#and being able to make my own SO easily is just. A+++

[dawnphoenixrises]

As someone who grew up with both epilepsy and sensory issues and had to try to get accommodations for both I will say this is true. My sensory issues were bad but I had different things to manage them (ear plugs, certain clothes, etc.) HOWEVER I didn’t worry about my sensory issues for like the first 16 years. They were just there and sometimes I felt overwhelmed if I didn’t do certain things (oversimplifying but yeah)

This was mainly because I grew up with epilepsy so was always worrying and aware of triggers for them. Also with these there was less things I could do on my own for accommodations. I had to advocate for myself from a young age (diagnosed around 5) to my teachers cause even if my mom said something they wouldn’t always follow it.

I remember one time that my class was watching a movie and I asked the teacher if it had flashing lights or a strobe and she said she didn’t know and to just get the form signed. As I was young I didn’t know how to look it up so I just got the form signed. Surprise I had a seizure - luckily I’m not grande mal but we only know because I was talking with a friend who worried when I stopped talking and got the teacher who sent me to the nurse (ALONE which wasn’t smart) who basically had me lay down for 10 minutes then sent me back to class. This is not how it should have been handled. The teacher knew I had epilepsy and should have told me to ask my mom or at least not make me feel embarrassed about it. I should have been sent to the nurse with a friend in case I had another seizure and something happened. I should have been sent home! after this I had to advocate even more for myself because it’s not like I can just shut my eyes every time there’s a strobe cause sometimes a seizure will happen before I realize.

I was always worried a seizure would happen. Even when I was a year free in 7th grade I wasn’t worried. And one did happen. I had a seizure and lost control of my body with a full bladder. I couldn’t get up because I was sitting in a chair full of my own pee. I was so embarrassed I couldn’t say anything to my friend sitting next to me or the sub. Luckily my mom worked in the school so I texted her and after the bell rang she came and got me. it’s terrifying to lose control over my own body like that. To have no say in what it does or even be aware for it. There’s a reason those with epilepsy have to wait 6 months from the last seizure to drive because they could easily get in a crash at the wrong time.

I remember being 10 and asking my mom if I’d ever stop having seizures and not have to take meds and to be able to not have to worry about watching a movie or hanging with friends or even taking a bath. I rember feeling sad but resigned when she told me there’s a very small chance that I could. And luckily that small chance happened but I also still worry that I could have a seizure cause it still is possible. I am more likely to have seizures when I am older because of it and I never know if I watch a movie with a strobe if it will set me off again. And I am 6 years seizure free! While both need accommodations and people should have access to both, epilepsy can be immediately life threatening. It was only after my seizures were under control and a few years free that I started paying attention to my sensory issues consciously. The accommodations for the two are not the same and shouldn’t be treated the same but anyone with either should be able to access them to improve their life or even save it.

I keep seeing people put accommodations for people with epilepsy on the same level as sensory accommodations for autism and like... no??? Obviously both are important but epilepsy can kill people, SUDEP is a thing. If you expose someone with photosensitive epilepsy to strobing lights they could suffer permanent brain damage or die. Epilepsy is a condition with physical, sometimes deadly consequences. I'm not sure how many different ways I need to say this before it sticks, but epileptic seizures are physical neurological phenomena that can cause lasting neurological damage or death. Epilepsy can kill you. You can die from epilepsy.

[concretejunglefm]

coming to bother you with this

i keep thinking about noah being so soft with reader, like holding them after a long day, loving all over them, telling how much he loves them, etc.

or the other way around, with them telling him how much they love him, soft soft stuff like that

I love nothing but soft thoughts and I've been have so many recently just not able to put them into actual words, but this thought made me 🥺 I hope you don't mind 💕

CW: mostly fluff, but mentions of negative thoughts, struggles with depression, loss and recurring nightmares.

There was once a time when Noah would wake up in the night to find you lying there, waging with the war behind your eyes. Now, it seems like you’ve switched places. You sleep peacefully beside him, your body tucked against his, because despite wearing more layers than him in comparison to his own stark sleepwear, you still feel cold and always attempt to steal his warmth.

Noah has woken from another nightmare, the same one that has plagued his waking thoughts for days. The circumstances may differ, but the outcome is always the same: this life you share is not his to keep. Every time he closes his eyes, it’s taken away from him and when he wakes, he expects to find himself back in his old room, the one he left almost a year ago when you entered his life.

When he does wake, he finds himself in a moonlit room—the same one he’s been sleeping in for the past year, building and sharing memories of his own with the person he loves lying beside him.

Normally, sleep would come easily, but he refuses to succumb, too afraid of reliving the nightmare he dragged himself out of and for the rest of the night, he lays awake, battling sleeps attempts to pull him back under. As he does, he listens to the faint sound of your breathing, a comforting reassurance that you’re still here with him, and this is real.

Noah doesn’t wake you, not wanting to disturb you with the trivial and absurd thoughts his mind has chosen to torment him with. However, it’s as if you’re deeply connected to him on a level that draws you out of your sleep, and he hears the faint whisper of your tired voice.

“Noah, what’s wrong?”

He can’t hide from you, no matter how hard he tries. He’s never been able to keep his face from spilling his worries. Instead of fighting it and telling you to go back to sleep, he rolls over onto his side, his long arm falling over you. He feels your fingers find his as your gesture of comfort before you nestle yourself closer.

In the darkness, he tries to make out your features, using the faint moonlight to trace them. He notices the way your brows knit together in worry as you look up at him and contemplates his questions relating to the storm of worries currently raging in his mind, and decides to start with a lighthearted opener: “Do you remember when you asked me if I’d still love you if you were a worm?”

You laugh. You didn’t expect the question and you laugh. Your laughter fills his heart with warmth. It comes not from a place of ridicule, but a soft, sweetness. “Of course I do,” you say. “You had promised to build me my own terrarium to carry me around.” Your voice, filled with sleep, makes him smile. He remembers the moment you mention, how you knew that to be the moment you had fallen for him completely.

Noah had already fallen long before that, but had been too shy to admit it.

Sometimes, like now, he wants to delve into his concerns and ask you, “Do you love me?” with the same playful yet serious tone that you used when asking that question and before he can control himself, those exact words come stumbling out.

Silence follows and he glazes at you in the darkness.

Without missing a beat, you move closer, your hand searching for his face in the darkness as you come to cradle his cheek. “Noah, of course I love you,” you say, trying to calm the raging waves. However, their intensity remains, threatening to overflow, especially as he feels the gentle warmth of your breath and the soft press of your forehead against his.

“What if I don’t deserve this? What if I don’t deserve you?” He despises the fact that he’s allowing himself to indulge in these darker thoughts that currently haunt his mind, and that he’s even giving them a voice. However, the relentless gnawing at him makes it incredibly challenging to suppress them.

The constant worry revolves around wanting to give you the best and fearing that he isn’t capable of it because he’s not used to keeping the people he loves to this extent. Throughout his life, he’s experienced varying degrees of loss, and he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, especially now that he’s become so vulnerable with you, letting you into his heart completely. The two of you are already on the path to starting a life together, yet some days, he’s plagued by the idea and worry that he’ll lose you, that you’ll decide you want better, and deserve better than him.

It’s your voice that pulls him back as he spirals within his own mind. Your fingers gently stroke through his hair, a soothing caress on the crown of his head as you whisper softly into the darkness.

“Noah, I love you, and I’m not going anywhere. You’re the most selfless person I’ve ever known, not just to your friends but even to those you don’t know.” You move hand to press against his chest, over his heart, your touch soothing the rapid beating of it. “You deserve happiness, and if you believe I’m a source of that, then I promise you that you deserve me. I want you, and I love you, and I’m so grateful to have you in my life. I’ve never felt more fortunate.”

Each word you speak further calms the dark thoughts in his mind, driving away the storm and pulling him further into your embrace. He has no words to respond with, instead meeting you with a soft, loving, and wet kiss. He hadn’t noticed the tears that roll down his cheeks, unsure if they had started before or after your assurance. Regardless, they currently feel less sad than when he had woken earlier. He feels less sad because now, a majority of that feeling has been replaced with your love and assurance, matching what he always provides to you in these moments.

tagged: @fadingangelwisp @deathblacksmoke  @geminigirlfromfinland @fuck1ng-queen @xxkittenkissesxx @lacy1986 @ami--gami @floodflameschosen @dominuslunae @tosoundlessdarkistare @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @lonelydragonlady @th4t-em0-k1d @amelia-acero @dollieomens @I-love-the-smell-of-you-blood @sitkowski @athenexe @trvshdxddy @collapsedglasshouses @overmydeadbodysblog @xmads-omensx @ajordan2020 @astronoids @death-ofpeace-ofmind @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @blade-dressed-in-red @bloody-spades @concretenoah

[lorelune]

inversion

|| rin itoshi x reader || E/18+ || angst with a happy ending || wc: 7.2k || ao3 ||

Preemptive grief defines your relationship with Rin. Heartbreak is in the nature of your connection. You are forced to reckon with its end.

minors, antis and ageless blogs dni

notes: eeeeeee this piece is part of a trade i'm doing with beloved @rabbbitseason :3c they asked for angst + rin and i am here to deliver a bruisy piece 🙂‍↕️!!!! he was an interesting (read: slippery) character to chew!! but very fun as well :3c thank you to @suguwu for beta reading this piece and talking through rin's character as well!!! jun's invaluable feedback rlly helped bring the piece together. please read and enjoy something a bit achey my kind reader 💗

CWs: angst with a happy ending, gn reader with afab anatomy, rin is assumed to be 20+ and playing professionally, f receiving oral, missionary, some possible abandonment issues for the reader

You do not mean to fall in love with Rin Itoshi.

Distinctly, you did not want to fall in love with him. Because he is probably not a good lover, nor does he want to be a lover at all. It’s a poor combination. Being enamored with him is a poor way of being.

It’s unfortunate that you have found yourself in this position— hopelessly in love and irrevocably attached to him. 

... 

