#d a v i i c i | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

childrenofcain-if · 13 days

Note

Jumping up and down, biting down on my pillow while I wrestle my neighbor that came to complain about the noise that I'm making while running on my walls. EHEM I meant patiently waiting for the release date :batting eyelashes innocently:. Though I'm curious, how would the ROs react to an MC that's overly flirtratious but in a wet girl/boy/person loser kind of way + uses too many pick up lines/finger guns as a genuine way to flirt when nervous. Loving the premise for your if till now, it's been awhile I've loved all the ROs!!!

aw bonnie, i do hope your neighbour isn’t trying to write you a noise complaint now 💀 i need you to stay out of prison for the release date 🙏🏻

C LACROIX

you stood in front of them, wearing that ridiculous grin, eyes bright with a kind of nervous mischief that C had come to recognize too well. it was the prelude to something. and sure enough, it came—finger guns, of all things, pointed directly at them.

“are you french? ‘cause eiffel for you,” you said, your voice wavering slightly, betraying the nervous energy they were trying so hard to mask with charm. you knew damn well C was indeed french, and then the worst part—those finger guns again, paired with a wink that was so exaggerated it made their chest tighten in something like exasperated fondness.

C stared, a muscle in their jaw ticking. it should’ve been infuriating. was infuriating. the way you seemed to lose all sense of dignity the moment you felt nervous, drowning in a sea of bad pick-up lines and gestures better suited for a caricature than a real person. but god, the way your lips curved up at the end of each line, the way you stumbled through your awkward attempts, as if trying to flirt was some kind of dangerous game— it was impossible to look away.

“really?” C raised an eyebrow, trying and failing to hide the faint amusement threading through their voice. “that’s what you’re going with?”

you blinked, clearly flustered, but doubled down. “you know… if you were a vegetable, you’d be a cute-cumber.”

C ran a hand down their face, trying to stifle the laugh threatening to break free. “you’re terrible at this.”

“yeah, well,” MC shrugged, attempting to play it cool but visibly unraveling under C’s gaze, “i’m not trying to impress you, or anything.”

“really?” C stepped closer, and the temperature of the room seemed to shift. their pale green eyes flickered, sharp and predatory, and your breath hitched, the sudden proximity taking away any semblance of ease. “because you’re trying very hard not to look like you’re about to pass out.”

your mouth opened, then shut again, your bravado failing you for a split second. your hand wavered in the air as if debating whether to throw out another absurd gesture, but you were frozen in place under C’s intense stare.

C tilted their head, voice dropping into something darker, more amused. “do you actually think those awful lines are working?”

you swallowed hard. “well, you haven’t walked away yet.”

there it was—the loser charm, the half-baked attempt at deflection, the way you always seemed to bumble your way through these moments, as if too much self-awareness would be your undoing. and somehow, it was disarming. endearing, even. like a puzzle C couldn’t quite solve but found themself fascinated by all the same.

C stared at you for a moment, then blinked, a slow, deliberate thing. their lips quirked up, barely—a ghost of a smile. “you’re... utterly pathetic.”

your lips twitched, trying for a smile but faltering. “and yet… you’re still here.”

C’s gaze softened in a way they couldn’t control, something worryingly close to affection flickering behind their eyes. “i don’t know whether to kiss you or strangle you.”

“hopefully the first one?” your voice cracked just slightly, your attempt at humor failing as C’s hand came up to gently brush a thumb across your cheek.

“god, you’re hopeless,” C murmured, their voice barely a breath between you now.

your eyes fluttered shut, as if waiting for C to close the distance, to turn this fumbling, awkward mess into something real. but C stayed where they were, hovering just inches away, savoring the tension.

“i’m trying, you know,” you whispered, their voice softer now, less ridiculous, more honest. “i just—when i’m around you, i don’t know what to do. it’s like… my brain stops working.”

C smiled—a rare, genuine thing that made the dimples on their cheeks prominent. it had your heart skipping a beat. “maybe stop using finger guns next time.”

you let out a shuddering laugh. “yeah, i’ll… work on that.”

C tilted their head slightly, eyes tracing the curve of your lips. “you’re lucky i like you.”

you swallowed hard. “you do?”

