#but I could not grasp enough whimsy

[pickles4nickles]

Woe, Bizzyboys be upon ye

[i23kazu]

if i had a flower for every time i thought of you, i could walk through my garden endlessly. | alhaitham x reader, sfw ── wc : 571

al haitham's walks are practical. they are never for fun, nor the love for sunshine or feeling the grass beneath his feet – his feet always have a place in mind. they take him where he needs to be. they had never walked with the lightness of romanticisation, nor with the whimsy or delightful for the fun of it –

– until you.

he's lighter– happier, even, now that this angel of a person sits across him with the most darling smile to grace his presence.

"would you care to accompany me on a walk?" al haitham asks one day, and he turns to meet your curious gaze. he can see a flicker of hope

"you'd like to go on a walk?" you push yourself off your seat at the counter. "i don't mind accompanying you."

"is it truly that surprising?" a soft sigh parts his lips – he looks almost disappointed, even. you tiptoe to press a sweet kiss to his cheek, smiling as you watch his features turn upwards in quiet delight.

ask him a year ago if he desired anything like this, and he might have scoffed lightly and turned away.

"no," you giggle and set your heels down. "i guess it's just not something you see every day."

silently, you grab his hand – it's so much bigger than yours – and you can feel him squeeze it a just little tighter today. his hands are warm and big, rough and calloused but they also fit perfectly with the curve of your hands. it's perfect.

al haitham looks happier, you think to yourself as the grass beneath your feet greets you with a gentle hello. the flowers sway in the afternoon breeze, and the sun seems to hide away a little, in fear of burning you – it's so pleasant outside today... perhaps he's in a good mood because of that?

you watch him as he hums softly, peering at the prettysome wildflowers below.

"come here, darling," he motions, pointing you to look towards the flowers that sprouted up.

"there's so many, hayi. it's beautiful." you gasp softly, grasping onto his fingers tenderly.

he smiles, and mumbles something under his breath.

"what was that?" you tug on his arm, looking into his eyes. he looks almost embarrassed to say it louder. he clears his throat and glances back at the wildflowers.

"if i had a flower for every time i thought of you, i could walk through my garden endlessly."

you're standing there, pleasantly surprised– shocked, even– into silence. did you hear that right?

"eh?" is the only thing that leaves your lips.

"..forget i said anything, it's alright." al-haitham pats your head, albeit awkwardly – flushed and maybe the tiniest bit embarrassed.

he silently wishes he hadn't said anything at all– silly alhaitham, who was he for thinking that someone of his demeanour would ever pepper his words with that like a lovesick fool?

"nooooo, al haitham!" you whine softly, nuzzling against his shoulder. "that was so sweet! i was just .. taken aback, with how sweet your words were."

"is it not obvious enough how infatuated i am with you?" he rests his head atop yours, breathing lightly and lovingly squeezing you tighter.

the next thing he feels is a gentle, saccharine sweet kiss being pressed against his lips – he's hungry for more, now, ravenous even – like a monster yearning for an ounce of love. maybe he wouldn't mind being the lovesick fool, just this once, if it was you.

[pawpiefawn]

𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓯𝓵𝓸𝔀𝓮𝓻 𝓰𝓪𝓻𝓭𝓮𝓷 .𖥔 ݁ ˖

❤︎ alhaitham x reader 0.5k words walking through a flower garden with him. reupload + edited from my previous blog.

al haitham's walks are practical. they are never for fun, nor the love for sunshine or feeling the grass beneath his feet – his feet always have a place in mind. they take him where he needs to be. they had never walked with the lightness of romanticisation, nor with the whimsy or delightful for the fun of it –

– until you.

he's lighter– happier, even, now that this angel of a person sits across him with the most darling smile to grace his presence.

"would you care to accompany me on a walk?" al haitham asks one day, and he turns to meet your curious gaze. he can see a flicker of hope

"you'd like to go on a walk?" you push yourself off your seat at the counter. "i don't mind accompanying you."

"is it truly that surprising?" a soft sigh parts his lips – he looks almost disappointed, even. you tiptoe to press a sweet kiss to his cheek, smiling as you watch his features turn upwards in quiet delight.

ask him a year ago if he desired anything like this, and he might have scoffed lightly and turned away.

"no," you giggle and set your heels down. "i guess it's just not something you see every day."

silently, you grab his hand – it's so much bigger than yours – and you can feel him squeeze it a just little tighter today. his hands are warm and big, rough and calloused but they also fit perfectly with the curve of your hands. it's perfect.

al haitham looks happier, you think to yourself as the grass beneath your feet greets you with a gentle hello. the flowers sway in the afternoon breeze, and the sun seems to hide away a little, in fear of burning you – it's so pleasant outside today... perhaps he's in a good mood because of that?

you watch him as he hums softly, peering at the prettysome wildflowers below.

"come here," he motions, pointing you to look towards the flowers that sprouted up.

"there's so many, hayi. it's beautiful." you gasp softly, grasping onto his fingers tenderly.

he smiles, and mumbles something under his breath.

"what was that?" you tug on his arm, looking into his eyes. he looks almost embarrassed to say it louder. he clears his throat and glances back at the wildflowers.

"if i had a flower for every time i thought of you, i could walk through my garden endlessly."

you're standing there, pleasantly surprised– shocked, even– into silence. did you hear that right?

"eh?" is the only thing that leaves your lips.

"..forget i said anything, it's alright." al-haitham pats your head, albeit awkwardly – flushed and maybe the tiniest bit embarrassed.

he silently wishes he hadn't said anything at all– silly alhaitham, who was he for thinking that someone of his demeanour would ever pepper his words with that like a lovesick fool?

"nooooo, al haitham!" you whine softly, nuzzling against his shoulder. "that was so sweet! i was just .. taken aback, with how sweet your words were."

"is it not obvious enough how infatuated with you i am?" he rests his head atop yours, breathing lightly and lovingly squeezing you tighter.

the next thing he feels is a gentle, saccharine sweet kiss being pressed against his lips – he's hungry for more, now, ravenous even – like a monster yearning for an ounce of love. maybe he wouldn't mind being the lovesick fool, just this once, if it was you.

[torusdove]

— You taste sweet, like honey

Pairings: Yuuji x reader, Kento x reader, Satoru x reader, Choso x reader & Yuuta x reader.

Description: types of kisses I believe they fit!

— Pinky promise! ˚｡ Itadori Yuuji.

In the heart of the small, neighbourhood middle school, Itadori and you were found running behind one another. The laughter of innocence surrounded you both as you basked in the warmth of the sun, your hand stretched in front of you as you tried to lay your hands on his body, tagging him to be it.

Spring had brought the subtle wind with her, filling the air with the sweet scent of the blooming flowers and pollen that seemed to be giving Itadori a hard time once in a while.

With sparkling eyes, you took one big step, pressing your palm against his back. You absolutely didn’t mean to do it, but gasped anyway when he tumbled over into the fresh field of grass. It took him a little before he burst into laughter, rolling onto his back as he watched you with the same spark twinkling in his eyes.

“Y/n,” he breathed out, chest heaving up and down through a small cough that itched up into his throat. Those stupid pollen.

“We should marry when we’re allll grown up!”

You couldn’t fight the mischievous grin that seemed to grow into your lips, giggling softly behind your tiny hand before you took a seat beside his face, knees probably covered in green when you’d get up. “You’re silly!”

“I am dead-serious!” His voice became louder, sitting upright as his eyes struck yours with a certain certainty, “We will have a biiig house with eleven cats and seven birds!”

Caught up in his whimsy, imaginary future, you couldn’t help but giggle even more, innocent eyes crinkling into two new moons while he watched you with a smile curled into his lips. “Okay, ‘dori, I promise we will!”

Without another word, he extended his pinky high up into the sky, waiting patiently until you seemed to be doing the same, “Pinky promise?” And with all of your teeth on display in a big smile, you linked your pinky with his, your fingers intertwined in a gesture that felt as significant as any wedding ring, “Pinky promise!”