Drizzle falls from the sky in a mist. It’s been like this for days, a haze of light rain with thick fog that rolls in during the mornings. You’ve almost gotten used to your hair frizzing up and returning home damp from any outing. 

It’s unpleasant. But then again, everything is unpleasant at this moment, so the rain is the least of your worries.

Rin Itoshi is on your front stoop.

There’s a little cement step there that he sits on. In front of your door, just behind him, is a welcome mat. A large, ceramic cat is set just next to the door. As you walk up to your home, grocery bags in tow, you cannot see your normal, friendly guardian.

Instead, all you see is Rin Itoshi. 

Stopping in the little walkway up to your small home, you let the rain drench you. Rin looks up from the ground with an expression between a scowl and a pout. His hood is drawn up over his head, but his hair still looks wet. The tips of his shoes are soaked through. Even from a distance, you can tell.

You sigh.

“You’re home late,” he says. His words get eaten by the ambient sounds of the city, and the pittering of rain on nearby roofs.

You raise your arms, trembling with the weight of your haul. “Groceries.”

“Hm.” 

You frown and Rin rises. 

He takes your bags, taking them from you and easily looping them on a single forearm. He moves aside so you can slip past him, to your door, now able to see your fat-bodied kitty cat protector (who really isn’t doing much protecting at the moment—) and give him a nod of acknowledgement. 

Rin makes a sound behind you; a huff. He’s amused. You contend with kicking his shin but decide against it.

Like a lost, wet puppy, Rin follows you inside. 

There’s a pair of house slippers for him; there has been for months. The fuzzy fabric of the slippers is patterned to look like big, pink cat paws. You purchased them for Rin as a joke, a gag that you didn’t expect to get a rise out of him beyond a heavy blush, and yet he took to them immediately. His pair sits next to your own slippers like the two belong next to each other. 

Rin shuffles behind you.

(How many times have you done this?)

You turn on the electric kettle and put away the groceries Rin has carried inside for you. You mentally plan out your meals for the week and concurrently catastrophize about what the fuck to do with the man in front of you. 

He leans against your kitchen counter. His outer layer has been shed, all he’s in now is a (somehow, still damp) white t-shirt and his warm-up joggers. Rainwater still clings to his bottom lashes, dew-like. You lean forward, cupping his face to brush the moisture away. His cheeks are clammy, still so chilled. 

(It’s all too tender.)

“You’re cold.” You frown. “Go sit down. I’ll finish making tea.”

“I am sitting down.”

“Leaning isn’t sitting.” 

“Close enough.”

You sigh. “I meant in the other room, preferably with a blanket.”

“I’ll wait.” 

You sigh, “Fine.”

It’s not worth arguing with Rin. 

Rin is so— so— frustratingly single-minded. Motivated in a single direction to a fault. You’ve long since learned that attempting to sway him, regardless of how sensible and sensical of an idea you have, is fruitless. If it doesn’t align with what he has already decided he is going to do, he simply won’t change. It’s something rather immutable about him.

His nature is as stubborn as his thoughts. 

(Loving him is so difficult; you wish that you didn’t.)

Rin grabs two mugs (your mugs) while you fetch the tea. It’s the same selection as it always is— your cup of ginger and honey, and his plain peppermint. 

You only settle once the two of you make your way to the couch, side-by-side, covered in the worn quilt that Rin likes best. It’s a tawny mix of grey and tan yarn. You picked it up from a thrift store years ago. You never would’ve thought that it would become such an integral part of a pathetic, mutual routine.

Rin is stiff beside you. One glance at him tells you that he’s chewing on his words. He doesn’t tend to— to do that. He doesn’t mince anything that flows from his brain to his lips. Your stomach rolls with a sense of unease. 

“Is everything alright?” You ask. 

(It never is, not really, when this routine is being completed.)

Rin looks at him. His gaze is piercing, crystalline. It lances you. “I’m leaving.”

You know this already; you aren’t supposed to.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

“... For how long?” This you don’t know. 

“A while.” Rin's hands ball into fists on the tops of his thighs. “Half a year, at least.”

“I see.”

(You feel your world begin to cave in.) 

An eerie quiet settles over the room. The rain patters outside, streaking your windows in droplets, obscuring the greater world. It makes it feel like all that exists is you, Rin, and the lucid knowledge that your connection has nearly run its course. 

You swallow; it’s audible. “Where to?”

“Europe.”

“Europe’s big. Countries—?”

“Germany, Italy, and France,” replies Rin. “Maybe more.”

The back of your eyes sting. “I could visit?”

“I’ll be busy.”

“... Could you not make time?”

(Could you not make time for me?)

“I don’t know.”

“Hm.” You feel something cold and dreadful coat your insides. 

Your tea is cooling down, steam hardly rising from the mug now. You take a sip of it, and hold the mug in both hands, grasping onto the warmth that radiates off of it. The ceramic of the vessel still holds heat, enough to scald your palms. Yet, you don’t put it down. 

This big, unspoken thing lingers between you both. It writhes, swirls, like it always does when you enter this routine. There’s always been an impending end date to your connection, even if neither of you could quantify the time you had left together. Rin's career, his ambitions, his nature to not just excel, but crush and break in tandem, have always floated above your dynamic. 

This thing would immolate eventually.

(And you along with it.)

...

You end up in your bedroom, the gloomy day sliding into a thickly dark night. You’re not even sure if the moon is out. The room only glows with light from a few soft lamps. The spray of them catches the angles of Rin’s face well. Even with age, his face hasn't hardened all that much. He still has pudge in his cheeks that he can’t shake. It makes him look younger, more innocent, like there hasn’t been a thing in him, forever, threatening to devour him as it craves to brutalize others. 

Another part of your routine commences once you enter your soft, kindly-lit bedroom. Sex— of some sort. Today it feels bad. You’re not sure what’s coming other than grief. 

Stripping feels like a funeral march. The drizzle that continues to fall outside may as well be a dirge. 

Rin pulls his shirt over his head and off. It’s a quiet affair today, though typically it isn’t. On a more normal day, when you aren’t witnessing your romantically entangled decay in real-time, there’s banter. You might rib Rin, he may respond with his own barbed remark that you find a bit silly. It’s fun, despite Rin’s perpetually bruised demeanor.

Today, though, there’s no humor. No jesting. All that’s left is the unfathomable depth of— something behind Rin’s eyes and the ache in your chest that you’re afraid will kill you.

You kneel on your bed, left only in a sweater, goofy-looking socks, and panties. The stupid satiny kind that you think is kind of uncomfortable, but you know Rin enjoys. He leaves his boxers on, coming to rest on his own knees across from you.

Your eyes feel damp, you feel stupid, and can’t make yourself look at him.

“Don’t be a crybaby,” he tells you.

You scoff, the sound warbly and your voice watery. “Like you’re any better.” 

(Rin isn’t the crybaby notably. You think he gets close to it sometimes. Maybe that’s just your own wishful thinking.)

(You want Rin to crack; it would make your own fissures less shameful.)

Rin kisses you then like he can hear your thoughts, and kissing you hard on the mouth will extract them from your brain. It does, in a way. He’s warm and familiar. You love him so terribly. 

You cup his cheeks in your palms, still aching from your mug earlier. You don’t care. You couldn’t make yourself care as you lean into him, pitching your weight forward. For all the things Rin isn’t good at, he is good at catching you. He bears the weight of you easily, wrapping an arm around your waist and securing you with a hand on the nape of your neck.

He’s so solid. Bigger than he appears. Firm muscle over firm muscle, he’s so entirely unyielding beneath your hands. There are so many parts of him that contradict each other; it’s what drew you to him in the first place. Rin Itoshi has always been a spectacle for you to untangle and know, even if, at first, it was just to satiate your own curiosity about the foul-mannered, enigmatic man he appears to be. 

Unfortunately, now, you have untangled Rin. The essence of him has been unraveled in your hands, laying across your palms like sheets of satin fabric— the kind that catches the light and almost shimmers in sun rays and moonbeams alike. Rin is so much more fragile than he appears, tough at some angles, but so bruiseable at others. This knowledge is held by you so intimately, you cherish it, what else can you do? 

It’s damning. It’s made you love him.

You stifle a noise against his lips and fall into him more.

In a single motion, Rin has you on your back, laid beneath him while he straddles your hips. He doesn’t stop kissing you. If anything, the leverage has him leaning into you more deeply. It’s suffocating, the weight of his body and him over you. Like it’s bearing down into your soul.

Rin licks into your mouth and you let him.

It’s almost gross when he kisses you like this. Filthy— dirty. He practically plunders the inside of your mouth, running his tongue over the back of your teeth, pushing it against your own, spit dripping out of the corners of your mouth. If you felt like you could be properly romantic with Rin, you might even say it’s a claiming act.

But you can’t be romantic with Rin. Because this doesn’t matter. The physicality you share serves the function of physical release and gratification. You love him and it is useless that you do. These are immutable facts.

(Facts that you hate, despise, and loathe. Why can’t he love you—? Why can’t he— just understand?)

You growl against his lips and shove at his chest.

“Just—” You sigh, turning your head to the side. You can’t look in his eyes or you’ll immolate. “Fuck me already, okay?”

Rin wordlessly presses his forehead against your temple. His hands claw into your hips. He’ll leave bruises, but they’ll never last the six months that he’ll be gone for. You’ll be a distant memory to him by then, you’re certain.

Something awful and far too hot is boiling in your chest. 

“No,” says Rin

“No?”

“No.” He repeats, dragging his nose down to your jaw, then your throat. 

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to yet.”

“Well, get a move on then.” You scoff. The watery quality of your voice has shifted to something sharper, angrier. 

“What’s with you?” He sighs out of his nose and it makes you flinch. “Why are you acting like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like this—” Rin tugs your jaw to face him and holds you there. You’re stuck looking into his eyes, azure and shiny like polished stones. Full of something you can’t name, lest you break your heart further.

(Your delusions are both damning you and saving you.)

Your eyes water; maybe you are a crybaby. “Fuck off.”