C finally, finally closed the distance, pressing their lips to yours in a way that was both gentle and consuming, their hand curling around the back of your neck to pull you closer. when they pulled back, just barely, their voice was a low murmur against your mouth.

“yeah,” C whispered. “i do.”

V NÆSHOLM

V stood there, their gaze flicking nervously between the floor and your face, the faintest blush painting their cheeks. they were always like this—soft-spoken, devout, painfully kind in ways that made you feel like a storm in comparison. and today was no exception. they watched with wide, uncertain eyes as you nervously lifted your hands, finger guns aimed directly at them.

“are you religious?” you asked, your voice pitched higher than usual, betraying the nerves. “because you’re the answer to all my prayers.”

it was ridiculous, really. childish and awkward, with a smile so forced that it threatened to shatter into laughter at any moment. you knew it. you could feel how stupid it all sounded. but when you got nervous, this was the only way you knew how to act—filling the air with jokes, pick-up lines that clung too hard to the air between you and V, desperate for something solid to land on.

V blinked, their brow furrowing slightly like they weren’t sure how to respond. their fingers went instinctively to the small cross around their neck, clutching it like a lifeline, as if the gesture would tell them if you were losing your marbles. “um... thank you?”

your grin wavered, and you swallowed hard. another one, then. you had to try another one.

“are you a magician, then? because when i look at you, everything else just disappears.” you accompany that with a ‘poof’ motion to add more flair.

V’s breath caught in their throat, an embarrassed flush creeping up their neck, the kind of warmth that had no business being there. they blinked, staring at you like they were trying to make sense of a particularly difficult verse, something too foreign to easily translate. it wasn’t that they were hating it—no, it was something else entirely. something in them unfurled, but they couldn’t quite catch it, couldn’t grasp why.

you were fidgeting now, sensing the silence had stretched too long. “uh… not good? i’ve got more.”

V’s mouth twitched, something between a laugh and a sigh escaping them, though they quickly pressed their lips together. they didn’t want to be rude, didn’t want to laugh at you but how did they even respond to that?

“i—” they hesitated, voice quiet and soft as always. “i’m not sure that’s…”

you shot them another look, and there it was again: the finger guns. “is your name google? because you’ve got everything i’ve been searching for.”

yep, that’ll do it. V felt the warmth turn into something dangerously close to laughter, but they caught themself, biting down on the inside of their cheek. they didn’t want to encourage it, didn’t want to make you feel worse, but you were so earnest, so terribly bad at this, and yet so... you.

“i—” V tried again, cheeks flushed deeper now, eyes darting away because they couldn’t look directly at you without the nervousness creeping up their spine. “i think you’re—” they paused, unsure of the right words. kind? ridiculous? wonderful? none of it seemed right, and all of it seemed too much.

you were looking at them, a little too intently now, waiting for some kind of sign, some approval or rejection. you were always looking for something, even in your silliness, and V could feel that weight.

“does it ever work?” V’s voice was smaller now, their eyes dropping to the ground. “you know, those… lines?”

your face lit up with a kind of hope that tugged at V’s chest. “oh, absolutely not. not even once.”

you said it so sincerely, so shamelessly, that V couldn’t help but laugh then, a quiet, breathy sound that made them immediately cover their mouth, as if they’d broken some unwritten rule.

they shook their head, a smile creeping through their repressed amusement. “i don’t know what to do with you.”

you shrugged, clearly a little embarrassed now but still holding onto that grin. “i’m trying. just, you know—” you vaguely do the motions of jazz hands, and V swore they could feel their heart jump while stifling a fit of giggles. “i get nervous, and then… this happens.”

“i think it’s sweet,” V said after a while, more sure of themself this time. “you don’t have to be perfect all the time. not with me.”

you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and your grin softened, became something more honest. “you think i’m sweet?”

V’s eyes flickered up to meet yours, the blush still warming their cheeks, but this time they didn’t look away. “yeah, i do.”

you stared at them for a long moment, feeling that nervous energy dissolve, replaced by something far more terrifying—a deep, aching tenderness you didn’t quite know how to express. you wanted to reach out, to touch V’s hand, to offer something real instead of your usual barrage of corny jokes. but all you could manage was a quiet, “you’re not so bad yourself.”

