. I think it’d end up being better than any piece they could compose individually, because they balance each other’s extremes out. Getting ink all over their hands, and then each other. 

[yingdu-lover]

I mean I know not everybody is aware of (😭pls pls read the queer bard) Shakespeare's sonnets being famous/infamous for its homoerotic celebration of love, but like, Link Click itself is a very Intertexually rich piece of media. If allusions from canonical authors appear, I think we should not ignore the cultural codes, which in this case talks about a larger literary and socio-intellectual tradition of homoerotic 'Platonic' love.

(My English lit major ass can't resist this time, so I am gonna discuss a few things now)

'Platonic' love ain't Platonic at all

Don't worry you didn't read it wrong. The long semantic evolution of this word has given rise to a word which has acquired a completely different connotation. Many times, it is weaponized to deliberately alleviate queer bondings. But the etymological history of this word locates itself into the Classical tradition of male male homoerotic tradition, the most famous example being a Socratic Dialogue by Plato called The Symposium . The word 'Platonic' comes from the philosopher Plato. It's a long dialogue which explores the themes of love and eroticism along with its ethical, philosophical and social necessities. There are people in the dialogue who talk about some idealised version of non-sexual love but Plato's view (which comes in the resolution of the Socratic Dialogue) is that love is a very erotic, intimate bond that occurs between two male.

I will not go deep into the debate between Socrates and Diotima which revolves around this question : which kind of love is superior? Love between men and women or between two men?

The larger implication is what we are looking for : which kind of love gives you immortality

Socrates suggests that the love between two 'equal' individuals who are intellectually on the same level, their kind of mutual and reciprocal love creates immortal art, which ensures the immortality of the lovers.

Shakespeare and the homoerotic tradition in the Renaissance period

Shakespeare following the Classical tradition Renaissance period adopted writes his 'Young man' sonnets; love, time, immortality are the central themes.

In this sequence of sonnets, there are Time sonnets. Shakespeare has this overarching obsession and anxiety with the concept of time which culminate in sonnet 64 :

Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate:

That time will come and take my love away.

This thought is as a death, which cannot choose

But weep to have which it fears to lose.

If this is not Lu Guang...

About the sonnets specifically and explicitly mentioned in Link Click (In the promotional video of Surprising Click where Liu Xiao is seen reading those four sonnets specifically), here is the Twitter link below you can read :

it's @luguangbread on twitter. Please read it, they wrote beautifully.

Now there is a bonus.

Another famous treatise on friendship (homoerotic, intimate) the tradition of male-male love is Laelius de Amicitia (or On Friendship). Even though Amicitia is not explicitly featured, Cicero's words do feature in the visual codes of 'The Eye'

pasting the Twitter link again, if you are interested, consider giving it a read

@centofu and @XinRuixxAG translated those Latin phrases.

Talking about 'friendship', it also has a very very interesting semantic background, across cultures. Asia has its own linguistic Ars Erotica (as Michel Foucault identifies the traditions of China, India and Japan to have this form of traditional eroticism. On the contrary, Western values modelled upon Victorian notions of Scientia Sexualis deliberately problematizes erotic encounters, restraining them within medico-legal binary categories - HoMoSeXuALiTy and hEtErOsExUaLiTY ~ History of Sexuality) which DOES NOT draw a clear division between friendship and erotic relationships. The South Asian cultural and linguistic background I come from, accommodate this queer-blurring of erotic friendships. In old folk songs, the soulmates/unrequited lovers/lovers in exile are addressed as 'friends'. Remember the name of Edward Carpenter's seminal book, Ioläus : Anthology of friendship.

(my god) I accidentally wrote a short discourse on 'friendship' and its queer connotation? BWAHAHAHA

Why am I telling you all this?

it's again @centofu with their genius mind finding and decoding the cipher Haoling so meticulously provided us with 'The Eye'. On a side note, the amount of intellectual discussion and god level deduction this fandom engages with to decode the significance of each minute detail make me very happy. I am very proud to be a part of this fandom. A show like Link Click deserves this level of dedication!

Anyway,

the cipher appears in a book Lu Guang was holding before the camera pans to the 'dead wife' montage of Cheng Xiaoshi. (Btw please please please read the original twitter threads, share among your friends and fellow shippers)

Now it's clear as broad daylight that the speaker is Lu Guang and the 'friend' is Cheng Xiaoshi. Haoling could have provided these lines in modern English but no, he deliberately uses the Renaissance English (the English Shakespeare used), so we have to look at the terms with their contemporary connotation, not the modern one. After all that discussion on friendship, I hope you understand how poignantly queer and melancholic those lines are. It also echoes Shakespearean themes.

The young man/muse reading the sonnets and realising how deeply and agonisingly the poet speaker loves him? Trying to save him from 'Time's fell hand'? The poet speaker not caring about himself at all and wanting all his love to celebrate the fair youth's beauty for eternity? Come here Cheng Xiaoshi, we have to talk.

Cheng Xiaoshi, why r u reading Shakespearean sonnets about lust, misogyny, acrimony and ostensibly homoeroticism? No reason. Just curious.

[littlestfallenangel]

I saw your post about how it's implied Yang has never been in love before during the confession scene. You mentioned how there's a lot of subtext in that scene. Could you make a post explaining all the subtext in it? Or if there already is a post, could you give me the link, please?

Sure, though I suppose upon reflection I meant subtext more in the conversational sense than literary. There's just a lot you can read into what Blake and Yang say and do, most of which calls back to their respective character arcs.

Blake's "you do what you say" is a big one. It's not hard to connect that to Adam, who talked about liberation but his actions were all about lionizing himself.

Blake is also the first one to advance, which has big implications for a character whose main flaw was running away from her problems.

Then there's Yang. Her being more flustered than Blake implies a couple different things. For one, as I said before, it implies that she's probably less experienced with this sort of thing. Could be the first time she fell in love, could be the first time she felt this way about a girl.

Her abandonment issues are almost definitely a factor, but we've never really seen Yang express those issues this way. First, when she was a little girl, it manifested as an obsession. Then, as she got older, she got angrier. One of the first things we ever see her do was grab a guy by the balls for calling her "Blondie" of all things - which don't get me wrong, was kinda awesome, but clearly showed that she had a short temper and started a fight that she really didn't need to get into.

But in this scene, when she's talking about feeling like she's on a cliff, that's the closest we've seen her come out and say "these emotions make me feel vulnerable and that scares the shit out of me." Yang doesn't talk about her feelings a lot. Hell, when she found out her own mother might be a goddamned Grimm, she only let herself break down for a second because she had to be the strong big sister for Ruby. The one who birthed her left, her mother died, her father shut down, and her uncle was a shitty drunk. Yang isn't allowed to break, because who the fuck will take care of Ruby if she does?

But with Blake, Yang is finally allowed to say "my heart is fragile, pieced back together after every adult in my life broke it, and I'm scared it will slip through your fingers and fall." Even if she can't quite bring herself to be that explicit. And Blake's answer is "I'll fall with you."

Yang and Blake becoming lovers is the culmination of their respective arcs. Their unhealthy coping mechanisms triggered each other; Blake setting off Yang's abandonment issues, while Yang's anger posed a threat of potentially pushing Blake away. Blake and Yang had to confront their respective traumas and unhealthy coping mechanisms (Yang being unable to physically fight Raven and thus having to use her words, Blake being forced to finally stand her ground against Adam) to reach this point. So this scene, and the Bumbleby relationship in general, carries so much weight.

Not 100% sure if "subtext" was quite the right word for all that, but it's subtle storytelling bolstered by "the sky is a lesbian flag and there are lilies sprouting around them, in case it wasn't clear how gay this is."

[safespacespence]

growing together

[summary] as a plant-obsessed person, you find it intriguing and take it upon yourself to finally strike a conversation with the man living across from you--when you spot him bringing in a couple of plants into his apartment. [pairing] spencer reid + gn!reader [warnings] implications of maeve and spencer's depression, please let me know if there's anything else [category] fluff with angst, hurt/comfort, strangers, pining [word count] 3.7k

[a/n] i'll leave another author's note at the end, but just a few mentions; this concept came to me when someone suggested the headcanon that spencer has houseplants. but i don't know where it even came from if it was in my ask or in my taglist, so if it's you, please let me know! this is the longest i've written and one that has so much meaning behind everything, so i'm very very proud of myself for this. thank you to @reidselle for being such a kind beta, and of course to @writer-in-theory and @angstyalex for listening to me talk about this and hyping me up <33 masterlist

SPOTIFY PLAYLIST! you may need to change the song faster/slower depending on your reading speed, but this really completes the reading experience :)

you could hear inconsistent thudding, dragging against the floor, and the huffs and pants of a man out in the hallway. nosily, you took one look through the peephole, finding your curly-haired neighbor entering the door across from yours, dragging three pots of plants behind him—the view blurring into a cloud of green and light.

you never met the neighbor across from you. you only heard his door opening and closing at the oddest of hours and the constant shuffle of the feet of people delivering food to his doorstep. that was really about it.

so to see him dragging large potted plants into his apartment, you couldn’t help but laugh, especially when you stared at your living room, which was bursting with color and life. croton, dracaena, and golden pothos stuck out of a corner, crawling towards the window where the light perfectly streamed in, feeding all of the plants scattered around the room.

plant obsession was an understatement.

anyways, the mystery of the man across was rather fascinating. you knew he was an fbi agent, as told by your gossip-y landlord. your landlord did also mention that he was rather nerdy, but in a cute way. (you didn’t know how to take that statement, because she was fairly old.) you pondered at the thought of him, the mystery intriguing you. maybe the plants were a sign from the universe to finally say hi; get to know him a little bit.

you tiptoed around the living room, being careful not to step on overflowing leaves or slip on any fallen petal. you needed to find the right one to give, to send the right message.

ah, there it is.

you picked up the little white pot and checked the plant, making sure it looked neat enough to give. picking up some scratch paper, you scribbled a kind note.