With your childish promise made, Itadori leaned in, his little lips pressing gently against your cheek. The kiss was sweet, innocent even, filled with the purity of childhood affection. Yet, both of your faces were flushing red, laughter filling the air a second later when the silliness was no longer ignorable.

As the sun shone her brightest colours in the sky, you continued to play, hearts filled with the joy of friendship and the magic of youthful promises that, for a moment, felt as real as the world around you.

— Morning affection ˚｡ Nanami Kento.

The soft glow of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting a warm hue across the bedroom. Your eyes carefully fluttered open, aware of the new day dawning upon the world while stirring around gently. The empty spot beside you told you enough to mourn your loss already: Kento was awake and ready to head to work.

Nevertheless, you did have the privilege of being met by his back, blazer neatly straightened and tight around his biceps, hands probably busy fixing his tie. The smile that curled upwards into your lips had won the battle, watching him silently.

When he turned around and locked eyes with you, you could swear you saw the corners of his eyes soften around the edges, walking way too quickly towards you. Bending down a bit, slightly towering over your frame, his lips found their comfort on your forehead.

"Good morning, my love," he whispered, voice a gentle murmur. "’M sorry for waking you.” It was silly, the way he apologised for something that happened despite his quietness. So, with a soft smile, fully embracing his doting as the slumber still had a grasp around your wrist, you whispered, “Nonsense, Nami..”

As you felt him backing away, you debated whether to grasp his wrist and ask him to stay “for just five minutes longer”, but decided against it when he seemed at peace after giving you such a sweet goodbye.

Patting his chest softly, straightening his tie out just the tiniest bit, you watched him with a fond expression, “Gon��� miss you, Nami – hurry back home, ‘kay?”

With an amused grin, he nodded his head, letting his lips dip down to meet your forehead for a second time. You could feel his grin against your head, softly breaking out into a smile yourself.

“I will be back before you know it, sweetheart.” With that, he walked towards the bedroom door, glancing once more at your body being swallowed by the fluffy blankets. It may have been a brief moment for outsiders, but it warmed your body more than the blankets ever could. Watching him leave the room, you couldn’t help but sigh out contently, already counting down the seconds he’d come back home.

— Drowsy love ˚｡ Kamo Choso.

The room was dimly lit, with the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting a warm ambience. Laying entwined in the comfort of your bed, the soft sheets cradled Choso and you like two warm arms. Both on the verge of sleep, but a gentle restlessness lingering in the air.

Your lips met lazily, a slow dance of affection. Eyes half-closed, you exchanged sweet, drowsy kisses, each one deepening the quiet intimacy between you. Fingertips traced gentle patterns on bare skin, a silent language of love spoken in the quiet of the night.

A contented sigh escaped as you parted from his lips, only to hear a whine coming from his lips in the hopes of gravitating back together. The world outside your bedroom seemed to fade away, leaving only the rhythmic exchange of sleepy kisses and the steady beating of your hearts.

The room filled with the soothing sounds of your shared breaths, creating a melody of quiet affection. The soft rustle of the sheets only echoed the tender moments between you even more, and in the hushed stillness, you continued your wordless exchange, savouring the sweetness of those sleepy kisses that spoke volumes about the love you held for one another.

— What were we waiting for? ˚｡ Gojo Satoru.

The room was bathed in a blue glow from the long-forgotten TV, a playlist playing in the background which neither of you paid any attention to. A low hum of laughter and music filled the air as Satoru and you, both slightly tipsy -rather, very much drunk-, found yourselves on the sofa in the middle of the shared living room.

Originally, you’d have shared this very same sofa with three other people: Suguru, Kento and Ieiri. However, with all three of them finding their way in life, the sofa only seemed familiar to your two figures.

With one last sip from your glass of wine, you let your head fall back against the headrest, closing your eyes while a deep sigh spilt from your mouth. Satoru couldn’t help but mirror your body, letting his fall back in the same way, only with his head turned towards the side of your face.

Your hair was messy, not unkept, but dishevelled enough to be called messy. There was a soft, red glow blooming into your hot cheeks, darker than the usual shade of lipstick that adorned your chapped lips. He noticed the way your chest moved at a much slower pace: a lazy, deep breath followed by a -just as- lazy deep exhale. Your eyes were fluttered shut, eyelashes moving the slightest bit along with your eyes.

Your exams were finally over, and now you could relax.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to feel his eyes burning holes into your soul, but this time the heat felt more unbearable. Maybe your tolerance for alcohol wasn’t as high as you thought.

Or perhaps he was staring a little harder than normal.

There was no escaping his gaze, no escaping his strikingly clear eyes, even when you had convinced yourself that opening your own slowly, would maybe get the job done.

It wouldn’t.

His irises were coloured a fierce blue, a luminous glow of happiness and youthfulness sparkling within them. They burned fanatically, challenging the sun by showing off its brightness. They could devour the beauty of the rest of the world with ease, leaving you to question whether you had seen anything that would even come close to their beauty. Resting your cheek on the headrest, you finally let your eyes meet.

A subtle shift in the atmosphere hinted at unspoken feelings.

Your cheeks felt hot and your head was pounding, fingers quick to fidget with the rims of your nails to get your mind a little more focused. A slight buzz in the back of your mind had you feeling hazy, dozy even. It made you question whether or not your eyes were betraying you by observing his body leaning more towards yours.

You couldn’t speak of any betrayal when your eyes caught his lingering on your lips, a playful smile etching its way into the corners of his mouth. He never lost his childish playfulness, your strand of hair being twirled around his finger absentmindedly being proof of it.

The TV played a soft melody, creating a backdrop for the unspoken tension between you. A bubble of air seemed to have settled its claws into your trachea, your hand carefully finding its way to his knee.

Satoru had always been beautiful, had always had girls running after him ever since you had known him. And up to this very moment, you had never quite understood.

In turn, Satoru let his body shift closer, lightly nudging your thigh with his. The air buzzed with quiet anticipation as you shared a secret, drowsy smile, realizing that something unspoken lingered between you.

A shared moment of vulnerability passed between your gaze, each recognizing the unspoken feelings. His hand found your fidgeting ones, intertwining his fingers with yours until you had become completely still. The room seemed to fade away as both of you moved closer, drawn together by an undeniable magnetic force.

With a gentle touch, your free hand brushed a strand of white away from his face, your fingertips grazing his cheek. The atmosphere crackled with unspoken words, but in that shared moment of silence, you both understood. Without needing to say a word, your lips met in a soft, lingering kiss that spoke volumes about the connection you had discovered in the midst of a tipsy night.

— This isn't goodbye ˚｡ Okkotsu Yuuta.

The airport terminal was buzzing with the hum of conversations and the shuffle of hurried footsteps. Surrounded by the busy crowd, Yuuta and you stood facing each other, expressions a mix of anticipation, sadness and longing. With his bag packed and his luggage beside him, you couldn’t help but tear up, trying to hold them back by flashing him a wobbly smile.

"I guess it is finally time.." Yuuta said, his voice tinged with slight excitement but also reluctance as his eyes picked up on your own. Your usually bright whites had turned a pinkish colour, the sparkle within them also nowhere to be found.

Your head moved up and down, blinking back tears and swallowing the big lump that seemed to be stuck in your trachea, "You will have a great time."

Noticing your soft speech, and your shimmering eyes, Yuuta couldn’t stop his body from moving closer into your proximity, reaching for your hands and squeezing them softly in reassurance, “I will be back before you know it.”

There was no use in giving him any sort of rebuttal, nodding once more as your hands lightly squeezed him back. “I know,” you measly whispered out, “I am proud of you for coming this far.”

These were the last moments of the two of you being able to be this close to one another, and Yuuta seemed to realise that as well. Pressing his forehead against yours, he spoke even softer than before, eyes strikingly clear, “I promise I’ll come back. I’ll come back stronger and braver, for you.”

