#although I think that having a consciousness is a better line than being part of the animal kingdom

[catinheadlights]

I regularly eat meat so maybe take this with a grain of salt, but I think when people try to "own" the concept of veganism with "facts and logic" as either a diet or a moral stance, they generally misunderstand what they're trying to criticize.

Like, you can say that the "real" problem with animal agriculture is capitalism encouraging animal abuse and factory farming, but like. Vegans know that's bad. That's not the only problem they have with the industry. You've got the slew of environmental problems it causes plus the whole, y'know, killing/exploiting animals thing that they don't like.

Someone who values the life of a chicken as equal to that of a human won't give two shits if it had a good life before being slaughtered, because to them it's the moral equivalent of killing a person for food. By saying that they're simply ✨wrong✨ for seeing a problem with the killing part, you're missing the entire point. "It had a good life" hardly means anything if you don't think of human life as inherently more valuable. You can disagree with that premise all you want, but you're not gonna change their minds.

I also challenge you to actually come up with an argument for why you feel human life inherently matters more than all nonhuman life, because I've never in my life seen a cogent argument for it that includes all humans and excludes all nonhumans. It's just that evolution hardwired that value into most people (including me, I agree). I think it's fine to feel that way and live accordingly, but you should know where your values come from. Vegans act on that too - getting rid of an infestation would be the equivalent of mass murder. This isn't a dig, by the way, it'd be impossible to have a decent quality of life if you stuck to "humans = nonhuman animals" completely.

I see people tossing around eggs and dairy as morally fine because they don't require killing the animals that produce them, but everyone seems to conveniently forget what they do to nearly all the males. It's not practical for farmers to keep all the males alive for their natural lifespan because they aren't economically useful. Some very small farmers might, but it's never going to happen on any remotely large scale. Something tells me that the "killing animals is bad" club isn't gonna be happy about that.

Also, I don't know what's up with people making shit up about domestication but:

Livestock was, in fact, domesticated. Yes, this includes laying hens. We'll breed anything for efficiency.

The purpose of domesticating an animal doesn't dictate what is morally okay to do with it (ex. if you bred dogs specifically to fight, it wouldn't make dogfighting more moral).

In a similar vein, no, factory farming never reduces the need for cropland, and the animal agriculture industry as a whole doesn't either (hint: it's mostly factory farming). I don't know where people get the idea that animals somehow magic nutrients/energy into existence, but a lot of crops are grown specifically for livestock feed, which is less efficient than growing crops directly for human consumption due to trophic levels and waste production. If you insist otherwise, please take a biology class.

I do think that putting so much focus on individual action is a bit silly considering how giant animal agriculture is as an industry and how heavily subsidized it is. Put some of that energy into changing policy please. It'd probably be more useful.

[aparticularbandit]

Thinking about how Haruhi absolutely screwed over Asakura.

Because like.

Haruhi makes the club. The club goes looking for trouble and finds nothing and also the straws were not in her favor and she didn't get to go looking for trouble with Kyon.

Haruhi gets depressed because nothing has happened in the club in its one week of existence.

Five minutes later, Asakura: Hey. Kyon. Let's play stabby!

One day later, Haruhi: HEY KYON ASAKURA DISAPPEARED YOU AND ME GONNA TEAM UP AND LOOK FOR TROUBLE.

And like. Asakura is stated repeatedly to be the prettiest girl in their class other than maybe Haruhi, and Haruhi can't go after Mikuru because Mikuru's part of her gang.

What I'm saying is Asakura suddenly being stabby is entirely Haruhi's fault.

....

And, as a result, it is highly likely that Yasuke should be concerned.

[strawberrystepmom]

i love you more than being seventeen

pairing: nanami kento x f!reader

word count: 2.7k

about: all that kento can think about at the end is you and you and you.

contents: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, JJK SHIBUYA ARC SPOILERS. mutual pining over the course of many years, angst, no happy ending i’m sorry :( but the story itself has a few cute moments

notes: this is a repost from my old blog. title is from evening sun by the strokes! i still love this fic so much and it’s one of my favorite things i’ve ever written BUT there have been edits made and the ending is a little different. same impact, just more concise. thanks for reading!!!!

divider is thanks to @/cafekitsune

When Nanami's consciousness begins to fade, darkness enveloping the edges of his vision, one of the things he can recall most clearly is you.

You're 15, it's your first day of high school. You're the only person in your class, just like him. He's graduating this year and has already mentally checked out, doing just enough to get through, but he can see how anxious you look. The sleeves of your uniform are a bit too long, he wonders if it's on purpose like his are and your backpack is clearly brand new and covered in pins you probably picked out just for your first day. 

A breeze picks up and blows the hem of your pleated skirt, exposing the skin just above your knee and he looks away immediately although you certainly can’t tell he’s even looking at you. Assessing you, the better term perhaps.

“Can you help me?”

A sweet and uncertain voice asks him. It belongs to you and he’s surprised that you asked him. It doesn’t take a very intelligent person to take one look at a 17-year-old Kento and see that he isn’t necessarily the approachable type. He isn’t unkind but his face is just as solemn as it will be when he grows up, mouth always set in a firm line. 

“Sorry, you’re probably busy,” you mumble and he shakes his head, hiking the strap of his bag back up over his shoulder. “It’s alright. First day?” You nod, your uncertainty obvious in every one of your movements as you grip the straps of your backpack tightly. 

“Someone was supposed to meet me here otherwise I wouldn’t be bothering you,” you explain as the two of you walk toward the sweeping entrance to the school itself. Your eyes widen as you take in the pillars and stairs, the greenery and flowers - it’s grand to say the least. Part of Nanami is amused watching you take it all in but he focuses on the task at hand. “It’s alright, like I said,” he starts and clears his throat. “Do you know who you’re supposed to be meeting?”

Your brow furrows, as if you’re thinking really hard, and you scrunch your nose.

“Gojo?”

Nanami rolls his eyes at the mere sound of the name. Of course he’s late and left you standing outside of the school, confused and alone. He knows that Gojo is technically his sensei now and he should respect him but he finds him just distasteful enough that it serves better to ignore him than to feed into his nonsense.

“Yeah, he does that,” Nanami shoots back cooly as he walks beside you up the steps. The zippers on your backpack jingle and he’s shot back into reality, ringing in his ears loud enough to quiet the sound of pumping blood. 

He swears you can hear you call his name through the chaos, the footsteps and the screeching, but he closes his eyes. Tightly. Tries to concentrate on the source of the sound before realizing it’s in his own head, the cinematic reel in his head playing on a strange loop of fragmented pieces of his life spent wishing for you.

You.

The two of you are thigh to thigh inside of a photo booth, music playing through the little speaker underneath the tiny screen where you can see your two faces. 

Kento isn’t sure how you roped him into this, an evening away from the school and in the city something you probably both needed, but it feels correct and inappropriate at the same time. The last few months have given him tiny glimpses into your life through the shared area of the student dorms. 

He knows that you leave your shoes wherever you carry them after you take them off with a disgruntled whine. He dutifully places them next to your door when he sees them, the soles touching and the toes of each shoe pointed toward the wall.

He knows that you stay up too late watching television when you should be studying, the fighting noises of shonen anime coming from beneath the door of your room or the common room while you giggle or gasp along. He always wraps you in a blanket his grandmother made him when you fall asleep on the couch, drool crusting over on the corner of your lips.

He would do these things for no one else and he believes that strange dedication he feels to your comfort has led him here, long legs jutting out in front of him a nearly too small photo booth. Your bare thigh is pressed against the side of his jeans and he finds it hard to breathe with the sweet smell of your floral shampoo filling the entire left side of this enclosed space.

Fight or flight begins to kick in as the situation overwhelms him but you place a comforting hand on his forearm and smile easily, reminding him that the countdown is about to begin and to smile. He doesn’t smile but the corner of his mouth quirks in a way that you find adorable enough to giggle at, your big smile filling the screen as the flash snaps the first of four photos.

“Another! Make a funny face this time,” you order and Kento nods, lifting the other side of his lips in what one could almost call a smile while you stick out your tongue and hold two of your fingers up in bunny ears behind his head.

You like him. Even Gojo has noticed it, calling you out during your last mission with him.

“So…Nanami?” He asked with a little sideways grin and you groaned in frustration and stomped away. Satoru knew it then. 

The shutter clicks and the flash explodes and you withdraw your fingers from behind Kento’s blonde head, feeling compelled to barely touch the top of it with your pointer finger. His hair is soft, brushed in front of his face, and you think you’ll remember the electric zap you feel like your heart forever as you gather your hands back in your lap.

Nanami assesses you carefully and shifts closer to you and you feel heat rise into your cheeks. The tips of your ears are warm and dangerously close to the side of his face and you look down just in time for the camera to click and to capture the top of your head and the side of his face. 

You laugh, shaking your head as the two of you compose yourselves long enough for the final photo and you gasp a little when Kento hovers his face just inches from yours. Your soft cheek nearly touches his cheekbone and you fist the fabric of your skirt to keep from freaking out as you grin. 

Giddiness rises inside of you, the proximity to the older boy sending your mind reeling with possibilities. You even notice both corners of Kento’s mouth have risen in a sort of smile as the final camera shutter sounds and the two of you file out of the booth and you reach to grasp the strip of photos, easily tearing it in half.

“Why did you do that?” 

Nanami asks, brow furrowed as he watches you look over the sets of photos contained in each of the pieces of the strip. You hold the one with the last two photos out toward him, the top photo showing him staring at the top of your head and the bottom his attempt at a smile. 

“Half for me and half for you,” you respond easily. 

He wishes all of this came that easily for him. These feelings, these moments, this tender sense of compassion he feels just for you. 

As the memory leaves, he’s reminded that the same strip of photos lives in the wallet in his left back pocket. Buried beneath business cards and bandages, a talisman to bring him back to you even when the two of you were separated after he graduated and left the school.

He hates thinking of those times, those years where he left you behind, but he’s too weak to will those memories away for better ones. The waves of his consciousness drift to another piece of his life, those lost years. His graduation. The ignored text messages.

“Happy birthday, Nanami-san! Miss you and hope to see you soon. Have a great day.”

He opened the message on his 22nd birthday and left it on read, just as he had with the message on his 21st, his 20th, his 19th. You’ve wondered several times if he changed his number and didn't let anyone know.

You’re 19, a year past your own graduation and you are working as a full time sorcerer. You aren’t particularly challenged in your role but you find it fulfilling in its own strange way. Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you sigh as you scroll through the messaging thread and an indescribable wistfulness falls over you.

You’d go back and do it all differently if you could. Beg him to stay, encourage him in the work of a sorcerer, but that would make you selfish. Keeping him here would have been for you and not for him and there’s nothing saying you had the power to convince him anyway. 

Locking your phone, you drop it on the table and walk to the fridge where your half of the photo strip sits on the fridge all of these years later. It’s tucked beneath a magnet that holds up a copy of the graduation invitation you sent Kento last year. You texted him, asking if he’d like to come and perhaps you should have taken the hint back then. 

He doesn’t want to be friends anymore.

The realization hits you at once and you open the fridge, plucking out leftovers, and shut it with an unenthusiastic slam. Padding back toward your living room, you pick up your phone and unlock the device. The screen still shows your text message thread with Nanami and against your better judgment, you type. Thumbs moving thunderously, you continue typing until you feel satisfied you have laid it out for him and your finger hovers over the message. Pressing down, you try to highlight the text to erase it but instead you slip and hit the send button.

“Fuck!” You shout loud enough you’re certain that your neighbor will file another noise complaint and you feel more horrified reading over your words the second time.

Kento’s phone pings from where it sits on his desk, another late night in front of the computer keeping him from doing anything enjoyable on his special day. He doesn’t bother to check the sender, knowing it’s probably something asinine from a client or a coworker, but his eyes widen as he sees the preview of the paragraph sent with your name attached.

“It’s okay if you hate us now but it would be nice to know that you’re alright,” his eyes scan each word carefully and he isn’t surprised by their bite but he feels guilty. Raw and bubbling deep in his gut, feelings he contained through college and far beyond surfacing in ways he didn’t expect. “I was your friend. I still want to be and hopefully someday you will let me.” 

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he looks over the honest appraisal of his character (“you’re a good person and that will always be true”), the tough love approach you tested halfway through (“I don’t want to do this job any more than you did and here I am”), and finally the thing you wanted to erase the most before you sent it.

“I’ll always love you even if you’ve never had it in you to do the same for me.”

He wonders for a moment if you mean that. Do you love him? Did you feel it back then the same way he did? The syrupy light feeling in your limbs, the heaviness in your head every time the two of you would study or eat or spend time together.

Setting his phone back down, he wonders for a moment how much sending that message cost you considering the length and if he should respond. Was this your goodbye? A way of finally freeing him from your mind? 

Before he has time to truly think about it, his desk phone rings despite the time of day and he answers it with a sigh.

You look down at your screen and once again see a delivered notification with no sign of any other life on the other side.

“Kento!”

He’s glad you’ve dropped the formalities even if the timing is bad, his fatigued body stumbling in your direction. The smell of burnt flesh fills the air and blurry vision still shows him your face, gasping as you run to meet him from halfway across the train station that feels cavernous.

The last time he heard you shout his name was when he arrived back at the gate of Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College, an employee ID card clipped to his slacks and his cursed tool snug in the harness strapped across his broad back. It’s new and familiar all at the same time and he hates thinking of the smug look on Gojo’s face when he called him to ask to come back.

“I wonder why,” Satoru teased from the other end of the phone. 

Nanami only sighed from the other end, the two of them continuing their quick back and forth and scheduling a time where they could meet with the administration at the school. Their conversation is quick and polite but the final words out of his old friend's mouth are what remind him of the first domino that fell and led him back to these stone steps. “She’ll be glad to see you again.”