V bursts out laughing again, and this time, you laughed with them.

W OSTENDORF

W’s eyes, usually half-lidded with perpetual exhaustion, blinked in bewilderment as you approached them with an awkward bounce in your step. their sapphire gaze traced the way your fingers wavered, the unmistakable flourish of finger guns punctuating each hesitant attempt at flirtation.

“do you believe in love at first sight, or should i walk by again?” you asked, biting back the urge to laugh at yourself.

you watched as W blinked once, then twice, a momentary pause in their steady demeanor. they tilted their head slightly, considering you as if trying to figure out if you were serious. you were, in that embarrassing, frantic way only you could be.

the pick-up line hung in the air like an ill-fitting coat, and W’s mouth twitched, unsure whether to laugh or sigh. the line was delivered with a clumsy earnestness that made W’s heart ache, a mix of tenderness and exhaustion at the forefront of their expression. they rubbed a hand over their tired eyes, as if to clear away the fog of confusion that clung to them.

“um, no,” W said softly, their voice nearly a murmur. “i don’t think that’d be necessary.”

your smile wavered, a shaky thing like a candle in a draft. you laughed, a sound that was too loud, too eager. “well, that’s okay. i guess it already worked the first time, right?”

W swallowed hard, their gaze falling to the ground. if only you knew. but no matter, they thought about playing up the ‘exhausted and sleepy’ part so you won’t mind their silence to that question.

before they could say anything, however, you piped up again. “if i could rearrange the alphabet, i’d put U and I together.”

this time, W face started going red. they opened their mouth, closed it, and then opened it again, clearly unsure whether they should laugh or feel embarrassed on your behalf at this point. they had the air of someone caught in a sudden rainstorm, unprepared for the onslaught, trying to find cover but too polite to complain about getting wet.

your heart stuttered in your chest, unsure if you were supposed to be pleased by the way W’s lips trembled in the smallest of smiles or if you should simply bury yourself in shame at the way they’re turning red like they’re holding in a laugh.

W’s gaze dropped again, their thumbs rubbing nervously over each other. they smiled through their tiredness, but it was shy, careful, like they were afraid it might be taken the wrong way. “that’d be nice. you’re nice.”

and there it was—the words that always unraveled you the most. that delicate kindness, that indulgent air in W that made all of your jokes feel so hollow in comparison. you didn’t deserve someone like them, not with your clumsy attempts at flirting, not with the way you turned every silence into some absurd joke that made all the involved parties uncomfortably awkward.

you cleared your throat, but your voice cracked as you spoke again. “do you… do you have a map? because i keep getting lost in your eyes.”

a pause. W bit their lip, their face now a full shade of ripe tomatoes, and they let out the faintest sound—a stifled laugh, maybe, or something close to it. “i don’t… have a map.”

your heart skipped a beat. it was working! or maybe it wasn’t, but W wasn’t running away. they were standing there, red-faced with the dark circles under their eyes, and you realized that for all your blundering, W wasn’t retreating. they stayed, almost frozen in place, a slightly amused flutter in their gaze but no sign of discomfort. maybe it wasn’t such a ridiculous plan after all.

“elmo?” you asked, your voice quieter now, soft in the way you knew W preferred. “you’re not… mad at me, are you? for being like this?”

W looked startled by the sudden change in tone, their demeanor turning protective. “mad? no, never. why would i be mad?”

“because i’m such a loser around you. i always have been.” your hands twitched, the shadow of finger guns hanging awkwardly in the air between you. “i thought you’d have gotten tired of me by now.”

W’s heart softened, the edges of their amusement fading in the presence of your vulnerability. “i’ve never ever thought or felt like that. if i’m being honest, i think i even prefer this side of you at times.”

you blinked, something anxious flickering in your eyes. “really? i wouldn’t have guessed you’d have a thing for corny losers like me.”

W’s gaze softened even more, and before they knew it, they had reached out, their fingers gently brushing against your wrist, a tentative connection.