You couldn’t manage more than a small smile, eyes glistening in the bright airport lighting, “I will be here.” Yuuta’s thumb brushed across your cheek, wiping away a stray tear as gently as he could.

It didn’t take him long, but it did take him a handful of courage to do what he desperately wanted to do months ago. With his hands gently cupping your face, he pressed his lips, with utmost tenderness, against yours. Surely, you could categorise it as a bittersweet kiss, filled with the promise of return and the ache of separation.

However, as you watched him disappear into the crowd, becoming one with the sea of people, you couldn’t help but not think of this as a departure, but more so as a new beginning that just had to reach its starting point.

Author speaking: i love reading comments and quoted reblogs ;) take care!! <3

[cilil]

AN: Another one for @angbangweek!

⚡︎ Prompt(s): Shapeshifting & mountains ⚡︎ Synopsis: Melkor and Mairon play an elaborate game of chase in the depths of Utumno ⚡︎ Warnings: Dragon daddy Melkor ⚡︎ Short oneshot (~600 words) | AO3

The halls and caverns under the mountain were vast, greater than even the halls of Aulë, a kingdom of stone and shadow in the bosom of Arda.

And there was a monster lurking in its depths. 

Mairon's breath came in small puffs of frosty white, visible in the cold air that surrounded him like a foreign force reaching and grasping for his warmth. He could sense that he had been spotted; the creature from below was on its way. 

Attempting to avoid capture, he ran. The patter of his feet echoed through the grand subterranean halls, almost unnaturally loud. His fiery locks bounced and billowed behind him like a flickering flame. From far away, yet drawing ever closer, Mairon heard claws on stone, rustling wings, the low growl of a mighty being pursuing its prey. 

He ran faster. His hunter followed. He was swift, yet no matter where he went, the sounds came closer. 

There was no escape either. Even his sharp senses found neither wind nor daylight within this icy labyrinth. 

Alongside the creature, Mairon heard his own heartbeat. It was fast now, erratic; it alone would betray his presence. Louder still were his breath and his feet, aching from sharp rocks and difficult terrain. 

At last he made it to a particularly great and spacious hall, reminiscent of a throne room. Before Mairon could even make sense of his surroundings, something large, winged and scaly rushed in, its mere presence so mighty that he was knocked to the ground and unable to continue fleeing. 

A clawed paw settled on his chest. It alone was big enough to almost cover him entirely. 

He was caught. 

His hunter was what would in later ages be known as a dragon, a huge reptilian creature with horns and wings and shimmering black scales. Gleefully, it lowered its snout to sniff him, then opened its fanged mouth to reveal a long, pink forked tongue and began licking him. 

"I caught you."

"You did," Mairon conceded and fell limp in its grasp. "I have been caught by the mighty Father of Dragons and King of Arda." 

He was almost disappointed when his words prompted his hunter to shift forms, the dragon shrinking until the tall, humanoid form of a great and terrible lord stood before him. The horns and wings remained, as well as a few patches of scales adorning grey skin, and Melkor looked down at him with bright purple eyes. 

He licked his lips. "Indeed. And now you are mine." 

Crouching swiftly to seize Mairon once more, he picked him up and held him like a groom would carry his bride. His tongue, still unnaturally long and forked, darted out to lick wet stripes across his face and neck. 

"Whatever shall be done to me now, lord?" Mairon asked, batting his eyelashes in faux deference. 

"I shall take you to my lair," Melkor purred, "and then you shall be part of my hoard, my prettiest and most precious gem, made from the Flame Imperishable itself..." 

"Ah! Such a terrible fate!" Mairon exclaimed theatrically. "Will perhaps a hero from the West come and save me, lest I be taken by the Dark One?"

"Nay," Melkor laughed, and his dragon tail swished back and forth gleefully. "There is none who could save you from me. You must yield to me, precious little flame, and be claimed as mine." 

Mairon pretended to swoon as he was carried down into the depths under the mountains by his supposed captor, an entirely too excited monstrous Vala. But the truth was that he was thrilled as well, impatient to see how their little game would continue — and which sinful, illicit acts would be performed upon him. 

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @angbangbaby @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @blauerregen @bluezenzennie @destinyeternity1 @edensrose @elanna-elrondiel @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @just-little-human @melkors-big-tits @melkors-defense-attorney @saintstars @sauron-kraut @urwendii @wandererindreams

[undefeatednils]

TTRPGs I Desperately Wanna Play

I like TTRPGs. I've only played with three systems (D&D 5e, The Dark Eye 4th Edition Revised, and Dread), but I'd love to try out more. These are a small selection of games that I wish I could play, but I sadly lack the group(s) for that. Also, as an honorary mention, Pathfinder 2e needs to be pointed out. It's very mainstream, and I think I'd enjoy it as a player, but not as a GM.

These games are all in alphabetical order, by the way!

Blades in the Dark

Blades in the Dark is an absolute classic, from everything I've heard. Designed by John Harper and pretty old by now (2017!), I'd just love to experience a short campaign with it. The usage of "clocks" to represent progress when solving problems, the focus on intrigue in general, flashbacks! Blades in the Dark is a very specific game, but it sure looks so fun!

Cloud Empress

Designed by someone going by watt, Cloud Empress is heavily inspired by Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind, the first original movie by Hayao Miyazaki (by the way, not a Ghibli movie, because it predates the studio, and its success allowed Studio Ghibli to be formed!).

Cloud Empress really feels like a world where violence is an option, but rarely worth it. Gorgeous illustrations, a fantastic injury and stress system, and a dark yet hopeful setting really give it a lot of flavor that I really, really love!

GRIM

Designed by Tumblr's own @efangamez, GRIM is a dark sci-fi horror game inspired by Quake. I loved reading about its fast-paced, coin-toss-based gameplay and its focus on players rushing around the dungeons, so I'd love to get to play it some day! Let me slay some eldritch beings!

Mausritter

Another oldie, but a goldie! Mausritter by Isaac Williams really plays with the squishyness of player characters in TTRPGs of yore and plays with it by making the players create cute little mice that go on adventures. You can go Watership Down dark, or whimsy, or somewhere inbetween. Perfect little guy energy in the form of a game.

Mothership

So... Are you looking to play a game with someone that really allows you to mirror classic films like Alien or Aliens or The Thing or Event Horizon? I think Mothership by Sean McCoy and others would be the perfect game for that. It largely uses d100s and really seems to allow for characters that fit the archetypes you can find in sci-fi horror movies and have them be both weak enough to be in danger but competent enough to have a shot at dealing with the problem at hand.

See You Space Cowboy

See You Space Cowboy (also known as CUSC) by Onslaught Six and the rest of Tidal Wave Games is really just Cowboy Bebop the TTRPG without the licensing required. Lots of jazzy slang creates the short ruleset for this fun sci-fi RPG. Its system of traits, talents, and breaks feels very intuitive, and I just wanna put on some T-Square or Yoko Kanno or Casiopea while me and a bunch of friends try to survive in a zanier version of space compared to, say, Mothership xD

Sherwood

Created by Richard Ruane, with additional design by Eric Swanson, Sherwood really looks like it can capture the feeling a lot of TTRPG campaigns want to achieve when presented with the idea of adventurers being more trouble for commonfolk than they're worth.

It uses a nice, elegant 2d6 system, its four attributes also serve as a resource for your outlaw, and it really seems fit to tell fun folk tales filled with magic, rebellion, and merriment!

The Electrum Archive

Developed by @emielboven, I just adore pretty much everything about The Electrum Archive. It combines an incredibly flavorful desert world setting with mechanics that are easy to grasp for folks who mostly play 5e, and three very cool classes (I adore the Warlock and the whole magic system which involves knowing the true names of magical spirits and a bit of negotiation between the Warlock player and the GM). I backed the game's second volume via Kickstarter because I was so blown away even by the free rules. I adore it!