You’re standing across the courtyard and he’s surprised to see you for the first time in 6 years. You look the same as you did on that first day in a lot of ways. A pleated skirt, breeze lifting the hem just slightly away from your bare thighs. He doesn’t bother to look away this time, the peek of skin enough to send heat up his neck.

“Kento!” You shout again, hopping and running in his direction. He shakes his head as your heavy boots smack against the pavement and before he can blink, you’re in front of him with a grin. “Holy shit!” 

Ever humble, he nods in your direction and tips his chin toward the ground to hide a burgeoning smile. He looks the same but different, just like you. The sides of his hair are shorter than you’ve ever seen them, the longer top slicked away from his face. He’s handsome - he always has been and you try to ignore the little fluttering feeling inside of your chest and in your stomach. 

“Welcome back,” your final choice on what to say as you clap your palm against his shoulder and he smiles at the familiar feeling. He never thought he’d experience it again. 

“Hey,” he says and you look up at him. The sunlight frames your face in a way he wants to memorize forever, emblazoned in a metaphorical heart shaped locket in his mind. He wants to look at you every day. He hates that he let pride keep him from doing that. Exhaling, he says the words he has wanted to since you were 15 and he was 17.

“I love you.”

The sound of your heavy boots across cement and tile are what he chooses to focus on as you continue your mad dash in his direction, his lips mumbling those three words over and over. He knows you can’t save him and he has come to terms with that reality but he wants to see you standing in front of him one last time. To see a breeze blow the edge of that skirt up just enough he can picture where he’d put his hands on your thighs if he ever had the chance. 

Before you can make it the distance, so close to him you can read his lips, his words change. You think you know what he was saying before his stumbling continued but that patchwork curse steps in front of him and blocks him from your view. 

“You’ve got it from here.”

He points in the direction of Yuuji Itadori who is on the opposite side of you and you turn your head to look at the pink haired young man for a single moment, confused.

You gasp when you turn back toward Kento and he’s gone.

He’s gone.

[stealingyourbones]

Submitted Prompts #130

*hands over a particularly shiny pebble I found on the side of the road and polished, in the style of a magpie gifting ther favorite human the One Pebble That is The Most Special, along with a sea urchin shell I found on the beach* I had a sudden idea!!!!

So, I've been reading some fics of Danny being married to the Core of the Realms (we need more of those, btw, they're really good).

And a student thought hit me:

As a halfa, Danny can easily go between dimensions, much more easily than the Ghosts. And the Core can't leave the Realms at all.

So they hitch a ride on their husband's shadow whenever he goes out into the world of the Living, so they can remain in the Realms but send a part of their consciousness with him. Naturally, this means a lot of movie dates, and walks along the woods and all kinds of dates between them (the position might've been kinda forced on them both at first "for the sake of Balance", but as they came to know each other better, the relationship developed, and it didn't just blossom. It grew exponentially, exploding like fireworks, until the most common gossip in the Castle was how much the King and the Core loved each other, and how they spent most of the time either curled up with each other, or giggling like teenagers in love).

One such date nights was a viewing of The Princess and The Frog movie.

Now, with his voice having grow deeper as adulthood caught up to him, and having shot up like beanstalks, plus having a spouse that looked mostly like shadows and smoke, of course Danny would go around quoting Dr Facilier's lines, and the Core acted out the part of the Shadow.

It was all so fun, neither could help it.

Too bad the resident Bats didn't think it so fun to watch some lanky fucker stroll the streets of Gotham at night, quoting lines from a very recognizable movie villain, while seemingly projecting his own shadow into existence, then opening a neon green portal and strolling through it while holding his shadow's arm and flirting with it.

Constantine almost had 10 different heart attacks that night when Batman called him and Zatanna to ask about the Shadow Man, who just so happened to be the goddamn King of the Infinite Realms. The shadow was new, there was nothing about such entities in their files. Although, when asked the next day, Captain Marvel seemed to sweat as the gods in my head seemed to all die a second time, this time of fright, as they realized the Core of the Realms had latched onto a new King and seemed to be in love with the guy, where before they'd despised Pariah Dark and refused his presence anywhere near them, thus throwing the Realms into a slow decline.

Well, at least it appeared THAT situation had gotten fixed at some point while they were on Earth with their son Billy.

[selfproclaimedunicorn]

tell me about the 'betrothed from the start' Rheagan AU

My dumb joke I made earlier will now be given serious thought.

No organization, flow of consciousness, tangent, another tangent, another tangent, "although," next intrusive thought, no sounding board, another tangent, another tangent

I think it would come about as kind of piggy-backing off of Lord Desmond Manderly helping to find a betrothal for Aemon. Desmond is a good guy, but he does enjoy having politically influential friends; it sets his family up with good connections for th future & he sees that as doing right by them. Which, he isn't wrong. So having a hand in helping Yorick’s daughter get a match, maybe even one that's more influential than what he can secure for Aemon since Rhea'd be marrying in as opposed to for Aemon someone's daughter marrying out to a second son who's 6th in line for the succession by the time the betrothal is finalized, would really be a good thing for Desmond & House Manderly. "Hey, I'm good enough friends with House Royce that I helped arrange your marriage. Remember that." It'd look doubly good to Desmond because no one wants his oldest daughter fr (no one wants their heir to marry someone who's gonna steamroll past all his decisions & rule for him).

So Lord Desmond somehow helps to secure Rhea getting betrothed to the heir to Winterfell, & now trips to go visit Uncle Aemon include flying to Winterfell for a few days because "if we're already up here the kids might as well have a playdate. Being friends first is good."

Child!Rheagan are complete gremlins. They are 100% getting on all fours & pretending to be wolves & using this as an excuse to scream howl at each other. Cregan is better at the howling, but Rhea is louder. Like, I do truly think they'd have made for good friends as kids. Show!Cregan Stark is a fucking freak (affectionate), I know he is, & Rhea's into that. She wants her friends to be weird, she's weird! They are playing all sorts of weird as hell pretend games & Cregan is allowed to add onto the elaborate fiction of the games Rhea plays back home with her brothers & Griffith & Cousin Abby. "It doesn't matter that my friend Cregan is all the way in The North, the warrior prince who talks to wolves & runs as fast as the wind & is immune to cold damage is canon & you will respect him. And when I wear Cregan down about Prince Brandon having an ice dragon that's going to he part of the stories too, no take backsies!"

I'm fairly certain they'd be getting married way sooner too. Cregan's 13 when he becomes Lord of Winterfell/his dad dies, that's the kind of shit where you gotta shore up your succession. Especially after you have to kick your regent's ass to give you your seat. So instead of being 20 & 21, they'd probably be, like, 17 & 18. If not 16 &17, juat dependingon how working that stuff out goes..

Also, them having known each other for years & growing up as pen pals & knowing they're supposed to marry each other would alter their romantic relationship a little bit, I think. But in a good way! It'd honestly make it easier, because Rhea'd have way fewer hangups & insecurities about stuff like that. "I don't need to worry about a bunch of guys who don't match my freak & who's families only see me as a really prestigious baby factory trying to woo me, because I already have a man & I know we're gonna work together because he's fucking weird." RIP Cregan, you don't get to Dog Whisperer your girl, but she's got fewer issues now.

It'd also probabmy make her dynamics with her cousins more normal (if not at the onset, then at least faster), because you can't project what you think a relationship would be onto someone who's gonna be getting married/is already married. Or, well, you can, but you can't do a whole lot about those issues--like, what are you gonna do, make that her husband's problem? Perhaps, but that's also probably how you get your ass beat. So being betrothed from the start really mitigates a lot of issues & also gets rid of the bad 2000s teen romance plot Rhea never consented to her personal life being 😂

[pancake-breakfast]

We're already to volume 8? *incoming trauma panic intensifies*

Stream-of-consciousness thoughts for TriMax Vol. 8, Chapters 1-2 below.

TriMax Volume 8 Covers

Goshdarnit, that bird-man better not be losing his prosthetic again. Those things can't be easy to come by.

LOL, he looks so serene in the fake cover. I'm guessing he supposedly dramatically threw the rose, but I just wanna think Wolfwood is wearing a tiny rose on top of that overblown mane Nightow gave him here. They're definitely shojo characters now.

Knives, just kinda... peeking nto the back cover there.

Is it just me or did Meryl and Milly grow their hair out a bit again?

LOL, Legato getting eaten by a fish on the back cover. He deserves it.

Ooh, a spinoff chapter? I'm down.

Also, someone needs to update Kuroneko's flea meds, I think. She's scratching a lot. Do they have fleas on this planet? I imagine they're just more worms.

Chapter 1: Invasion

Oh, Nightow, with your angled horizon lines....

This guy with the beard reminds me of a badger for some reason.

Uhhhh... what's happening here? Is this the arc taking off?

But... like... wasn't the arc (and where they met Knives and all) somewhere deep in Eye of Michael territoriy?

I wonder who's invading what?

LOL, Vash wakes up and just... goes about doing his routines, I see. Not gonna let the whole LACK OF AN ARM stop him.

Oh, shit, no. It's Legato doing this. That's bad. That's very, very bad.

Thanks to Vash? Thanks to Vash?! Vash wasn't the one who crashed all the humans into a desolate planet, forcing the humans to rely even more heavily on Plants than they likely planned to. Vash isn't the one who murdered a bunch of Plants in that same Fall. Vash isn't the one assimilating them into part of his being with no thought for whether or not it's their will.

THAT'S RIGHT, VASH. YOU TELL HIM. STAND UP FOR YOURSELF, BABYGIRL!!!

Ohhh, that looks painful. Legato didn't care for Vash's line of talk, I guess.

And Knives, great brother that he is, allows it. Because Vash needs to be punished until he understands Knives' point of view, apparently. 'Cause that's how that works.

Wolfwood, buddy, you look like you need some serious shut-eye.

Knives says this is a war, but he's framing it like it's just gonna be a massacre of his own design. And he's way too happy about it.

What's this Federation now?

Oh, that's bad news for them. That looks like... Wolfwood, Livio, and the other guy who's name I can nemver remember. Although I'll honestly be a bit surprised if it's Wolfwood and not just some EoM rando. Can't imagine Wolfwood's gonna be quick to make friends with Wheelchair Guy again anytime soon.

Ah, no. It's Wolfwood. This could get interesting.

*sigh* Wolfwood...

This all flies in the face of everything Wolfwood's learned about himself fighting alongside Vash, and Wolfwood knows it. The real question is, now that he doesn't have Vash at his back, what's he going to do with that knowledge? We just saw him choose to distract rather than kill with his weaponry, but how long will that last now that he's back in the clutches of EoM?

Oh, honey. There's nothing convenient about what's going through Wolfwood's head right now. Nightow hasn't given is the slightest glimpse of it, but... you can just tell. His poise, his look, and his choice not to just murder-death those guys is plenty to show he's at a crossroads. He's fought to get here, and he knows there will nasty consequences regardless of which path he chooses.

Ugh, Livio's making his move first.

Bonus points to Stampede for adapting Livio's guns well.

Wolfwood is not happy about this.

"There are times where life is harder than death, and that time has just begun." Foreshadowing much?

Oooh, look at all them plants just... watching.

Vash looks so desperate and so sad here. He just wants his brother to listen.

And, of course, Knives just dismisses him. Because Knives.

Knives isn't entirely wrong. He's overlooking that there are ways he and Vash could probably mitigate this if they worked together instead of Knives being so genocide-happy that Vash basically has to dedicate all his life to mitigating that, but yeah.

Two wrongs don't make a right, Knives. You're also punishing a lot of people for things they may or may not have done, and may or may not have been content accepting, especially if another way presented itself.

Ohhh, that looks like Vash breaking free of Livio's control for a moment.

Vash spitting truth here.

Gods, I'm so proud of him. Seems like he couldn't keep the presence of self the last few times he ran into Knives to say stuff like this. Then again, Knives was too dedicated to setting off his angel arm to really listen much, so that might have something to do with it. Now that Knives has prioritized Vash NOT setting off his arm, he has to hear Vash say stuff.

I wonder if Nightow regretted giving Vash so many scars at this point where he suddenly has to draw them again and again for several pages?

GG twisting Vash's words there to avoid actually looking at your own issues, Knives. A+ avoidance skills.

Chapter 2: Silent Ruin

CW: Body horror, reference to chattel slavery

Livio's going full 80's goth here, isn't he.

Crybaby Livio!

Oooh, old man struck a nerve. Not good. Wolfwood's shit at hiding his feelings.

Ah, there we go. The orphanage isn't aware that their numbers are harvested as Eye of Michael recruits. I... could say a lot on a religious group grooming its children to become ideal soldiers, but one only really has to look at the correlation between the U.S. Military and the U.S. Bible Belt to get the gist of it.

Livio cannot betray this guy? That's strong words. It sounds like Livio was built up to "succeed" where Wolfwood "failed."

Ah, we have another player on the field.

Ok, who's saying this? I have no idea who's saying this. Is it Livio? Is it Wolfwood? Maybe one of the others present in this scene?

Knives, what the hell are you swan diving off to do?

Ohhh, here we go with Knives stealing the plants. Stampede really bumped this element up in the timeline.

Oof, these people have been dead for a bit. No worries; in a place like that, they'll likely mummify before they rot too bad. Kinda like a peat bog but dry.

I hope Knives has a good tank to keep all these plants in and isn't, say, stuffing them all in his arm like a madman.

Oh, would you look at that. He's STUFFING THEM ALL IN HIS ARM LIKE A MADMAN. Dammit, Knives.

From what I gather, impalement is a very painful way to die. You usually go from exposure rather than bleeding out unless some kind soul pulls you free.

