#even if it just kind a word salad ramble

[calronhunt]

I'm really inspired by how you write complicated characters, so I was wondering if you have any advice you could share?

I make characters with the intention that I want to make comics with them, and I always find myself getting stuck on the worry that they will be misinterpreted by other people, which leads to me leaning further away from making the characters complicated and messy but then they are less enjoyable for me to write

A big one I'm stuck on right now is one of my characters who is used as an attack dog for another character essentially, and I know you have a few characters who have a similar thing going on, but I worry about the fact that some people might reduce it down to a "murder is bad" thing and not understand what I'm trying to get across with the character, especially with wanting his arc to be learning that he deserves a better life then that

But complicated characters in general are something I struggle to have confidence in writing, so if you have any advice in general for how you go about writing characters I would be interested in hearing

well Number One, you gotta not worry about how other people will perceive your character. no matter what you do, even if you, for lack of a better phrase, "dumb it down," people are going to misunderstand your character and what you're getting across. When you're writing the main audience you should be concerned with is yourself. Do you like how this character's arc goes? okay then go with that. Don't care about how you think others will perceive it. That often just makes you more petrified and scared to actually create anything and writing for a perceived backlash/misunderstanding is never a good thing. (and also anecdotally, I've found it harder to get across that "violence and murder is bad and fucks you up permanently" to my audience then the opposite lmaooo)

BUT yeah writing complicated characters is my favorite thing on the planet. What I often like to do is give character a mix of sympathetic traits and Objectively Bad Actions but with reasons to back up WHY they did that tie back into the sympathetic trait.

Ariel is a bad person. She's an awful mother, an awful partner to her wife, and self pitying as can all be. She's not abusive in any verbal or physical way, she's passive. She's neglectful. She's sad. She doesn't want to rock the status quo of the royal family at all. and she feels bad about all of this but she can't stop doing it. However, all of these aspects can be tied back to Ariel witnessing the assassination of her parents at 18, how young she had to take the throne, and all of the responsibilities she had pushed onto her. She married young and had children young bc the importance of continuing her line was pushed on her. She cheated on her wife bc she liked the small bit of freedom the man she saw offered her from all the things keeping her trapped in royalty. She neglects Raphael, the cheat child, bc she hates how much he looks like her and how he reminds her of all the mistakes in her life.

None of this is an excuse for Ariel's actions obviously. but it offers an explanation as to why she's made these choices. and that's kinda the core for complicated characters for me.

There are several characters that I have that are bad people, people who do objectively bad things, people who hurt others, characters who dig deeper and deeper into being a terrible person bc it's all they know how to do. But then I sit back and I think about their circumstances and their life and I think "Would I be any better if I was in their place." My characters like Mariner, Lain, Ericka, Lionel, Fate and Dry really hit that sweet spot for me.

[sonotpattismith]

ruin it all over

pairing: tattoo artist!sukuna x ballerina!reader word count: 12.9k content: angst, insecurity, feelings of worthlessness, reader low-key crashing out, hurt w/comfort, loss of virginity, there's a happy ending here somewhere pls bear w/ me, smut, 18+ a/n: continuation of where I first saw you

Ryomen was a guarded guy. Sure— he was getting a little better at the small talk he once thought was so pointless, but it was only because you always seemed genuinely enthralled to hear about what kind of cereal he ate that morning or what song he was listening to on the car ride to work (even though you had no clue who the artists were that he would name, but you were keeping a running playlist). He tried, but it certainly didn’t come naturally to him. 

No, because it was much more entertaining for him to listen to your sickeningly sweet voice ramble on and on about the exam you almost missed because you were trying to give a stray campus cat your leftover egg salad sandwich, or how you started keeping tins of actual cat food in your bag  just in case even though the critters never seemed to appear when you were actually prepared for them.

The silent man would go about whatever he was doing— closing up the shop with you perched on the counter awaiting him, cleaning his car as you sat in the passenger seat pretending not to stare at the way the sweat clung to his bulging arms as he wiped down the dashboard, shaving his face as your voice fluttered through his phone on the sink— he was taking in every word with as little as an occasional grunt that proved he was still listening. 

His favorite part though, was nearing the end of your drawn out stories, when your words would start to trail, and your face would begin to flush because you realized— god, you really have been talking for a long time. Whenever he’d notice those little queues, he’d always look up just in time to watch as you buried your burning face into your hands, muttering out an apology about talking his ear off, and he would smile, because something about that gentle timidness contrasted so deliciously with his brash and jagged edges. It lit a fire in his chest each time, one that had him reminding himself to reel it back in before he scared you one of these days.

So, he’d bite down the urge to pounce and opt to flick at your forehead, tutting softly as he urged you to not leave me in fuckin’ suspense as soon as you’d peek up at him through your fingers. 