Wanderhome

Wanderhome, by Jay Dragon, is another classic. And it barely has any "conventional" mechanics, mostly relying on conversations guided by the, many, many playbooks that exist for it. It really seems like such a beautiful game, an exercise in empathy, and I'd love to read the rulebook more and sit down with folks to "play" Wanderhome, sharing tasty drinks and snacks in the sun.

Also, as an honorary mention, Pathfinder 2e needs to be pointed out. It's very mainstream, and I think I'd enjoy it as a player, but not as a GM.

Also sorry to the two folks I tagged, both are just very prolific people who are also (semi-)active on Tumblr, so yeah...

And again, I didn't get to play any of these. But maybe I will sooner rather than later? Hopefully?

[the-fae-folk]

I think that the pronoun "fae" makes no absolutely sense. Even though if you perceive yourself as a fairy. It's like... Still identifying with a fairy is questionable, but.... in the case you were a real fairy the pronoun is still non-useful. Pronouns are for genre, not for specie or race. What do you think about?

Personally, I do not really find that it makes much sense to me either. However, there is little harm in letting people use whatever term, title, or label makes them happy. While it can be true that identifying with the folk could be questionable, it need not be a bad thing. While I have spoken extensively on the dangers the fair ones present to mortals in those old tales, there is still so much good that comes from them in other stories. Is it truly so terrible a thing to want to identify with something so complex and wonderful? To wish for something that can surprise us again and again each time we delve deeper into its mysteries? To long for something that can teach us as much about ourselves as it can another culture?

You say that even for a real fairy the pronoun would be non-useful. I disagree on that. While perhaps you or I may not be able to make much use of it, as we cannot find our sense within it, even you cannot deny that others must have found something in it that gave them more than they had before. Else why would they cling so desperately to it? They must see a bit of themselves within it, or at least the self that they wish to become. That seems useful enough to me. Identity is so fickle and strange. Our true names are ever-shifting and dancing as we ourselves grow into new people at every moment. Yet change and the unknown are frightening to many. Being human is so very hard, and so many feel like they may lose themselves to the demanding flow and ebb of the world around them. So they grasp at the things that help them to create the person they wish to be, regardless of the sense or the linguistic rules. It is something they do so that they may create at least one thing to anchor them to the known and the safe, they can craft themselves as they wish to become. Pronouns exist in many forms and types, and in many languages. There are ones that indicate gender, but there are ones that indicate a level of formality, or politeness, inclusiveness or exclusiveness, and which noun phrase you are referring to in a complex sentence. They have so many uses, but the one thing they share is that they are intended to bring some kind of clarity to the language being spoken. So...if we find that we cannot understand, and see no sense in such things, then the question we might ask ourselves is this: Who is this intended to bring clarity to? Is it me? Or is it them? They are using these many odd pronouns like a signpost set to mark the way as they explore the paths of their identity. To help themselves navigate the twisted mazes of the self. Certainly they might ask others they meet to call them by whatever pronouns they have chosen, but that too is so that they might hear you calling and know that it is truly them you have met along the road and not a stranger they do not know how to be and could never wish for. So, in an unexpected way, the nonsense they have crafted out of whimsy and self-discovery has found a sense in itself after all. Unconventional, and certainly unexpected, but perhaps not so bewildering and frustrating as we might believe at a glance.

And even if that is so, perhaps you should reconsider your stance upon the sense and nonsense of life. I have wondered at so many things in this strange and hauntingly beautiful world. Is it so very strange that I have come to believe that not everything must make sense, that not everything must have a well defined purpose? I believe that it is often enough for them to just be as they are, for no reason other than the joy in their existence. There is just as much beauty to be found the nonsense as there is the sense, one only needs to learn how to see.

[ihopenoonefindsthispage]

and i got neighbors, they’re more like strangers. we could be friends.

i just need a way

out of my head

There was an absence of noise. Or at least there was an absence of a specific noise. In the distance, cars could be heard driving by every other moment, and the critters of the night could be heard skittering about in the bushes. The wind was low and the night was cold, but there was an absence of noise that roused him into wakefulness. There was an absence of a certain stench as well. An absence of a certain oily, uncomfortable energy.

Under his back, he could feel the gravel sinking into his skin, jagged edges leaving small pricks in his skin. He sat up, eyes opening slowly, dust falling from out of his hair. It took some effort, but after sitting up, it seemed the remainder of his strength began to trickle back to him. There was nothing recognizable near him. The road, crowded on either side with dark businesses, warehouses and mechanic shops with English names gave him a small idea of where he was, but not enough information. The road itself, worn down and desolate stretched in only two directions from what he could see. He stood up, dusted himself off, and with all the energy he could muster, began to walk in what he hoped was the most promising direction.

Within the time it took for his senses to return, there was barely any thought he could hold on to to explain his current predicament. His memories were foggy, whimsy strings he could barely grasp before they eroded into nothingness over and over. Underneath his skin he felt brittle and dry. He could only walk on and he could only see what was right in front of him. He could only hear what was near to him. He could only understand what was in front of him.

He walked for what must have been 5 miles before proof of civilization became something he could not only hear but see. There was a gas station in his line of sight. He stepped inside. The brightness bothered his dull eyes, but not nearly as much as they would had they been active. Inside there stood a short, stout man behind the counter, hair balding and glistening under the yellow lights as he scrolled on his phone. A couple of people walked around inside, none noteworthy he surmised, scouring the aisles only glancing at him once before moving on. No recognition, no curiosity in any of their eyes. He checked his pockets and was grateful to know his belonging were still on him. As he moved to the farthest side of the store, he bumped into someone, much shorter than his eye line was expecting, as he turned the corner. She looked at him, eyes widening in surprise and then recognition before she moved along, pardoning herself with an impersonal smile.

Feeling a bit suspicious he trailed her movements as she continued on her way. With a juice in her hand she eyed the snack cakes, eyelashes fluttering as she searched for her goods and then moved on to the next one. He went up to the counter, grimacing as he caught a glimpse of the cashier’s mysteriously stained orange shirt, prepared to pay for his own drink as he kept the darker skinned girl in his peripheral.

“Card or cash?”

The English was expected, but it still took a moment for his brain to kick into gear. He gave the man behind the counter his card, hoping it would work internationally. When the man returned it with an obvious amount of annoyance he only sighed and looked through his wallet for any dollars he might have.

“I’ll help you now ma’am.”

The same woman from before eased ahead of him a bit reluctant as she handed her stuff to the cashier, all candy and cakes and that one peach flavored juice. She eyed him has he rummaged through all his coins, staring approvingly for some reason.

“Do you know who I am?” He couldn’t help but to ask right then and there.

She blinked dark eyes at him. “Of course, it’s a really good cosplay.”

Her short sentence didn’t make any sense to him. “Cosplay?”

She hummed as she grabbed her bag from the bald man, “Or costume I guess since it’s Halloween?”

“It’s Halloween?” He was relieved that whatever happened to him hadn’t caused him to be unconscious for days, although if he was in America, it was probably already several hours into November in Tokyo.

“Yes?”

“Who do you thinking I’m cosplaying?” He asked absentmindedly as he calculated how long ago the events in Shibuya must have happened, “do you have the time?”

She pulled out her phone, and from his extreme height advantage, he could see the time before she even told him. But not only the time, but the date as well, which showed as 9:27 pm October 31st, 2023. Five years in the future somehow. His brain was short circuited, the letters floating around in his head uncomprehending. And only more so when she answers his previous question.

“Gojo Satoru.”

“Gojo?” He truly didn’t understand anything. A novel experience.

She squinted those dark eyes at him again, nervousness creeping into her expression. “Have a goodnight,” she decided to end the interactions there.

“Wait a minute,” he said as he trailed after her. Her apprehension was very obvious, but she tried to maintain a calm and polite facade. As to not scare her away when she had such a wealth of information he so badly needed, he stood far away from her as she lingered near the door to her truck. The two braids hanging in her face sway lightly in the wind as she pulled the oversized flannel further onto her shoulder. “I’m a bit confused. Why do you think I’m cosplaying Gojo Satoru?”