“i like you,” they murmured, their voice soft and barely more than a whisper. “cheesy pick-up lines and all.”

your breath caught, and for once, you didn’t have a quick response. instead, you stared at W with wide eyes, something genuine and quiet passing between you in the absence of words.

“you don’t have to do anything,” they whispered, “except stay.”

D DIACONU

D watched you with that signature half-lidded stormy gray gaze, the one that always felt like it held a secret; as though they were privy to something no one else was. their arms are crossed loosely over their chest, a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of their mouth.

you, meanwhile, were fumbling. your usual bravery melted into something far less cool, your hands twitching in an exaggerated motion—finger guns, of all things. D almost laughed then but swallowed it down, amused at the absurdity of it. this wasn’t their first time witnessing you stumble over your own feet, and it wouldn’t be the last, but there was something undeniably endearing about it, like watching a bird try to fly while forgetting it doesn’t have wings.

“are you from tennessee?” you asked, your voice catching in the back of your throat. you shot the finger guns again, and D had to suppress an eye-roll at the cheesiness of it all. “because you’re the only ten i see.”

D didn’t react immediately. instead, they watched you with careful precision, letting the silence hang just long enough to feel like a challenge.

“i’m from texas actually,” D’s voice was a low southern drawl, honeyed with amusement. “common mistake, eh?”

you shifted nervously under their gaze, all the awkwardness evident in your stance.

“yeah, i know. i just... thought it was cute,” you answered, almost defensively, your hands still hanging in midair, unsure what to do now that the moment was spiraling out of your control.

a quiet laugh slipped from D’s lips, smooth as silk, barely more than a breath. they uncrossed their arms and stepped forward, closing the distance between you in a way that felt deliberate, dangerous.

“you think this is how you get my attention?” their voice was low, teasing, but there was a flicker of something that hinted at just how carefully D was watching your every move. “cute little lines and finger guns?”

you flushed under the intensity of that stare, scrambling to regain control of the situation. “well, i— yeah, i thought maybe... it would work?” you winced at your own words. god, could this get any worse?

D leaned in just close enough to make your pulse race. “you think i go for cute?” the words were laced with a challenge, a dare for you to keep going, to push past your limits.

you swallowed, every instinct telling you to back down, but instead, you doubled down on the only defense you knew.

“you remind me of a dictionary,” you grinned, forcing out another pick-up line, desperate to keep from crumbling under D’s pinning stare, “because you really do add meaning to my life.”

this time, D did laugh—a rich, joyful sound that seemed to unravel the tension between you in one graceful swoop. they pulled back just enough to catch your eye, shaking their head in disbelief. “you really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

your face burned with embarrassment, but there was a flicker of something softer beneath all the practiced allure and playful flirtations. they weren’t mocking you, not really. in fact, there was a hint of appreciation buried in their amusement, a quiet acknowledgment that you, as ridiculous as you were, had managed to catch their attention in a way nobody else could.

D’s fingers brushed lightly against your wrist, the touch fleeting but electric. “you’re lucky i find this... entertaining. otherwise, you’d be in way over your head.”

you blinked, thrown by the sudden shift in energy. you opened your mouth to respond, but D’s hand was already moving, their fingers ghosting up your arm in a way that left you breathless, speechless.

“i think,” D continued, their voice almost a whisper now, “i like watching you try. you’re terrible at it, no doubt about that, but... there’s something about the way you stumble through it.” their eyes locked onto yours, something unreadable flickering in the depths of their gaze. “i’ve never met someone like you. that much, i can admit.”

you felt your heart skip a beat, your words catching in your throat. all the cheesy pick-up lines, the awkward flirting—none of it seemed to matter anymore, not under the affection in D’s gaze, not when they were standing so close that it felt like the world had shrunk down to just the two of you.

“maybe i’m just a uniquely jumbled mess,” you muttered, your voice barely audible, but D’s hand slid up to cup your cheek, pulling you closer with a softness that was almost unnerving.