Rin kisses you hard again, flattening himself to you. He’s a cage like this, where you can only take what he gives you and—

(Rin gives you everything. Because that’s how he is with things he cares about.)

You feel like you're melting into the duvet as you desperately claw into Rin’s scalp, raking your hands through his hair. A pathetic noise bubbles up from your throat, pours from your mouth into Rin’s, and he takes it in kind. He always does. 

(He shouldn’t be reliable, but he is.)

It’s hard to think when he kisses you like this. Rin’s physicality is consuming, like he’s attempting to crush you and absorb you into him. It’s an intoxicating type of connection; it’s part of why you linger within your entanglement. In the moments you’re under him, intertwined with him like this, god, touching at all— you can’t do anything but think of Rin and his attention.

You kick him because he’s leaving— he’s leaving you and he isn’t letting you follow.

Rin grunts at the impact, even though you don’t kick him all that hard. You nip him at the same time— 

You’re so angry.

All the dread in you is angry, bitter like bile, and white hot. Preemptive grief, loss that you have to start swallowing before Rin isn’t even out of your arms.

“I hate you—” You tell him against his lips.”You’re awful. You’re the worst—”

Rin breaks away from you in an instant, slamming you back on the bed by the shoulder in a single, decisive motion. It makes your head spin.

“You don’t mean that.”

“And what if I did?” It’s not convincing, your voice is wobbling too much for it to be. You stare up at him, lips curling. 

“You’re being a brat.”

“Oh my god, says you—” You roll your eyes. “You’re the brat here. Just— fucking kiss me—”

“No.”

“Then fucking leave already—!”

Rin holds you steady by the jaw, bowing over your body. You can’t look anywhere other than him. It’s consuming, like you’re being engulfed by a rushing tide. 

“Stop. It.” His words are clipped, filled with his own anger. His grip is too tight; you fear he may crush you. 

“Choke.”

“You’re throwing a tantrum.”

“So what if I am?” you laugh, the sound too high and airy to be comfortable. “If it bothers you so much, just leave already. It’s not like you want to be here. Does passing time in my bed make it go faster for you, Rin? Getting your last taste of this before you fuck off and leave—?”

“That’s what this is about?”

“What else would it be about!”

Your voice breaks and you close your eyes. God, you don't want to cry, but it feels unavoidable now. All of Rin’s attention, potential vitriol, judgment, and rejection is pointed at you. You might as well fucking die.

Rin is quiet over top of you, like a dark, stormy cloud in its last moments before a thunder crack. Heat lightning crackles between the two of you, but nothing strikes the ground yet. 

“It’s better for you to stay here,” he says eventually. 

“Why do you think that?” You sound exasperated.

Rin’s quiet again, then speaks like he’s seated at a confessional, and not over your hips. 

“You shouldn’t be around me too much when I’m playing,” Rin confesses and squeezes your jaw. “It’s bad enough here. All I’ll be doing is playing soccer—”

“And that’s what you want, right?”

“Yes—” Rin admittance hits you in the chest and you have to let out a steadying breath, so you don’t shatter right there. “And you can’t be there for that.”

“Why?”

Rin lets go of your jaw and you open your eyes. 

His own jaw is tight, his bottom lip bitten between his teeth. His eyes are wet, almost like there could be tears threatening to spill into his lower lashes. Maybe you’re imagining it. 

“Trust me.” His tone is a bowstring. You’re both ready to snap. “Please.”

A whine echoes from your throat, out of your control. 

(You love him and you hate seeing someone you love hurt—)

You can’t help yourself. You tug him down by the shoulders and into you, so he can lay over your chest. He lets you, so easily, and tucks his face into the curve of your neck. He hides there, arms wrapping around your middle, so tightly that you’re sure that you’ll ache there the next day. 

It hurts, it hurts— not the pressure on your ribs, but having the atypically unsteady presence of Rin in your arms. It’s not uncommon for the two of you to cuddle, Rin is clingy, especially after sex, but it is odd to see him this visibly upset. It hurts because he’s hurting. It hurts because he’s choosing to leave and telling you not to follow, despite... everything. It hurts so deep in your chest, that you let yourself become so involved and in love with him.

You bury your face in his hair and shake.

...

Rin is bad at protecting people.

It’s a given, knowing his nature and the fact that he had an older brother closely looking out for him for most of his life, makes his ineptitude at protection make sense. 

He clearly wants to be. He has the strength and tenacity to bare his teeth and claw, but you don’t think Rin knows which way to direct his fear and grief— whether to inflict wrath on himself, the aggressor, or the person he actually means to protect. 

You can’t blame him. Some things, Rin only understands in theory and not in practice. Rin is so highly attuned to feelings but so absolutely atrocious at empathizing. You think— with you— he tried. He even succeeded at points, which makes your own heartbreak feel all that more infectious and virulent.

Your back is laid out over your duvet, your legs cradling Rin’s hips. He has three fingers in you, stretching you out with as much care and intention as he can muster. You can tell by the furrow in his brow, the peek of his tongue sticking out from his lips. Pleasure burns in your core, but the sensation is eclipsed by a well of fondness and grief, drowning you.

Rin slides onto his stomach and hikes your legs over his shoulders. He takes one of your hands and places it into his hair. You knot your fingers into the soft texture of it and tug. He likes when you do that, when you try to take from him. Rin shudders between your thighs, huffing a breath into the pudge of them. He nips.

On another night, you’d scold him and give him a playful amount of grief for it.

Tonight, you want him to bite you so hard that you bleed and scar.

(Would he? He’s so scared of hurting you, even if he doesn’t say it. He is hurting you. A sick part of you wants him to do material harm to you, so you’ll have something tangible to remember him by. An imprint of his teeth in your thigh would be too romantic, maybe. Too much to ask for.)

Rin kisses up toward your cunt, taking his time over the outside of it. He breathes in the scent of you, long and hard, a few times. A wishful part of you hopes that he is committing it to memory. 

“Hurry up,” you snap. 

“No.” Rin keeps fucking denying you. Haste would make this hurt less. You could speed things up to the inevitable end where Rin Itoshi has thrown this— you— away and you are left alone. Instead, he prolongs it. Instead he is carving a piece of you out, in the shape of himself, the wound never to fill as cicatrix and heal.

You drag him closer by the hair and grind against his face—

“Impatient—” he says against your cunt with a growl. His arms wrap around your hips, holding you down and in place, keeping you from squirming. 

It’s needed as he drags his tongue over your cunt, dipping the tip of it into your hole before landing on your clit. He laps at it, at you, humming and groaning as you tug at his hair. The motion you’re allowed lets you just barely grind against his face. It’s not enough contact. You want more, need more, but Rin is only giving you so much. 

“God,” you breathe out. “Fuck you.”

Rin practically growls, the vibration of the sound against your sex makes your back arch, a pretty, croaking sound dripping from your throat. He dives into you with more fervor, digging hand-shaped bruises into your hips.

The pleasure comes to you like licks of a flame, just as scorching as they are whimsical. Your toes curl as Rin’s sucks your clit. There’s finesse in his actions. There didn’t used to be, at the start of things, but now Rin knows your body so intimately—

(It feels crushing to know this will be the last time—)

It feels like you’ve been struck.

Never again— this is it—? The last time he’ll be in your bed, between your thighs, in your arms. You’ll never get to share this proximity with Rin Itoshi again. Not this version of him, anyway. You know what the journey that he’s about to embark on will do to him. The Rin that you know won’t exist for much longer, and— 

The version of himself that he’ll return as won’t be yours.

(And he won’t give a fuck about you, will he?)

It feels— like you’re going to die. Preemptive grief for a still-living person feels selfish. And yet, you can’t breathe suddenly, even with Rin, present, between your thighs, lavishing you with (fleeting— fleeting!) attention.

You rip your hand from Rin’s hair and cover your face. You can’t look at him. You can’t. Tears are dripping from the corners of your eyes, soaking into your hairline. Your breathing speeds up, painful and raw. Rin is still between your legs.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, looming over you once more. You can feel his shadow, more than you can see it. 

He grabs your wrists and tries to drag them away from your face. When you don’t budge, he pries them down to your sides. Perhaps it was foolish of you to think that you could hide from him.

“Just—” You breathe, staring into the shadows thrown onto your bedroom wall. “Keep going. Please. Ignore me.”

“The last thing in the world I can do is ignore you right now.” Rin squeezes you, less for comfort and more to remind you that he is there. “Don’t be unreasonable.”

“I just want to get this over with—” Your voice wobbles and you squeeze your eyes shut. A sob is trapped in your throat, breaking in an ugly sound. Your wrist jolts in Rin’s grip, desperate to try and hide the noise. 

You want to hide this from Rin.

If Rin wants to hide the ugly, poisonous part of him that comes out in his career, you want to hide the lovesick one that has infected you. The one that is shattering, in real-time, at the idea of Rin leaving your bed cold, forever. 

“I want to take my time,” Rin tells you. “Let me?”

“And I want you to just get it over with—” You repeat, a sob finally breaking from your lips, fully. Rin noses into your cheek. “Finish breaking my fucking heart already, Rin. Then you can hop on a plane and I can block your fucking number.”

There’s a stall. A beat, then two, followed by a third.

Rin is shaking on top of you.

“Would it be that easy for you?” He speaks with gritted teeth.

Would it?

(No, it would actually be so hard for you to cut Rin off so swiftly. Even if you blocked his number, you’re bound to see him in the news. You don’t even follow football all that closely, but he’s such a household name these days that you’re sure to encounter news of him and his accumulating accolades.)

(If not, you know his teammates. Rin begrudgingly introduced you after the lot of them crossed paths with you enough times. You have a few of their phone numbers. Rin’s mother has your contact information too, from the time that Rin spiked a high fever and you needed her specific oyaku recipe. She messages you photos of her garden now, and asks if Rin’s alright.)

(And none of that is even acknowledging the personal, emotional wreckage that cleaving Rin from your life so swiftly will leave behind.)

“No,” you say. 

Rin takes a steadying breath, his breath too warm against your cheek and down your jaw.