Her head is titled a bit in confusion. “It’s a really good one you know? I’ve only ever seen good one like yours on Japanese TikTok.”

The confusion was only deepened. “Do a lot of people cosplay me? I mean Gojo?” What he really wanted to ask is why? How? Since when?

She laughs lightly at his question. “I mean yeah. He’s a super popular, most beloved anime character at the moment.”

“Anime?!”

“What, do you just happen to look like him or something? There’s no way your hair is bone white like that from birth.”

He could only splutter offensively. “It is! Because I am Gojo Satoru!”

The woman puckered her lips, before she bit the bottom one, and then the top one then finally she tucked both of her plump lips into a line. He couldn’t tell if she was trying to not laugh at him or refrain from saying something offensive.

“Okay sir. Have a good night,”

“Wait wait wait!” He took two long steps towards her as she climbed into her truck, “I can prove it. And when I do, I need you to explain some things to me.”

As she started up the truck, she locked her doors and rolled her window down a bit, just enough so she could hear him.

“Okay, Satoru,” his eyebrow twitched a bit at how she said his name like she rehearsed it, “go ahead.”

“Can I have some of your juice first?”

The blank way she stared at him made him raise his hands defensively. “Come on! I think I’ve been knocked out in the middle of some mechanic park for like five years and I’m thirsty as hell.”

She scoffed before reaching down and pulling out an unopened bottle of water from her door. She handed it to him out the crack in the window and watched him warily. He would’ve preferred the sugary juice she just bought but understood why she wouldn’t hand it over. He gulped the entire bottle down greedily then balanced the empty bottle in the palm of his hand. She looked from his eyes, which were still a dull, plain blue, to the bottle in his hand, which as soon as she clapped her eyes on them compacted itself as if it’s been stepped on. Her mouth dropped open as it stretched into various states, crumpling into itself over and over.

“What the fuck.”

i’ll do anything

for a way out

of my head

[sailtomarina]

My friends think we’re dating

For the past few months, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy had traipsed all over muggle London taking in its food scene from familiar Parisian cuisine to the pungent spices of takeout Indian, and even to American pizza that Draco simultaneously loved and hated for its greasiness. Theirs was the tentative start of a friendship between former enemies now coworkers. When the Malfoy heir expressed curiosity at her lunch one day, a plate of Pad Kee Mao, she discovered his appallingly limited palate, one accustomed to the whimsy of house elves and professional chefs. He laughed in disbelief at the idea of street food, and at first didn’t believe her that entire night markets existed for the pleasure of eating. So Hermione took it upon herself to introduce him a couple of times a week to something new—for his own personal growth, of course. The change in her schedule didn’t go unnoticed. “My friends think we’re dating.” Draco’s hand froze momentarily before resuming its movement towards the box of doughnuts between them. He carefully plucked a powdery white one from the side and considered the dark red ooze at its tip before taking a small bite of the confection. How he could gracefully eat a powdered jelly doughnut without a single spot or smear afterward, Hermione could not for the life of her figure out. “Is that a problem?” Cool grey eyes probed into hers after he finished his last, impeccable bite. “Isn’t it for you? Putting aside the fact that we’re just friends and you don’t even like me like that.” Her words trailed off near the end, and she picked up her coffee mug to nervously sip at the now lukewarm beverage. She grimaced at the bitterness of the over-extracted beans. Draco smirked at her reaction and placed a few packets of creamer in front of her. “This is why I suggested we get our coffee elsewhere, Granger. Everyone knows the coffee at doughnut shops is absolute shite.” He tilted his head as he watched her tear open and pour a couple into her mug before continuing. “And what if I do like you like that?” Thunk. Creamy brown liquid sloshed over the rim and she cursed as she fluttered around for napkins to clean up the spill. “Don’t tease me like that, Malfoy!” “I promise you, I’ve never been more serious. I do. Like you like that.” With a wordless wave of his hand, the mess on the table vanished. He then reached across and threaded his fingers with hers. Hermione stared at their hands before taking a deep breath to somehow steady the pulse threatening to beat right out of her chest. A chuckle coupled with his thumb rubbing a warm trail across her knuckles left her breathless in anticipation. He let go of her and before she could protest, he picked up her sad excuse of a coffee and drained it all. “I thought these meet-ups were purely educational? Just a step towards your muggle knowledge? Also, why did you drink my coffee?” She waved her hands first at the pastel pink box and coffee mug, voice far more shrill than she’d like to admit. “Yes, I do appreciate these forays into the muggle food scene, but there is and has always been an ulterior motive, Hermione.” The switch to her given name had her gaping in the most adorable manner, and he couldn’t resist his follow-up question, one he’d been waiting to ask but now felt appropriate given her friends’ meddling. “Would you date me? And hopefully not long after, allow me to court you?” “I—I suppose that would be—yes, I’d like to—” without even waiting for her to finish, he swept her up with him as he stood, shrunk the rest of the doughnuts in their box to place in his pocket, and made for the exit. “Excellent. There’s a lovely little coffee shop we can go to wash out this swill.” His hand grasped hers tightly, but his pace measured a gait to match her smaller one. “What, so now you’re educating me on muggle coffee?” She had recovered her composure enough to tease him with a light nudge to his elbow, and he cast an appreciate grin down at her before wrapping an arm tightly around her at the apparition point. “Yes, and on so much more.” ---

Note: I absolutely suck at brevity. I know Drabbles are supposed to be short, but I find it nearly impossible to keep my scenes sub-500, much less 100. Practice makes perfect?

[dcviated]

@sentofight sent: Edea is going to hug Wylan from the back. "Don't. Don't turn around." burying her face into his back, there was a soft whimper and her body shakes a little bit. "Just for a bit..." (she wouldn't tell him that she had a really nasty nightmare and it felt so real. She will not hear the end of it from him. She'll make up something if he asked... He died in her nightmare. His blood covering her hands, all over her. It felt... REAL. and guess who killed him.... her.)

There's a flaw, here. It is rooted where all unfortunate circumstances take place. Miscommunication. Though Edea has reached out, grasped, from a place of emotional connection... Wylan is clueless of this. For years he's often approached life from a stance of whimsy and irreverence. Coping mechanism to be sure, given some of his own troubled history. And yet. Most of the time it served him well enough! He's still here!

...and it's fun to tease Edea.

"Don't turn around?? But... dontcha know? I lo~ve looking at you. Gazing. Leering. How could you deprive me of something so critical to my existence." Comes the playful scoff from the swordsman. Though he complies, he playfully wiggles against it. Turning this way and that with gentle sways as the lady clings to him.

"Are you trying to kill me, Edea? Because that's what you're gonna do at this rate... I can feel it..." Time to get dramatic as she continues to cling, a small shudder sent through his person so that she may feel it. Knees begin to wobble, and then he starts sinking lower. "My life is fading... if I don't see... my beautiful little lady... ahhh.... I- I just might..."

With a dramatic BLUH he collapses onto the ground in a crumple.

[feralkwe]

Top 5 places you'd like to visit

ooh! a good one because i am truly not a travel-for-whimsy person. i largely find travel awful unless there is a specific reason for said travel, i.e., someone specific on the other end i want to see. that said, there are places i would willingly go if i had the opportunity (money and politics included) and could do so without being "part of the problem" while doing so. having lived in a major tourist destination for almost two decades has made me very aware of the ways tourism is a scourge, and i have a lot of complicated feelings on travel for travel's sake as a marker of success and education or wev the common belief of it is as a result.

that said:

5. scotland. while i do have one singular friend there whom i would enjoy seeing, this is a place to which i would travel without that being the main purpose. i don't have any deep reason for it. i think it's extremely lovely, would love to see some of the castles, and some of the really old graveyards. i also have this weird idyllic notion that i would enjoy hiking and staying in bothies in the process. i have a really distant relative who was forced out by the clearances but has never actually been part of the draw.