----- saw you’re giving plants a shot. i’m not a stalker, i promise. try this one out, it’s pretty low-maintenance and just very easy to have around. yours truly, a fellow plant-obsessed neighbor in 204 :) -----

you read and reread the piece of paper, flicking the corner until it accidentally creased, and finally took a breath. you peered outside, checking if anyone was around, and approached his door. you left the note tucked under the small pot, and slipped right back into your apartment. you checked through the peephole, curious; a part of you wanting to watch his reaction as he found your offering. you rolled your eyes and stepped away, not wanting to obsess over it.

and as soon as you did, spencer opened his door, looking down and finding your thoughtful gift. he smiled to himself as he quickly read and reread, his eyes sprinting through the words. he looked up at the same brown door he’s looked at every morning and night, and imagined an apartment protruding with green and pink and yellows, the small space invaded by dozens of plants. and he looked back down at the plant you gave, it fitting snugly in his hands, and he held in laughter. it was the perfect plant to start off with, the perfect beginner’s introduction to houseplants.

a succulent.

☀︎︎ꕥ☀︎︎ꕥ☀︎︎ꕥ☀︎︎ꕥ☀︎︎ꕥ☀︎︎

spencer returned into his apartment, looking at the three, very daunting plants facing him. there was a clear disparity from what he had just received, the succulent looking at him so innocently. he held in laughter and sat down, bringing out books from his satchel, freshly borrowed from a library. he flipped the pages, bookmarking information on each of the plants he bought, and the one that was gifted. he looked once more at the door, thinking of a way to thank his neighbor.

the next time you did exit your apartment, you were greeted by an envelope at your doorstep. you found scratchy, inconsistent, handwriting on a piece of coffee-tinted stationary.

----- thank you for the succulent! i owe you a plant in return. if you could help me figure out this whole houseplant thing, i’d be eternally grateful. best, spencer reid, the guy from 203 -----

you giggled, now knowing his name. you repeated it internally, whispering it, pronouncing each of the consonants as crisply as you could. spencer. reid.

it rolled off your tongue so easily, you found yourself reiterating it involuntarily. you zoned out, replaying the pronunciation, to the point saying it once more would elicit laughter.

you didn’t think much of it again other than the instances you saw his letter attached to your refrigerator. he seemed like a very friendly man, but he definitely was not around enough for you to ‘accidentally’ bump into him. you did try—you waited to hear a sound come from his door, and timed yourself to take out your trash at that time (even if it wasn’t full yet). but, his door was silent, the man behind it even moreso.

and then, you found a pot of beautiful ponytail palm at your feet one morning. your eyes lit up, its thin, curly, stringy leaves sticking out, tickling your legs as soon as you opened your door. of course, another note was attached.

----- dear 204, i read that this is an easy to grow plant, as long as it’s in a warm bright spot. you’ll probably find that easy to come by :) best, spencer reid -----

the ponytail palm was one you used to own. it was rugged, but truly speaking, so easy to take care of. it didn’t ask for much. just sunlight and a small amount of water. it grew slowly but steadily.

you brought it in, placing it next to the majesty palm by the window. you sighed, thinking about mysterious 203, about how he had the time to buy you a plant in return, but for some reason you never saw him. you collapsed on the couch, looking at all of the plants decorating your apartment, its life and color filling the secret, well-kept void.

☀︎︎ꕥ☀︎︎ꕥ☀︎︎ꕥ☀︎︎ꕥ☀︎︎ꕥ☀︎︎

as time went by, more plants were exchanged with spencer reid. along with notes, of course.

you gave him asparagus fern—letting him know that it was a plant that withstood abuse much better than typical ferns. it wasn’t as fragile, it could be in both light and dark corners.

he responded with albuca frizzle sizzle. it was a quirky, curly plant. his note was even quirkier; “only bought it cause it looked different.” more palms, philodendrons, snake plants, pothos, aloe, and ivy alternately graced both of your doorsteps, filling your apartment with more life than you expected to ever fill it. it was an extra dent in your monthly budget, but it was too much fun, looking forward to seeing what he would give in return.

and reading his notes was another thing to look forward to, too. never failing to make your week, the notes detailed research on the plant he dropped off, sometimes giving you updates on the previous plants you gave him. it was a joy to read; you’d plop on the couch and read and reread it, sometimes running your fingers over the indentation the ballpen had left on the delicate paper. you thought about how he had touched it, how he had likely scanned his eyes over the paper again and again before finally leaving it in front of your door.

did he want to stay hidden?

you were technically in correspondence for weeks now, but you couldn’t help but think about what he looked like. you had only really seen the back of his curly head of hair, your brain creating puzzle pieces to fill in the idea of a person.

and then, another puzzle piece had fit in. he called.

“hello?” you answered, your voice treading gently. “hi,” the voice was kind, nervous, almost. “i got your phone number from the landlord, i hope that’s okay.” “i’m sorry, who is this?” “right! uh-this is spencer, spencer reid.”

there was a relief in knowing that the name you had been reading for months was now a voice. hearing him say his own name after being confined to reading it for months was as satisfying as an exhalation after a long hold. this voice. this sweet, kind voice. it was him. you replayed the image of the man with curly hair entering his apartment carrying plants in, and overlaid the voice on the phone.

“oh, yes, hello!” you tried not to sound too excited. “it’s nice to finally hear your voice,” he chuckled. “oh, you too, you have no idea. um, what’s up, is everything okay?” “yeah, great, actually. i just hope this isn’t too much to ask—” his voice wavered. you were eager to meet him. “not at all! how can i help?” “i’m going to be gone for about a week and a half for work and to visit family, and i was wondering if you could possibly water my plants while i’m out?”

you held the jaw-drop in, and calmly said, “oh, sure!”

you weren’t going to meet him, unfortunately.

“really? thank you so much, i seriously owe you a huge favor after this. i’ll leave another plant out for you, and the key will be in the planter.” you nodded, a little disappointed, wanting a face-to-face handoff. “sure, no problem.”

“great, i’ll drop it when i can. thanks again!” he quickly hung up.

you slumped onto the couch, releasing an exasperated sigh. was everything just in your head?

regardless, you kept your promise. you picked up the key he left behind, and the note that had his scribbled instructions. his handwriting was just as scratchy, but you were used to it. the words went through your eyes, and you instead focused on the person who wrote it. his letters were kept on the coffee table, for when you were bored and curious, hoping to find remnants of his soul weaved into his writing. you just yearned to know him.

you put the key in, a distinct and successful click ringing in the hallway. as the door swung open, you were greeted by an apartment that was littered with things that were so distinctly him. a chess set, a few framed artworks on the walls, and books. more books than a man needed to have. the browns of the space were distinct from the green life pouring into the room. there were large palms, pothos, ferns, and perennials growing in all directions. it was almost like a completely different person had suddenly moved in.

you followed his instructions, finding a small and simple water can by the kitchen sink. you moved around the apartment systematically, watering each of the planters. you tried not to snoop, but you couldn’t help it. you looked at his books on the shelves, noting the broad range of his interests; from mathematics and physics in molecular biology, to sci-fi literature. although some books looked barely touched due to their smooth spines, you noticed that the pages had already browned at its edges. there wasn’t an order to his bookshelf that you could find or figure out, either. more questions swam in your mind; your puzzle becoming more complex by the minute.

this went on for days. as you consistently let yourself into his apartment, you saw more of his quirks, and scrutinized every bit of it—grasping at straws, desperate to understand the man you felt so connected to. most of the plants that filled the room were the ones you had given him, and they were kept exceptionally well. the plants only helped create an atmosphere that made you feel so easily at home. on some days, you found yourself entering early, or ‘checking on the plants’ even though they had no reason to be checked.

because even if you barely knew spencer reid, a part of you found yourself connected to his soul—even if they were only pieces.

you found yourself getting carried away rather frequently, because his apartment felt like an extension of yours. you would admire his side of the view, running your fingers through the spines of the books on the bookshelves, feeling the fluff of the rug under your feet, looking at the yellow of the bulbs in his lights. you pictured spencer reid living here. it was another puzzle piece assumed into the idea of this man.

and your puzzle was nearly complete.

it was the last day you had to water his plants, and you entered and followed your routine. classical music played into your ears, so when you zoned back in, ready to walk out the door, you were startled by the frame of a man in the apartment. “oh!” you exclaimed.

the man’s eyebrows were raised, shock and joy painted on his face.