“You said,” his voice maybe wobbles, you may be imagining it, “that I’m breaking your heart?”

You laugh, something horrible and pained. “I thought that was obvious?”

He pauses. “Maybe it was.”

God, he’s so shit at this kind of thing.

“You’re awful, you know that?”

And you cry.

You’ve become so fragile in the past few weeks. Imagining this day, these exact moments of fleeting intimacy, like doing so could prepare you in any way for the pain that’s now tearing through you. The fear of losing him is being actualized, and you’re making it worse, pushing him away like this. But what would happen if you held him closer when it’s so clear that’s not what Rin wants?

You tear your wrists from Rin’s grip, taking a great amount of effort to flip and attempt to crawl across the bed. Crying like this makes you feel awful and ugly; you want nothing more than to hide. Rin is frozen, motionless, above you at first, letting you writhe until you get onto your tummy, squirming and clawing your way out from under him.

Then, he bears his weight down on you. He gathers your wrists up again and pins them to the bed on either side of your head. It’s a single moment of strength that immobilizes you flat all over again.

“Rin!” You mean to shout it, but instead, it’s a cracking sob that you have to muffle into the duvet.

He gathers your wrists in a single hand, and pets your hair, like you so often do for him. He rubs circles on your shoulders as you wail into the duvet. Bucking him off doesn’t work, he’s an unrelenting presence, sitting on your lower back, almost laid over you. It’s hard to breathe.

(A sick part of you likes this. Knowing that your blatant pain and struggle are being acknowledged by Rin, held and quelled by him, soothes the part of you that craves his attention so terribly. You love him so much, you feel guilty for these feelings just as much as you feel elated by the touch and care he is providing you.)

“It’s okay,” he tells you. He is not a being meant to comfort, the words sound wrong coming out of his mouth. “It’s okay.”

“You know it’s n-not!”

A fresh wave of tears pours from you. You’re soaking the mattress. 

“I’m sorry,” he doesn’t apologize either. “If I could give you what you want, I would.”

The sob that you scream into rumpled bed sheets is like thunder that splits the sky.

...

Rin fucks you like he loves you.

He kneels between your legs, holding your hands, thrusting into you at an unhurried, almost reverent pace. Slow and deep, busting up your insides. You’re stretched around his pretty cock beautifully; he told you so. 

Each cant of his hips knocks a teary breath out of you. You— you haven’t stopped crying. You’re not sure that you ever will.

Rin kisses you despite the tears and snot, licks your cheeks and mars your neck with mark after mark. His teeth dig into fragile flesh, biting and sucking like he could be eating you, rather than bedding you. It’s a shift in his demeanor— he’s not normally this desperate. Maybe your shattering has made him more lucid to your coming loss. 

His hands slip up the backs of your thighs, resting behind your knees. He bears his weight down on you, folding you in half easily. It pushes his cock deeper in you, maybe too deep, but you relish the pain anyway. The pressure of him forces a sound of you, aborted and frail. When you try to cover your mouth, muffle yourself, Rin is pulling your hand away to kiss you. 

Rin swallows down every sound, every breath, every bit of you that he can. You press back at him with as much desperation as you muster. He takes and takes, regardless of your tears and jagged edges. 

He curses under his breath, tilting his forehead against your own.

“C-Close?” You ask, another involuntary sound being punched out of your lungs. 

“No—” He shakes his head.

“Are you lying?”

“No—”

“I’m unconvinced,” you manage to grit out, a bubbling sob creeping up your throat just after. 

Rin growls, something in his chest, and thrusts harder, like he’s trying to carve out your insides. 

“I—” Rin’s words choke off, pressed against your lips, a frantic edge to it. “I don’t want to be done yet.”

You both freeze.

Rin’s as deep in you as he can be, his hips pressed to your pelvis. Every bit of his weight is bared into you, into your cunt and flesh. He’s breathing in deep, hurried breaths, sweat beads on his brow. You’re grasping his shoulders, digging your nails into him as his words hit you.

“You—” You laugh and cry in the same breath. “You don’t mean what I think you mean, do you?”

His grip on you tightens. His expression is cloudy, his focus solely on you (what a terrifying thing to be on the receiving end of—)

You continue speaking, feeling a creeping amount of panic, “You— you mean sex right? You want to k-keep going?”

“If I said yes to that, I’d be lying.” Rin thrusts into you, hard and fast. You arch your back against the duvet. 

“S-So you don’t want—”

“I want to keep fucking you,” Rin corrects, easily. He pushes you down into the mattress like he’s trying to crush you, pulverize you. “I don’t want to be done fucking you.”

“God,” you hit his shoulder with your fist and the force of an angry kitten. “You fucking suck, Rin.”

“I’m sorry—”

“ — Don’t say shit you don’t mean.”

He kisses you again, this time softer. More kind, but still like he wants to eat you. 

You finish like that, with his lips laid over yours, with the tempest of loss having consumed you. Rin heavy over your body and heart, pleasure having snuck up behind him enough that tension has coiled in your gut. Your orgasm washes over you slowly, in waves, and you’re sucked down into the sensation with darkening vision and curling toes.

Rin kisses you through it, cursing as you tighten around him. He didn’t— he didn’t use a condom.

“Inside—” You beg him. “Inside— please, please—”

Rin listens to you, bowing over you and pushing your knees up to the sides of your skull. A choked sound leaves his lips and you swallow it down with your own keen. A gush of warmth follows, and you shiver with the heat and fullness of it.

Rin fucks you through his orgasm, muscles drawn tight as he fucks you deep and slow. He only stops when his cock is too soft to continue, and you’re both shivering from overstimulation. 

His cock drags out of you, wet and chilling in the still air. You whine at the loss, the panic and grief of this all hitting you again.

You don’t have much time to spiral, as Rin is gathering you up his arms, rolling away from the soaked sheets. He holds you tight, chest-to-chest. His hand is in your hair, and he grabs yours and places it on his own. Reflexively, you scratch his scalp and tug him closer.

You’re both quiet for a long time. The rain hasn’t stopped, dribbling on, but it doesn’t feel as grim now, more sedating. Your eyes go half-lidded.

“Can you clarify?” You ask Rin, peeking up at him. “What you meant before?”

(“I don’t want to be done—”)

“Hm.”

“God—!” You laugh, headbutting him. “You do suck.”

He squeezes you, so hard that a sound is forced from your lips. 

“So you want to keep fucking?”

“It’s more than that.”

“Fuck, Rin—”

“Shut up.”

“Still figuring it out?”

“Something like that.” He muffles the words into the top of your head.

You’re not sure where your grief sits then. Maybe it’s gone, and your release was just that— release. It makes you laugh again, into Rin’s chest. You squeeze him like doing so will keep him here, in this moment, for a little longer. 

Rin wordlessly squeezes you back even harder.

...

You and Rin don’t talk much once he goes to Europe.

You lose your mind right after he leaves, obviously. Screaming, crying, not throwing up, but pretty close to it. His house slippers get thrown in the back of a closet (rather than in the trash because, despite everything, you have hope—) and you rot for several weeks.

It takes a while for you to be close to normal.

Your routine with Rin had been a regular occurrence. Maybe once a week, sometimes twice. Not having it to count on unmoors you and makes you lonely in a way that feels unwelcome and raw. There’s a piece of you missing, just like you knew there would be.

You get a few texts from him. A photo or two of monuments he encounters with a few choice words—

[Rin]: I thought you would like this

You’re going to fucking kill him.

You’re never sure what to reply, so you tend to keep things brief. Your last encounter made you question your understanding of your relationship so profoundly that you don’t know how to proceed. There’s... certainly more than you expected, but upon Rin departing for Europe, so much had been left unsaid. How do you begin to broach that— is it even your place to?

You don’t bring it up. You don’t call him, you leave the wound he left alone, and it aches a little less each day. Still gaping and empty, but less raw maybe.

It’s late one evening when you receive a call from a random, international number.

You ignore it at first, thinking it’s spam, but they recall you several times, and you pick up on the fourth attempt.

“... Hello?” You ask into the receiver. 

“Oh, hi! Is this [name]?”

“It is— who is this?”

“Oh, it’s Isagi— I’m one of Rin’s teammates from Bluelock. I’m not sure if you remember me, but we’ve met a few times!”

You have— Rin has a serious chip on his shoulder about Isagi, which has been made to be an incredibly comical fact when realized Isagi is one of the most genuinely kind, polite people you’ve ever encountered. 

“Oh yeah, it's nice to— um, hear from you. What’s up?

“Ah, yeah! I apologize for the abrupt calls. I’ve got something to ask you that’s kind of time-sensitive— if you have a minute.”

“Yeah, I’ve got time.” You swallow. “Is... everything alright? Is... Rin okay?”

“Oh, yeah! He’s totally fine. Maybe a little hungover, but fine.”

You straighten up and withhold gasp. “Rin drank?”

Rin has refused alcohol the entire time you’ve known him. He swears it affects his performance. 

Isagi laughs on the other side of the line. “Oh man, you don’t even know. I’ve never seen the guy with any alcohol in his system before either, and I kind of get why. He really is a lightweight.

“I imagine... and this has to do with why you called?”

“Yes, actually—” Your phone chimes with a new message from Isagi. “Is this you in the photo?”

The photo is of another phone, specifically of its lock screen. The time on the photographed phone screen reads [01:11]. The lock screen is a photo of you.

You’re sleeping, clearly, face half-smushed into one of your pillows. Mascara smears under your eyes and hickeys are bruised up and down your throat. From the location of the marks and makeup, you know this is from the last night you saw Rin. Your chest feels tight. 

“What the fuck.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yeah, oh my god.” You had no idea Rin took this photo— and it’s his fucking lock screen? That fucker only had the generic, preloaded graphics displayed on his phone the entire time you knew him. 

“I thought so— sorry, it’s kind of insane for Rin to have a photo like that—”

“It is, yeah.” You run a hand over your face, switching your phone to speaker and rubbing your cheeks. “How does this relate to you calling?”