4. tibet. this is definitely a "if i could not be part of the problem" thing. because i don't mean like, chinese controlled tibet. like, tibet as it belongs to the indigenous people of the region. i just want to learn as much as i can about it from the people who love it, who can tell me about it without the oppressive government twisting, and it may be the one place on my list i want to see purely for this purpose. it's also, for many reasons, the one place on this list i am least likely to ever have the opportunity to visit, second only to one place i will mention shortly.

3. australia. while i pretty famously have a dear friend here, my desire to have my ass kicked by nature extends far before that friendship was even in its infancy. seeing @icescrabblerjerky would obviously be the main goal now, but i really need to have a kangaroo stare me down from his native land or something. there is also a "don't be part of the problem" element here, as respecting, supporting, and understanding indigenous culture is always a goal of mine wherever i might be.

2. far northern america. like, canada, alaska, and even the northwest stretches of the upper peninsula. like i grew up there and have never been to copper harbor. i've been to alaska once on a layover with enough time to go to the best state fair i have ever experienced, but i'd appreciate the opportunity to see more. the northwest territories. the yukon. nunavut. i don't have a goal or actual destination in mind, but the far reaches of turtle island/mishiike minisi hold a lot of (probably obvious) appeal to me.

1. your house again. obvs. you have cool dogs and take me for walks. i know i am cheating a bit, but really. you're the main attraction of the midwest, baybee.

there needs to be an honorable mention here that has too many caveats to list, but north korea. having lived in seoul, i think it's natural that i would be curious about it. there is so much about life in seoul that was in relation to the north in an odd and casual way that i only sort of grasp, even after 20 years of it being a factor in my life. we did visit the dmz and incursion tunnels on a guided historical tour, and there is a "city" (kijong-dong) you can ostensibly visit (we were forbidden by our specific circumstances from doing so), but that tour experience has a very bizarre atmosphere i have a hard time putting into words, and as i was much younger and not a korean speaker like my spouse, i am sure a lot was lost on me. like, our guide made a joke about there being a body in the han river as we drove by on our tour bus and so many people (mostly korean people, as we were surprisingly the only americans on that tour???) found this hilarious, but i found it extremely uncomfortable. like i said, a lot was lost on younger me. so, a complicated mention here.

so, there you go! thanks for the ask! i am feeling needy for them today lmao.

[another-corpo-rat]

Don’t look at me. I know. But I am also a weak ass bitch who rereads Pride & Prejudice almost yearly.

And boy if I thought Smasher’s voice was hard to find before, it was near impossible considering this AU is so not him. Alas he’s but a toy to my whimsy so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Prompt: Free Day – AU {Regency} Adam Smasher/OC Summary: After breaking her heart years ago, Victoria doesn’t take Adam’s return well. At all.

.

All the years of careful steps and dutiful presentation as the perfect daughter, the perfect lady, the potentially perfect wife, walking with her chin held high and her temper pressed well underfoot, amount to nothing when she lays eyes on the man again.

That temper, a thing usually doused the moment she feels even an ember of it try to spark, rouses into a blistering inferno in her chest – its smoke chokes her lungs, tightens so cruelly within her that her heart has no other option but to thunder against the cage of her ribs in its desperation to escape the inevitable reopening of its wound. A wound she had carefully tended to in secret, cradling that broken organ as tenderly as her lover should have, holding it in her gentle grasp, letting it spill its naïve hopes and aches in ink across a page that she’d hide away in the pages of books she knows her mother would have no interest in reading.

“Fruitless things,” Marion Crane had said once when her daughter had offered her the book that had caught her rapture at the tender age of fifteen. “Don’t let it sully your thoughts with imaginations of whimsy, my dear. Love is a luxury we cannot afford.”

A lesson she should have taken to heart long ago. Once she had convinced herself she had – until that American came along, with his stern brow that only seemed to soften when he caught her eye across the room. That had softened her in turn, convinced the lone child of the notoriously sharp, impossibly wealthy Cranes to put her talons away. She should have known better, that a man of his standing would naturally seek a perch as high as her own to elevate his personal status, even to be seen with her arm entwined in his would bring interest he could never dream of currying on his own; the novelty of an American in London only lasts as long as a cup of tea on the day of their arrival. And seen they were, together in public, arm-in-arm in their walks around gardens, her dance-card conveniently full for every inquiring partner but him, yet it ended as suddenly as she felt it began. The scandal sheets had a particularly field day with that matter, the young Crane spurned by one far below her station.

And now here he is once more, perfectly at home in her aunt’s parlour. The aunt whose daughter is getting married to an American of ‘interesting character.’ The coiling in her stomach feels like fire, and it must be for how her throat dries and how hot the water that builds at the corners of her eyes is. Clenching her jaw as she was taught, grinding her teeth together until all become dust is not enough to keep her still, driven forward by the vitriol in her chest, the venom building on her tongue.

“You uncouth, barbaric, hateful-” Her litany of insults is muted even to her own ear with the ring of a slap that fills the deepest corners of the room, the sharp sting of flesh to flesh biting into her palm and, for but a moment, calming the torrent that was her thoughts as his head snapped with the motion, cheeks already reddened by the bite of outside’s cold unbalanced by the richer pink that now blossoms across his left. It is a sight to watch that square jaw, strongly defined, work with what she imagined to be bitten back insults, or perhaps his own rage being caught in his teeth, his hand rising to rub where she had struck. And yet the words he gives don’t insult her character, simple and more proper than her own venomous greetings. It works merely to rile her ire more.

“Hello, Ms Crane.”

“Is it not enough that you unsettled my standing within society, that you have to now lay those same designs upon my cousin?”

“You’re talking trite; I have no such ‘designs.’” There is the scorn she knows he carries, curled deep in his gut and baring its teeth in the smallest of gestures, the simplest of words – it matches her own beast, that quelled temper that only he manages to provoke. She wishes it was mirrored, that if she alone could not have his love then maybe his anger could be hers, but it wasn’t the case and she is loath at the thought he may own a part of her, no matter how unpleasant that part may be.

“You have lied to me enough that I have no reason to place merit in your word to contraries, Mr Smasher, not when all I know stands against you.” His brow, that strict thing that sits atop characteristically narrowed eyes, draws to meet in the middle, a conference of thoughts she both wishes to be privy to and desires to interrupt in tandem. “I am merely curious in what lies you have fed her, and if they were perhaps from the same trough as the slop I ate from your hand.”

“I don’t recall an instance of ever lying to you.”

“A shame then, that I was such a fool to not notice how thoughtless your promises were that you can’t even remember the dishonesty of them yourself. Because I doubt that slap was hard enough to wipe them from your memory.” And despite her anger stepping aside, letting the hurt she had managed to hide for the better part of a decade seep through in the rough edge of her voice, he has the audacity to smile – to laugh! A rumbling sound, rolling through his chest to shake those broad shoulders in minute quakes. And ever bold enough to take liberties he has no right to, his fingers rise to crook under her chin, the hardened skin of a working man rough against her own unmarred and soft, tilting her head upwards so she has no option but to meet his stern eyes – to bear witness to their softening, to the crinkling at their edges in amusement. It’s a mockery how her heart still skips at the view, that her thoughts veer to the beauty of it even now when she knows it to be the grin of a rake. A greater mockery still is that she knows how those lips will feel against her own, against her skin, the texture of the small scar that mars his bottom lip, the warmth of his breath that should be foul with poitín instead sweetened by anise comfits. The worst of it all, an offense she inflicts upon her own pride, is the longing to feel them against her again.

“Oh, I have missed you.” He croons, as soft and sweet as the nothings he had whispered when they lay together in his bed, nothing between them with even the cotton sheets kicked aside against the summer’s heat, dipping his head so that her longing may be cut short. It would be a simple matter, an easy motion of rocking onto the tip of her toes to close the scant distance propriety would already deign scandalous enough to question her virtues over, a mere press of her lips to his and their dance could begin anew. He would lead, as he always did despite her efforts to the contrary, wrangling against his demand as she did even when she fancied they might have something of a future together, his tongue would glide gently across her bottom lip and dip into her mouth at the vaguest of invitations.