“spencer reid.” even after practicing saying his name, there was still a disconnect and something unreal about finally saying it in front of him.

“204.” he smiled. “i was just watering your plants.” you notioned to the greenery behind you. “right.” he said aptly.

while no words could be exchanged, the atmosphere around the two of you spoke the only word necessary.

finally.

spencer admired how casually beautiful you looked. your hair was untidy, going in different directions. you looked comfortable in your sweatpants and slippers, tangled earphones trailing into your pocket. you thought about how this wasn’t the state you wanted to be in for a first impression, but he didn’t want to see you any other way. you looked so real. so raw. and undeniably beautiful.

when you looked at spencer, everything fell into place. the handwriting, his voice, the quirks of the apartment, it all perfectly fit him. his hair fell in all the right angles, framing his face. god, his face. his cheekbones stuck out, leading you to his eyes. they were so clearly tired, but as he looked at you, a spark crossed behind them, the first in a while.

as both of you noticed the other was staring, the searing eye contact was broken to hide the pink forming on your faces. you felt embarrassed, needing to get out of the situation as quickly as possible. you shifted where you stood and said, “well, they’re watered.”

spencer offered a shy smile and a light nod, and you took that as the signal to quietly leave.

you held your smirk in as you left, but once you reached the doorway, your stomach lurched. you needed to say something. you’ve been waiting months to finally meet him, to finally see him. say. something.

“actually—” you pivoted on your heel. “yes?” he responded quickly, his face hopeful. “well, uh, only if you’re interested, of course,” you nervously rubbed your arm, “would you like to see my collection?” “of plants?” he clarified. “uh, yes-?” you tried to smile through the awkwardness. “i’d love to!” he grinned.

your knees were going to buckle at his smile, but you stood and led him into your apartment. you could feel him behind you, and there was something about him being so near that made you nervous. as you swung the door open, spencer’s eyes widened at all of the plants scattered throughout the space. his eyes darted from left to right, up to down, scanning the whole room, logging each of the species into his brain.

“a bit much?” you asked him, tension lifting itself from your shoulders. “oh not at all, it’s lovely.” he was still looking around the room, and at that point, spencer could memorise the placement of every item in the apartment. “my mom says it’s a bit much.” you said, trying to track his eyes and see what he was looking at. “i don’t think so, it fills up the space. someone to live in the place while you’re out.” “oh, absolutely,” you smiled. “call me crazy, but i do talk to my plants. supposedly it can help them grow.”

he was looking directly at you now, a smile on his face. “oh yeah? and how are they?” “oh, fantastic conversationalists.” you smiled back. you both chuckled and the room had brightened.

spencer sat down, making himself comfortable, and you introduced him to each of your plants—how you got them, why you got them, which was difficult to care for, which was the easiest. for the first time in a while, you didn’t feel out of place as you rambled about your plants. he sat and smiled, nodding, and asked questions, too. your heart warmed, never really meeting someone who would listen to you talk about it all.

and just when you wanted to ask him out to a different setting—his phone rang. “sorry, i need to take this.” he gave an upset smile.

he spoke into his phone seriously, saying nothing but ‘yes’ and ‘i’ll be there’.

you looked down at the floor, already knowing what that meant. “work, huh?” you asked once he put his phone away. “yeah, i’m sorry.” he rubbed the back of his head. “but hey, it was great to finally meet you!” he smiled. you handed him the key, but he shook his head. “no, keep it. for emergencies.” his dimples were evident.

☀︎︎ꕥ☀︎︎ꕥ☀︎︎ꕥ☀︎︎ꕥ☀︎︎ꕥ☀︎︎

that was around a month ago.

you haven’t seen him since. he disappeared just as quickly as he had suddenly came to existence—as he had proved he was real. on some days you would wait for a sound in the hallway, running to your door to look through the peephole. was it foolish to keep hope?

your apartment was in slight ruin. leaves of your long-kept plants looked upset, wilting towards the ground. the sun remained hidden behind closed curtains and the wind never gushed through.

you had even left him a plant. it still sat on his doorstep. it was the only plant you would water everyday, in the hopes that maybe, he would bring it in. but it sat there, slowly losing its life and color. but, after a week, the plant wasn’t alone. baskets and offerings filled the cramped hallway with the smell of freshly-baked goods and fruit. you never caught who had left them.

your ears were tuned out at this point—numb to every sound that crossed the hallway. so when you exited, finding two blondes at his door, you were a flurry of emotions.

“excuse me-is everything okay? can i help you?” you peeked to see their faces. both turned around to look at you. one’s face looked defensive, the other’s sympathetic. “i’m sorry, who are you?” one asked. “i-” you stammered to find the right label. friend? neighbor? occasional conversationalist? plant-waterer? “he’s a friend. i don’t even know if he’s home, i haven’t seen him in so long.” “oh, he’s home alright.” the other remarked. “we’re his friends. from work.” she offered a slight smile. “have you been leaving the baskets?” you asked. “oh, that’d be me! i’m penelope, it’s nice to meet you.” you shook her hand, introducing yourself. the other friend introduced herself as well, a simple “i’m jj.”

you contemplated but debated towards it. “has something happened to him?” you bit the inside of your cheek, your worry coming to the surface. jj and penelope looked at each other, and penelope gave a look that read as ‘you might as well’. “he’s lost someone close to him. a girlfriend, kind of.” jj hesitated.

girlfriend.

oh.

your hearing became numb as penelope gave you a polite smile, and jj moved to knock on spencer’s door. you retreated into your apartment, everything blurring—was that from tears or exhaustion? you closed the door behind you, back leaning against it, hearing penelope and jj’s footsteps fade away. you held your head in your hands, your hands shaking, lips trembling, skin turning cold. everything you had held in at this point came out in waves of pain and anger.

your vision returned when your tears had dried, your body aching from being on the floor. you wanted to make things right. he needed a friend right now, you knew that much.

he didn’t owe you anything. so what you were going to do was out of the absolute urge to take care of him. call it love, call it friendship, call it whatever you want. but it was the decent thing to do.

you took the key kept in the box with all of his letters, and without another thought, went to his apartment door. you turned the key in the keyhole, and although the hallway was deserted, his apartment was even quieter.

the silence was insulated by the presence of plants, but the life in the room had clearly slipped away.

you found spencer on the couch, exhaustion painted all over his body. while he slept, his body was tense, clutching a book into his chest. you held your tears back.

you quietly watered the plants, checking on each of them. you picked up the books on the floor, placing them into neat piles by the corner. there was no attempting placing them on the bookshelf, so the corner would have to suffice. you cleaned the dishes as softly as you could, and brought penelope’s baskets in. unwrapping them so gently for the cellophane to not make a single sound. you sorted the food into the refrigerator. and when the apartment started to look like itself again, you went over to spencer’s body on the couch. his body hadn’t relaxed one bit, eyes still shut tight, like he was afraid to open them and face reality.

you crouched down to his level, watching his pretty face sleep.

you did what was decent, so now you could let yourself indulge in one small thing.

you inched towards him, hearing his hushed breathing. your heartbeat quickened as you noticed how close you were to him. and you planted one small, light, kiss on his forehead.

☀︎︎ꕥ☀︎︎ꕥ☀︎︎ꕥ☀︎︎ꕥ☀︎︎ꕥ☀︎︎

spencer woke to the apartment in a condition better than he remembered. he tiredly went to his plants, touching the soil of the planters, feeling its moist texture under his fingers. he looked at the corner where the books had been moved, but his brain was too worn out for him to feel any bit of concern. a part of him knew it was you. by some miracle, it was you.

he looked at the door, and thought about thanking you.

he slowly opened it, his eyes adjusting to the fluorescent of the hallway.

when he looked down, it was your typical package—a note and an offering.

but there was no plant facing him.

instead, it was a packet of seeds.

he bent down to pick up your note and read it. he read your note, the same relief rushing over him that always did when it came to you.

seven words in your handwriting.

“life is more than living, it’s growing.”

☀︎︎ꕥ☀︎︎ꕥ☀︎︎ꕥ☀︎︎ꕥ☀︎︎ꕥ☀︎︎

longer a/n: not to toot my own horn but DID YOU CATCH THE PLANT SYMBOLISMS??? DID U LIKE THE PLAYLIST?? I'M SORRY I'M JUST TOO EXCITED AND HAPPY WITH THIS FIC IM NOT GONNA STOP ABT THIS. I READ THIS BACK AND WAS LITERALLY LIKE ?? DID I WRITE THIS TF ? anyways i hope you liked it sorry you had to hear me gush like this i probably wont shut up about this one for a while

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[nualaofthefaerie]

Everyone chill. Op just asked a question. It was cheeky. It wasn't meant like that. It's not like everyone gets everything. Defensiveness gets us nowhere, on both sides. Whenever someone asks one or the other side about their ship, they jump as if Viktor's a cookie that can't be shared.