Oh, ok, Knives is also shoving them all into some sort of mass tank where they're crammed together like.... Is this supposed to call to mind images of slave ships back when they were a major import to the Americas? Because that's the vibe I'm getting. I really don't know how this could be more comfortable for them than their bulbs.

Yeah, somehow I don't think their warheads are gonna be much of a match for Elandira.

Vash is not having a good... week? I guess it's been a while now. Legato's having a time of it, too, since I'm sure Vash is fighting him quite a bit.

Wolfwood is also not having a good whatever.

Did... did Knives really succeed?

Seven months???

Oh, this has to be our girls.

Yeah! And Luida, too! They look a little worn, but no worse for the wear.

Archive

Trigun Vol. 1: Covers + 1-3, 4, 5-6, 7-8, 9-10 || Vol. 2: Covers + Extras, 1, 2-4, 5-6, 7-8

TriMax Vol. 1: Covers + 1-2, 3-4, 5-6 || Vol. 2: Covers + 1, 2-4, 5, 6-7 || Vol. 3: Covers + 1-3, 4-5, 6-7 || Vol. 4: Covers + 1-2, 3-5, 6-7 || Vol. 5: Covers + 1-2, 3-4, 5-6 || Vol. 6: Covers + 1-2, 3-4, 5-6 || Vol. 7: Covers + 1-2, 3-4, 5-6

Extra Credit: Trigun Vol. 1: Nebraska vs. Vash's Motivations, Vash's Loneliness, Vash's Depression (pt 2 of post), Soupy Brains || Vol. 2: Coin Factoids || TriMax Vol. 1: Lina, Vash, and a Haircut || Meryl, Vash, and the Pursuit of Happiness || Vol. 5: Knives, Vash, and Hatred for Humanity || Vol. 6: Coping Series: Wolfwood, Meryl, Vash

[theygender]

I have a very frustrated idea in my brain and I just finished forming the thought after a little bit of time. When the Ukraine-Russia conflict kicked off, there was this solemn "idk how to enjoy life without being guilty cuz people are dying in Ukraine rn" and Ukraine has obviously deserved that care and concern and empathy. But when it comes to Palestine-Israel I'm seeing people who care and have that empathy but God damnit if a lot of what I'm seeing isn't just tearing each other down for supporting the wrong side and I know the conflict is very different than the Russia Ukraine conflict but I also saw that "do you care about the dying children or is it complicated when it's middle eastern children " and I was like yea tbh. Ukraine got so much empathy without questioning or fighting online because uh not that Ukraine is a majority white place but it partly is that and cuz it's Europe. God forbid something happen to Europe suddenly people are a lot sweeter and kinder.

Yeah I've definitely seen the same thing :(

A big part of it I think is, like you said, Ukraine is in Europe. Another part of it at least in the US is that our culture is already primed to see Russia as bad due to years of propaganda, so people were much quicker to want to stand up for a country that was being invaded by Russia. While it's great that Ukraine is getting the support, it feels like the widespread support for Ukraine is more bc of some automatic reaction of "Russia -> Communism/Red Scare/Cold War -> Enemies of the US" than any actual concern for human rights or preventing colonialism

On the other hand, when it comes to Palestine, the US is already primed to support Israel bc of years of propaganda on behalf of 1) our government who wants to use Israel as its own personal military base and 2) Christians who believe that we need to support Israel in order to bring about the rapture. So it's very difficult to try to get people to think past that programming and realize that the people they've been primed to think of as the good guys are committing a literal genocide and that's BAD

And it just gets even worse when you factor in the construct of whiteness. Like you said, with Ukraine being a European nation they're given the privilege of being considered majority white™ in the eyes of US Americans and, consciously or not, that makes people in our white supremacist society more sympathetic to them. Palestine, on the other hand, is a Middle Eastern country and our society has been primed through racist propaganda to view Middle Eastern people (especially those who are Muslim) as bad™. And although Israel is also obviously in the Middle East, it seems like the sympathetic propaganda here has paradoxically primed US Americans to view all Israelis as white. It probably doesn't help that "Middle Eastern" as a distinct racial category is still a relatively new idea here, only becoming popularized after the 9/11 attacks—the US census still legally categorizes all ethnicities we would consider Middle Eastern as white. We're probably witnessing the same type of shifting of the definition of "white" that occurred in the early days of the US with the changing goal lines that determined which European immigrants got to be seen as white and which got oppressed. Just like back then, the answer is always going to be the one that better serves to uphold white supremacy

So yeah, I definitely see where you're coming from. Ukraine gets public sympathy and support from the West as a whole but Palestine gets next to nothing, and the reasons seem to be entirely tied up in white supremacy. People really do think "it's complicated" when the kids being killed are Middle Eastern

[shoggothkisses]

Lore Rant: Lovecraft References

I don't really think this post is super important to Genshin lore as a whole, so please consider this list as some self-indulgent trivia that I've been itching to share.

For a little bit of context (in case anyone here hasn't heard of Lovecraft): H.P. Lovecraft (1890-1937) was a New England author who created the "universe" his contemporaries refer to as the Cthulhu Mythos, and the "founder" of the weird fiction genre. A lover of cosmic and gothic horror, he was ultimately a racist, messed up, and yet deeply interesting little man. (My infodumps about him as a person will be contained to other venues.)

At least as far back as Inazuma, there have been easter-egg style references to his work hidden in text and achievements. Here are some of the ones I've found.

The Golden Wolflord / "Whisperer in Darkness" Achievement

The Whisperer in Darkness achievement can be obtained by completing the Golden Wolflord boss fight in co-op mode. The actual "Whisperer in Darkness" is a 1930 novella by Lovecraft, wherein a man in a tiny Vermont farmhouse is terrorized by extraterrestrial entities. The entities, however, have nothing to do with wolves (they're actually these flying pseudo-insectoid dragons from Pluto who can preserve the human consciousness in a jar. Which...might have more to do with Sumeru than the Rifthounds, now that I'm saying it.)

In mentioning the Golden Wolflord, it's worth bringing up a more overt Lovecraftian reference regarding Rifthounds in general - specifically their ability to pass in and out of Teyvat by "dissolving space." Frank Belknap Long expounded upon a concept Lovecraft began in his short story "The Hound" (1922) when he wrote "The Hounds of Tindalos" in 1929. The titular Hounds are dog-like creatures who live in the corners of space and can use any angular meeting between two points as an entrance into our world. They are also, much like Rifthounds, capable of draining the life out of their prey (although the Tindalos variety do this in a much...goopier way).

The Unsealed Parchment / "Call of the Nameless City"

The Unsealed Parchment item can be obtained in several different ways, including through the Aranara quest line, and triggers a mini-quest in and around Devantaka Mountain in Sumeru. Once you've triggered the third part of this quest, these words appear on the parchment:

But those eternal beings can never perish, Until death has become the end of death.

I remember reading this and finding it very familiar - and it became even more so when I found out somebody had translated the text on the actual quest item:

That is not dead which can eternal lie, And with strange aeons even death may die.

This is a oft-quoted couplet that Lovecraft first penned in his story "The Nameless City" (1921; also where the name of the quest achievement comes from) - a short piece where a man finds an ancient (still occupied) civilization of reptilian creatures under the Arabian desert - but is better known for its appearance in "The Call of Cthulhu" (1928). The couplet is attributed to the "mad Syrian poet" Abdul al-Hazred (nonsense name) in the Kitab al-Azif (or just "Al-Azif"), also known as the Necronomicon. Genshin's "nameless city" refers to Gurabad, which is also called a "city of brass;" Lovecraft makes references to a brass door that bars the way to where said reptilians reside.

The Sands of Al-Azif

This section of the Desert of Hadramaveth, as mentioned in the previous point, is a reference to Lovecraft's fictional "Al-Azif." Like the name of its author, "Al-Azif" means absolutely nothing in Arabic. However, Lovecraft alleges within his piece "History of the Necronomicon" that it refers to the "demonic" sounds insects make at night. Notably, this is the area of the desert where the Setekh Wenut dwells - even though worms are not technically insects. (Honestly, the jury is still out on whether the Wenut are supposed to be worms, fish, or serpents...oh well.) The "Al-Azif"'s author, Abdul al-Hazred, has likely inspired the numerous Sumeru academics who (like him) lose their minds while wandering through the desert, while the Necronomicon itself can be seen as an inspiration for the various pieces of "forbidden knowledge" that can be found in books and texts across Teyvat.

"The Greenery Out of Space" Achievement

This achievement that became available after Fontaine opened in 4.0, unlocked by defeating the Dendro Hypostasis in Co-Op mode. Lovecraft's story "The Colour Out of Space" (1927) deals with a Massachusetts family dealing with the consequences of a meteorite crash-landing on their farm. What begins as a boom in the size of their crops turns into a blight that takes the form of an unidentifiable "colour" the likes of which no human has ever seen; the color infects the plants and the water, eventually causing the family to mutate. The story was adapted into a movie starring Nic Cage in 2019, if it sounds like your sort of thing.

While this only barely has anything in common with the Dendro Hypostasis, Genshin lorecrafters have discussed how the color magenta has been consistently used to represent Forbidden Knowledge - a substance (or energy) known to be extraterrestrial in origin (Nibelung the Dragon King got it from...somewhere to be utilized in the war against the Primordial One). Magenta is often considered a color that "isn't real" - the tl;dr being that out brain combines the lowest and highest wavelengths in the visible light spectrum (red and purple) into a "new" color that doesn't actually exist on the spectrum of visible light. It isn't completely accurate to say it's not real, but you can see how it could be easily utilized by storytellers to represent something ~beyond human comprehension~. In fact, magenta is used to represent the horrifying "colour" in said Nicholas Cage movie.

These are some of the more overt references to Lovecraft that can be found in Genshin thus far. Since HYV apparently has a track record for name-dropping Lovecraftian stories and entities into their games, I have no doubt we'll be seeing more as time goes on. (Personally, I'd really love to get a King in Yellow reference while we're in Fontaine, considering He has ties to the theatre and France. But that's just me.)

If there are any I've missed, feel free to send an ask and I'll add it to the list!

[pendarling]

Methods Of Havoc 3

Exorcist x Ghost // Exorcist vs Ghost

TW: Violence, torture, death

<< Start < Part 2 • Part 4 > End >>

A creaking against the mattress was what startled them. Not their body, but their consciousness was stirred. 

A sleep paralysis, this heavy weight wasn't uncommon. Despite not sleeping, the effects they were going through were still the same. Exorcist had gone through this phase in every building that needed to be sorted. All ghosts had this feature in common. It was cute how they presented themselves with the same routine every time. They were sure it had to be; their body was not moving.

This would be the part where the ghost would introduce themselves.

Exorcist saw a shadow whisp by them through the corner of their vision. Books flung off the shelf, and instead of landing helplessly on the floor, they slammed straight up to the roof in perfect lines. Dust clouded the air and spiralled in unusual patterns. 

Breathe.

They still had enough energy stored inside them from the trip. Although they were significantly weaker from past exorcisms, Exorcist was confident they could still unlock their second form. It took them years of meditating to finally become powerful enough to control a demon or interact with it beyond the border. Yet, since the past few weeks had them give their strength to needy villagers and fight off the paranormal, Exorcist had lost a bit of that power and would need more time to restore it.

The weight on their chest turned into the unmistakable shape of another human. Exorcists squeezed their eyes several times to try and open them up, but for some impossible reason, they could see what was around them without having to open their eyes.

"Oh, I wouldn't bother." the ghost's voice was whispy, nearly distorted, but still comprehensible. Exorcist could finally make out who they were dealing with, and what was supposed to be a fear-inducing being of the night turned into a rather... well, this was unprofessional of them, but they were an alluring individual. Exorcist would have to come to that conclusion, admitting it now was better than later.

Ghost let their hand travel from their pinned chest to their chin and smiled.

"Mhmm!" Exorcist tried to move themselves from the bond of the invisible chains holding them down.

"Awww~ are you trying to fight back?" They tapped their nose, "You should've kept that cute little face of yours out of this place."

Exorcist huffed with annoyance, attempting to stop the blush from forming on their face, although it might've already looked obvious. They heard them chuckle. The damned thing knew how far their looks could take them. They took a deep breath, their jaw still clenched and body rigid as stone. They could free themselves from this state if they tried to concentrate on moving one hand. 

Ghost cackled as they watched them struggle against the binds. "But I wouldn't mind having another toy to play with." Their hand brushed against Exorcist's hair, examining them. Their eyes left momentarily, and they spotted the weapon next to their head, "And what's this?" They pointed at it curiously.

Exorcist tensed. 

Ghost leaned down and touched the handle of the Spirit Wand. A bright blue flash pounced up their arm, and Ghost snapped their hand back, "The fuck!?" They winced with a pained look. Exorcist internally smirked.

'Idiot,' They thought. 'What stupid spirit can't sense the energy I've concentrated into it?'

"You must think you're clever." They sneered with a tilt of their head. 

Exorcist hummed positively, a slight curve of their lips appearing. It would take less than a minute to recharge their ability fully, and now they've garnered enough time to make their move. 

They'd need to eliminate it now; this was their only chance. 

Lean into dawn.

A pulse of light warned Ghost of a change in activity in the air. Exorcist finally flung their eyes open just as the spirit pushed off their chest. A ray of gold layered itself onto Exorcist's eyes, emitting a tranquil light through the dark room. With a painful tension against their muscles, they sat up.

"Lay rest to your nightmares, vile entity." They gripped the weapon beside their pillow and followed Ghost's position across the room.

"Vile is a bit much, don't you think?" With those final words, they faded.