“Well,” says Isagi, “Rin’s been playing like shit.”

“He has been.” Oh my god, has he. Like actual garbage. You’re not sure you should admit that you watch Rin’s games religiously, because at this point it’s a bit pathetic of you. But you do watch them live if at all possible, otherwise you purchased some stupid European streaming service to catch the recording as soon as possible. And because of this, you know he has been playing sloppily. You’ve been... blaming jetlag. Or something. Adjusting to the European diet or whatever.

(Not the vestiges of your relationship still, miraculously, affecting him in any way.)

“It hasn’t been great. We won our match yesterday, but barely. And we went out drinking which was good for morale! But maybe not great for Rin. He drank a bit too much and got a bit weepy.”

Your stomach drops. You can see where this is going.

“He kept talking about missing someone but didn’t say any name. And when we saw his lock screen... we kind of put two-and-two together.”

“Great deduction. Aren’t you known for that?”

Isagi laughs, sounding good-natured. It makes you smile. It’s nice to know Rin hangs out with good people who aren’t all dour and weird like him. 

“Something like that. Anyway, his birthday is in a few weeks, and me and a few of the other guys thought it would be a good gift for him to fly you out and surprise him.”

You stay silent, attempting to suffocate the spark of hope that traitorously stirs in you.

“Isagi.” You fold your hands and put them vertically to your lips. “Have you met Rin?”

That makes him laugh, “I have, I’m probably around him too much. But he’s been weird since we started the season here. If you visited, the team would cover everything. Our coach even offered to arrange rooms for you at the hotels we’ll be at. If you don’t want to room with Rin, anyway—”

“Rin and I aren’t together.”

“Damn.” Isagi clicks his tongue. “Does he know that?”

Maybe you’re an idiot. Maybe Rin’s an idiot. Maybe you’re both idiots. 

“I should ask him, maybe.”

“He’s never been the type to do things in halves, you know.”

“Trust me, I’m very aware of that.”

Isagi whistles and you shake your head. 

“You don’t have to give me an answer right away. If you could let me know in the next few days, that would be great. You’ve got my number now that I’ve called, yeah?”

“Yeah, I’ll be in touch.” You swallow. “Thanks for reaching out, Isagi. I appreciate it. And— thanks for keeping an eye on Rin too.”

“Yeah, yeah. Someone needs to while he’s here. Let me know what you’re thinking, feel free to call if you need anything too. Or want me to spy on Rin for you.”

“Will do,” You laugh, light-hearted for the first time in weeks. You exchange goodbyes and you drop your phone onto your lap.

...

Oh my fucking god.

You know several things immediately— you want to go. Desperately, actually, especially with the knowledge that stupid fucking Rin Itoshi has you as his fucking lock screen? You need answers, if nothing else. You won’t settle for a very sad, weepy fuck this time around. 

You also know that you should not surprise Rin. 

So, you act before you can convince yourself better of it. You scroll to your messages with Rin and craft.

[you]: hey, i hope you’re doing alright. your teammate (isagi) just called me and invited me out for your birthday to surprise you. but i know you well enough to know that if i surprise you like that you will either kill me, isagi, yourself, or all three of us.

[you]: i wanted to touch base before i gave isagi an answer

[you]: i’d love to see you

[you]: and we should talk too.

Rin almost immediately sees the message— the freak has read receipts on. A bubble indicating he’s typing appears, then disappears.

A call from him comes in. You nearly drop your phone as the screen lights up your face and vibrates.

With a steadying breath, you answer.

“Hello?”

“What did Isagi tell you?”

You snort. “That your play sucks and that you’re a weepy drunk.” 

“He sucks. Don’t talk to him again.”

“I have to, so he and the rest of your team can buy me tickets and a hotel room—”

“If— if you want to come, I’ll buy your ticket. And why would you need a hotel room?”

“So I have somewhere to sleep.”

“Is my bed not good enough for you?”

“Are you implying that I’d sleep with you?”

“...Yes.”

“Damn,” you fall back onto your couch with a laugh. There’s an odd coil of relief that’s unspooling in your chest. You could cry again. “Is that alright?” 

“I— I wouldn’t want—” Rin so rarely loses his words, it shocks you to hear when he does. “Yes. It’s fine. I can meet you at the airport too.”

“Well, aren’t you sweet?”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I.”

There’s a poignant moment of silence that passes between you two. You can imagine Rin now— it’s the morning where he is. He probably is nursing both a bottle of water and that electrolyte drink he prefers— he likes the blue flavor the best. He’s probably in his warm-up clothes, preparing for his meticulous morning routine. 

“I’m excited,” Rin says, stilted but there. “To see you again.”

Something warm burns in you, frail but burgeoning.

“So am I.” You wipe your eyes and laugh. “Don’t break my heart again, Rin, I swear to God.”

“I won’t.”

He says it with enough conviction that you believe him. 

[starryeyedstray]

i forgot that i wrote this so its just been sitting in my drafts but here's my sloppy attempt at this idea hahahah

"You're Connor, aren't you? I've heard about you. The famous deviant hunter," Markus said. He looked Connor up and down. "Well congratulations. You seem to have found what you're looking for."

If Markus was being honest with himself, that congratulations was actually pretty genuine.

Yeah, he's heard about the deviant hunter alright. The infamous android that chased after deviants like a dog without a sense of smell. The poor android never seemed to be able to catch a break. Always making wrong deductions and clumsily tripping over himself.

Shaolin told him that he was certain he overheard the deviant hunter making wrong deductions left and right before being forced to leave without finding him in the attic. Kara noted a car grazed him twice while chasing after her and they were able easily able to evade him. Rupert commented that he was tripping over his own two feet and almost got eaten by a harvester. Echo mentioned that he almost shot Ripple, but he just point blank missed. George explained that the deviant hunter interrogated him and some other androids at Stratford Tower but gave up when he wasn't able to figure out that he was the deviant. Markus could only deduce that Connor managed to dispatch Daniel all those months ago out of sheer luck. Because by all accounts, Connor was just that incompetent. And it seemed to visibly frustrate the poor thing.

It was an understatement to say that Markus was impressed that Connor had actually accomplished something for the first time as a deviant hunter. Against all odds, he had managed to stumble his way here and hold Markus at gun point. But with Connor's track record, Markus had a feeling that this would be another failed mission.

Yeah, deviating him would be a cinch.

Ok but LISTEN!!

A Incompetent Connor fanfic, in which he doesn’t get decommissioned but somehow makes it to Jericho (let’s be real, Kamski just tells him where it is, he feels bad for Connor), and when Markus drops the „famous deviant hunter“ line, he must hold back an „oh, honey…“.

Because the deviants have been TALKING about Connor - talking about how they watched him look for them and not find a single clue and then walk away in defeat with a kicked puppy expression. They are all glad he didn’t find them, but damn, they all feel kinda bad for him because he is goddamn awful at his job and it seems to be genuinely upsetting to him.

Of course he deviates, but Markus isn’t letting him walk into the Cyberlife Tower. Connor talks about unlikely events taking place, but Markus knows his survival isn’t just unlikely, it’s impossible. So Connor sticks with Markus throughout the entire revolution, doesn’t really contribute to their win because he can’t even aim properly and ends up hurting androids without intending to, but his heart seems to be in the right place and Markus kinda likes him, because he is cute.

[wei-ying-kexing-apologist]

Bengiyo's Queer Cinema Syllabus

For those of you who don’t know, I decided to run the gauntlet of @bengiyo’s queer cinema syllabus, which is comprised of 9 units. I have completed four of the units (here is my queer cinema syllabus round up post with all the films I’ve watched and written about so far). It is time for me to make my way through Unit 6- Gems, which includes the following films: Big Eden, Shelter, Weekend, Private Romeo, Were the World Mine, The Birdcage, Make the Yuletide Gay, The Sum of Us, Boy Erased, Boys, Summer Storm, C.R.A.Z.Y., North Sea Texas, Saturday Church, Boy Meets Girl, The Adventers of Priscilla Queen of the Desert, Too Wong Foo Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar.

Today I will be watching:

Big Eden (2000) dir. Thomas Bezucha

[Run Time: 1h 58m, Language: English]

Summary: A thirty-something gay guy, Henry Hart, returns to his childhood Montana home to confront his unrequited passion for his high school best friend.

Cast: - Arye Gross as Henry Hart - Eric Schweig as Pike Dexter - Tim DeKay as Dean Stewart - George Coe as Sam "Sampa" Hart

IT WAS BIG EDEN DAY Y’ALL!!!!! DON'T LET THE STARS GET IN YOUR EYES, DON'T LET THE MOON BREAK YOUR HEART!!!!

When I saw this was on Ben’s syllabus I was so fucking excited because this is one of my favorite movies of all time. Listen, I have watched plenty of movies plenty of times, but this is one of the few films that I have seen where I legitimately watched it back to back. Like, fully the first time that I watched it I immediately started it back over because this film is a drug to me. 

Simply put this is a kind film that is just packed full of love and I am so grateful that we have some stories set in a very small town where homophobia is not a concern. We talk about the bubble in BL a lot and this film is kinda like a bubble show, but Henry’s very clear hesitation to tell Sampa that he is queer is a good way to still hint at the fact that homophobia does exist in this world and that Big Eden just doesn’t really do that. In this day and age with the current political climate being what it is, it is just comforting to be able to see a bunch of older cishet white men get thoroughly invested in helping Pike get his man. 

I LOVE THIS FILM. 

gif by @ballumville

It is really hard to talk about this film because every time I think about it legitimately I just get heart eyes and cease to put on an analytical brain about it. But now that I have to write about it, I gotta try to get some level of coherent thought out of it. 