I'll be glad to explain. Skyvik is not my "THE" ship. They either come in pack of four or I'm not interested:

But I spend enough time in all the tags to the point where I can explain each of their individual dynamics quite easily.

Is Skyvik based on guilt? Kinda actually.

On one hand, the acquintances to lovers pipeline is appealing to people, it's a tale as old as time. But I do think the guilt/grief angle is much more romantic. Now granted, I am a freak 😔 i do like them doomed from the get go.

Super important I subscribe to 'death of an author'. What Christian Linke or Amanda Overton tell me about any of these four is like air to me, it wasn't in the show it doesn't count. "Jayvik are friends"...like hell they are. "Sky was a stand in for Jayce" I'm afraid visuals do not subscribe to that notion.

Now, to go quickly through the usual Skyvik denial arguments:

1. "He calls her Miss Young"

Viktor's character is based on Slavic men. In most slavic cultures nicknames, first names and last names are used interchangeably without indication of how close someone is to another person.

He calls her Sky more times than he calls her Miss Young ever. At some point it became this Mandela Effect where people act like he didn't know her name.

2. He shows no interest in her before she died

By the time we are shows any sort of interest on Sky's part about Viktor, he's already too obsessed with the Hexcore and saving himself.

Relationships are kind of obsolete to a man who knows he has no time left to spare and the "cure" is a puzzle that's dangling over his head

That scene where he "rejects her" is also the scene he ignores Jayce more or less because he is too focused on the idea that the core can learn.

So all in all we do not know if he cared. And then it's Schrödinger's cat since their backstory was stripped from the final versions of the script

3. She tells him "No, you won't" when he says he'll miss their conversations

He needed reassurance he can let her go. He wasn't ready to do that. That's the shot on their hands where she's letting him go. His hands are shaking, he's teary eyed, he doesn't really want to let whatever she is, go.

Now! Is Sky his humanity? Yes. Does that mean she wasn't herself in there? No. I don't think so. We see she has free will. She is not pleased with the violent turn of events and if she can be displeased, she can argue, if she can argue she can be herself.

She let's him go so he can finish what he started. I believe she told him he won't miss her because that was the last of his emotions and then he is just numb, therefore incapable of missing anything or anyone. Missing someone is deeply intertwined with having any sort of positive opinion or feelings for someone. And he let's these things go.

Now, onto the real juicy stuff.

Was it guilt? YES. Yes it was. BUT, in many literary pieces grief and guilt are the strongest soldiers of romance. They are inherently romantic.

Viktor felt SOMETHING for her. Be it that he's in love with the idea of her or her, it doesn't really matter. Not really. But the acts he engages in post her death are quite in line with those of a classic gothic romance novel.

He scattered her ashes where he met her and was ready to just follow her to death. Jayce stopped him. Which (the implications of that...we can talk about the Hexteam some other time) but Jayce prevents that. When he's resurrected, it's against his will and his body is now the thing that killed the person who loved him.

So he takes the one object left from her (the notebook) and leaves his "creator" (who at that point betrayed him twice - made weapons and didn't destroy the core) behind with a body he detests. The only way to attone for him being alive at that point is to try to do what she wanted - make their home better.

At that point everything saviour Viktor does is FOR Sky as much as it is for him. The commune? Highly implied that was the project she wanted his help on. That's her commune he built for her. Healing people? For her. To attone for her being gone. He needs her approval constantly or at least the illusion of her approval. As seen ⬇️ down here and when he looks up to her in Arc 1 s2. He wanted to make sure telling Singed to go was the right choice. Which is NOT the hexcore manipulating him into doing anything as in the end all he did, he did himself.

The symbol that holds the blanket is her broach, which is a favorite symbol of mine about how Viktor is an amalgamation of the two people who loved him unconditionally. REGARDLESS.

Her spirit is also allowed to touch him. Something others are not. The followers were touched BY him, she and Jayce are allowed close enough to touch HIM. Also in a "single consciousness" she is not shared with the others. Its only for him to see because he is the only one who knew her.

But in doing everything to make it up to her, Viktor triggers the end of the world. And world ending grief and guilt is just something different all together. If Sky doesn't die...Viktor will never end the world. There is only an end to pursuit if Sky Young dies. There is only reversal to that if Jayce Talis saves Viktor's soul. Their fates are intertwined for eternity to chase after one another and take the entire world down with them.

I hope that's not too long, i tried to be as detailed as possible but I'm also tired and my tummy aches 😥 I'm sorry.

I hope that makes a bit of sense to OP. 🪷

full offense to skyvik shippers but literally what basis do yall even ship them on? guilt?

[colourful-void]

not a whole proper analysis post cause im too tired for it rn but quick thoughts on nemona's house as analyzed by me.

(disclaimer: we're running with the idea that this set up is meant to mean something, because we are actually allowed to go in her house unlike most other buildings despite it being easy to shut it off. suspend ur disbelief and say that everything in nemona's house is set that way for a reason)

Nemona's house is fairly symmetrical, save for the aysemtrical stained glass window design and the way the balcony flowers fall. Aesthetically symmentrical, not obsessive exact symetry.

Nemona's house features 4 house staff, two butlers and two maids. None of them have any dialouge referencing Nemona herself.

One talks about how they dust a lot and dont get how more keeps appearing, one talks about how the master and mistress are away at the moment, and the other two have simple bubble dialouge that just references cleaning

There are 6 pokemon in nemona's house, none of which are paldean introductions

3 pachirisu, gible, goomy, and chansey

I cannot find any reason for there to be a pachirsu in this house let alone 3. please help.

the gible and goomy both are pseudo legends and may mean to imply more about how nemona's family is powerful and rich. nemona also personally has a goomy she trains to fight you, but these are seperate pokemon. goomy is also notable as the weakest dragon pokemon (so says dex entry i think its rad)

chansey is heavily assosicated with medicine, curing illness and injury. it's also known for having good tasting eggs, but the paldea pokedex entires focus on the medical and speed aspects so I'll lean into the med thing.

where the pachrisu are at the table and the dragons together to the side, chansey is placed on the right hand side in the living room. On my inital playthrough i thought it was sigficant from a gameplay perspective (like a healing chansey or something) but no such thing. it is promenantly placed though, so i like to think it's relavent

(personal theory running that nemona's poor stamina / whatevers up with her arm is enough of a thing for there to be a live in chansey to help her out. even if not that bad, enough that her parents decided it was important, maybe for image reasons? rich family and all...)

there are 3 art pieces, an abstract greninja player doesn't recognize as a greninja, some fish player finds pretty, and two eevee playing entitled sibling love. the eevee depicted are male and female, and could potentiallyyyyyyy be really vague forshadowing about nemona's older sister. likely also just,,, rich people have fancy art.

there are doors on either end of the hall, unopenable. window blinds are drawn.

a long couch and two chairs in the centeral area on a large rug, coffee table in the middle. the entire house is rather white (the colour) though with some black cabinets

clicking on said cabniets nets you dialouge about how organized they are

connecting the above to nemona's really clean dorm room suggests that nemona's orderliness is something she gets from her family

there's a bookshelf? low shelf, books you can't interact with. not much else to say.

i need to review some of her early dialouge but nemona does not seem to have any strong opinions on her house, with the only notable thing being that she doesn't think it's notable enough to have the final rival battle there. i know its like,, the game wants u to fight in mezagosa, but also.... they did not have to offer that as a dialouge option, nor make nemona respond the way she did. you can take her statement that that beach isn;t all to interesting in her opinion at face value or not (a implication she'd like to avoid her house??? probably not??), either way.

exterior wise still fancy very pretty, the garden's got a circle thing going on, noticeably more pristine than players house. again contrasting player, the entire thing is much more organized but also... lacking customization and personality.

it does have a battle court in the back <3 and a beach. rich girlie.

that's my nemona house notes if anyone has anything to add please do.

[merakiui]

A Leaf Swept up in an Autumnal Breeze

yandere!kaedehara kazuha x (gender neutral) reader art credit - Tourou_7 on twt cw: yandere, unhealthy/obsessive behaviors, slight nsfw implications/thoughts, alcohol consumption, intoxication, spoilers for kazuha’s character story + inazuma lore note - i decided to write something short for kazuha as i analyze what we know so far of his character. hopefully the characterization isn’t too off! please enjoy nonetheless! orz

The moonlight casts its thin rays upon the calm, motionless sea. In the distance, fish surface and their movements are captured in the ripples that expand in the water, a minor blip in the otherwise tranquil atmosphere of the dark night. As if a god has taken a brush to the sky, utilizing its inky vastness as a canvas, the stars have been drawn in small specks—winking down at those who sleep underneath a blanket of natural light.