The rod shifted into its grander form, and Exorcist felt the walls tremor around them as objects tore through the room. Their fear wasn't present, and their eyes were trained on the target; they dashed out of the room, meeting with a distorting hall and shifting tables. 

It was a chaotic scene of all instruments launching their way to Exorcist. They took a mental note, with shaking breaths of air, to not let themselves be distracted by this show of force and track the monster. Their spiritual powers would be unable to carry them out for the night, so unleashing them now was an all-or-nothing promise.

With their Gold Vision, they could see threads of light leading them to Ghost's location, even if they were to fizzle out into an unseen dimension. 

Their legs halted just as a pan struck too close for comfort against the wall before them. 

"Stop!" 

Exorcist banged the bottom of the rod to the ground, punching a hole into it but emitting a blast that countered all attacks from all sides. Their body was shoved to the end of the hall. Hard wall meeting their back and an audible snap. 

They stuck to their goals as soon as they came down and ran past the pieces of wood stabbing through the floorboards, their feet aware of every odd mishap and oncoming danger.

"Really resilient, aren't we?" Ghost echoed through the walls.

Exorcist turned a corner and met the stairs down to the living room; a powerful gust of wind signalled to them that the windows had been smashed open. Entertaining the threat was far from their objective, so Exorcist didn't respond.

They wouldn't be at the mercy of foreign objects shooting at them if they could get outside. 

Their heart hammered against their chest, still running for a way out, eyes clearing each room for the source of the being hidden behind a dimension they couldn't see. 

In their confusion, Exorcist had felt lost in the rooms they were confident hadn't existed or were repeated. It was likely a trick Ghost could cast onto the house. Running a maze would only help them avoid their doom with cowardice. They clicked their tongue again as another door leading to a wall of stairs in unorganized chaos appeared. Miracles were once in a lifetime; death was, too, so any mistake would lead to their immediate death. 

A familiar flicker of light emerged from the empty air beside them; Exorcist was slammed into another wall; it held them at the throat and pushed them to the furthest side of the house. Exorcist clawed at the air in front of their bruised neck, saliva trailing their lips, desperately searching for Ghost's hand. A cluster of golden threads created the figure of Ghost.

Cups and other utensils from the kitchen aimed at their vulnerable position. Exorcist lifted the weapon, their eyes still delirious and unable to determine whether they saw more forks than knives. 

"Under- under the sun--!" They gasped, "I seek your protection!" Another shield built itself around them, covering them from the oncoming death penalty of a cutting board knife. 

Their neck was released, and they fell to the ground, slightly twisting their ankle. Yet, Exorcist couldn't see themselves failing just yet. Even with a spinning room and blurring vision, their adrenaline grasped their mind. Their body slumped against the tall cabinets. 

Their eyes fluttered, still monitoring the energy gliding around the room. Until the glowing golden streaks of light curled into one point in the centre of the room, indicating Ghost was manifesting. 

"What? Don't tell me you're done playing?"

Exorcist had to come up with a better plan. Their back was pressed on the cabinets behind them, dishevelled and tired. They reached for their staff beside their leg, feebly aiming with shaky hands. A small flicker of light poured out; Ghost smiled again and kicked their arm off to the side. Their grip slipped from its handle and fell further. 

Exorcist sensed their time with the limited powers they had left was beginning to strain them. Sweat poured streaks against their head as their lungs burned; the pain in their twisted ankle was more prominent as their adrenaline dwindled. 

Ghost knelt before them and pressed a hand to Exorcist's chest, "Wanna know how I've survived in the living world for so long, doll?" they smirked; Exorcist gasped as soon as their hand slipped into their chest.

Their entire essence screamed for release from the damaging hand that grabbed their soul. 

Tears welled in their eyes, and Exorcist watched the hand pull a transparent light fabric. 

It was their soul-- they were--

"Stop! Gah!" Their hands rushed up to their chest, fists curing into the fabric of their clothes, attempting to return it.

Their golden sight flickered away as their consciousness switched back and forth from the reality of it all. 

Was all they did for their family heritage enough? Did their students learn from their lectures? Would they never meet any of the scholars they admired?

Exorcist choked out a bloody cough and watched it stain their knuckles. Their eyes rolled to the back of their head and slipped into a fate entirely unknown. 