“you definitely are, dragă mea,” D agreed, their lips ghosting over yours, so close that it felt like a kiss, but not quite. “but it’s one of the little things i like about you.”

and with that, they kissed you, slow and deliberate, like they’d been waiting for this moment longer than they’d ever let on. you melted into them, every nerve alight, the awkwardness and self-doubt slipping away in the warmth of D’s touch. this, right here, was what you’d been gunning for all along.

M WHITLOCK-SINGH

M had never known someone quite like you. there was something so bafflingly endearing about you, as if you existed to disrupt V’s neatly ordered world with your awkward charm and unbearable nervousness. it wasn’t that you meant to do so, but the way you flirted—if you could even call it that—made M’s head spin despite their usual stoicism.

they could see it coming a mile away, the way your eyes darted from the floor to M’s face and back again, like you were gathering the courage to throw yourself off a cliff. and then it happened.

your finger guns shot up, aimed clumsily at a literal heir to the british throne. “well, here i am. what were your other two wishes?”

M blinked, incredulity washing over them. seriously? again?

there was a moment of silence that hung heavy in the air, before you, still flustered, tried again. “if you were a fruit, you’d be a fine-apple.”

M sighed, pressing the heels of their palms to their eyes. it was like being trapped in a bad dream, except it wasn’t bad, not really. it was you, standing there, losing your composure in a way that made you seem so painfully human. so vulnerable.

“you’ve got to be kidding me.” M’s voice was low, restrained, an edge of amusement barely detectable. they crossed their arms, leveling you with a look that was part disbelief, part... something else. “is this really your idea of flirting?”

you winced, but it was clear you were trying to save face. “what, do they not like compliments in england?”

“compliments?” M’s laugh was sharp, but not exactly mocking. “you’re telling me those were compliments?”

“okay, maybe not my best,” you admitted, rubbing the back of your neck, your voice dropping into something that sounded closer to sincerity. “but… i mean, you’re kind of distracting, your majesty. you can’t really blame me.”

W narrowed their eyes to hide their barely suppressed delight, studying the way you fidgeted, the way your hands couldn’t seem to stay still. it was always like this—you trying so hard to be smooth, to make M smile with these ridiculous pick-up lines that felt like they belonged in a teen rom-com from the 90s and early 2000s.

“distracting?” M repeated, taking a step closer, watching as your breath stuttered. “how so?”

you swallowed, eyes wide, trying to keep it together. “like… you know… hard to think straight.”

a beat passed, and then M did something unexpected—they laughed. a soft, surprised sound that felt different from their usually polite, regal chuckle. and yet, it somehow sounded better. you blinked, as if unsure whether to be relieved or even more nervous.

“before i met you, i never thought i’d see the day,” M murmured, stepping even closer, the laughter settling into a smile, “when someone would try to flirt with me using finger guns.”

you smiled back, sheepish but hopeful. “well, i aim to please you with my moves. call me twinkle-toes.”

M shook their head, but the smile that tugged at the corners of their mouth betrayed them. they didn’t want to admit it, but something about the whole thing—the terrible pick-up lines, the way you stumbled over your words, the sheer awkwardness of it—was getting to them. softening them, in a way nothing else had.

“you’re a bumbling idiot,” V said quietly, but there was no malice in it. just a strange sort of fondness.

you started to grin. “but i’m your bumbling idiot, right?”

“maybe,” M whispered, voice like a velvet secret. “but i’d suggest you not throw those words so loudly in public.”

your laugh was shaky, but real. “noted. i’ll—uh, keep that in mind, your highness.”

M smiled softly, warmth flickering in their chest despite themself. “just call me by my name, meri jaan. i’d prefer it more right now.”

#maybe i should start finger-gunning my way out of awkward situations as well #if: the ballad of the young gods #ro: c lacroix #ro: v næsholm #ro: w ostendorf #ro: d diaconu #ro: m whitlock singh #interactive fiction #interactive novel #interactive story #twine wip #ro scenarios

106 notes · View notes

aoitakumi8148 · 11 days

Text

𝓛𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓤𝓹 𝓐𝓽 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓼, 𝓢𝓸𝓷... 𝓝𝓸𝔀 𝓖𝓸 𝓦𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓤𝓹𝓸𝓷 𝓞𝓷𝓮, 𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓷...