The dichotomy between Dean and Pike is such a fascinating part of this film for me because Dean is straight and thus more openly affectionate with Henry and Pike is queer and therefore ready to run away every chance he gets when the boy he likes is in the room. I love this exploration Dean has around his own sexuality insofar as it is clear that he deeply loves Henry, but that that love is at the end of the day platonic and familial. But Dean kisses Henry in this movie. Like he tries so hard to give Henry what he wants because he knows how much Henry has been suffering from the two-decade crush Henry has had on him. It is one of my favorite aspects of this film. Whenever I sit down to watch it, I never feel like Dean is queer and just scared to pursue it, I feel like he is straight and is trying to pursue queerness because of how much he cares for Henry.

gif by @ober-affen-geil

But he just can’t. And that is heartbreaking to watch because Henry and Dean both know it from the start, but Dean is trying desperately to do whatever he can to keep Henry in his life, and to give him comfort. Thinking of this film in the context of this syllabus which is a lead up to BL, so many BLs have the general trope of “straight except for you” and though this film is not BL it could have very easily fallen in to that same category of Dean actually being queer by the end of the film, and I am really glad that they still allowed his straightness to exist.

Pike on the other hand, is very aware that he is queer, and he also deeply loves Henry, but in the romantic sense. And Pike is just a generally quiet and shy person compared to Dean. But whenever he and Henry are in the same room it looks like he is in physical pain being there, and that is so fucking fun to watch. This man is down bad. This man learns to cook and doesn’t tell Henry about it because he is just 6’2” of unadulterated devotion. I love whenever a story employs the concept of “food as love” and to see Pike work on continuously more complex dishes as his love for Henry continues to escalate just makes me want to scream. I love this man so much. I love him so much and I am so glad that he gets the guy at the end, because though I am not the biggest fan of Henry myself, all I could ever hope for in the history of the world is Pike’s happiness. 

gif by @ballumville

God there are just so many incredible relationship dynamics in this film. The way that Sampa knows that Henry is queer and is just waiting for him to tell him, the way that Sampa tries on multiple occasions to open the door and allow Henry space to come out. As someone whose parent confronted me about my own queerness and forced a conversation that neither of us was ready to have, I have such intense respect for the way that Sampa handled the last conversation he and Henry had about it. The way that he let Henry know that he knows and he is okay with it without coming right out to say it, without forcing the conversation, and honestly in my opinion, absolving Henry of the need to come out to him if he was too scared to do so. I know Henry still regrets not telling Sampa he is gay before Sam passed, but I also know at that point he didn’t have to. 

And I just have to give a shout out to Jim. Jim really is just sitting there holding Pike’s hand the whole way through trying to nudge him along until he gets what he wants. He knows that Pike is shy and he knows that Pike is scared, and is going to do whatever he can to get Pike to take the bigger risks. All the beloved old farts that park themselves in front of the general store every day are not so subtly, subtly push these two together. 

And of course, I just have to give a shout out to Widow Thayer for how she lets Henry know that she knows that he’s gay by inviting a fuck ton of gay men in to Henry’s home for a social gathering. The look on Henry’s face when he realizes what is happening is absolutely priceless.

All this to say, the film is a warm hug and everyone should watch it.

Favorite Moment 

Okay so the thing is there are a ton of great moments in the film, and before I talk about my absolute favorite one, I need to shout out the Thanksgiving fight between Dean and Henry because it is so good and so devastating “Screw you Henry Hart, I do know what love is. You. You are my family.” HELLO???????????????? Stabbing me in the chest would hurt less. 

gif by @tvandfilm

BUT. I think the award of WYKA’s favorite Big Eden scene is Jim’s conversation with Pike. The way he already bodied Pike in the “I’m just cooking food here.” “If only that were true.” conversation was excellent. But this is fundamentally a film about loving and being loved, and so my favorite scene is the one where Jim is trying to get Pike to stop delivering his love to Henry anonymously. The conversation Jim and Pike have where Pike is still vehemently trying to deny that he has feelings for Henry by telling Jim “I just want things to be nice for him,” Which? DEVASTATING. THAT LINE IS A GUT PUNCH EVERY FUCKING TIME I HEAR IT. To have Jim’s response be “The thing is Pike, we want things to be nice for you too, buddy.” It is so clear to me how important Pike is to the community, but to Jim and the rest of his posse especially. I just love that Jim takes the time to try to remind Pike that taking care of Henry quietly from the sidelines is just going to leave Pike continuously hurt, because how is Henry supposed to know that Pike cares about him when he is constantly fleeing the room whenever they are in the same space and when he lets Henry think that Widow Thayer is the one that is making all that food for him. 

Have I mentioned that I love Pike Dexter?

Favorite Quote

“Did I teach you shame? Did I teach you that? Cause it would break my heart if I had.” 

Sampa loves Henry and he wants Henry to know that he is a safe person to talk to, that he knows Henry is queer and keeping it from him, and that he wants Henry to tell him. This line also makes me so sad all the time because I know that it’s not true. That Sampa did not teach Henry shame, and I feel so badly that Henry’s (very reasonable) fear of coming out to the only living family member that he has left has placed Sampa in a position where he is worried that he has failed to make Henry feel safe and secure in who he is. 

gif by @thegirlbehindthegasmask

Score 

10/10

Is this actually a perfect movie? Fuck no. There are plenty of things I could nitpick with it, including the fact that I genuinely do not like Henry all that much as far as characters go. BUT. Every single time I watch this movie I am just overflowing with joy, and thus I will not be objective about the quality of the film. 

THIS FILM IS PERFECT BECAUSE PIKE DEXTER IS IN IT AND YOU WILL NEVER CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE!!

gif by @fred-erick-frankenstein

[ilostthewar]

Dad!Ghost Angst because I like hurting my own feelings 🙂‍↕️

I’m also a sucker for dad!Simon, but I think Simon is really great being a dad to young kids, but that pre-teens and teens hit him out of left field.

It’s both easier and harder than he ever imagined to love and care for someone who is truly reliant on him. But It’s easy to be the best dad in the world when all he has to do is make toast with smiley faces and be their personal jungle gym. While his absences are felt, they can be easily described away without the need for deep conversation. “Daddy has to work” or “Daddy does really important things and it means he has to go.” And it’s a lot easier to make up missed events or days to a toddler who hardly has a sense of time in the first place. But that’s his baby, the only thing on this hellish planet that deserves everything. So he does his best to do right by them. And because of how his life is so engrained in the military, there’s no way to show how hard he fights to be there for the parts he can be there for.

Simon hears about how teens are hell, he should know, he was absolutely not any upstanding citizen when he was old enough to be out past the streetlights. But he never gave it too much concern, it was his kid and he would handle them however they came. But Simon realizes that he is the problem really early.

Simon always feels like he misses out. But this is different then wishing he was able to catch a recital from more than a crappy screen in the middle of nowhere. But it feels like every time he comes back from deployment his child always looks just a little bit different in a way he can’t describe. Their hair is cut in a new way, they’re trying out a new style, foods that he knew they loved isn’t even on their radar anymore, their opinions rapidly changing, relationships and hobbies rising and falling in their teenage angst. And Simon knows these are all normal, healthy things. It doesn’t change how far away he feels from his kid as they seem to morph into a newer version of themselves like the world’s slowest slideshow. And it doesn’t help that they have more questions about his job and the reality of it. And when they inevitably butt heads, it’s really clear that his kid is a Riley- Hotheaded and snarky. And Simon in a mix of dry and authoritative, used to dealing with that type of behavior without truly raising to their level. But sometimes it just simmers over time and at some point it’s hard to even address all the things within it.

I just think it would be a fun dynamic to explore.

[blackflash9]

That Time When AC3 Flipped Indigenous Portrayal

I always liked that AC III flipped familiar tropes about Native Americans in media, particularly regarding the language barrier and cultural awareness. Ziio mocks Haytham for assuming she can’t speak English, subverting the usual narrative where the comedic effect of not knowing the 'language of the land' is on the indigenous.

It is also Haytham - not Ziio - who causes the bar commotion despite his rather arrogant and baseless assumption that her culture would make her more prone to violence despite only being in the country for roughly a couple days. This also highlights that she understands the land and its people far better than he does.

Redcoat: "Oi, where you goin’, cully?" Redcoat: "No. The other cock robin." Haytham: "Well, I uh… I WAS leaving." Redcoat: "Oh? And now?" Haytham: "Well, now… I’m going to feed you your teeth." Kaniehtí:io: "And you were worried I was going to be the problem."

This also extends to Connor, as he regularly defies expectations by displaying more morality and virtue than many of his colonial counterparts. He criticizes the manipulative nature of the media for countering lies with more lies. Sequence 5: Stop the Presses (Transcript)

Samuel Adams: "So now you've had a chance to see how it all works. Untoward actions will upset the citizens and inevitably lead to the guards being called. Depending on the severity of your transgression, they may simply search a bit before giving up and returning to their posts. But should you offend them severely or repeatedly – they'll become much more aggressive in their pursuit. I've shown you three ways to turn the tide. Remove wanted posters, bribe town criers, or visit a printer to create your own propaganda." Connor: "This feels wrong. Why not just speak to someone and explain my innocence?" Adams: "You can't be serious?" Connor: "We counter one lie with another. Words on paper instantly taken as truth. And all of it without question."

Calls him out on his hypocrisy in fighting for freedom while owning slaves Sequence 6: On Johnson's Trail (Transcript)

Samuel Adams: "Of course. I'm headed to a meeting with some men who should be able to help. Why don't you come along? It's good to see the people finally taking a stand against injustice..." Connor: "Says the man who owns a slave." Samuel Adams: "Who, Surry? I practice what I preach, my friend. She's not a slave, but a freed woman... At least on paper. Men's minds are not so easily turned. It is a tragedy that for all our progress, still we cling to such barbarism." Connor: "Then speak out against it." Samuel Adams: "We must focus first on defending our rights. When this is done, we'll have the luxury of addressing these other matters." Connor: "You speak as though your condition is equal to that of the slaves. It is not." Samuel Adams: "Tell that to my neighbor—who was compelled to quarter British troops. Or to my friend who's store was closed because he displeased the Crown. The people here are no freer than Surry." Connor: "You offer excuses instead of solutions. All people should be equal and not in turns."