And you are caught up in the glorious shimmer, grinning widely as Beidou wraps her arm around you, pulling you against her as if the two of you have known each other for years. In reality, it’s only been a few months since you were discovered on her ship: a hidden stowaway with your Vision clutched in your hands and raw resolve etched into your body in the form of bruises and old scars. You’re a fighter and yet you also ran from something. Kazuha can’t quite tell what it is you’ve escaped. Whether it’s another person, a group of people, or even an entire nation, he’s certain it’s worthy of the risks that come with fleeing.

Your Vision shines brightly, a stark contrast to the dark color scheme of your clothes. He tries to place a nation to your outfit and comes up empty, his thoughts returning to Inazuma as though it’s the only place he can think of. And he supposes that’s true. The situation in Inazuma has clouded his mind with its strange fog, taking up residence in the nooks and crannies of his brain. Though he can dwell upon the past and the mistakes that led up to the downfall of a precious friend, he knows there is no use for such somber reflections during a happy celebration. Life moves on, as the common saying goes, and he cannot allow himself to remain trapped in the past.

During moments such as these, where he relives the horrible memory in vivid detail, you are a sweet balm that soothes the sting of loss. Even when you’re struggling to stand, face hot from the intoxication of good drinks in even better company, you’re a wondrous presence who chases away his doubts and worries.

Unknowingly, you cast a temporary shroud over those matters and he’s put at ease the minute you extend your arm in his direction.

“Kazuha! Come over here. Let’s dance!”

A hiccup interrupts your jovial giggle and Beidou chuckles before throwing her head back to drink what’s left in her flask. The aura of her ship is beyond lively. Men and women alike celebrate another successful week with drinks, harrowing tales of past heroes, and broken ballads sang in drunken tones. He can’t help the smile that sprouts on his lips. You’re such an outgoing person, always wanting to include him in your daily activities. And though he politely declines whenever you offer him alcohol, he has wondered what the appeal could possibly be.

Perhaps it’s the idea of losing your sensibility for one night, ignoring all reason for the sake of spending pleasurable moments in the confines of a warm bed, wrapped snugly in a lover’s embrace. Such instances are lost to intoxicating pleasure—buried under a hazy recollection come morning. But you haven’t done that sort of thing. Kazuha would know. He listens in while you’re relaxing—while you’re bathing and going about life on the ship without a care in the world—and his head runs wild with all sorts of fantasies. Fantasies he never would have imagined had he not met you.

To think you were just a mere stowaway, a trespasser who had snuck onto the ship and hid in the darkest corner, obscured by crates and chests. And he had pulled those crates aside in search of a few ingredients and his eyes met yours and you held your finger to your lips—a silent urge to keep quiet—and his heart skipped a beat.

It was a special meeting between two, which will remain locked away in his heart for all of eternity. A memory he regards with warm fondness. After much negotiation and a disarming conversation, you were soon welcomed with open arms as Beidou practically offered you to join her crew. You had nowhere else to go—no one else to see or protect—and so you agreed. And Kazuha felt a relief he hasn’t felt in a while, the sort of emotion that stems from almost losing something important.

The pure relief that comes and goes once he realizes you’re a missing piece in the puzzle of his life.

“You’ll trip,” he warns, pushing off from the side of the ship and walking over to you and Beidou. “It wouldn’t be wise to dance in your inebriated state. Surely you’re aware of this, no?”

“I can hold my alcohol.” Your wavering glare doesn’t reach him. “Don’t... Don’t think otherwise or else I’ll—ah!”

The majority of Beidou’s weight burdens your shoulders and you nearly almost crumble.

“You—“ she searches for a means to steady herself— “worry too much,” the captain adds, nodding in agreement to an unspoken statement. “It’ll be okay! Live a little while you’re still young.”

Kazuha sighs and easily slips between the two of you, hooking his arm around Beidou’s waist as he guides her to a barrel. The scent of alcohol kisses the air, clinging to your clothes and breath like an oversaturated perfume. Once she’s sat down, now fully determined to get the last few drops from out of the flask, the rōnin turns to you. He’s caught by surprise when your hands grasp his, your eager expression stabbing his heart with a dozen pins. He’s rooted to the floorboards, unable to look away when your face is dangerously close to his.

“You heard the captain,” you tease in a slurred voice. “Live a little.”

And he does. Or he thinks he does. Having traveled with Beidou, this is the current life he’s come to know and appreciate. But is it truly living if he feels unfulfilled in the process? To find a means for bringing back the familiar glow in a lonely Vision. To secure peace of mind and put his rowdy thoughts to rest. To one day return to the nation he was forced to flee, with you in tow. Are all of these things necessary in order to fill the gaping void in his damaged heart? Kazuha wonders if you also came from Inazuma. Perhaps you wouldn’t be so surprised to see the scenery if he were to take you there. Not now, of course. Sometime in the future, if such a future holds a changed Inazuma.

“I’m going to warn you now,” he mumbles, his fingers ghosting over your waist, “I’m not what one would call a dancer of skillful grace.”

“I don’t think that’s true, dear Kazuha.”

He blinks once and then releases a short laugh at the endearing term. “If you say so.”

“Enough talk.” You huff and pull him into your chest and he feels as though he could stay locked in this position for millennia. “Dance with me before...” A stilted pause as you nearly forget your sentence. “Before I turn in for the night. That’s it.”

Or before you get sick, he thinks, not so cheerful about the inevitable mess. But he’ll tolerate it because you’ve tolerated him. You never pry into his past, nor do you force him to answer personal questions regarding Inazuma and the Raiden Shogun. If you ever notice the way he lingers near your quarters, you don’t say a word. And if you hear his subdued moans as his hand moves in time with a picturesque fantasy of your nude form pressed against his, you keep your mouth shut. You are everything he could ever want and like the very ideal the Raiden Shogun wishes to uphold he wants to pursue an eternity with you.

Your movements are far from the precision you normally have when moving about the ship and it’s a very odd dance. Yet you spin him and he follows your unusual lead like an animal with tunnel vision. For a taut moment, the background noise melts away into obscurity and the two of you are the only people in existence. He stares at your face the entire time, ignoring the way your sandals crush his feet or the instances where he unintentionally returns the gesture. It’s certainly an awkward sort of waltz, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

And in this moment where no one else matters, he sees your radiance in the glow of the moon. You truly are worthy of the sun and the stars beyond and should you verbalize an outlandish wish of that nature he has no choice but to follow through.

Like a leaf swept up in an autumnal breeze, reminiscent of a ronin who lacks a place in the world, Kazuha allows himself to be carried on by the winds that rustle the sails and tangle through your hair, painting you in a backdrop that’s heaven handcrafted by the pickiest god. And where you have your wits, a lively Vision, and your confidence, he only has his blade, a dull Vision, and an inkling of hope. But that’s really all he requires.

[kamotoshi]

reminders [fushiguro tōji x reader]

pairing: fushiguro tōji x fem reader

genre: fluff

warnings: a bit of swearing; brief mentions of past trauma, manipulation, and financial instability/struggles

word count: 2.3k

overview: a sunset picnic reminds him to stop for a moment and remind his wife how he truly feels about her

note: just another fic to serve as evidence for my obsession with making big, beefy 2d men with tough exteriors completely soft for their significant others (wives especially)

“Aren’t we just the cutest couple ever?”

Tōji’s eyes move from the spread of food laid out across the patterned blanket beneath the two of you over to either side of him, where a few other couples and families have set up their picnic spots for the evening, then, to your phone. A glance at the screen displaying the timed photo you’d just spent the past five to ten minutes setting the scene for and perfecting brings a smirk to his face.

“Just the right amount of nauseating.”

“Like, to the point where people are a little envious, but they don’t think we’re being too over the top, right?”

“Right.”

You hum in understanding as you pop a piece of fruit into your mouth.

“But, I would say err on the side of caution and don’t post the super lovey-dovey ones. Actually, please don’t. That’s a request now.”

Your hand flies to your chest to match the look of feigned shock on your face at his words. He doesn’t miss how the diamond on your finger sparkles in the amber glow of the setting sun. The thought crosses his mind that he wants to buy you a bigger one when he has enough money to set aside—something that would shine just a bit brighter. Almost as brightly as that beautiful smile of yours he had the pleasure of seeing each day, if he was lucky.

“You mean… I can actually post a picture that I took with my notoriously elusive husband?”

With a nod, he shifts his gaze to the horizon—or whatever he can see of it peeking around the sides of each building—for a moment. “Just know it’ll probably end my job,” is his response given with a sigh, “Nobody’ll fear me after they see that I enjoy sunset picnics with my adorable wife, now, will they?”

“Or,” you offer with a grin, scooting closer to him so his arm can snake around your waist, “it could give you an advantage, people thinking you’re kinda sweet. Like, oh, he’s a cold-blooded killer who takes care of business, but he’s got a soft side, too. And then, bam! You swoop in and they’ll never even know what hit ‘em.” Sweeping a hand dramatically across the landscape in front of you, as if you want him to picture the scene in your head, you add, “Suddenly, you’re the talk of the town. Women want you. Men want to be you. Hell, they’d probably want you too.”

“And that’s the story of how I end up on the front covers of magazines, right?”