It would all be so easy, so painfully familiar. A well tread mistake; one she had promised herself she wouldn’t make again for she had trailed the path so readily that there was no need to pave it, not when he was engaged to her blood and not when she had designs that extended beyond England and yet – and yet, she presses forward and up, locking her lips to his at not the detriment of her heart but the encouragement of it; that wounded organ she thought trying to escape the inevitability of pain was as foolish as the rest of her, its efforts not to flee but to bury itself in his chest, nestling close to the drum of his own.

Damn it all, she had missed him too.

[anotherhumanpet]

His intentions were clear now, and Evelyn wasn’t sure how to feel about it. She felt like she was standing at a potentially life altering point in the boy’s life- a stark juxtaposition to the calm whimsy of the snow falling before them. “I hear you.” She started slowly, the seriousness of the conversation (from her perspective) clear on her face, “You want to protect the people you love. And Rata is a vile being. He is, though, still a Beast of Yggdrasil. Like me. That would require extremely powerful magic coming from all corners of the realms.” She hoped he could hear the warning within her words.

He could see that he was busted. The subtle shifts in Eve's demeanor and tone said plenty; that Dennis' subtly wasn't all that subtle. But she was still answering him, and although he didn't fully grasp the gravity of her words, he understood enough to slow down and actually think about the conversation a moment.

"So if I block him out, I block you out too?" It was only a question because he needed it spelled out and have absolute clarity on the situation so when he relayed the information to Jaden, there'd be no uncertainty.

[resmarted]

alright fine, is this what you want? here it is, the weirdly sincere version of me that comes to casually haunt you late into the night, she's right here. did you want me to tell you how i'm scared this is just another trick or too jaded to believe in the niceties of others, that i am beside myself over how pretty you are and that something that once seemed fairly easy to ignore has made its way through the floorboards pounding at my conscience with such ruthless fury? i don't know exactly when this happened, i think it started in very small flickers that i could easily smolder without much thought. i think surely you must interact with everyone this way, that you're just very nice and everyone sees these same shining eyes and has to protect their own hearts accordingly, that perhaps it has been like this since you were a kid and that your mother probably has stories for days about what that was like for all the sweet stupid girls and boys that got overlooked and left behind. i try to make sense of it, water it all down with pure logic, like surely you must feel bad for me or want to put me at ease in some sense of duty as any nice caring person would. surely you knowing me by my government name has hindered your ability to really see me and i can rest easy knowing it's just an extension of grace and generosity with good manners mixed in. i woke up randomly from a dream a few weeks ago where we were talking and could only manage to think huh, that was weird. i didn't want to keep thinking about it. i can't keep doing this to myself, the whole reading too much into things that are not there and overinvesting energy better spent elsewhere. this always happens when i am already stuck on someone else that doesn't give me the time of day, when i am wrapped safely in the cocoon of a delusion so refined that i couldn't possibly make room for anything new. i can never just be normal about things. i need obsessions to keep me going and it usually takes a new one to snap me out of the old, like some strange autistic train hopping from one infatuation to the next, lest i feel dead inside with nothing or no one to aimlessly yearn for and pine over. i can obsess over work and find things to do and people to bide my time with, but i can't unsee you. not lately, anyway. you are invading my thoughts and filling the space in my brain that is usually reserved for dead air and practical affairs. i keep thinking it's still early enough to get a grip, that i can simply meet someone new or find something shiny in the nick of time, that life isn't so bland to the point where i need a constant source of disassociation to mend the wounds of reality - not yet anyway.

jealousy is a disease and everyone around you is dying. you don't even see it. it's a pattern i see in all my favorite people, their humble nature always blocking their sight from all the ways in which people are out to get them, the subtle nonverbal cues and the small minded mentality unbearable to witness by those that actually do care for them. i can't help but suspect people have sabotaged you in similar ways all your life, how envy has wreaked havoc on you in ways you still haven't quite grasped as you're never competing with those determined to beat you at any cost. it's too presumptuous to think someone could be so calculated and vile, and that it only sounds crazy because it is and they are. but what do i know? i've been kept hostage in this cave my whole life while reverend henry kane siphons and harvests my light for personal gain. i've only ever known betrayal and alienation, it's the pure love that is difficult to navigate. it's the unabashed kindness and the rorshach of angelic whimsy all around me all the time, how did that happen? i am trapped in a prism, warm gooey blackberry dreams melting over me and vague memories of summers spent in westerly reading novels that took place in the same towns, wondering how strange it felt to be surrounded by such seemingly normal and decent people. i've lost so many versions of myself over time, so many variations and talents that were suppressed for survival, jumping from timeline to timeline until i can't seem to figure out my age anymore.

people scare me for various reasons, mainly the ones who come too close and want to stake claim, to feed off my energy and hoard it for themselves. i can't deal with anyone else trying to own me, i am still trying to wash the slime off from prior experiences. i am safe in solitude but i can come out to rage and party in these wildly extreme ways before disappearing for lengths of time, and i forget all the time that i'm not a kid anymore. which is weird because i am constantly insisting i have everything handled and i don't need any help! i'm fine i'm fine no really i'm okay it's fine!! it's literally never fine and hasn't been for so long but if i say it out loud then it becomes real and i can laugh off a thousand problems until it eventually becomes funny; a fake it til you make it kind of thing. it is very likely true that i am the evil narcissist monster people love to paint me as, because how dare i like myself, right? how dare i carve a place in this world and defy all odds when it would be easier for everyone if i just crawled back into the hole and stayed put, fall in line and act oh so grateful for anyone to ever possibly give me the time of day, oh my! i didn't survive this life to stay silent and if anything the ones that have tried to keep me in this space for so long had better find a new god to pray to if they know what's good for them. i am not here to bore you with the gory details of a life spent growing up in hospital beds or the disdain with which grown adults would look at me and still do, how people must think it was easy for me to get this far or underestimate all the burning buildings i crawled through on my way here. i hold no resentment about it, nor the desire to relive any of it. i just wanted to tell you i forget i lived through any of it when i look at you and something softens inside of me in a way that is both terrifying and thrilling. i can barely remember the hatred in their voices or the violence or the mockery or the way they thought i never caught on to any of it, how gallantly they cackled like the most pathetic coven of washed up pseudosorcerers as they feigned so poorly a threadbare kinship. all of it washes away when i look at you and for a moment i actually believe in something other than the corruption of tethered souls and the enigmatic greed that only the most clueless pawns in spiritual warfare could succumb to. i look away before i get too lost because i don't really think i can believe it, your charm far too sugary sweet for any of it to be real or reliable, but god do i wish to be fooled.

i hate that i felt my heart drop to my feet or that i even cared enough to let it be more than what it was. i guess if i could go back i wouldn't change anything, and i probably wouldn't go back at all, even if only to look at your face up close once more. i can't handle the obsession, it's not good for my fragile little psyche. i managed to be so good at not caring and then you had to go and fuck it all up and look at me like that. i tell myself you do this shit to all your hoes and that there are likely a dreadful amount, that i am being the exact version of silly according to some sick plan and falling into the trap just as designed. but then you act like a shy idiot and i am into it, i want more even though i hate this stupid game, i hate these little techniques used to reel me in like a beta fish and i want to knock you off a very high horse for daring to get me lured in this far. and i want to stare at you for a while and listen to you talk in that uncontrollable way where you do the thing starting on one topic only to wind up in fifteen other places, and i'm there along for the ride. i am following to every single rest stop, taking every little note, and watching every slightest glimmer in your eyes as you light up like a little kid in emphatic fervor. i can't tell if i want off this ride or if i want to just crash and burn and get it over with already. can't stand not knowing how long this is supposed to last but when i review the omens they seemingly all lead back to you. i was so sure it was someone else back when i wanted so badly for it to be them, and now i can't tell if i'm making it out to be you for the same reason, but the descriptors are eerily accurate and things have already happened as predicted which could not only suggest that this isn't an intricately built snare but perhaps even a safe haven where i am to finally rest my head and sleep soundly without fear for the first time ever. they say there are false twins that will mirror back the things you want them to be, that can mimic the true soul mate and deceive you into falling for the wrong one. i can't help but notice everyone that came before was just a bad imitation of you, terrible actors in a low budget cable movie in hindsight. i don't know if i can handle another fully formed entity posing as all the things i want, i'd rather turn you off completely before anything can even get started. but then what if i throw away the only person that could ever feel like home? all because i'm a superstitious dummy afraid of getting hurt. i am hurt all the time, i suppose there's not much more to be afraid of at this point. but i do know if you were to look away now it might kill me, and even worse, i might enjoy the decay.