<< Start

< Part 2

•

Part 4 >

End >>

~~~ MASTERLIST

[your-averagewriter]

Can you write one where male reader who is Natasha and Yelenas little brother and an Avenger gets ambushed because of their silly error during a drunk night out. Despite being very skilled due to being out numbered, he gets kidnapped and brutally tortured for information. They rescue him but due to his extremely injured state, he almost dies. They barely save him and then they're ashamed of thmeselves and reader calls them and forgives them. He helps them thru the guilt. Love interest: spiderman (boy x boy) and OC name: Leo Nikolaev

Summary: At a party, Leo Nikolaev is kidnapped and tortured for information about his siblings whereabouts but luckily he's saved by the Avengers including his sister and boyfriend (Peter Parker x Leo Nikolaev (oc)).

Word count: 2.4K

Warnings: Violence, torture, weapons, alcohol,

-

-

Music is blaring through the speakers and paired with the shining lights it makes for quite an atmosphere. Billionaires’ parties don’t disappoint, I think to myself reaching for another glass off of Natasha. We were invited to this guy’s birthday party. People seem to want Avengers at their parties a lot and who am I to ignore the invites? Also, it’s not just me and Natasha at this party, Steve’s here, Wanda, Pietro and Bruce is standing awkwardly in a corner somewhere.

I dance with Natasha and Wanda, both of them too drunk to care about anything. After a long mission we deserve to dance, laugh and relax.

That is until suddenly the music stops and I notice the distinct lack of people in the room, how did I not notice before? There only remains my friends and men previously dressed in party attire now pulling weapons from their jackets.

My eyes dart around the room, although a lot slower than usual due to the alcohol in my system, trying to find an exit or come up with a plan. The others mimic my movements but seem frozen for a second before properly reacting. Quickly, guns are knocked out of hands and despite being drunk the others manage to take out a lot of them. However, I dread Bruce getting involved because this party would get even messier.

I feel something jabbed into my back and then my eyelids drooping. My body feels numb but I try to push away people in front of me but I can’t even be sure they’re actually there. My head feels fuzzy and heavy at the same time as I feel myself being dragged away from the centre, watching over the others in the room. I fight back as much as I can, the muscle memory kicking into action as I’m trained for situations like this but it’s useless.

They’re fighting a lot better than I did, I imagine I had more to drink but even as my eyes close I feel hope that they escape the ambush. I can feel my consciousness leaving me as I fully lose control of my body and I’m out cold.

Minutes, hours, days I’m not sure later I feel my eyes open again, my head pounding. Rope binds my wrists tightly to some metal but my eyes haven’t cleared yet so I’m unable to see my situation. Tape rubs against my teeth and pulls at the small hairs above my lip. I can feel more rope digging into my ankles, tying me to what I can now see is a metal chair. It’s cold against my back as parts of my shirt have been ripped and removed.

Soon after I wake up I hear the door open and I crane my neck, looking around to see it. The room is dirty and damp, the metal lining of the door is rusted. Looking around to the door I see two men walk in, one who looks very cleaned up - a suit, tie, jacket, even an expensive watch and then another who has an industrial apron on and large boots. I realise quite quickly, despite my headache, what’s going on, the man in the suit is gonna ask questions or threaten me whilst the other is some sort of torturer.

The suit-wearing man walks over to me with a smile, grabbing a fistful of my hair and pulling my face to look at him but I notice he’s wearing thick leather gloves, not wanting to get his hands dirty, figuratively and literally. I stare up at him, grimacing slightly but not wanting to test my luck too much.

“Hello, Leo Nikolaev .” He says with a strong Russian accent and I reply but it’s muffled by the tape covering my mouth. “Ah, yes, it’s a bit difficult to talk with that in your mouth.” He says with a smirk, stalking over to me. Leaning down, he removes the gag from my mouth. “That’s better. Now, do you know why you’re here?” He asks, pulling up another much nicer chair. 

“Because you kidnapped me.” I say flatly and he chuckles.

“I’ll take that as a no.” He pauses briefly but the other man setting up equipment is very distracting. He lays out tools including hammers, knives and pliers making me feel very jumpy and nervous but I’d never let it show. “You are here because the Avengers have some things of mine.” I stay quiet. “Now, I’ve got you back but I’m still missing a couple of things.”

“I don’t know who you are.” I emphasise.

“You will. Sadly, my men weren’t able to retrieve your sister last night so we’re going to need your help.” He says, smiling throughout.

“You want my help to kidnap my sister?”

“Yes, Natasha and your other sister, Yelena.”

“You’re insane if you think I’m gonna help you kidnap my sisters or anyone for that matter.” I say and instantly he punches me in the face. Right on my cheek when I wasn’t expecting it - so much for not getting his hands dirty. Spitting some blood onto the floor I look back up at the man.

“Sorry,” He smiles. “I didn’t mean to do that.” He says and mentally I roll my eyes. “But I assure you that you will help me, it may take a little while but you will come around.” He says before standing up. “Now that introductions are done, we can get started.”

“Introductions?” I question. “I still don’t know who you are.”

“It’s not necessary to begin the interrogation.” Sighing, I listen as he begins the questioning. The questions are stupid and I don’t even know the answers to most of them but after hours of basic questioning they turn to a more extreme method.

The larger man unties me from the chair but is careful to remain holding on to me. Soon after, he ties a chain around my ankles and I watch him confused on where the chain goes until he starts pulling another side of it. Quickly, I fall over, my feet pulled out from underneath me as the man pulls the chain until I’m dangling from the roof. The metal digs into my ankles, drawing blood as the restraints are tightened.

The questioning continues about where my sisters are, who else is with them and similar questions that cause my head to hurt. Except now, after a question I don’t answer they prod me with electric batons or physically beat me. Blood runs down the side of my face from the multiple blows to my head and after what I imagine is days I start to feel myself fading. Each assault seems to hurt less and less but I can feel myself slowly dying and each day it feels harder to keep my eyes open. 

I hear footsteps by the door again and I look dead ahead of me, feeling myself slowly spin around on the chain awaiting the continuous torture from them each day. My clothes are ripped and bloodied and my shoes are nonexistent at this point. Dread takes over my body but I can’t muster up any energy to do anything about it, I just stay silent waiting for the beatings again.

Now there are voices coming from outside the door and this time it feels different than usual, I don’t recognise the voices or the footsteps.

The door is pushed open after seconds of fiddling with the lock and I hear a group of people burst through the door. Panicked voice mingling with others’ fear.

The chain has spun me around enough to see the people that busted open the door and I’m met with familiar faces.

“Natasha?” I ask, quietly, my voice barely audibly and even simple words cause pain to ripple down my throat. “You’ve got to get out of here.” I say in a hushed voice, feeling my eyes getting heavier.

“Leo’s in here.” I hear someone say and watch as Peter runs through the door, crouching just in front of me. He’s wearing his suit except it’s sort of incognito so it’s black not red. Pulling off his mask, he looks at me with saddened, rushed eyes,

“You’re gonna be okay.” He says and all I can say is:

“You’ve got to get out of here.” I say with my voice wavering, trembling from tears I can’t cry.

“We’ve got to get him down.” He shouts back to others. “It’s okay, we’ll get you out of here.” He says, looking into my eyes.

“You need to leave.” I say, my voice breaking. I watch as he stands up and scans the room for the chain or any way to cut it.

“I’m not leaving you.” He says, walking around the room ,reaching for the end of the chain. Finally he reaches it and slowly lowers it down and I can feel the wet floor on my back. Soon after touching the floor I feel myself starting to lose consciousness again, the blood loss taking a toll on me. Once again, I feel the arms of sleep engulf me or maybe not the arms of sleep but the arms of death, no matter which it feels just as comforting.

“Come on!” I hear Peter yell to the others which is met with calls to medics and similar but then my eyes seal themselves shut.

It feels like an eternity before I feel them open again, I was unsure that they would but they do. Instead of the cold air on my back I feel the soft presence of a bed, not the most comfy but much more so. The air smells clean like a hospital but it’s reassuring compared to the smell of damp and mould.

Through my eyelids I can see light leading my eyelids to open slowly all though I squint as soon as the light hits my eyes. Once they’ve readjusted I look down at myself, I’ve been propped up in a hospital bed and bandages cover almost all of my body but I’m too drugged up to feel the impact of my injuries. My head is resting on a pillow but I can feel the layers of bandages wrapped around it, protecting my skull.

Looking around at the room, the walls are painted white and I recognise it as the medical room at the compound. I’ve been here multiple times for various injuries so the nurses know me well. I look to my side and Peter is sitting in the chair with his eyes closed, hand still resting on my beaten and bruised arm - he must have dozed off.

The beeping of the machines is surprisingly soothing, a sort of reassurance that I’m still alive constantly in the background. I try to push myself up in bed but I instantly regret it when I feel the impact of my wounds. I’m careful not to move my arm too much, trying not to wake Peter but the slight movement of my arm causes him to jolt awake.

“Leo. Oh my god.” He says, a sigh of relief leaving his mouth. “You’re awake.”

“Seemingly.” I say although my voice is croaky.

“Please don’t talk. The doctor said not to let you talk much because your throat is injured.” He says, leaning forward in his chair, careful not to injure me. Following his command I just nod with a small smile but I have to hide the pain that smiling causes me.

“Is-” I have to pause with my throat. “Nat okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, everyone’s okay, you were the only one captured.” He says, looking down. “They were really upset and ashamed that they couldn’t save you.”

“It’s not their fault.” I croak out. “No one forced me to go and I shouldn't have drunk so much.”

“I should’ve been there…” Peter starts and I flex my fingers signalling for him to place his hand in mine.

“It wouldn’t have been any different.” I try to reassure, smoothing my thumb over his knuckles. “Can I talk to them?” I ask.

“They’re outside, they’re very worried about you, especially Natasha… I’ll go get her.” He says, standing up and walking to the door. Opening the door, he walks out and a few seconds later he returns with a tired looking Nat, bags under her eyes and hair unbrushed but she hurries in the room.

“Leo, I’m so sorry.” She says, tears already brimming her eyes. “You shouldn’t have been taken-” I cut her off by holding onto her hand, which seems like the only affectionate gesture I can muster at the moment. Along with the small gesture I smile at her, once again, a painful action.

“It’s,” I swallow. “Fine. I’m fine.” I say, trying hard to maintain the smile.

“Pete said that you’re not meant to talk so we’ll talk about this once you’re better.” She says, her face now damp with tears.

“Go home, Nat.” I struggle with all the words but force them out eventually. “Get some new clothes, get some sleep. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, I’ll be back tomorrow and come see you again, okay?” I nod, gently. “I’ll see you then, little brother.” She says, leaning down and placing a kiss on my forehead, probably the only place with skin that’s exposed.

“Is anyone else here?” I ask Peter once Nat’s left the room.

“Everyone’s here.” He says.

“Could you send the others in but tell them ‘no apologies’. I don’t have the strength to reassure people.”

After weeks of healing cuts and bruises I faced months of physical therapy and mental therapy to try and move past the experience. The Avengers have been monitoring the guy and corporation who kidnapped me and there’s been no signs of any plan despite his threats.

The last few months have been hard, not only physically but mentally. I've spent hours in conversations with friends that attended the party, having to reassure them that it’s not their fault but it takes a toll - it’s tiring. 

But luckily, Pete’s been by my side the whole time. His patience and kindness are unmeasurable, he’s been there comforting me after nightmares and flashbacks and I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for him as well but I know that one day we’ll be able to move past the incident. I may have the scars for life but I’m not going dwell on that week of my life, once I’m well again I’m moving forward.

-

AN: Thank you for the request I really enjoyed writing it!

I hope you enjoyed reading!

[shihalyfie]

(Sorry for the long ask below- I really wanted to present details since the idea I'm asking about is pretty wild compared to the character.) What do you think of the idea of Tagiru's pride and exaggerated bragging coming from a place of insecurity?

I'm specifically talking about one line when he's fighting with Gumdramon. He says that his/Gumdramon's only redeeming quality is being straightforward. It stuck out because he said that they BOTH only had one good quality, even though Tagiru seems to be prideful. This felt one-off until I remembered that Tagiru DOES criticize others for qualities he himself has. In the FlaWizardmon episode, he says that the baseball/judo club's only point of charm was their energy. In the MetallifeKuwagamon episode, he tells Hideaki not to talk to (the bug kid) because he's obsessed with bug-hunting. You'd think that Tagiru wasn't the kind of person to exclude others after watching the Phelsemon episode. Perhaps it's on purpose, maybe he's being mean to these people because he's taking out his insecurity on them. He was probably taking out his insecurity on Gumdramon too, since Gumdramon's the character that's supposed to be the most similar to him. If Tagiru sees his good points in Gumdramon, he'll probably see the bad too.

When Tagiru and co. were insulted by SuperStarmon and called a third-rate, Tagiru calls himself a first rate instead. However, not only does he do that, he calls Yuu and Ryouma the third rates instead. He didn't NEED to bring Yuu/Ryouma into it, but he did anyway. He's saying "I'm better than those guys, don't compare me with them," which ties into my question of him projecting his insecurities and exaggerating his ego. He sees a trait of his that he doesn't like in someone else, and he criticizes it so he can feel above them although he feels worse than they do.

Hmm, I'd say it's a bit complicated. I think there is certainly compelling evidence that Tagiru's motives have some kind of connection to insecurity, because, after all, forming the entirety of your goals on "surpassing others" and not much else definitely has the scent of someone who hasn't developed enough of a self-identity to have any other goals for oneself. However, I'm also not sure if I would say it's entirely just that, because the fact he even openly admits that he wants to surpass characters like Taiki (and implicitly Yuu) indicates that he's well aware of and willing to admit his own need to improve in certain areas. So while I do think him often beelining to putting others down probably comes from him needing to rely on something like that to self-affirm, I also feel part of his own way of life (so to speak) comes from a premise of seeing everything as a competition, so in his mind everyone should be scrambling to better themselves this way, and therefore everyone is his rival.

In fact, I might even go as far as to say this is a recurring theme among the Hunters characters as a whole. Taiki is a "neutral" party because he actually knows the full depth of the otherworldly war from a year prior, but Hunters sticks out as one of the few Digimon settings where it's possible to not entirely be a villanous or antagonistic character yet also still be a "selfish" Tamer who acts out of one's own self-interest and goals first and foremost (any altruism is a side benefit). Even friendly Hunters like Kiichi, Hideaki, and Mizuki are prioritizing their own personal goals before anything about protecting or saving others. The Hunt is a competition (and is revealed to have been expliciltly made for that purpose in the end), so it attracts people who view things that way.

Even Yuu, who's trying to be a neutral party like Taiki, is not completely immune; although he consciously knows better from his experiences a year prior, his resentment still comes to the forefront specifically because he's upset Tagiru gets to have a partner and he can't (and, more implicitly, that he perceives Tagiru as having done less to earn it). His Hunters image song Shining Dreamers even has the line "A game that doesn’t have your heart in it won’t find what’s in store tomorrow", and you could even argue that his initial trouble in the first two series happened because he was venting out all of the competitive spirit he'd been holding back. And then by the end of the series, we find out that Ryouma's fixation with Taiki is arguably even worse than Tagiru's; Tagiru at least has a more casual background of being part of Taiki's team and realistically understanding what it takes to have him as a role model, whereas Ryouma is still fixated on one event of Taiki looking really awesome from a year prior to the point it's eating him up.

Tagiru has a very lighthearted approach to everything, and (probably because it was only two cours) Hunters never gets to a degree where he's pushed to a true emotional breaking point, so it's often hard to tell what his more deep-seated feelings on a situation are because a good amount of the time he's joking, or probably doesn't mean what he's saying seriously. Or in other words, it's often hard to tell how much he really means it when he makes fun of others or puts them down, because he's saying things in such a lighthearted manner that (at least to him) it may not really be meant as much deeper than saying something like "these losers over there". In regards to Gumdramon, where the relationship is much more personal, keep in mind that them partnering up in the first place was originally pragmatism -- they were intending to use each other to gain an edge in the Hunt, so in other words they started off on a note of "how useful can you be to me?" Obviously, as time went on they started forming a much more geniuine bond, but constantly evaluating how "useful" they were to each other in order to get a leg up on the competition was probably still a big thing on their minds in the early stages of their partnership, and still manifests in them being a lot more openly critical of each other than most Digimon partner pairs would be.