𝒞𝒶𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝓇𝑜𝓀𝑒𝓃 𝒷𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒷𝓇𝑜𝓀𝑒𝓃, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓃-𝑒𝓍𝒾𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒷𝑒 ‹𝑒𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓃 𝓊𝓅› 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃? 𝐼𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒶 𝓁𝒾𝓂𝒾𝓉 𝑜𝒻 ‹𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃› 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝒶 𝓁𝒾𝓂𝒾𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝒹𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝓎 𝑔𝑜?

I do not have apathy, depression, anything that would be fashionable to rant about. I am simply in pain... extreme pain. And attempting to dull the edge of it is what I have been doing since v.1. As if something has indeed been fragmented & this is the pain of my conscious life. And every time I travel the melodious/glamorous path of frenzy, every time I complete it, I am going to experience the same precious pain intensity, purity of pain/ecstasy. I am going to be eventually bound to this inmost/overwhelming awe, this vehement impulse to feel/fondle/kiss what is loved, to kneel down before it, to cuddle up to its heart, to recompense bliss with bliss... More and more. Neither the good boy nor I are free. I do not want to be free... free from... These bare feelings are ‹clawing› at the reconstructed interpretation of the organ inside me. The great minds will not know what they have done, neither will Anthony... It speaks louder-truer than anything, but the sounds are not obvious... Words. All I possess, this rich but poor instrument for... And you always do end up in the point where...

The aesthetic masterwork, perfused with the golden brilliance of authentic ideality x pierced with the darkest blade of bitter-salty inaccessibility, inevitability, impossibility.

Excruciation, pleasure, euphoria, art. Blended together. Find yourself... or lose yourself on this journey. Emotionally. Totally. An unparalleled effect... and the lulling sparkle the vessel has never actually had. Something in this body x mind has died, and I do not know if there is a way to accept it, to recover it. I have described the lesson of unprecedentedness I have learned, not the expected story of ‹insult-betrayal-contempt›. No one will ever f-g hear it. Not from me, not in this lifetime. / Loving extraordinary is priori merciless, დ/დ become telepathic... & the severest trial ~ the unhealable wound ~ is to be a 𝓟 son without the cause to be... *If I have to detest many donkeys for a chance to protect one venerated Father figure, I will go for it.

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝒸𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓀𝑒𝒹 𝒽𝓊𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝓌��𝓁𝓁 𝑒𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝑒 𝓀𝑒𝓅𝓉... 𝑜𝓇 𝓌𝒾𝓅𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓅𝓁𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓎. 𝐵𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝒮𝑜𝓊𝓇𝒸𝑒, '𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝓌𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑜𝓌𝓈 𝓂𝑒, 𝓉𝑜𝑜. 𝐵𝑒𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊... 𝒮𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓂𝑒 𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝓊𝓇𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝒹𝑒𝓅𝓇𝒾𝓋𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 𝐿𝑒𝓉 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓈𝑒 𝓁𝒾𝓅𝓈... 𝒮𝑜 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹. 𝒮𝑜 𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓈...

While I am willing to imbibe all the anguish of the human I love, to ease his suffering, the loss of us is taking its toll on me irretrievably. I see him. I see what is inside him... & I am incapable of safeguarding it, saving it truly.

I do not have apathy, depression, anything that would be fashionable to rant about. I am simply in pain... extreme pain. And attempting to put up with this gift is what I have been doing since v.1. The chest is ‹cut open› too deep, the fragility of the organ is exposed... Would you allow me to grow more flowers? I wanna do it... Because it is you, It has always been you. The one who has given us everything, endued me to the brim with the intimate fatherly affection that this organ never remembered. My eternal wish & exuberant price for humanity, the misunderstood nature. *What an odious irony. / I do not know if there is a way to recover what is gone.

I would sacrifice the lot to be with the human that needs me, needs to be healed, heals me. I would rip my core out but I cannot, the limitation of freedom. *Tell me that the ‹strings of abuse/child neglect/lies› are finally cut. Tell me to ‹celebrate›. Tell me that both 𝓟inocchio/I are wrong x naive, ‹fix› me. You have no f-g clue about it. / When it is written that your starving heart must be left half-empty & helpless... No freedom is scarier than this.