And even stops Israel Putnam from kicking a dead enemy’s body - emphasizing that even someone as ruthless as Hickey was still a man. Sequence 8: Public Execution (Transcript

Israel Putnam: "At ease, men! At ease! I said lower your goddamn guns! This man's a hero! The General can be so stubborn sometimes. Piffle, he said, when we warned him something like this would happen! Piffle!" *Israel Putnam kicked Thomas' body* Connor: "Stop." Israel Putnam: "He wanted to kill the Commander. Nearly killed you as well. He was a scoundrel." Connor: "But still a man." Israel Putnam: "Hmph. You're nothing, if not consistent."

Assassin’s Creed III challenged the traditional portrayal of Indigenous people as either savages or passive victims, instead presenting them as individuals with intelligence, morality, and deep cultural awareness. The narrative highlights their ability to navigate complex social and political landscapes while exposing the hypocrisy and shortcomings of colonial figures. Rather than being depicted as primitive or completely naive, characters like Ziio and Connor demonstrate a greater understanding of their environment and the moral contradictions of their time. The game doesn’t just critique the British and questions the American revolutionaries, revealing how their rhetoric of freedom often excluded those who did not fit within their social order.

Through Ziio and Connor, AC3 asserts that Indigenous people were not merely bystanders in history but active participants who approached their world with wisdom and integrity.

[adastra121]

Jin the Abandoned Alchemist

I redesigned my Alchemist!MC again.

Pronouns: He/Him Birthday: September 13 Height: 5’7 / 171 cm Personality: Gentle, awkward nerd trying his best Likes: Books, libraries, gardening, tea, sewing, learning new things (especially of the magic variety), cuddles Dislikes: Hurting people, cruelty, spicy food, the cold, lies, public speaking, running Fatal flaw: Often lets his past and self-doubt consume him. Other: Carries around a small rabbit plush named Aster that he made when he was younger. He’ll eventually give her to his love interest as a good luck charm (enchanted with a small protection spell, too — yes, this boy would give a protective charm to an eldritch horror because he genuinely worries for their safety) if they’re close enough  Yes, this was 100% inspired by Hades Quote: “I don’t believe this was covered in my studies…Well, trial and error is a perfectly valid method of learning.”

More about him below:

His full name would be Yuán Jīnhàn (原金翰). His name was shortened to "Jin" after he was taken in by his magic mentor, Minerva.

Jin is kindhearted, gentle, inquisitive, curious and a bit naive from his sheltered upbringing. He’s always yearned for adventure, but never believed it was possible with his curse. Now, he finally gets his wish, though he had little choice in the matter.

Very socially awkward and easily flustered due to his lack of experience interacting with other people. And now, with his mentor’s betrayal, he’s a bit more reserved, unsure of who to trust.

Usually non-confrontational but quietly sassy. Most of his sarcastic comments are just either in his head or muttered under his breath, but Ais might bring that side out of him more — usually by provoking him.

Jin calls him “Ais-hole” in his head. He’s aware that it’s not a particularly witty or even good insult, but it makes him feel better when the latter annoys him.

Book smart and street dumb

Jin tends to see the best in people, even to his own detriment.

Has avoided touch like the plague. He’s always careful not to get too physically close to someone, and because of this, he’s usually very observant and aware of his space. Not that he doesn’t crave physical affection. He definitely burst into tears when touching Leander for the first time.

This poor boy is touchstarved (ha) but he’ll never ask for physical affection, for fear of either, at worst, hurting someone or at best, being a nuisance.

He also struggles with a lot of guilt for craving touch since he knows it’s dangerous to other people and it’s selfish to yearn for things that put other people in danger, right?

It's why "cuddles" is scribbled out of his Likes section. It's something he doesn't feel like he's allowed to want.

I'm not sure whether this is canon or not, but I wrote his curse as gradually growing, both in surface area and in power. When he was an infant, the curse was only in his fingertips and it didn't make anyone lose their minds. One touch would bring horrible, unmentionable thoughts but those thoughts would pass.

As he grew older, the curse spread from his fingers to his palms to his hands, up his forearms and his elbows. Its effects also grew in intensity. What was a horrible, but instantaneous thought became one minute of terror, then two, then an hour, and so on, and the nature of them grew worse. Currently, it dooms anyone it touches.

And the curse is spreading still. Jin views his curse as a ticking time bomb, so he is desperate to find a cure as soon as possible. He doesn't know what will happen when it consumes him entirely. He is terrified of becoming a monster.

He used to have dark brown eyes, but the curse made his eyes gold. His left sclera has taken on the dark grey and the gold veins of the curse. I imagine that when — if — he is cured, they'll turn back to their original brown.

Adores plants and plushes — soft things that he’s able to touch without hurting. He has a small stuffed rabbit named Aster that he made when he was younger, one of the first things he’s sewn. She has a hidden pocket to carry herbs or small potion bottles. He places lavender and chamomile in Aster when he has trouble sleeping.

He's a bit embarrassed about his love for plush toys. His old magic mentor found his fixation undignified. And really, he shouldn't be needing or craving such creature comforts, as if he was still a child.

He has his plants, though. That's something useful and conducive to his studies.

He talks to his plants sometimes when gardening. “You wouldn’t go mad on me, would you, matricaria chamomilla? … Although, since I’m currently talking to a plant, you’re probably not the one I have to worry about going mad.”

Before coming to Eridia, he used to grow and make his own tea blends. If he wasn’t an alchemist, he wouldn’t mind opening a tea shop.

His spellbook was given to him by his old mentor. It acts as a notebook for magic studies and research, but he also uses it as a diary, somewhere to doodle and write down his thoughts.

He has some trauma surrounding magic, considering that it was a big part of his relationship with his mentor, but he genuinely loves learning and mastering it. He’s always believed himself to be a burden, but magic is something that he can use to actually help others instead of harm them. Despite everything that’s happened, he can’t help believing he owes that gift to his old mentor.

The Senobium always sounded like a dream to him, so hearing that there is darkness beneath the promises of knowledge and wisdom and history is extremely disappointing, to say the least. He’d had hopes of eventually becoming a student.

Aside from matters of his curse, he tries to be as honest and sincere as he can be. Eridia is a city that runs on information, but he chooses to freely give what information he can. He doesn’t believe in withholding answers that could help someone in need. And that is part of how he loses faith in the Senobium after discovering that they’ve closed their gates. All the knowledge of the world, locked away as people suffer, and for what?

This is also probably influenced by his mentor’s betrayal, having been lied to his entire life inclines him to prefer the truth, whatever the cost.

Sometimes, he regrets running away. Was he too hasty? Was he selfish? He was hurt when he learned her true plans for him, but maybe he owed it to her. A small thing to repay the mage who had taken him in. If all he brought was pain and terror, what was a bit of suffering on his part for answers?

And then, he also honestly misses her. He can't say the mage was a bad person, she gave him a home. She practically raised him. She taught him magic. And she made him feel not alone. She cared for him, and he doesn’t believe it was an act — at least, not all of it.

His zodiac sign is Virgo

MBTI is INFJ

Enneagram is 9w1

Here is his full new design:

I'm quite happy with it! I think the new silhouette and added magical alchemy tools suit him well. I also gave him a cloak closer to the description in the demo.

Songs I associate with him:

"Wanderer's Lullaby" by Adriana Figueroa I imagine his Minerva used to sing this to him when he was a child.

"The Moon Will Sing" by The Crane Wives Mourning the relationship he lost from his mentor's betrayal. As broken as it was, they were both less alone.

"How to Be Invisible" by Kate Bush Jin's character theme. I like how the song's arranged like following a recipe, it's fitting for the alchemist part of his character.

"Ruin" by The Amazing Devil Jin's love theme.

"Light of Nibel" by Gareth Coker ft. Aeralie Brighton Jin's battle theme.

"Show Yourself" by Idina Menzel and Evan Rachel Wood Could be another character theme, though I think learning the secret of his curse won't be as hopeful and uplifting.

[call-me-rucy]

Cetaganda ch. 13

Extreme apologies for the lack of updates recently. Since the last post I have: moved, started a new job, spent like 27h going places in various trains and buses, done my last exam.

In these chaotic times there's nothing I'd like more than a little certainty, so I turn to Miles and his chaos instead.

We were with the plan to retrieve the gene banks (thanks, Ivan!)

Staying at the ambassy just in case someone out there tries to assassinate him is reasonable. Too reasonable. Can't wait to see how he's forced out. Rian?

Miles hoped that Lord X was very, very sorry he had decided on Barrayar. And I'm going to make you regret it that much more, asshole.

Oh Miles I have missed you.

I hope the Key is indeed in a cipher lab so I get to see what a futuristic cipher lab looks in the Vorkosiverse, and compare with labs in real life.

I wonder to what degree Miles' excuse, desiring ship duty, is still true. Like, rn he's at the best position for him, answering only to Illyan and Gregor is where he fits best, I'd say, and he must know this, but 20 years of hopes don't disappear easily. And also that line earlier "Hi, I'm a war hero but I can't tell you why, it's classified". Ship duty are were the public heroes are.

Miles pointed to the ceiling with his thumb. Maybe they're listening to us. Ivan's lips formed two words. Fuck them.

I love the idea of Illyan being a sort of god to ImpSect that lives in the ceiling of all rooms, but I love more the idea of very-human Illyan receiving the recordings of Miles and Ivan's rooms days after the fact and having to listen to them while Miles is right in front of him like "Yeah me and my coz possibly avoided a fourth Cetagandan war. On our own. Neat, right? :3"

Forced outdoors by social events! Wow this is the most terrible thing lol

Maz and Vorob'yev are so getting together.

Yeah, what do they want Ivan for. Is this a case of "No, the Fullmetal Alchemist is the short one"?

NOT KIDNAPPING!! I mean, it's narratively fullfilling and all that because Ivan has been complaining all book about being in danger and specifically Miles getting him in danger BUT NOT IVAN!!! My boy!!

Rian!! Things are moving!!! Aaaaaaah!!