[villanevehaus]

How do you stay so consistent with the characters? I’ve never once read a line in your fics that seems out of character, everything is so seamlessly integrated. second part of this ask

First of all, this is a massively impactful compliment about my characterization(s) and I will be thinking about it for probably 10-12 business days so thank you for that! 

Secondly, I really wish I had a better answer for you, but I truthfully don't know! I'll give some general things I've noticed I tend to do with characters, though?

In my other response to your ask about the writing process and outlines I mentioned having a character's timeline established in order to inform their actions and I think that might be the biggest factor in consistent characterization? Although TME features by far the most complicated versions of Eve & Vil I've ever written, I still have a sense of what happens to the characters before the first chapter in every other story.

In Borrowed Boots, the way that Ox acts around Eve in terms of visibility (being careful about being caught, being mindful of safety in ways that Eve may not be) is shaped in part by her experiences with Anna and how the fallout of that impacted her life in Reno- consciously or not, she's trying to help Eve avoid that same kind of social alienation. In Eve Undone, Eve doesn't recognize her attraction to Villanelle as more than platonic because she has no frame of reference for real attraction: her parents are strict and Catholic, so it made 'sense' to follow in their footsteps and marry Niko, a strict, Christian man & pastor. Even if I don't have an outline/timeline for these renditions of their past (TME has 10+ pages, My Sweet Girl and Thin Walls have nothing because it's so straightforward), they still shape the characters and how they'll react to different events.

I think in all of my stories but especially TME (and definitely My Sweet Girl's later chapters) I take advantage of the formatting to control how the reader interacts with the story's information through the characters' perception. The obvious is simple: writing events and facts.

[Eve notices that Villanelle's hair is in an elaborate style of braids that come together at the back of her neck and wonders if she did it herself.]

This is both a description of Eve's physical actions (noticing) as well as her internal thoughts (wondering).

Most of the time I'll format explicit thoughts/inner monologue stuff with italics as a clear indicator- maybe they're asking themselves a question, or mulling something over:

[Why Alana? Why not me?]

I'll use it to also act as a memory, too:

[If you can call what she does journalism.] isn't just Villanelle's thought, it's an echo of something Eve said previously.

It can get really fun when there are a few more complexities: in Oksana's chapter, she doesn't have the perception of events that an adult might have because she's a child- but you, the reader, do. You know Vilen is dead, but Oksana doesn't fully understand that that's what happening, so she wants to wait for him to wake up. I think this makes it both more impactful and more in line with the character of Villanelle as an adult because it fleshes her out more and kind of builds on that Show, don't Tell aspect I talked about in the previous response. I'm Showing you that Oksana is a child through how I write her (not having a complex vocabulary, not understanding certain words, having a childlike innocence, etc) instead of simply Telling you that she's a child but writing her in the same way that I would write her as an adult. While Oksana and Villanelle are the same person, they're different characters that are in some ways pieces of the other. Oksana- the child who was beaten, starved, forced by desperation to eat human flesh, and watched her uncle die- has nightmares about all of that, but Villanelle- the woman who was formed around Oksana, top of her class in medical school, ultra-successful surgeon, highly sophisticated serial killer, revered and respected psychiatrist- doesn't, because they didn't happen to Her, they happened to who she isn't anymore.

Another aspect of this is character beliefs and truths! A super good example is from My Sweet Girl is when Nelle is at the peak of her psychosis. 

There's no more rigidity or consistency of formatting here! Her perception of everything is distorted because she's in psychosis, therefore everything (thoughts, internalizations, memories) is formatted as an objective truth. Pink is another character's [Helene's] dialogue from previous chapters, yellow is a previous thought, and green is something that the reader knows is impossible... but to Nelle, it's just reality. In a less extreme example from TME's Bill chapter, Eve doesn't think to herself [I should have listened to him], it's formatted as an objective truth [She should have listened to him] because in Eve's perspective it's not a thought, it's the truth. I think this has the power to massively impact characterization because it offers another Showing aspect into their thoughts and feelings without being Told about their thoughts and feelings.

And! Physicality is a huuuuge thing I rely on. I don't Tell you that Eve is uncomfortable, I Show you her fidgeting, wringing her hands, crossing her arms, pacing, avoiding eye contact. Unless it's happening through the phone or with some other obstruction in the way, conversations are so much more than dialogue! 

I hope this kind of answered your question? I think before typing this all out I was of the mentality that the way I write characterizations is pure vibes but maybe there's a lil more to it oops.

[cthonicascendant]

We're doing the next ten questions off that plural experiences question list. It's going to be Crow, Voidsong, and me (Harry) answering. (Fair warning: there's a typing quirk beyond the cut.)

Questions 1-10 here.

11. Who are you out to as plural? «literally just my fiance, if we're talking people i know in meatspace who we did not meet via this tumblr. otherwise, all of our lovely followers. obviously. :p » - crow

12. What languages do you collectively / one of you speak? We all speak English. - Harry

13. What is something you can't seem to collectively agree on? How we take our coffee. - Harry

yeah i knovv vvhat an excitin an5vver but hone5tly vve 5truggled to find an an5vver to thi5 one that vva5nt too per5onal becau5e 5orry there5 5ome thing5 vve aint vvillin to 5hare for a little que5tionnaire anyvvay5 crovv an i both prefer our coffee black but crovv i5 al5o a ba5ic bitch vvhat in5i5t5 on pumpkin 5pice flaVour vvhen it5 in 5ea5on mierco like5 it vvith more cream an 5ugar than coffee - Void5ong

«aiclas, dee, and grub all like it with a little cream and sugar.» - crow

harry i5 the only one of u5 NOT allovved to make coffee but othervvi5e vve u5ually defer to vvhomeVer i5 pickie5t in the helm vvhich i5 typically mir - Void5ong

14. If you have a collective Identity (such as Gender or Orientation), what is it? «uh, our singletsona is nonbinary and bisexual aromantic? i think that fits the spirit of the question.» - crow

15. Do you collectively identify as queer / LGBTQIA+? yep - Void5ong

16. Do you collectively identify as Otherkin, Alterhuman or Nonhuman? al5o yep - Void5ong

It is slightly more nuanced than Voidsong would have you believe. While the consensus is that we are some being other than human, there is some division on what term to use. Most of the trolls dislike how Alterhuman and Nonhuman are based around a human norm. And none of us quite like the term Otherkin in reference to our collective self. - Harry

17. Do you have a collective rentry / carrd / something along those lines? (feel free to share!) no nothin other than the blog - Void5ong

18. What does switching feel like for you? Depending on the circumstances, we may not even notice any switching has occurred until well after the fact - sometimes as much as a week later. - Harry

«when we do notice during the switch, it's like... uh... a powerpoint transition i guess???? like, one minute it's me, then we get a particle dissolve effect into vee or whomever.» - crow

Right now instead of switching back and forth, we're copiloting and just letting whoever wishes to type have control of the hands. Although I am about to take control of the rest of the body for the sake of our poor, battered spine. Ahem. - Harry

19. Are you Monoconscious, Polyconscious or something else? hold on i got to pluralpedia 5omethin real quick uh fuck if i knovv - Void5ong

I'm afraid we don't quite understand the differences between some of the types of consciousness we looked at on PluralPedia. So, whatever it is when you all seem to share memories (for the most part), can't be conscious of what's going on in headspace necessarily, experience switches as more of a transformation than as someone else taking over/taking over from someone else, and yet still have distinct separation between alters. - Harry

«from what i understand we are closer to monoconscious than polyconscious, and that's all i can tell ya.» - crow

20. What does fronting feel like for you?

i vvill keep it real vvith you none a u5 knovv hovv to de5cribe it vvere ba5ically ju5t here Vibin you knovv - Void5ong

«co-fronting is interesting. to me it feels like what i imagine drifting feels like. idk. it's just like. being in sync with the others? when we're not in sync the body tends to lock up until we either agree on the action or one of us, uh, for lack of a better word, dominates the helm.» - crow

Also, having too many of us up here, or spending too much time disagreeing about what to do, causes some fairly annoying headaches. Literally. We can usually feel someone else's presence like a slight pressure inside our skull as well. - Harry

5ometime5 vvhen vvere real di55ociatey it5 kind a like driVin a car you knovv hovv youre 5eparate from the car but phy5ic5 i5 5till actin on you an youre 5till in control a vvhere it5 goin an hovv fa5t it get5 there but you aint like you aint the one doin the movin youre ju5t 5ittin there - Void5ong

I have nothing more to add. - Harry

«me neither, so i think we'll end this here. we are happy to try to answer any questions yinz may have.» - crow

[alethealt-context-studies-yr2]

Marc Quinn; Self

(to be rewritten with references later)

Marc Quinn is a British Contemporary artist whose work focuses on "what it is to be a person living in the world." He rose to prominence in 1991 with his sculpture "Self".

"Self" is a cast of his head made entirely of his own blood, frozen and kept in a refrigerated display. "It is the purest form of self portrait (being of the artist - both in appearance and material) but also a comment on Man’s need for infrastructure, as the sculpture is kept ‘alive’ only by a mains electricity supply." It's symbolism can also link to other forms of dependence like addiction; it was made at a time when Quinn was an alcoholic.

Since 1991, he's remade this piece every 5 years to show the ageing/changing of self over time. The sculptures each use 8-10 pints of his own blood; Quinn sees blood as "the essence of life", a material with "symbolic and real function". 10 pints was chosen as the amount as its the average amount of blood in the human body.

This piece is often seen as shock art (made just for the shock/disgust factor), but I believe it's much deeper than that. The piece can be seen as an homage to medical/scientific practices like cryogenic freezing or (as previously mentioned) could comment on addiction/dependency; being unable to survive without your life line, whether it be drugs, alcohol, people, etc. It could also comment on life itself; while 10 pints sounds like a lot of blood, seeing it in a solid sculpture makes you realise that it's not that much keeping us alive.

I think it's fascinating how he simplified identity and self into a scientific form. There is no arguing this is his "self"; it's his work, his face, but even his blood. Arguably, it's the most "self" a self portrait could be, unless it was made of more parts of oneself. It's a little morbid to see a mirror of him made with his insides and it brings into question what "self" truly is; is it our brain, with it's memories and driving power, or is it our organs and blood that keep our vessel alive? Are we consciousness in a body or are we a body that has consciousness?.

My project is exploring the use of body in art and linking to identity, and I couldn't think of a better example than this piece. It's one that's always fascinated me, but delving into it more for this project has been great. I've been making organs and insides as a literal form of identity/self which is in line with his piece being made from himself. I wanted to use this piece as an example as it focuses on a medical/biological aspect which is what I'm really interested by in my own project; I love biology, I used to hope to be a doctor, and I find mixing that passion with art creates an interested exploratory space for themes of identity. I hope to prove with my project (and Quinn's) that "gore" art doesn't have to just be shocking/disgusting, it can be though provoking and strangely beautiful (although still unsettling/uncomfortable.)

The video below is of Quinn discussing his own thoughts behind the project. The version showcased is his 2011 head.

[todoscript]

how he would ask you out

request: pls some headcanons of how the boys (shinsou/tamaki/shouto) would ask the girl they like out 🥺

characters: shinsou hitoshi, amajiki tamaki, todoroki shouto

genre: fluff

word count: 3.3k+ total, 900-1200 per character

tags: pining, confessions, fem!reader

author’s notes: sorry if this sounds rushed?? i can’t write 

copyright 2021 todoscript, all rights reserved. i do not allow my creations to be published or translated anywhere else.

SHINSOU HITOSHI

two years after his enrollment into the hero course, shinsou had finally came to terms with the feelings he’s been holding for you for quite some time now.

what began as just friendly encounters and kind gestures felt like something more to him. after all, you were one of the key people that led him to transition smoothly into the class, with your helpful demeanor and coming to his aid whenever he was stressed and troubled by the new environment.

you went out of your way to organize study sessions and small arrangements to mingle and get to know the other students better.

you reiterated to him that if he ever had any questions about anything, he could always come to you.

initially, shinsou thought he was being a burden—that he was just heavy baggage that tied you down.

however, you assured he was anything but, and stated that you were more than happy to help him, even going to say you enjoyed spending time and getting to learn more about him.

at your response, shinsou was appalled at how genuine you were.

appalled… but also very grateful.

eventually, there came a point when he realized there was no mistaking the affection he felt for you—not when he subconsciously noted every one of your habits and intricacies, able to tell whatever emotions were running through you at a simple glance, or when he would stop to admire the way you decided to style your hair differently or changed your look, thinking you seemed even more charming that day by the confidence you exude.

no, at that point, he’s sure it was painfully obvious. so obvious, in fact, that kaminari and mina had chosen to skip today’s group study session in favor of letting the two of you have your “alone time”. whatever that could mean.

shinsou had grimaced over their excuse of “being too busy that day” when you had told him the reasoning they gave you over text, despite knowing their next exam was only a couple days away. recalling just how nosy and enthusiastic they could get when involved in these kinds of affairs, he had an inkling of what exactly those two were planning. you, on the other hand, seemed completely oblivious to their schemes.

however, what did latch onto your mind was the thought of spending the day with only shinsou, in his very room, sitting across from each other with your textbooks open in front of you. though you should be more attentive to your studies, you couldn’t help the palpitations beating loudly in your chest and your wandering eyes that snuck glances at him after every question you answered.

unbeknownst to you, shinsou mirrored your actions all the same, reciprocating the flustered behavior, albeit a bit more subtly.

keep calm, hitoshi. why are you getting all worked up? he would say to himself, putting on his usual facade.

although he came off as relatively calm and collected on the outside, it’s difficult to keep his emotions in check when actions never lie.

that was especially true as he reached his hand out for the eraser you two were sharing between each other. with his eyes continuing to gander down at his notes, he hadn’t noticed that you were lunging for the same thing—not until your fingers had suddenly touched and you both pulled away at a speed equivalent to making contact with fire.

his stare unfaltering, shinsou was surprised to discern the embarrassed look on your face that immediately fixed itself as you rummaged through your pencil pouch. a second later, you pulled out another eraser, one that was notably smaller than the one you were sharing.

“um.. i’ll just use this,” you offered, and shinsou rubbed the back of his neck, the whole situation more awkward than it needed to be considering you never had any trouble sharing your supplies with each other before.

through some examination of your demeanor, shinsou had made a… bold enough claim, thinking that maybe—just maybe—you held the same kind of affections for him as he did for you.

it’s like he recalled earlier—actions never lie—and shinsou didn’t let the quiver of your lips or the intense concentration at your work to avoid meeting his gaze go past his head. that’s what spurred him to finally act on his desires.

without warning, he leaned forward on his seat to lay his hand over yours that caught your attention. you met his eyes, astonished to say the least, but more so concerned by how your eyes widened before you were about to open your mouth to ask him what was wrong.

the violet-haired male beats you to your words, voice resonating firmly, “y/n.”

you blinked. “y-yeah..?”

“i know this might be a bit late coming from me, but,” you could feel his hand tighten atop yours, “after exams, do you want to catch a movie together? just the two of us?”

shinsou fought the urge to look away, bashful at how he made his declaration for your time. the warmth surging under his skin was alleviated at the smile that slowly curled on your lips as you rotate your wrist, your palm touching his. the expression washing over your features told him you’ve been waiting for him to ask you this for a while now.

“i’d love to.”

AMAJIKI TAMAKI

ever a shy and introverted individual, tamaki has never had the heart to ask you out despite years of harboring a crush on you.

every time the thought had crossed his mind, he’d reason poorly with himself that you wouldn’t be interested in him in that way.

it didn’t help that his low self-esteem only deepened that thought that had now rooted itself in his brain.

at such a prestigious school like u.a., you were bound to find someone far more compelling than him—someone with guts, confidence, and great social skills. not a guy like him who conjures the image of potatoes at every anxiety-inducing encounter he comes across.

he was relieved enough to settle himself comfortably as just your friend—a title that allowed him to stay close and keep within your circle, all the while subjecting him to simply admiring you from afar.