“Exactly. This is just the start of your success story, baby.” Tenderly, you place a hand on the side of his face to bring it closer to your lips. After pecking him on the cheek, you whisper, “Just try not to forget about me when you’re famous, okay?”

He turns to look directly at you, his eyebrow raised with incredulousness in an expression you’ve seen many times before. “You kidding me? I would never. Be famous, I mean.”

The teasing smack you land on his chest doesn’t deter him from leaning down towards you to press a kiss against your lips that you readily return in spite of your complaints at his devious comment. He relishes in the sweet taste lingering on his tongue when he pulls away, and the affection present in your half-lidded gaze brings a comforting warmth over him akin to the feeling of finally crawling into bed after a long day. In his moment of distraction, you’re able to sneak in another meeting of your lips before grabbing one of the snack boxes you’d meticulously crafted and dropping it into his lap.

“Since I’m nice, unlike you, I’ll still let you eat the food lovingly prepared by your loving wife.”

“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, giving your thigh an appreciative squeeze, “You know I love you.”

“I mean, I hope you do. You did marry me, and stick with me all these years, after all, you weirdo.”

He chuckles and pats your leg before shifting his attention to the delicious food you’d put together for the two of you, and you settle down beside him after collecting your own. His free hand plants on the ground beside your opposite hip, closing the gap between you.

Each day that he gets to spend with you he’s thankful for. But there’s something different about those where the sight of the sun slowly descending toward the horizon is beautiful enough to draw both of you out of the house to sit and watch it. He can’t quite explain it, but everything about these days feels different. The harshness of the city seems to fade away for a bit. The air smells sweeter. His breaths come a bit more deeply. The absence of your body against his in some way is felt more intensely.

In between gazing ahead at the sunset—allowing his eyes to flicker to his meal, the kids zipping past every now and then on their bikes, or other passersby—he finds his attention being drawn back to you. Each feature of your face bathed in the golden light of the sun’s last rays brings an unexpected flutter to his heart. He’s never surprised by how gorgeous you are, but, still finds himself in awe of just how lucky he is each time he stops to take it all in.

Lucky that he gets to wake up next to you and see you in those quiet moments of the morning when your eyes are still struggling to focus and your cheek is stamped with each wrinkle of your pillowcase, but you look beautiful all the same. Lucky that the arms and legs he has draped around him until you both wake up sweaty in the middle of the night are yours. Lucky to be offered a refuge wherever you are. Lucky you’re one he promised to love for the rest of his life.

In the busyness of your days, sometimes things are assumed rather than said. He assumes the parting kiss he presses to your lips each time he leaves the house translates into a small, “I love you, I’ll be back soon.” Just like he assumes the way he pulls you onto his lap while you’re sitting together, watching a movie, sends a small message of, “I need you here, close to me.” Or the pause he takes to gaze into your eyes after your more passionate displays of affection means, “I love you more than I know how to say.”

He realizes, given the risky nature of his work, that thought alone isn’t enough, though. Maybe he’s too afraid of saying something that’ll curse you for his lips to form the words he’s thinking as often as they should, but if he was one to let his life be ruled by fear, he wouldn’t be sitting with you in the first place. He would’ve let his family wreak havoc on him for the entirety of his life, weighing it down with constant reminders of his failures. He would’ve let his fear of being vulnerable keep him from getting close enough to you to fall in love with you.

Yet, here he is, making relaxed conversation with you—his wife—as the two of you sit together beneath a sea of brilliant oranges, candied pinks, and the gentlest hues of lavender. With the way you use your steadily built and strongly maintained trust in him to speak so freely and be so vulnerable without fear of judgment, he feels it’s only fair that he shows his trust in you by doing the same. That he reminds you of his feelings rather than lets the implications behind his actions speak for him.

When he decides to mention it, most of the sky has lost its fire and quite a few of the other picknickers have packed up and returned home. But the two of you choose to remain out just a bit longer in the warmth of the summer night, bathed in the sound of cicadas chirping incessantly. “Hey babe?” he calls, giving your hand resting in his a gentle squeeze as his cheek drops to the blanket so he can look at you.

“Mm?” You shift onto your side and scoot closer to him, moving your interlaced hands to your chest, holding the back of his against your gently beating heart. On instinct, your other set of fingers find his face to brush a few strands of dark hair away from his eyes, and he presses feathery kisses to your palm.

Sighing against your skin, he asks, “Do I tell you I love you enough?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, you assure him, “I know you do.”

“Because I say it?”

You hum with uncertainty, fingers gliding from the scar at the side of his mouth down his neck, and to one of his broad shoulders. “More because I can see it in the way you look at me. But, then again, I also see you look at a really good meal the same way. Makes me kinda jealous sometimes,” is your answer given with a small, teasing smile, “Besides, I feel like I can safely assume that you’ve stayed with me all these years because you love me, right?”

“Of course,” he says, the strength in his voice contrasting the subtle, pained look behind his eyes, “But I don’t say it enough, do I?”

There’s a short pause before you murmur, “Not usually unless I say it first. But it tends to be more of a reflex for both of us, anyway. Like, ‘I’m heading out now, love you!’ or, ‘Goodnight, I love you,’ y’know?”

A gentle tug on your wrist pulls you towards him, until you’re propped up on both elbows, body leaning over his. Wrapping an arm around your waist brings your chests flush against one another and your faces mere centimeters apart. The way he’s regarding you as nothing else is as important as you are to him in this moment has you melting into the kiss he plants on your lips.

“You’re the love of my life.” Heat radiates from your chest all the way up to your face at his tenderly spoken words accompanied by his thumb skimming along your cheekbone. “And you deserve to hear me tell you how much I care about you more often because you’re the only person who’s made me feel deserving of love.”

The hand on your back slowly moves up and down, his fingers tracing along your spine. It was once deemed as a mindless behavior in your eyes, but after many years with him, you’ve come to learn that sometimes it’s a means of comforting himself or finding the courage to speak about something that’s been on his mind. To reassure him, you place a soft peck against the corner of his mouth and run your fingertips across his jaw.

He seems to find the strength he needs to speak the rest of his truth, since he continues, “I remember being terrified when I first realized how much I loved you. Because here I was, thinking I was only gonna marry someone as a way of erasing my connections to my family, and that falling in love would weaken me—make me easier to be manipulated—but you changed my mind. And I don’t think there’s a damn thing that could ever happen to make me wish I did things differently, even though we got married young, when we barely had enough money to our names to get ourselves through the week.”

A pang of somewhat bittersweet nostalgia ripples through you at the memories of sleeping on the floor, clinging to one another to keep warm during the cold, winter nights. Of how you’d both worked so tirelessly to make a living that sometimes all you’d do was cry into his shoulder when you got home. But soon, there was a couch. A bed. A table. A lamp that didn’t flicker. Then, a new place in a safer part of the city, filled with all the furniture and appliances you could need. Jobs that paid enough for the tears to subside.

The impulsiveness the two of you had displayed in your early twenties had gotten you into a lot of sometimes unbearable situations, but you wouldn’t have changed a thing had you somehow been granted the power to alter the past. While unpleasant, those events had helped the two of you get to where you are today, happier and more in love than ever.

“After all we’ve been through, and that you’ve stuck with me through, I at least owe it to you to remind you how much you mean to me instead of just assuming you know. Because you really do mean the world to me. So, this is me telling you that I love and appreciate you a lot more than I might feel capable of saying sometimes, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try.”

With that same, bright smile of yours that he adores, you take your weight off your elbows to wrap your arms around him while he gives your body a tight squeeze in return. “I love you so much, Tōji,” you hum, heart swelling with joy.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

There’s a few moments of peaceful silence while the two of you remain wrapped up in a tight and much-needed embrace. Eventually, a deep exhale fans across your neck before he mentions, “That was pretty cheesy, huh?”

“Just a bit. But I promise not to tell anyone you’re secretly a bit of a sap, okay?” you comment, sending the two of you into a small fit of snickers. Your tone is more serious, however, when you mention, “It made me really happy to hear, though.”

“Good,” is his response as he moves his head so he can press his mouth to your temple. His next words are spoken quietly, as if just to himself, and nearly lost beneath the layers of environmental noise surrounding you, but you’re glad you hear them.

“That’s all that matters to me.”

[sour-n-salty-citrus]

I'm screaming,,please talk more about aftoncest!! When you mentioned fnaf and shipping, I thought you were talking about Gregory and glamrock freddy

AHAH, i have seen gregory and glamrock freddy around (which looks very 👀👀👀 might i add), but I haven't gotten onto security breach quite yet.

Yes, it's true, the ship i was vagueposting about was aftoncest! I figured it was time i got back into fnaf (the last time i was "into" the series was... oof, 2016 probably?) so i looked up a lore guide. I knew afton was the child killer at this point due to osmosis and occasionally hearing something, but I wasn't aware he had kids! (I remembered the crying child from fnaf 4- and very very vaguely knew about the girl from sister location). I saw Michael's sprite and was like "oh hey, he seems like the oldest- Michael, huh, wonder how he fits i-" and then it went "the Mike Schmidt who's the protagonist of fnaf1" and I was like he's THAT MIKE????