(I'm wondering now what languages are spoken in Cetaganda. Like, Miles has been able to go up and effectively communicate with everyone, including Ba which would have no reason to know languages other than those spoken in the Celestial Garden. And I'm assuming he does so in English? I know that the alphabet in Barrayar is Cyrillic but I feel like it would've come up if they spoke Russian? The recruit at the beginning of TVG destined to languages implies that there is not a magic-translate-it-all-gadget invented just yet, so I'm just finding it interesting that the Cetagandans would speak also precisely the same language. And I don't think there has even been a Cetagandan accent mentioned? As opposed of the Betan accent which does exist. This is all a literary tool for making the writers life easier, like making all days day-lengthy-ish and all years year-lengthy-ish, which is something I totally respect btw, but I find that idea of going to an international interplanetary event and be inmmediately understood by everyone to be very anglophone-y)

(Rucy, it's been three weeks, and now you're going on tangents while plot is happening?!)

(Shhh, I haven't thought about Vorkosiverse in too long, I have to make up for it.)

This isn't Emperor Gregor's Birthday Party, dammit.

AHAHAHAHAH POOR GREGOR

RIAN HAS CAPTURED THE KIDNAPPER BUBBLE! Oh I love competent women as well.

Ivan is alive! Yay! Omg using the "not yet" leitmotif on "Ivan is not dead" is genius. Wish I wrote this good.

ETERNAL PLAN A: LETTING MILES TALK IS DOING WONDERS!!! OH I LOVE THIS!! And its not even his usual "Ill convince you", he's stalling for an old woman to go get help/a weapon. This is amazing. I love this book.

(It was, in fact, a case of "No, the Fullmetal Alchemist is the short one".)

Idk how to tell you this, my boy, but Rian is not likely "Empress of Cetaganda until tomorrow". She's probably "Empress of Cetaganda from tomorrow on" as well.

So, Kety still has the bank. And the Key. And he's on notice. -Damn. What idiot came up with the idea of the banks…? Ah, yes…

Give my other poor boy a break, Miles, he's having a very tough day.

Please, not dead yet. I love a good leitmotif.

WE'RE GOING INNNNNN!!!!

[reallyhardydraws]

i overhauled my old ronnie dress up doll via @meikerio !

i tried to keep the same or similar items in her wardrobe to the old version, (but there were some i just genuinely didn't like enough anymore 😅) and then i added more pieces. like a lot more.

her wardrobe is very full now -- and i hope you enjoy dressing her up! feel free to share your outfit combos for her with me too.

[play here! 🧛‍♀️🍓💟🌟☂️]

[maironsbigboobs]

re: elf servants

I think generally there are servants in royal/noble households simply for practical reasons and they generally fall into 2 categories: specialised servants (think, stewards and messengers and scribes, masters of horses or kennels, that kind of thing) and servants who help with the upkeep of the household (cleaning, repairs, cooking and also the apprentices and assistants of specialised servants)

specialised servants are probably quite prestigious roles and fields of industry in their own right, and they are considered full members of a household, and probably are closely linked to the person they serve - it's as much a political and social statement to be Finwe's chief scribe as it is an economic one

but the second category are more associated with the house than the family living in it - for example, Finwe's palace in Tirion would function both as a home and a diplomatic and administrative centre, it would be impossible for him to rule and keep up with chores himself. But Fingolfin's personal home would probably not have any full-time servants - when there more people than usual to feed or house then professionals might be hired, but for the most part I imagine the day to day is done by the family (made possible by the fact elves sleep and eat less than humans)

IRL domestic service (at least in the 18th century) often functioned as a kind of prep stage for adult life (for women in particular, but gender is probably not as big a factor for elves) and I could definitely see this in Valinor - domestic servants being 80% elves between 50-100 who haven't chosen an apprenticeship or similar in another field who are earning extra money to set up their own households, getting experience outside of the family, meeting others in their own ae cohort, learning independence etc. It's a job that comes with the offer of room and board + the wages a king/prince/lord can provide. Not glamorous, but not terrible.

The other 20% is made up of professional servants - experienced elves who are genuinely like the work and are contracted workers as much as a builder or gardener might be. Some of them might be independent and others part of businesses set up by other elves who are really into cooking/cleaning etc.

In Beleriand the situation (for the exiles at least) is probably very different, though I think there would be attempts to adapt the system - but there aren't as many households that need servants and there aren't as many young elves.

[wilanserulia]

I have some considerations about shipping, if you'd entertain me.

I usually stick to my OCs, but lately I've been trying to lean more into drawing fanart. But when a friend asked me if I was going to draw something for FF7, since I've been playing Rebirth this last month, I said no. Final Fantasy VII is an incredibly popular game, I didn't feel like I needed to add my own little fanart to the thousands of thousands already out there.

But then, about 120 hours deep into the game, I got to this scene, and I changed my mind.

I'd like to ramble about it under the cut. Spoilers, of course.

Having played the original Final Fantasy VII back on PlayStation 1 means I've been able to witness the shipping wars for over 25 years. Countless fans facing off in online battlefields, fighting over whether Tifa or Aerith was the "correct" choice for Cloud.

My feelings on the matter are... complicated.

I usually avoid weighing in, because the whole discourse feels flawed in its premise. Granted, maybe my mindset is probably why I could never quite get behind the idea of shipping in general. The conversation is always so... narrow, so close-minded. Human beings are complex individuals, they're complicated and illogical on the best of days, let alone on matters as complex as affection and feelings.

But the way you hear people talk online, you'd think there is only one moment in time, only one true love, only one singular experience, and everything else is invalid, a red herring, a mistake.

Case in point, I believe that for many reasons Aerith and Cloud make a pretty cute couple. And Tifa and Cloud also make a pretty nice couple. Aerith and Zack? Lovely couple. And I believe the breath of FFVII's story is wide enough to allow for all of these to be true, for neither of these to contradict the others.

Because the world is complicated and life is short, and we all bumble through it trying to set aside as much happiness as we can for ourselves, trying to find love in a world where no one is specifically made for another.

Cloud and Tifa have history together. They eventually end up with one another and I think they're a good couple, they complement each other, they look out for each other, they understand each other on a level that others can't.

But dear god, not for a lot of the story they aren't.

They each have their own problems, their own troubles, their own ghosts, neither of them is in the right headspace to commit to a relationship. If we consider the events covered by Remake and Rebirth, they have as much trouble approaching one another as they find it easy to feel familiarity. Had they tried anything at this point it would have been a mess.

I never played Crisis Core so I never had a chance to see their dynamic firsthand, but from everything I've seen of Zack and Aerith in the main game they'd probably look adorable together. They're both very optimistic and energetic and they'd likely easily bounce off each other. They look like they have a similar and very compatible love language. The relationship clearly meant a lot to Aerith, and it's easy to tell from the way she reminisces about it during the game.

And yet she hasn't seen him in... what? Over five years?

At this point of the story, no matter what chemistry they might have had, whether Zack has died or is just ghosting her for whatever reason, Aerith is probably just trying to move on.

Granted it's a bit unbalanced, Aerith is taking the most of the burden to make this relationship work, but once she gets things going Cloud is a surprisingly caring and affectionate person. He has severe trouble displaying it, but he looks after her in many understated ways and he always finds himself humoring Aerith's many requests, allowing himself to be pushed way outside his comfort zone to a degree that he doesn't reserve for anybody else, letting her drag him onto date after date, making a show to be too cool for it all but nonetheless enjoying the warmth of her company.

While a vague resemblance is what sparks Aerith's interest for Cloud, what she really latches on is her intuition that there's another Cloud, a "real" Cloud, hidden somewhere deep down. Whether it's due to her connection to the Lifestream or by virtue of being a very empathetic person, Aerith has made it her mission to pull out this more innocent, more genuine, easygoing, caring, and even goofier Cloud out of the depth of his psyche where he's been locked away.

She is relentless and doesn't take no for an answer.

And even though Cloud keeps up his tough boy charade with everyone (with the occasional hiccup), Aerith is the only one who succeeds in pulling him out of his shell.

Of course it won't last between them. It can't. Maybe in another life, maybe at another time, but in this it was never meant to work.

Their final moments together are melancholic, and the consequences will be scarring, but their time together is precious, for the both of them. And Rebirth captures it all in such a beautiful way. After playing through that one last date, in that surreal dreamscape, I was so touched that I felt like I simply had to draw it.

One Last Date

[primus-why]

.

[twinklefantasia]

on one hand wanting them to bring over features from style savvy

on the other hand wanting fashion dreamer to be able to be its own game....

[equalperson]

sometimes I believe that My tendency to avoid telling My family when I'm having health issues is just the result of avoidant cognitive distortions, but then I actually do it, get told that it's "normal" and/or a lifestyle issue, and realize the real cognitive distortion was expecting help at all -_-

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

i have many many many critiques about wylls story, most of them being about the fact it's just so lackluster in game when compared to other companions which is a shame. because wyll to me is and has the potential to be an even more emotionally compelling companion. and he was early access!! he was so gritty in ea please bring him back larian i beg of thee. the way he was rewritten has stripped him of so much nuance and depth. wyll to me is such a wonderful character to me because of what he represents, which is heroism so down to his core he never gives up on it even when he ought to

his goodwill and nobility are ceaseless. at the center of his story is betrayal trauma, his agency over himself vanished into thin air. mizora turns him into a monster and there is no turning back. he has become the thing he's despised, the things he's hunted for his entire life. and we know so little about that canonically because of the way his story is set up but its hinted time and time again that he struggles with his reality deeply and even that cannot make him turn away from the city he loves so much.

if larian would go back to clean up and fix his story (which im truly praying to god they do) i want them to touch on what wyll must be going through as he continues to try to ground himself and deal with his newfound reality. i want them to touch on the abandonment he experiences because of his father and the inevitable burden his title as blade and hero has on him. because these things obviously compel him, they're hinted at all the time but they were completely stripped of him in final release and its fucking disheartening... larian please im begging you. thats the love of my life. please.

but for now i will do it with fanfiction and gather enough wyll fans to make a fuss about it . peace and love