but his eyes that held a hidden longing for more weren’t overlooked by a fellow student of his. or to be precise, the ever curious and free-spirited, hadou nejire.

always aware of his surroundings, it was hard not to notice that peculiar stare she’d aim at him during moments where he might’ve just finished speaking to you, or when you’d pass by and his head would naturally drift in your direction.

it was like she was picking apart every detail laid on him and it made tamaki absolutely restless.

tamaki’s suspicions and anxiety were later raised during one instance at the lunch table. he was at his usual seat next to his other big three companions, mirio and the aforementioned nejire, who was eyeing him with a gleam in her eye.

even with his self-consciousness, tamaki did his best not to pay any mind to the undesired attention and munched on his plate of takoyaki—the octopus nestled in the batter sure to come in handy later in training that day.

to his dismay, you passed by their table with your tray of food in hand, and nejire did not waste any time calling you over in that cheery tone of hers.

she invited you to sit down with them. you gave her invitation some thought before ultimately placing yourself in the free spot next to mirio, with nejire and tamaki already seated across from you.

the girl was all smiles and hums while tamaki was in a state of distress, both at his friend’s odd behavior, which was starting to spell trouble, to having you pulled into all of this. mirio was just being mirio, welcoming as always.

you greeted everyone at the table, making eye contact with mirio and nejire, but tamaki evaded your line of sight. he simply waved his reply without breaking away from his balls of takoyaki.

luckily for him, you didn’t give his lack of words much thought and started digging into your own lunch. it was then that nejire found it appropriate to start up a conversation.

“y’know, y/n, i’ve been meaning to ask you this, from one girl to another,” she mused, finger waving around playfully, “are you interested in anyone here?”

upon hearing her question, tamaki almost choked on his bonito flakes, his cheeks puffed and eyes blown. meanwhile, your chewing slowed as you gave your answer some thought.

“uh… well–”

“i’d say fujita from class d is quite the looker! think you’d be interested in them?”

after swallowing the food in his mouth, tamaki began to subconsciously listen in on the conversation. he paid close attention to your responses with bated breath, a small part of him anticipating your answer highly.

“fujita’s nice and all, but i don’t think we’d really get along as a couple.”

tamaki mentally sighed, relief evident all over his face. it was then that mirio had started fitting the pieces together after watching his close friend’s brow wrinkle throughout the entire exchange before finally relaxing at your words. crossing his eyes with nejire’s only confirmed his suspicions as the girl sent him a wink.

as a friend, mirio wasn’t about to let nejire’s operations fall flat. getting up from his seat, he motioned tamaki to come with him.

“i heard they have extra yakisoba bread right now! we should go check it out!” he said as a guise to give the other two time to themselves, free from tamaki’s prying ears.

unaware that mirio had caught on so quickly, tamaki didn’t object to tagging along with him. mostly because he thought of this as an opportunity to get some fresh air and calm his racing heart, finally feeling the effects of the blood rushing to his face.

with tamaki supposedly out of earshot, nejire was free to go about her questions however she wanted.

“okay then, if not fujita, then who? there has to be someone, right?” the girl scooted further in her seat out of pure curiosity. “tell me, is it perhaps someone in our class?”

it was your turn to be stricken by her boldness. you tried picking at your food, stuffing it into your mouth to avoid answering, but nejire’s tenacity outmatched you.

finishing your lunch, you opened your mouth to speak, “actually, the person i’m interested in is pretty close to you…”

nejire feigned ignorance, innocently placing a finger under her chin. “who? mirio?”

“ah no, it’s tamaki, alright?!” you ended up blurting, voice hushed but frantic.

bingo. hearing exactly what she wanted, nejire returned to her original position, a triumphant grin plastered on her lips. replaying what you said out loud in your head, you buried your warm face in your hands.

unbeknownst to you, tamaki had ended up hearing the whole exchange around the corner coming back to their table as mirio lightly snickered at his revelation of an expression.

the blond patted his shoulder. “go on then, you know what to do.” he threw tamaki an encouraging thumbs-up.

the boy gulped in response before inhaling a deep breath of air to prepare himself for what would arguably be the most important yet stress-inducing moment of his life so far.

noticing you getting up to discard your tray, tamaki—through a final push from mirio—went to make his move.

hearing him suddenly call out to you, you were caught off-guard. after admitting to your crush on tamaki to nejire, you felt your cheeks get hot just seeing his face right afterward.

“oh hey, did you get your hands on those yakisoba breads?” you scraped up a way to start the conversation.

“right... that… mirio managed to get the last one in the cafeteria,” he answered. then he brought his hand to rub his elbow, fidgeting in his spot as he found it difficult to look you in the eyes again.

“tamaki? something wrong? are you upset that he got the last yakisoba bread?”

he shook his head. “no, i… it’s just… i’ve been meaning to ask you this for a long time now, but never had the courage to say it to you because i didn’t think you ever liked me that way. but…” he finally mustered the determination to face you head-on. “would you go out with me, y/n?”

at first, you were speechless—absent of words as you relayed his request in your mind over and over again. then, your eyes softened, lips easing into a smile as you reached out for his hand.

“i thought you’d never ask.”

TODOROKI SHOUTO

it’s no surprise to many that when it came to asking someone out, todoroki didn’t exactly know the first thing to do.

mostly because he’s never asked anyone out to begin with.

you were the first person he’s ever felt these kinds of emotions for, and to be frank, he wasn’t sure what to make of everything that had been going through him when that root of infatuation had started to bloom inside him.

rather than sulk or contemplate on his thoughts for too long, he surmised it was best to simply come clean and ask for advice.

but when he confessed to what had been on his mind lately, he wasn’t expecting such a vigorous response from his friends.

“i’ve been thinking about asking y/n out.”

there was a layer of uncomfortable silence amongst the group before all hell eventually broke loose.

midoriya, uraraka, and iida immediately sprung from their seats in the common room, yelling “what?!” in unison. tsuyu and her frog-like mannerisms were more idle, but still surprised nonetheless.

todoroki was unfazed by their reactions, actually expecting it to go that way considering he’s never brought up any topics of that nature before. at the very least, he’s thankful he decided to say this when it was just the five of them. compared to what the whole class’s reaction would have been like, this was incredibly tame.

todoroki was used to always listening to what others had to say and never being the subject of the conversation when it came to dating.

but now things were different. he was openly admitting to them that he was regarding someone romantically. that he possibly sought a relationship with this someone—wanting to be committed to them and become the very best person he could be right next to them. to the four, this was coming completely out of left field.

after everyone simmered down and let the news sink in, the dual-haired boy resumed his thought,

“but i’m not sure how to do it.”

though the entirety of the group never had any experiences when it came to dating, they knew enough from media and pop culture to get an idea on how to help him. more than todoroki could imagine on his own anyway.

“i know! how about we go with the romantic and suave approach!” uraraka suggested. the rest asked her to elaborate.

“it’s simple! it starts by you leaving a note on her desk right before class, saying to meet you on the rooftop of the school! before the designated time, you should wait there for her with a bouquet of flowers, and then when she arrives, confess your feelings and ask her out!”

midoriya rubbed a finger against his cheek, skeptical. “i don’t think that sounds as simple as you’re making it out to be.”

tsuyu chimed in beside him. “those kinds of ideas usually only work well in books, ochako.”

pursing her lips, uraraka gave her plan a once-over, and realized it did seem a bit more involved and out of character than what todoroki was used to.

despite sharing a few more ideas with one another, they couldn’t narrow it down to any perfect one.

that was when iida clapped his hand, bringing everyone’s attention to him.

“alright, i think we’re starting to blow this whole ‘operation’ way out of proportion,” he said.

“if you’re honest about the way you feel about her and show it sincerely, i’m sure she’ll consider your feelings. you don’t have to do anything extravagant when it comes to asking someone out.”

listening throughout every word, todoroki nodded. meanwhile the other three were astonished that their class representative could be so whimsical when it came to romance, which in turn, iida was conflicted by. however, at the very least he was glad they could help out a friend. and so, todoroki went about his day with their discussion in mind.

he found that in many occurrences, whenever he crossed by you and thought of it as a chance to ask you out, there would always be someone to come in and take your time away. leaving him to stand there awkwardly before dismissing the fated question for later.

eventually, the sky dimmed and evening arrived, and by then, the whole class was already back at their dormitory and about to have dinner.

through some rather convenient circumstances, you two were actually assigned on kitchen duty that night.

“it’s been getting pretty cold lately so i was thinking we should cook up a hot pot for everyone.” you gave your idea to him as you pulled out some ingredients from the fridge, waiting for his reply, but it came a few seconds later than you were expecting.

“right. sounds like a good idea,” todoroki answered a tad late. upon realizing it was only going to be the two of you making dinner tonight, his mind was occupied by what he and his friends spoke about earlier.

that was when he started overthinking the situation and absentmindedly half-assed his work.

“todoroki, the cut on the tofu is slightly uneven.” you reviewed his cutting board. looking down, he saw the inconsistent slices of tofu limp in front of him. if bakugou were the executive chef for the evening, he would’ve had to hear an earful from him.

“sorry…” he apologized quietly, reaching out for another cube of tofu to cut.

“is everything okay? i know you’re still learning how to cook, but i’ve seen you show some significant improvement on your knife skills recently.” you voiced your concern for him.

the white and red-haired boy stared at the white bean curd while hearing your worried tone and couldn’t find it within himself to continue the task. it was now or never he thought. he laid the knife flat on the cutting board.

“actually, i wanted to ask you something.” he turned toward you. “do you… want to go out with me?”

nothing but the sound of the fire running on the stove could be heard in the kitchen. todoroki didn’t move his eyes away from you, watching you nearly drop the plate of siu choy and shiitake mushrooms out of shock as your mouth was hanging open.

when you caught onto your bearings, you let out a small laugh. “oh… i… wasn’t expecting that,” you admitted honestly, placing the ingredients on the counter safely.

the boy furrowed his brows. “is that a no?”

“n-no! i mean that isn’t my answer! i–” you fumbled with your words, cheeks warming up now that his confession had finally sunk in. in the meantime, todoroki found your reaction quite amusing. the corner of his lip quirked into a grin.

“what i mean to say is that yes, i’d love to go out with you.” you accepted the offer wholeheartedly. todoroki would be lying if his heart wasn’t throbbing from anticipation. he’s glad he’s able to rest and put that aside.

“now let’s continue making this hot pot together!” you cheered, smiling widely and he found comfort in your words before resuming slicing the tofu.

[junisfics]

All This Time — Armin Arlert (2)

series masterlist

Pairing: Armin Arlert x Reader

Word Count: 5k

Series Summary: Reader messages her best friend Armin late one night while she's drunk and needy, but will she remember the things she said to him in the morning, and if she does... will she regret it?

Part Summary: The morning after isn’t what either of them would expect, but after Reader pushes Armin away… she asks him to come right back

Content: Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Eventual Smut

Content Warnings: Sexual Content, Mentions of Masturbation, Implied Smut

Armin couldn’t sleep, he didn’t want to sleep. He wanted to lay conscious in your presence forever. So, for a while, he laid there, savoring the feeling of your warm body cuddled up next to him. He would smile to himself whenever you shifted around a little in your sleep just to nuzzle up closer to him, to toss and turn to lay your head on his chest.

He never wanted the morning to come.

He knew the moment that you wake you’d be asking questions. You’d be asking questions or you’d know exactly what happened and you’d kick him out of your bed. You’d be startled and confused and he’d have to explain to you that you were drunk and asked him to stay with you. But then you’d ask why you asked him to stay, and he’d need to explain to you that, while you were drunk, you went on a series of confessions and admissions.

When the sun had just begun to rise over the horizon, and your head was nestled into his shoulder, Armin finally allowed himself to close his eyes.

He didn’t dream. He didn’t get the chance to sleep long enough so his brain could enter that deep state of rest that would even allow him to. He only had feelings. Feelings of contentment, euphoria, nostalgia all washed over him after he closed his eyes.

He’s so in love. He’s in love with you. His heart aches every minute of the day for you, and for this brief passing moment that he has you in his arms, he’s going to pretend that you’re his. He’s going to wish on the morning sun that after this mess passes over that he’ll still have you, and he doesn’t even care if it’s as a friend. Because if Armin can still be the one you cry to at night, he would gladly be your friend over your lover.

He was so grateful as he slept, grateful that whenever he would get that glimpse of consciousness as he turned in the bed that he could still feel your body up against him. He would smile at the little sighs that would leave your lips as you stretched a little in your sleep or when you grabbed ahold of his shirt to anchor you closer.

But Armin wasn’t grateful when you woke.

You had found yourself with your right leg swung over his waist as he lays on his back, your right arm wrapping itself around his neck, and your face nestled into the crook under his jaw. You were laying on top of a chest you didn’t know who it belonged to.

You laid there for a moment, with your eyes wide and staring into the pale flushed skin of his neck as you so desperately try and recall who is in your bed and why they’re there. You were frozen… like you were scared to see who it was.

Finally, you grew the courage to lift your head slightly to peek at their face.

It was Armin. Armin.

Your best friend Armin, that you’ve been in love with for years on end was beneath you in your bed in a position that was far too intimate for you to consider that he had just stayed the night as a friend.

His lips were slightly parted as he breathed, his pretty eyelashes resting against his cheeks that were flushed a cute little shade of pink. His hair was all ruffled and messed, pushed out of his eyes so you could see his entire face. 

You weren’t disgusted by him being in your bed… my goodness, it was far from that. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest at the revelation and all of a sudden your body was growing hot and the sheets that remained draped over you were suffocating. 

At a second realization of ‘Oh my god, Armin’s in my bed’, you jerk your entire body away from him, scramble out of the bed and stumble to the floor just as he shoots upright in his wake. Your eyes were completely blown wide, your lips were pressed into a tight line and Armin could see your arms shaking at your sides. You looked mortified.

Armin lays with his arms behind him, resting on the heels of his hand as he looks to you with an equally incredulous expression.

“What — what are you doing in my bed?” You ask, voice just above a whisper. You’re too startled to speak any louder.

“You asked me to stay,” Armin says quickly, remaining still like he’s afraid you’ll be startled by any movement.

You take your eyes off him for a moment to scan them across the ground as you think over what could have possibly happened. They flit from side to side, jerking in their sockets as you look over the hardwood floor.

“Did — did we…?” You begin, your chest beginning to visibly heave as you suck in deep breaths. 

You don’t know whether you want him to answer that question with a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’. But some sick twisted part of you was aroused by the possibility that the answer could be ‘yes’.

“No! No — you — you were drunk, I didn’t — we didn’t.” He stammers, pulling the sheets off of him and cautiously getting off the bed.

As horrible as it sounds, Armin was relieved to see that you’d forgotten everything that happened. Although he would have to work to pull that confession out of you again, it was much better than you avoiding him out of embarrassment and regret.

But as you think over what he’s said to you in regards to the night’s events, it slowly comes back to you. It’s all blurry, and for a moment you think you could be mistaking it for a dream, but you can make out the brief image of him in your doorway, then between your legs as you sit on the kitchen counter, and then on top of you on your bed.

And then you remember the conversation that had gone along with it.

“I… I asked you to stay…” You murmur to yourself, bringing your head back up to him as he finally stands on the other side of the bed, “Oh my god.”

You bring one arm around your waist and one clasps over your mouth, and for a moment, Armin’s scared you’re going to be sick. But between your fingers, he can hear you whisper a series of expletives over and over.

“Fuck, fuck — you need to go. Fuck! Armin, I’m sorry.” You exclaim, voice wavering as you take your hand from your mouth to point at your bedroom door.

Armin’s heart sinks into his stomach as he realizes that you have remembered every last thing you’d said to him. Maybe he’s the one who’s going to be sick because the terrified and regretful look on your face as his stomach churning in all the wrong ways.

“Out! Now! Oh my God!” You shout, enunciating with another point to the door. Your voice begins to tremble and…

God, please don’t cry. Please don’t cry.

Armin shuts his mouth and clenches his jaw, keeping his eyes on you as he blindly crosses your room to get to your door. He swallows hard before pausing once he gets to the door.

“y/n —”

“Get out!” You cover your eyes with your spare hand as you feel tears beginning to prick your vision.