I was curious to see if he had any voice lines so i looked it up, found a video on the SL cutscene(?), played it, and immediately heard,

"father."

...

And yup, that did it for me, I was 100% sold. I already figured Michael and William probably had a twisted relationship (i mean it's the fucking purple guy and his son akdhajdhaj *wheeze* how could they not) but then I read more of the lore and wow. WOOOW. These two uh- they have... well they have a relationship-

It's really interesting to me! I mean, from what I remember of michael in fnaf 4, the kid was kind of a bully (RIP crying child lmao)- even if I'm sure he didn't actually mean to ever hurt Evan. It makes me wonder, what kind of a parent Afton was to his children- was he so absent that this behaviour went unchecked for so long? Did Michael just think that it was okay- that teasing and bullying was a natural part of showing affection (just think about those implications for a second oh no-). Maybe Michael took the brunt of all his father's bs, and that's why he lashed out at Evan, in the form of pranks and teasing (even if it crossed the line)- maybe on some level he hated how free Evan got to be, he still got to be a crying child, blissfully ignorant, whereas Michael was more grown up, was less illusioned to the reality of what went on inside their house- not to project or anything, but as the eldest lemme tell ya, we absolutely get the brunt of any issues with our parents. Maybe Michael wants his father's love and attention, but also sees the truth behind who is father is (even without the child murdering ajdgsjdhsjdhsj)- which makes their relationship delightfully complicated.

Michael becoming an adult makes it even more interesting. Michael still clearly respected William enough to do what he said without question seeing as, well, not just anyone will do you a favour and go put your dead daughter/their sister "back together", endangering and dying themself in the process. It makes me wonder about how close they must have grown. How the absense of Michael's mother, Elizabeth and Evan must have affected their relationship, how it might have twisted from already unhealthy to codependent. Michael suddenly overlooking all his father's flaws and mistreatment out of guilt and desperation to keep him around. William growing obsessively attached to the only person he has left. I feel like William is attached to Michael, too- he's the only person he trusts, and, well, when someone is willing to do almost anything for you, you're going to feel fondness for them (as twisted as it may be). I like to think of it as a really fucked up lowkey servent and master dynamic- Michael is William's favourite little tool, whom he can use and abuse but is strong enough not to break under it (until he does- but its fine, because he can always pick up the pieces.)

(He's good at that. Breaking things and putting them back together.)

Just hnghfnfhfnfhdhd these two! Ah! They're basically the protagonist and antagonist of the series, and you know i love me some hero/villain ships sometimes. Its so delicious, you get to add a whole extra topping of manipulation and inseparability and obsession and all kinds of spice to the mix with this ship! The familial ties making it so that they'll always be connected to one another, the attachment, the history! *mwah*, brilliant, 10/10.

[imagines-oneshots-galore]

For Science

A/N: Hello all, it’s been a hot fucking minute. Some things have changed in how I write/ When i write/ etc. So I have no idea when I’ll get the time to write. Which brings me to the reason for this fic. I started watching the originals, and was immediately obsessed. Personally, I’m an Elijah girl, but this popped into my head and I couldn’t get it out fast enough. Wrote this in two hours 😅 Hope it’s okay! It was my first time writing for the Mikaelsons.

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x Reader

Word Count: 1,587

Summary: It’s the Fourth of July, Klaus isn’t home, Rebekah is oddly silent and Elijah, Hayley and Y/N decide to conduct a scientific experiment.

Warnings: Some saucy implications, swearing, Klaus, innuendos

AO3

Masterlist

Rebekah was up to something, a notion they could all agree on. Elijah, Hayley and Y/N sat on the couch in the living room of the Mansion, not hearing a sound despite knowing she was home. The one person who wasn’t present, was Klaus.

Thus, Rebekah was definitely up to something, but what it could be?

Lots of possibilities, with many different levels of peril, all designed specifically for one Niklaus Mikaelson. They knew they should probably get involved, especially Y/N, whose very boyfriend was the one at risk. But they also knew the outcome would be spectacular, so they all silently decided to do nothing. For now, Y/N would continue to write on her computer, and Hayley and Elijah would continue reading the same book together.

It may be a national holiday, but they had other things that required their attention at the moment.

A loud crash came from above them, followed by a curse only heard by the ones with supernatural hearing. They all looked up to the ceiling, right where they knew that Klaus and Y/N’s room was located. Simultaneously, they looked back to each other, one more silent conversation later, and they returned to their activities.

Hayley felt a buzz against her hip, and she knew it was Elijah’s. She reached between them to grab the phone, opening the notification.

“Klaus just texted saying he was on his way, based on the colorful vocabulary, I’d say the negotiation with Marcel didn’t go as planned,” Hayley said quietly to the group, not loud enough for Rebekah to hear as she showed the text to Elijah.

“He said he’ll be here in a few minutes. I wonder, should we tell her of her expedited deadline?” He muttered, thumbs poised working as he replied to his brother.

“Hell no,” Y/N laughed, and soon as it happened, the three paused, making sure Rebekah wasn’t listening into the conversation now. When nothing was heard yet, they all let out a collective breath.

“I want to see this play out, without interference” She said, softer this time as a wicked smirk came upon all of their faces.

“A scientific experiment, if you will,” Hayley said, suppressing the urge to laugh.

“Yes, for science.” Elijah said, and without another word, they all resumed what they were doing moments ago.

As promised, minutes later, Hayley and Elijah heard the faint hum of Niklaus’s vehicle. Apparently, Rebekah did as well, judging by the way they all heard another curse, followed by a frantic shuffling, and then she ran down the stairs and into the foyer.

She was slightly out of breath, and her eyes looked wild. The most damning piece of evidence was the lone feather sitting in her hair.

It didn’t take a conversation to know they would keep that information to themselves. Letting the cards fall where they may, in the name of knowledge. Rebekah smoothed out her shirt, letting out a breath as she walked over to sit next to Y/N on the adjoining couch. She picked up a random book as the car drew closer.

“I hope that I can trust you all to agree that I was here the whole time,” Rebekah said sweetly, an underlying threat laced in her words as she kept her gaze on the book.

“As long as my room isn’t destroyed,” Y/N said just as sweetly, and Rebekah paled slightly. Y/N may still be human, but she was still able to make Rebekah gulp.

“Rebekah…” She began to warn, right as they heard Klaus make it to the driveway. Only moments now.

“I will fix it myself but please say nothing,” She whispered, speaking fast, pleadingly, and before Y/N could agree or deny, Klaus sped into the mansion. His posture was tense, and his brow was furrowed. They all knew Hayley’s suspicion was correct.

“Marcellus Gerard is a conniving twit and I will be glad when we finally dethrone the treacherous bastard,” He huffed, as his gaze shifted to his girlfriend, and he softened in front of their eyes. He plopped down behind her, pulling her body closer to his chest. His hands traced down her arms as he whispered loud enough for only her to hear. Not that any of them would want to hear whatever it was. Based on their facial expressions, it wasn’t hard to guess what was being said.

“I rather think a long relaxing wash in my multi-headed shower sounds rather spectacular before the upcoming night of festivities” Klaus grinned into her skin. She shivered as she felt his warm breath on her neck, and she began to nod her head. But then she opened her eyes and gazed back upon Rebekah, with the damn feather in her hair.

She quickly thought of an excuse.

“I’ll be up in a moment, I have a couple more things I need to write down before I forget them.” She said, a little breathy. Both at the thought of what was promised, and her being put on the spot. Then another thought crossed her mind, as Klaus nodded, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

If she didn’t say anything, she would surely not get to experience whatever Klaus was cooking up in his gorgeous head. But if she told him. He might forgive Rebekah’s attempted prank in favor of private time with his girlfriend. She locked eyes with Rebekah, and saw that she knew what Y/N had on the line.

After a tense millisecond, Y/N rolled her eyes, and let Klaus get up without another word. Rebekah breathed out imperceptibly, and Hayley rested her mouth against Elijah’s shoulder to conceal her smile.

Right before he left, Klaus turned and looked at Rebekah.

“There’s a feather in your hair sister,” He said, before turning back around, as Rebekah frantically pulled the feather from her blonde curls.

Klaus finally left with a pleased smile on his face, and suddenly they all felt a bit guilty.

Only for a moment though, he had staked and tortured (except for Y/N and Hayley of course, though Hayley was not immune to his taunts and quips) them many times over the centuries.

“Thanks for telling me,” She growled quietly, and Elijah casually looked up at his sister.

“For the results to be as accurate as possible, we could not interfere” He said matter of factly, as Hayley nearly snorted, her hand gripping his button up shirt. He reached up to grab hers, and brought it to his lips.

Before Rebekah had the chance to ask what the hell he was talking about, they collectively heard Klaus open his door, and then a mechanical grinding. Something that sounded like a liquid fell to the floor as Klaus cried out in clear surprise. Moments later, and a loud wooshing sound was heard.

It was silent for a few moments, and everyone waited in bated breaths for what was to come next.