Affording harmony to the sapphire star that is going to fall away... The sentiment it deserves. All I have ever hankered for. & I am terrified of that my grandest instinct x fear will not grant any lasting peace to me.

Death will do our Sun-hugged family apart ~ but I will still be yours, for ever. The core has never felt as good x feverish as it does when with you... as astray x anxious as it does when deprived of you. I am not lying to you, I hold no resentment... Let me ‹feed on› the emotions of your heart... Even if it means your pain x my love turn the vessel inside-out & your love x my pain do the same. Not blurred, always remember. Always. If a masterpiece could be made into a masterpiece, I would prefer to share this fate. My bona fide mission, however, is not allow anything to be in vain... Even if it hurts. ~ The atrophied ability to express love verbally has been ‹roused› again, in a fervidly devoted but preciously righteous way... The lash of despair, compulsion, dream, reality.

𝐹𝑜𝓇 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝓇 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓈𝑒, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝓂𝒷𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒦𝓇𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝑔𝑜𝓃𝓃𝒶 𝓁𝑒𝓉 𝑔𝑜. 𝐼𝓉 𝒸𝒶𝓃... 𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝒹𝑜𝓊𝒷𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒾𝓈. 𝐿𝒪𝒫 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃𝒶𝓁 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝟙/𝓂𝓊𝓁𝓉𝒾𝓉𝓊𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑜𝓊𝓈 𝓅𝒶𝓁𝓅𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑜𝓃𝓈, 𝓂𝓎 𝓋𝓊𝓁𝓃𝑒𝓇𝒶𝒷𝒾𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓇.

...Take the whole meaning of this, its flavorful, pathetic, shameless, lonesome taste. Take it all, for it is all that is absolute. Teach me how to ‹merge› with it, the mortal desire of a puppet child, a human Mastro x a faceless observer like myself ~ & when the desire full of unexploited majesty is cutting off the oxygen to the lungs... True geniuses of any kind are among the silent. These eyeballs will not dry up, never fully. I have tried so many times to resist it, but why live if you repel what puts your ‹dehydrated› pieces together? I would spare no effort to keep them hot and uncurb what is being restrained... Nothing affects self-perception and ‹unmasks› the unconscious like sensation, nothing genuinely matters without it. / Shivering with cold, this body is burning. My atrophied reality in exchange for a moment of irrepressible happiness, agony, guiltless x not bottled up impulses ~ just a moment. It keeps consuming me without reserve. I do not need God. ✒

#Aoi Takumi #blog #my gifs #special gifset #my audio #NEOWIZ #ROUND8 STUDIO #Lies Of P 2023 #Lies Of P #2023 #game #NG+#Winter Holiday Edition [Premium Edition]#license version #v.1-v.5 [6]#PC #Pinocchio #/#𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓎𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝓃𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒶𝓇𝓎 #~#░6░ ░g░a░m░e░s░ ░[░1░ ░&░ ░N░G░+░ ░5░]░#░3░7░5░ ░h░.░#░4░2░/░4░2░#░5░6░1░ ░l░v░l░.░#░1░0░0░%░ ░u░p░g░r░a░d░e░#░2░ ░t░a░t░t░o░o░ ░u░p░d░a░t░e░s░ ░~░ ░1░ ░m░o░r░e░ ░i░s░ ░o░n░ ░i░t░s░ ░w░a░y░#░e░x░t░r░a░ ░i░n░f░o░ ░i░s░ ░i░n░ ░t░h░e░ ░t░a░g░s░#░i░n░-░g░a░m░e░ ░m░a░t░e░r░i░a░l░ ░o░n░l░y░ ░~░ ░n░o░ ░t░h░i░r░d░-░p░a░r░t░y░ ░r░e░s░o░u░r░c░e░s░#░5░1░ ░[░5░3░]░ ░p░o░s░t░[░s░]░ ░p░u░b░l░i░s░h░e░d░#░a░t░ ░l░e░a░s░t░ ░2░ ░a░u░d░i░o░ ░p░o░s░t░ ░i░d░e░a░s░ ░n░o░n░-░i░m░p░l░e░m░e░n░t░e░d░/

22 notes · View notes