You’ve cried in front of Armin before, both happy and sad cries. But you’ve never cried because of him, or something you’ve done to him; and never out of frustration in front of him. And you didn’t want to start now.

Armin flinches at your volume and sheepishly exits your room. You follow him, but only to close the door behind him. You swear you could hear him gasp as it slams.

It hurts your heart to see him cowering away from you, and you add that to the things that cause the tears to finally flow over. Not only did you completely humiliate yourself in front of him last night, but you admit something to him you promised yourself you’d never admit… and on top of that, you had just yelled at him.

Fuck, you yelled at him. He didn’t deserve that.

He came over to your house in the middle of the night, worried about your wellbeing because you didn’t have the nerve to tell him you were just drunk. He babied you and cared for you while you were in his way the whole time, and even though it’s the bare minimum, he didn’t have sex with you even though you begged him to.

He was too good, he didn’t deserve that.

You rest your back to the door, sliding down it until your butt hits the floor as your breathing gets choked up and you threaten to audibly sob. You let out a noise of frustration as you cross your arms over your knees and shove your face into the crook of your right elbow.

You can hear your front door shut as he leaves and it only causes you to let out another shaky groan.

The energy towards crying and groaning does no help to the painful pressure that’s already building in your head. You can feel it ache behind your eyes, throbbing along with your heartbeat and sending jolts of sharp pain through your skull when you blink.

You felt disgusting. You were covered in sweat and tears and your fingers and lips were still sticky with remnants of alcohol. You could still taste it on your tongue; the food and the alcohol. But the medicinal taste of the vodka strongly outweighs the warming remains of the melted butter.

It’s like it was telling you that your mistakes outweighed Armin’s kindness.

You didn’t exactly know why you were crying, you only knew that it came from frustration. It was all just churning around in a pot of distress. It was a vile potion of embarrassment, regret, shame, and humiliation that was being force-fed to you as you sat there on the floor.

Even though you heard Armin’s own confession, you still were overwhelmed with regret. His words were still a little blurry, you were still trying to get a grasp on the weight of them.

I’ve always wanted you too.

You didn’t want this. You didn’t want any of it. You were satisfied with the friendship between the two of you, you never wanted it to change. It was platonic, emotionally intimate at times, but it was platonic. You were twin flames, and you didn’t want your internal desire to rip that away from you.

Being friends, best friends, with Armin was a healthy relationship. You could handle the occasional jealousy and lack of physical intimacy if it saved your friendship. You liked it that way. And now that the barriers were broken, and you had forced Armin to leave, you were terrified of losing him at the cost.

Keeping quiet about your romantic love for him was so easy when you had him in the palm of your hand and knew that he would never leave you, especially since you now know that he shared that feeling back. You both were content with the relationship you had. You both knew that neither of you was going anywhere.

It’s not that you planned to never tell him, you knew that you would eventually. But you were planning for years in the future, or maybe you were hoping to grow out of it. You would be able to sit down with him and bring it on easy, give yourself a choice in how you tell him.

But the premature and impulsive reveal of your truth had startled you and you pushed him away in the process.

So, in a way, you didn’t necessarily regret telling him… it was the way you did it.

And you weren’t the only one freaking out about the ways of your confession. Armin was an absolute mess.

In your mind, you were worried that he was taking your words as the truth, but Armin was doing the exact opposite. His thoughts were flying around like hummingbirds, wings flapping at hundreds of beats a minute. He was stuck between hitting the steering wheel out of frustration or just breaking down crying in his car.

Because in Armin’s head, you remembered exactly what you said and you had caught yourself in a lie. You had recognized that it was the alcohol talking and you didn’t mean a single thing you said; you only said it because you were lonely and needy. 

And then, you had also recalled the exact words he had said to you in response. The words that were full of honesty. You had remembered the way he said it and the way he had looked at you, and you had been disgusted by it.

In your drunken lies, he had revealed his truth.

And you were regretful of your alcohol-fueled words because they led him to speak on his true desire.

Now, in his head, you were repulsed by him.

He hits the steering wheel hard, hard enough so that he’s gripping his fist with his other hand and gritting his teeth at the pain that shoots through his arm afterward. And then those tears swell in his eyes, stinging them and blurring his vision as he tries to blink them away.

He’s sucking in breaths through his teeth as he finally pulls out of your complex lot. He wipes at his eyes as he drives home as if he believes he’s not actually crying if the tears don’t fall down his cheeks.

You both were embarrassed; at what you did and what you’re doing. Both of you sniffling pathetically as you keep replaying this morning in your heads. Both of you hating yourselves; you for yelling at Armin, and Armin for what he thinks your yelling was for.

You sat on the floor for a while, eventually bringing your legs away from your chest to cross them under each other. You still sat with your head in your hands and your elbows resting on your knees as you steady your breathing before trying to continue with your day.

You wipe at your face in hopes to push the tears away, but you only spread your flaking mascara around and mix it with the sweat and oil that’s accumulated on your face. It was a gross feeling, and it was the thing that finally convinced you to get up.

Water joined your tears in wetting your face as you splash it on from the tap of your bathroom sink. You scrub a little too hard after you rub your face wash in, almost scratching at your skin to get last night’s both physical and mental remnants off your face and out of your head. The water refreshes your skin as you do a final splash to get the suds off, but it does no help to your headache. It only throbs in your head harder from leaning over the sink.

As you lift your head from spitting toothpaste into the drain, another wave of throbbing pain pulses behind your eyes. And as you stare into the mirror, you decide to prioritize getting pain medicine before continuing to refresh yourself. The cup Armin had got for you last night was still sitting on the floor at the base of the bed, and as you pick it up you let out an audible, melancholic sigh. You watch the remainder of the water swish around at the bottom of the cup as you make your way to the kitchen.

You find the pain medicine already sitting on the counter. You bite at the inside of your cheek upon the realization that he most likely placed it there last night insight of the morning. 

You hate him, hate him for the way he cares for you and the way he’s so goddamn selfless. Everything about him had your heart twisting in on itself and chest tightening to where you couldn’t breathe.

That only started a few years ago, junior year of high school. You still vividly remember looking into his deep blue eyes, getting lost in their ocean as you hold his sweet face in your hands. It was after your high school had sent out emails regarding the college admission process. Both of you were unsettled with the idea of leaving.

Armin promised you, over and over, that he’d call and visit and drive to however far you go whenever you need it. And then you had grabbed his face in your hands and said to him, ‘now, don’t go replacing me’. That made him giggle a little, his cheeks heating up under your palms before he said

‘I wouldn’t dare’

That was it for you. And after he had gone home you had sat on your bed… just sitting there, wondering why your heart was feeling the way it did.

It’s been like that since. Every last time you saw him it made your whole soul ache. You fell in love with him; his voice, his touch, his mind. You were absolutely drowning in his ocean and he was holding your head underwater, but all this time you were doing the same to him.

You didn’t make breakfast. The state of the kitchen from your drunken antics was a turn-off, and the alcohol that was still swimming around in your stomach had you feeling a little too nauseous for food just yet.

Deciding to clean up the kitchen was probably the safest option for you right now. You were debating between doing as so, or returning to bed and sleeping the day away. But since Armin still lingered within your sheets, kitchen chores were decided on as you already began to shuffle away measuring spoons to their respective drawers.

As you cleaned, you allowed yourself to think forward, accepting the situation and moving on to figuring out how to deal with it. You haven’t checked your phone to see if Armin had messaged you, but you bet your chances that he hasn’t. You probably scared him, for God’s sake.

The guilt and denial were still simmering as the acceptance was poured into the pot. You knew you needed to apologize for a multitude of things that have occurred within the past twelve-ish hours, starting with the fact that you called him in the middle of the night in the first place. Armin already knows you’re sorry, he can read you like a book, but you need to say it to him. You need to call him or something.

You were at a crossroads once more; did you allow the tension to settle a little while longer, or do you apologize as soon as possible? You had to apologize before he did, because you know damn well he will eventually, even though this situation that wasn’t his fault.

When the bowl with the dry baking goods clashes with the counter and clatters to the floor, spilling its contents all around your feet, you get your answer for you. In an overflow of emotions and frustrated curses, you leave the mess on the floor and blindly search through the house for your phone. When it’s found, you call him again, sniffling and letting yourself cry in defeat.

Armin got your call not even an hour after he had arrived home. He’d ignored his grandparents as they welcomed him home, even though he knew he would regret it later, and dragged himself straight up the stairs to his bedroom to just take a seat on the edge of his bed. He had his head in his hands, heels of his palms pressing into his temples.

And he just sat. Armin sat with his teeth piercing his bottom lip and his mind telling him that he’s never going to be able to be with you the way he was before.

He looked at his phone for a few moments, watching it buzz, face-up on his nightstand. It took him a few moments to register that it was you calling him and not a spam number.

He couldn’t stop himself from picking up.

‘Armin? Armin, I’m sorry — I’m sorry for yelling, just please — please come back,’

It was safe to assume that you were crying. He could hear your hiccuping and sniffling through the phone. All sort of self-respect he had gone out the door once he heard your distress. As much as you hated him for being so kind, he hated you for having him wrapped around your finger.

“What happened?” He asks.

‘I — I need to talk to you and I spilled — spilled shit all over the kitchen. I’m just so fucking — God, Armin I’m sorry!’

The lack of communication was truly hindering both of you severely. Both of your executions were fucked and both of your receptions were equally so because of poor wording. Now, Armin didn’t know what you were mad at and you didn’t know if he was upset in return.

“Can I come help?” He says, trying to make his voice as gentle as possible.

‘Please,’ You beg, and he can still you rustling around on the other end.

Armin relaxes, but only a little, because at least he knew you weren’t mad at him. Or maybe you were, but your own guilt was outweighing it. He had a feeling you were reflecting your self-frustration onto him, he always has a feeling. He knows you too well not to.

It was almost funny how you greet him at the door you had just recently slammed in his face. You had tears running down your cheeks and you were sniffling and coughing as you tried to sputter out a string of explanations. For a moment, Armin could only stand there and watch; watch you speak nonsense while gesturing with your hands.

After a minute or so, Armin realizes that you’ve stopped. He couldn’t make out a single thing you had said, only getting an ear of something that sounded like an apology. But no matter what you had said to him, he outstretches his arms to pull your shaking body against him. And as he holds you close, as your arms wrap around his torso, you can’t stop another wave of tears that drip down your cheeks.

Armin just holds you, like he did last night when he was in your bed. Your head on his shoulder, nose nuzzling into the crook of his jaw, and hands grabbing at the fabric at the back of his tee-shirt.

“I’m sorry,” He says softly, “I didn’t mean to — mean to scare you or — or anything,”

His attempt to comfort you only crumbles you down more because he didn’t need to apologize, he doesn’t have to apologize.

“No, no, no Armin,” You stutter, pushing at his chest to distance yourself enough to look at his face. He lets his hands fall to your waist, keeping a tight enough grip on you to not let you escape. You look up to him for a moment before looking down to his chest, hitting against it softly out of frustration, “Don't — don’t apologize. You don’t need to apologize,”

“I want to,” He tilts his head down slightly.

“Don’t! Please. This — this is my fault. I never — I never meant for this to happen. I just wanted to see you last night. I wanted to see you because I love you. I love you, like, more than I should, and I didn’t mean to tell you last night. I’m sorry, God, I’m so sorry,” You grab at his shirt again, tugging on it and stretching it out.

“y/n —” He begins.

“And I scared myself because — because I didn’t mean to say it then and — and I didn’t think you were going to say it back. I just — I don’t know,” You take in a shaky exhale before letting it out.

Armin feels like he can breathe again. You were sincere last night, you were telling the truth, and you weren’t disgusted with him. Armin could breathe again because he knew the feeling was mutual.

You let yourself bring your cheek back to his chest, bending your elbows to bring yourself close to him. Armin lets his arms slide around your waist, pulling you against him again to hopefully convey that ‘this is okay’

“I embarrassed myself… and I yelled at you because of it and — and you don’t deserve that.” You mumble a little softer, into the soft skin of his neck.

You can feel his chest shift around beneath your cheek as he breathes, and you can hear his heart beating quickly but steadily under your ear. You don’t want to leave him this time, you don’t want to jerk away from his touch. But you’re also scared of what will happen when you do have to pull away from him.

So you let yourself stay like this for a while, and Armin doesn’t protest. He continues to caress the skin of your back through that skimpy tanktop you’re still wearing and rests his cheek against the top of your head. He could stay like this forever, the same way he could have when he was in your bed last night.

“I meant what I said,” Armin says, stilling his hands until only his thumb gently circles over your shirt, “That I’ve always… wanted you — and loved you,”

With your body still pressed against him you say, “All this time… it — it was always you. I just didn’t know how to say it and I didn’t want to scare you away,”

“You could never,”

“And I was worried about what would happen after I told you. I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t feel the same way. I couldn’t lose this.” Your voice has shrunk down to an almost whisper, and you’ve shut your eye and let yourself sink deeper into his skin.

“God, y/n,” Armin can’t stop the breathy laugh that leaves his lips, “You — you have no idea,” He pushes on your shoulders gently to look at your face.

“Why are you laughing?” You look up to him, a little confused and concerned look on your face.

“I’m not. I just — you have no fucking idea how — how crazy I am for you,” Armin grabs ahold of your face hard enough so your cheeks get smushed slightly beneath his palms. Your own hands come up to his forearms, just grazing them.

“I don’t know how you didn’t see it,” He whispers, looking into your wide eyes with admiration.

You can feel your heart pounding in your chest and you hope that Armin can feel your cheeks heat up beneath his hands. He was so close, he was right there, he was looking down to you with his nose an inch away from yours.

“Do you — do you remember what I said last night?” You breathe, leaning forward ever so slightly.

God, how could he forget?

“Which… which part?” Armin could barely think. You were rising on your toes, your breath fanning over his lips. He could feel your body trembling as you brought yourself closer to him.

“When I said that I want you,” You mumble, looking to his lips for a brief moment. Armin catches the flit of your eyes and he can feel his stomach twist, “that I need you,”

“Yeah,” Armin can’t stop his voice from shaking, “What — what do you need from me?”

And he knows the answer, he knows the answer, he just needs to hear you say it. He needs to hear your sweet voice speak words so lewd that he’ll feel like his knees have turned to jelly. 

“I want you to fuck me, just like you promised. I’m sober this time, I slept it off.” Your breathing is so shaky, your voice is all strained to the point where it could pass for a whimper.

Armin can feel your words flow straight south, swimming below his navel and hardening his cock. He looks over you, over your face and your body that’s still exposed by your revealing clothes. He wants to tear them off.

“We can talk more later. I need you, so bad.” You bring your hands to his chest again, taking the stretched fabric in your fingers and tugging him closer.

“Yeah?” Armin nods in confirmation, he would tease you if he had the courage to.

“Yeah,” You nod, biting down on your bottom lip. You rise on your toes again, bringing your body flush against his. You can feel his cock hard in his sweats against your stomach, can feel his chest rising and falling quickly.

“Can — can I have you, please.” You slide one hand down his chest, shivering at the way the lean muscles in his abdomen divet under your fingertips. When you reach his waistband, you stop, toying with the strings with your right hand.

Armin answers you by grabbing ahold of the back of your neck and bringing your lips to his. They’re soft and warm, and they make your insides go all fuzzy and you practically whimper at the sensation. Your legs were already shaking due to the close proximity but now you’re deathly afraid of your knees buckling.

He felt so right up against you, with his hands holding you close and his tongue licking at the seam of your lips. He had you melting so quickly that you cannot believe you forced yourself to wait this long to tell him.

Even though your body was all tense, something inside you relaxed. Armin was here with you, he wasn’t leaving.