[l-sincline]

Girlish Whimsy - Chapter 6

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AO3 tags: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types, Ootori Kyouya/Original Female Character(s), Ootori Kyouya, Suoh Tamaki, Original Characters, Original Female Characters, Morinozuka Takashi, Haninozuka Mitsukuni, Fujioka Haruhi, Hitachiin Hikaru, Hitachiin Kaoru, Slow Burn, Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, smart people that arent smart about romance, Oblivious, Battle of Wits, Ouran High is one giant social chess game

Asuka has her eyes on the prize as soon as she steps foot on Ouran High School grounds. Her goal? Impress her father enough to convince him to let her remain as heir to the company instead of handing the title down to her younger brother. She knows going to school at Ouran will be one big chess game, especially coming in late at her second year- but she’s up for any challenge.

Asuka finds herself intrigued by the Host club and the inner workings of it. More than that, she sees untapped opportunities to grow her resume. Now all she needs is a partner on the inside who’s equally as motivated, and he was easier to find than she thought.

“So how was it?” Mayu’s eyes gleamed from over the rim of a teacup. 

Asuka sighed and rolled her eyes, tapping her small spoon gently against the rim of her own cup with a ‘tink’. 

This little brunch spot was so quaint, and usually pretty devoid of anyone familiar to them. They sat by the window overlooking the street, well loved plants lined the windowsill and a fresh vase of flowers adorned the round table they sat at. Asuka gently picked up her cup and took a sip of the tea before responding.

“I know you want juicy details, but it was really fine. We just worked all day.” 

“So many girls at that school would kill to be in your shoes right now. Can you please spare me just a little detail?” 

“What? Being able to tell them ‘I’m friends with the girl that went over to the Ootori estate’ isn't enough?” She teased.

“No!” Mayu cried indignantly. 

Asuka sighed and placed the tea cup back on its plate. She reached for a croissant and took a small bite, staring out the window. She certainly wasn’t about to talk about the only real conversation they had. A) That was for her own little project. B) She was quite sure Mayu would be devastated at the notion of Kyouya possibly finding her annoying. He hadn’t outright said it, but they all knew how ‘You’re not anything like this other person that I thought you were going to be like’ usually sounded.

“I’m sorry, Mayu, there truly isn’t much to say.” She put the croissant down, “We even worked in a room entirely dedicated to group work. The most I can tell you is that the maid was nice and we finished the project.” 

Mayu sighed sadly, leaning into her hand and propping up her chin as she looked out the window. 

“You have no girlish whimsy.” 

Asuka sputtered on her tea, coughing a few times before putting the cup down and wiping her mouth.

“What's that supposed to mean?!” 

“I mean, you never want to talk about boys! You always wear pants instead of skirts! You cut off your hair to your chin!” 

“Is that really that bad?” Asuka asked incredulously. 

“No…” Mayu sighed, “You do it all so well. You’re so cool.” She abandoned looking out the window to stare Asuka down with her sad eyes, “But it makes me sad for you. There's so much wonder to be had with a group of girls… sitting around and painting nails and talking about boys. The perfect teen movie picture- don’t you ever dream of it?”

“Uh, no. I think going to that Host Club every day is making you crazy.” 

“I think you’d get it if you went.” 

“Somehow I don’t think I would.” 

There was a moment of silence and Asuka braved lifting her teacup to sip once more. 

“Well, they’re hosting this ball tonight…” 

“There it is!” Asuka declared, “I knew there had to be something else.”

“Please come with me!” Mayu reached across the table and grasped Asuka’s hands in her own, “I know it's not typically your scene but you could meet some other girls in our class! I think it’d be nice for you to get out!”

At that moment, Asuka’s phone chimed. She slipped one hand out of Mayu’s grasp and flipped it open. 

Kyouya Ootori

Three years starts now. Total transparency- understood? 

The corners of Asuka’s mouth twitch and she shuts the phone with a clack.

“Fine. I’ll come. But you better provide a dress for me.” 

[ofbckers]

It was almost a little baffling how their wires had gotten cross so many times. Basil couldn't begin to imagine what Peter thought of him; he didn't deal in speculation, only facts. And if the sigh on Peter's lips was an indication, the younger man didn't have a good grasp on Basil's perspective either. Of course he knew Peter had big dreams, he'd been a boy full of whimsy that was often quite opposite to Basil's stoic nature. With such a creative mind, Basil would've thought the world of Peter growing up to be all sorts of things. It was only so much more surprising and disappointing that Peter did nothing with all his wits.

"Are you not capable of anything?" Truthfully, Basil didn't completely understand what Peter was getting at, but it piqued his interest enough to take a seat beside him at the bar. He could claim it was all part of his passive investigation of the goings-on at the bar of course, not genuine investment in digging up the past. But despite himself, Basil liked talking to Peter. He still liked him, liked cracking him open. The remark was perplexing, knowing in childhood that Peter was always inventing stories of greatness for himself. Or perhaps greatness wasn't the right word, but certainly independence. Perhaps Basil should've seen it as a sign back then.

He couldn't disagree more that the slums of Godscobh "fit" Peter - but those were false expectations as well. In another life, perhaps Basil could've saved him from the destitution he found himself in, but the version of Peter the detective knew best wouldn't have allowed that. Wouldn't have allowed himself to be saved by anyone. Not unlike Basil sometimes. "On the contrary, you're too old for college and too young to be divorced. Unless I've missed something, that is. In regards to the bar life, surely I just don't see what you see in the bunch."

Peter wasn't sure which was worse: going in infuriating circles with conversation that felt condescending in its lack of purpose or having to endure the note of genuine sincerity in Basil's voice as the conversation took a turn for the more honest. it felt easier, personally, when the two of them danced around their history, when he could avoid the inevitability of their past that lingered between them. hearing Basil try to rectify his words, to attempt to actually inquire about him now, it just blurred the lines; it made it harder to ignore, to convince himself that there wasn't a trace of the man that he'd once looked up to left.

" you think I have too much ambition? " that was a surprise, if true. he’d sort of just assumed that basil had written him off as someone who didn’t have enough drive to get things done. and with what basil knew of his life, he wouldn’t have necessarily blamed him for such a conclusion; even if it still stung on his worst nights. besides, being ambitionless always seemed like a better adjective than whatever basil would call him if he knew the truth. 

he sighed, torn between lashing in the way that was all too familiar to him and meeting Basil halfway. " those aren't the kind of expectations I was talking about, though. " it didn't feel fair to let Basil think that those expectations were the ones that haunted him while he was drinking. Basil's expectations - or lack thereof - had lingered in the back of his mind on more nights than he could count but never because he'd imagined he was too ambitious. " people thinking you're too ambitious for something is a positive, technically. it's the people who expect you to not be capable of anything that are ... less good. " his words were soft, trying to keep his features impassive despite the way the touch of vulnerability made him want to fidget.

" and between you and I, I never really imagined me setting up shop here either. " he tried to lighten the atmosphere with some humor, a wry smile on his lips. " but it fits me now, I think. "