His crass mouth was another aspect of him that didn’t seem to phase you as much as he thought it would. In your eyes, he could curse like a sailor and scowl all he wanted, because none of it ever took away from the way his typically rough hands handled you with the delicacy of fine china, and how he always seemed to remember the little bits of you you’d shared when you were sure he hadn’t been listening. It also didn’t hurt to have someone without any hair on his tongue around when the cafe got your order wrong, and you were too scared to say anything. 

So, maybe you weren’t sure exactly how to label whatever it was that had been going on between you two for the past couple weeks, but you knew you were actually excited for something other than your frequent dance practices for the first time in months. Shrugging on a sweater and a pair of sweatpants over your leotard and tights, you scooped up your bag before tossing a rushed goodbye out to your teammates and bursting through the doors. 

Your feet still ached from the extensive time spent awkwardly constricted in your pointe shoes, but Sukuna had texted you just before practice asking (demanding) to meet him at the shop afterward since his last appointment was ending early. He’d offered to come pick you up, but the last thing you wanted to do was become a burden on him after he’d been working all day. So, you trudged through the dull pain and walked as fast as your throbbing feet would take you through the campus. 

Chewing on your bottom lip, you busied yourself with checking the train schedule as the breeze messied your once neat bun. Glancing up after you narrowly avoided getting knocked into one too many times, you had to do a double take when you saw the familiar mop of pink hair in the distance. Biting down your tickled smile, you shook your head at his stubbornness. You picked up your pace a bit, but slowed down just as you were a few feet away from him. It had become a self-appointed challenge, your constant attempts to scare him as it seemed nothing swayed this man. 

With an unnecessary burst of adrenaline, you made a running start before pouncing on his hoodie-covered arm with an exaggerated shout, an eccastic grin lighting up your face at the sound of his abrupt yelp. 

“Hah! So much for— oh my god!” It was now your turn to yelp, because the startled face looking down at you was free of all the intricate tattoos that you’d grown so fond of, and the bicep in your grasp was most definitely a few inches smaller in circumference than you remember. Perhaps you should have known, because the hoodie you were clinging onto was a baby pink color, and you were positive you’d never seen that man in anything other than black.“I-I’m so sorry, I thought—” Your mortified apology died on your throat, because now that the jolt of fear had somewhat subsided, you noted that this was a damn near spitting image of Ryomen. “Oh my god!”

Stumbling back with a start, your foot twisted awkwardly on the rocky pavement below you, nearly sending your ass tumbling to the ground when the black haired man in front of him, whose eyes had since been shooting daggers into your skull, jolted forward to steady you. Stammered apologies continued spilling from your lips as you crouched against the sudden pain in your foot that had already seen better days before your tumble.

“I’m so sorry, it’s just that you look exactly like—”

“Ohhh,” The doppelganger cut you off, an amused smile of recognition finally lighting up his once startled expression. It wasn’t long after though that his face quickly scrunched up in disbelief once again as he took in the way you starkly contrasted his gruffer counterpart. “Wait, you’re the one seeing my brother?”

You blinked once, then twice, mouth hung open as the puzzle pieces began clicking together. Ryomen had mentioned that he and Choso have another brother, but he left out the arguably major details that for one, you two attended the same university, and two, that they were—

“Twins?”

Sukuna had already wrapped up his last appointment by the time you waltzed through the doors of the parlor, your eyes narrowed at the back of his head as he cleaned his station absentmindedly. Pausing your hunt to offer a warm smile to Choso as he greeted you, you quickly locked back in. It didn’t seem too busy in the shop today, only one other customer in the back getting the finishing touches of their ink. 

Taking advantage of his lack of attention, you quietly made your way over and took a seat in his tattoo chair, holding back a groan of relief at the weight being taken off your twisted ankle. As he turned back around, it didn’t surprise you that he didn’t jump in the slightest at your sudden appearance. Hiding the tiny smile tugging at his lips with a short scoff, he reached up to flick at your forehead before swooping in with an urging hand on your jaw to press a kiss to your temple, your cheeks mushing together under his grip.

“There you are, geez. What took you so damn long— got lost?” 

“No, funny story actually,” You began, watching with a tilted head as he began putting his supplies away. “I ran into this guy that looked just like you. Pink hair and everything!” 

This made his movements falter for a fraction of a second, and you could practically see the realization don on his face that he’d forgotten to tell you something. Playing it off as he always did though, he only hummed in response. Narrowing your eyes again, you finally thought of the one thing that might actually startle him for once. 

“Yeah, it was pretty embarrassing. I accidentally kissed him and—”

“You kissed my brother?” His baffled shout echoed through the shop, the bottle in his hand clattering to the ground abruptly. 

“You kissed one of his brothers and it wasn’t me?” Choso shouted incredulously from the front, face morphed in bitter betrayal. “Yuji doesn’t even like girls!”

Sukuna felt his eye twitch, and he wasn’t sure which one of his siblings’ necks to wring out first. Deciding that Choso was closest and therefore easier game, he quickly pivoted on his heels to make a beeline for his target before you squeaked at the predicament you’d caused, snatching him back by his wrist with poorly disguised laughter. 