“REBEKAHHH!” Klaus screamed dramatically, and before the name was even finished, she was out of the door, running away like her life depended on it. Probably because it did.

The group busted out laughing, and Hayley and Y/N looked to each other. Another wooshing sound and there he was.

Covered in thick chocolate syrup and a shit ton of feathers stood a murderous Klaus Mikaelson. Even the stoic Elijah couldn’t help the chuckle that left his lips at the clever prank.

“First, Marcellus turns down a perfectly good exchange of power, then my sister proverbially tars and feathers me, and now I begin to realize that my sweet Y/N let her devoted boyfriend walk right into a trap,” He said, continuing the dramatics as always.

“Happy American Independence Day brother” Elijah sighed, as fireworks started up outside. Hayley turned excitedly to the window, and his gaze turned to her, adoration clear on his face. Without another word, he stood up, Hayley cradled in his arms as she yelped at the sudden movement.

“If you’ll excuse us, I will be going to take my partner to watch the fireworks,” And he ran out of the room before Klaus had the chance to argue, Hayley’s giggle echoing in the wind.

Klaus huffed indignantly, getting himself all worked up again. Y/N lifted the laptop from her lap, setting it to the side so she could make her way to her whining boyfriend.

“I’m going to find Rebekah, and when I do I’ll…” He ranted, Y/N wrapping her arms around his neck, not caring about the sticky transfer of chocolate sauce and feathers onto her clothes. His arms wound around her waist as she quietly interrupted his threats.

“Pretend to laugh it off, to lull her into a false sense of security. Then you’ll come back to me to plan your revenge,” Her lips ghosted over the skin of his neck as she spoke, before her tongue darted up to lick a bit of the dark syrup.

“For now, I promised you a nice long shower,” She said as she pulled away, and met his signature smirk.

“You are truly wicked my dear,” He all but growled, pulling her harder against his body as she giggled. “I believe you are correct, I will most definitely be needing your assistance, love,” And as soon as the words left his lips, he picked her up and ran them to the washroom, the need for revenge forgotten for now.

A solid day's work in the name of Science.

[nomunamuinmybrain]

Take care of you (M)

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Rating: M

Genre: Slice of Life/ Fluff/ Smut

Word Count: 1.5K

At last, a collaboration with my best friend@alwaysdarkestbeforethedawn94, the person responsible for my kpop obsession. She is my rock and without her this tumblr page wouldn't even exist. Every time we meet we go on a ride by the coast line and come up with possible scenarios of what we assume might be happening or has happened in the lives of BTS. Since we are in quarantine we will be sharing with all of you.

Disclaimer: if you are under the age of 18 please know that this is heavy sexual content.

Summary: When Yoongi comes back home late from a schedule, you make sure he gets the treatment of a lifetime.

Being with Yoongi is with no doubt one of the best experiences in your whole existence and by all means you are convinced it will last a lifetime. At the beginning of your relationship, the man had been a spellbinding enigma waiting for someone to finally decipher him. Undoubtedly, who were you to say ‘no’ to such a challenge?

Invariably, a true workaholic; married to his job while the rest of his body is entangled with music; you simply couldn’t have one without the other. Sometimes it makes you wonder how he is so competently skillful at his own craft. He has been carrying a great deal of nicknames to his name; musical genius, a prodigy, King Midas of the musical pentagram to name a few. You couldn’t say you disagreed, everything the public has said about him is completely and utterly true; he genuinely turns to gold everything he touches. Once he sets his mind on a project there is literally nothing that can stop him. He immerses himself into it and delivers in a way that exceeds every imagination. Of course, he would try to argue with you about that if he were here this very moment, but you knew different.

That’s why you found yourself at his place this late at night. He had told you approximately two months ago that they were planning something big for their future live performances. You knew very well by now that comeback week was the busiest most exhausting period for any artist but given Yoongi's status the situation was amplified times a hundred. Needless to say, that instantly meant a mountain load of work waiting to be done not only for him, but also for the rest of the group. Consequently, for you, this time of the year implied way less time with him and more time on the phone talking at ungodly hours of the day. It’s for that reason he gave you his apartment’s keys last weekend. He hadn’t given you a definite explanation for his action other that “It is about time”. However, you knew better than that. Yoongi is always so attentive to your needs, and even if he hadn’t said it out loud, there was no need to; you could read him like the back of your hand. He is an incredibly considerate, understanding and patient individual. He always goes out of his way to silently make others feel special, and that is one of the things you love about him.

You tried your best to make his arrival back from the showcase as serene as possible. He is giving you so much already that you wanted to give him back just as much. Once he opened the door you understood that he is spent, you can tell from the soft way his eyes slowly shut, ready to surrender in a deep slumber. After setting the table and getting something to eat he takes a quick shower to rid himself off the reminiscence of the day. After that, he moves to the cabinet near the wall, opens the door, pours himself a glass of whiskey and heads to the couch in the living room. It doesn’t take a lot of time to notice that he is already under the influence of dark liquor. You gently approach him sitting right beside him on his dark smooth couch and lean in to his chest. He smells clean and soft, he wore clothes straight out of the dryer right after his shower. You snuggle closer to him, this white t-shirt making him look so hot, you swear it's almost see-through, and you let your hand wander on his torso, tracing the lined muscles that lay underneath. You stare at his gentle features, eyes closed and you feel like you are in a trance. You think to yourself “Damn, he is so easy on the eyes”. The only thing getting you out of this state of bewitchment is his voice. He softly grunts, a smirk stretching his face, "You have no idea how much my whole body aches...." he signs."What can I do to help my baby?" you ask full of anticipation, mentally preparing a list of things you would like to do to him. "Whatever it is that you have in mind, I am all yours to play with" he replies, gaze filled with implication. And that was the push you needed to devour your man. At once you straddle his thighs, hands flying to the back of his neck to grasp on his healthy vibrant hair and bring him

closer for a painfully lustful kiss, you are insatiable tonight. You’ve missed him so much. "I needed your lips on mine, I missed you so much baby" you unapologetically confess. His large hands massage your thighs and then travel to your backside pushing you even closer, making you one. It was times like this when you felt like you had no clue where he ended and you began. "I can tell", he says with a low grunt. Deep throaty moans rumble from his chest the faster you rub yourself on him while leaving aching marks all over his arched neck and toned chest. "Yes, yes....Mark me, baby. I'm all yours. U-ugh... All yours" he lets out, words almost like a whisper. Off goes his shirt, same fate follows for the shorts and just as he's about to flip you over beneath him you immediately put your hands on his chest to stop him. "Tonight is all about you, so just lay back and relax. Let me do my job" you tease with a wink. Thinking back to all the close and personal moments you’ve both shared, inconspicuously, you absolutely treasured instances like this, watching him being so eager to find the sweet solace of relief. The shuddered exhale that escapes him leaves you satisfied. You palm his throbbing cock over his pitch black boxers, his head instinctively dropping to the back of the couch once again as a clear sign of surrender. “My sweet, sweet boy, I wanna ruin you tonight” you shamelessly admit. He already knows that this is a reward more for you rather than him. ‘Cause even though you love the way he takes over you every time you get intimate, you want him to let go and trust you. You take off the last piece of clothing standing between you and your reward, Yoongi's well endowed member. You lick across his length, earning that familiar hiss you so crave to hear. You tease him for a while, languidly sucking only the tip, saliva dripping from your plump lips making it easier for your hand to pump his thick length with accurate precision. His slender hips involuntarily twitch to thrust deeper into your sensual mouth. "Baby, please...please..." he begs as one hand lazily brushes your hair from your forehead. He is putty in your hands, all yours to devour. Your little living room filled with lewd wet sounds as you mercilessly suck him off, as if it was the very last time but still you couldn't get enough; you could never get enough of him. Yoongi is like your own personal addiction.

As he's approaching his climax, hair sticking to his face, you place your left hand around his right thigh and caress. "My sweet baby, a mess, all because of me" you drunkenly declare. Hand still in your hair, the harder his grasp, the faster you go. You feel his grip in your hair becoming stronger and stronger while you hear his whines getting louder and louder. That’s how you know he is on the verge of letting go. You look up at him and take his entire glory in. "I swear he is alluring, so tempting and he tastes so good" you ponder. You continue your mistreatment and in no time he blows his load in you, releasing a loud scream to echo around the house. You keep him in your mouth observing as he slowly descents from his high. Gradually, he opens his eyes and looks back at you; face blown out yet blissful. He covers your hand with his own and with a satisfied smirk, you climb back on his lap for cuddles. You brush the damp strands away from his face to see him better, never breaking eye contact. "Was that okay?" you mischievously ask, breaking the silence. "More than okay" he joyfully exclaims. You stayed there wrapped together under the blanket until sleep called for you to head to bed. Once under the covers, he pulls your back to his warm chest and buries his face in your sensitive neck giving it a chaste peck, "I love you" he softly declares with a low whisper. You wrap your hands around his tighter, "I love you more" you profess playfully. From then on, you let your heavy eyes close taking in his pleasing scent; cherishing even the slightest thing about him you both end up falling into a deep slumber.