“Wait! Wait! I surrender, I was kidding— spare him!” 

The pure mass of him had you tumbling from the chair, clinging onto him desperately to give his half-brother a running start to lock himself in the bathroom. A pained yelp fell from your lips as you stumbled after him. This had him abruptly whipping his head around, staring down at the way you limped back over to the chair. 

“The fuck happened to you?” He was kneeling down before you had the chance to answer, grasping at your calf as his other hand worked the fleece-lined boot from your foot. Leaning back on your hands, your scrunched face stared down at him as he carefully peeled your sock back to reveal the red skin that was paving the way for a gnarly bruise. Along with it though were the scars and blisters that your pointe shoes had graced you with over the years, and he tutted under his breath. 

“Well, it kinda freaked me out when I saw Yuji.” You explained sheepishly, wincing as he ran a thumb over the warm skin. “And my feet were already killing me from practice, so I tripped up a little.”

“Can’t blame you— punk’s got an ugly fucking mug.”

Despite the searing ache in your feet, you couldn’t help the airy laugh that bubbled up your chest at his ridiculous claim. A smirk slid onto his lips at the sound. From your peripheral, you saw Choso poke his head out of the bathroom to check if the coast was clear, and you offered a subtle thumbs up, biting back an amused smile as he carefully slipped out to quietly take his place back at the front. 

Sukuna ditched the plans he had to take you to lunch, opting to take you back to his place so you could get off your feet. You flushed initially at the idea, still never having stepped foot into his apartment since you two started… whatever this was that you two had started. Your unease was palpable as you sat stiffly on his couch, watching as he bustled around the kitchen after having told you to wait here. 

He almost looked too large for the space he was residing in, the appliances in his kitchen appearing ridiculously small next to him. You couldn’t help but wonder what he’d look like in his pajamas, hovering menacingly over that stove as he cooked you breakfast after—

You quickly cleared your throat, cheeks burning as you tore your gaze from him in search of anything that might distract you from your impure thoughts. With a wandering gaze, you landed on the picture frame sitting idly on his side table. Sukuna had his middle finger positioned at the camera, partially blocking his face as his other arm was slung around the neck of the boy that had startled you so badly just hours prior, his brother's finger hooked into his already beaming smile to pull at his lip. You smile softly at the picture, being able to detect the subtle softness in the brooding man’s eyes even with all the layers of stone he always seemed put up before him. 

“Alright, take them dogs out.” The man in question commanded as he trudged back into the living room with a bucket in tow. Your brows furrowed as he set it down on the floor in front of you. As if you had already been taking too long to comply, he kneeled down with a disapproving tsk to snatch your socks off himself and roll up your sweatpants before lowering your aching feet into the water. 

“Ah—” You hissed as the warm water enveloped your inflamed tendons and skin. A few short pants escaped you before morphing into a sigh of relief as you felt your feet throb as if thanking you for showing them mercy. Slumping back against the couch, your eyes shifted apprehensively between him and the bucket. “Um, Ryo, do you happen to have any—”

“Salt? I already put a shit ton in there.” 

“Oh.” You blinked in surprise, watching as he finally stood from his knelt position to trek back to the kitchen and procure a water bottle from the fridge. Finally sinking into the spot beside you, he passed over the bottle. “How’d you know to put it in there?” 

A small, questioning hum left him, and you tilted your head down to the bucket. 

“Punk’s been running track for years.” He explained as he slung an arm around your shoulder to pull you into his side. “If you think your toes are fucked up, you should see what I’ve had to soak off that bastard’s feet— shit’s not natural.”

A laugh attempted to leave you, but it came out closer to a groan than anything else, your head falling back against the cushion in agony over the state of your feet. Shifting your head to the side to look up at him, you found that he was already looking down at you. The intensity in his eyes seemed to suck you in, opening the smallest window to the inner thoughts that he seemed so protective of. 

You found yourself flushing at the way it never wavered, unabashedly trained on you as though he could possess you by will alone if only he tried just hard enough. His fingers caught your jaw as you tried to escape it in hopes of calming your racing heart, ruby eyes dragging down your face until they fell upon the lips that were smushed between his fingers.  

“You didn’t really kiss my brother, did you, doll?” He tested, his hot breath creating a mind-numbing humidity over your gently parted lips. The faintest of whimpers escaped you, and you quickly shook your head in hopes that he’d put you out of your misery already and kiss you as you’d been waiting for all day. Your response made him smirk, his nose brushing against your as he seemed to inhale each shaky breath that left your mouth. “Good, cause I woulda’ hated if I had to scrub him off of ya’.”  

Lord, if you’re up there, please spare me.

Your frantic inner prayer seemed to fall on deaf ears though, because Ryo was swiftly pulling you in for a nearly bruising kiss, barely giving you the time to relish it before releasing you all together. He always loved the look on your face— the tiniest of disappointed furrow in your brows paired with that glossed pout— it drove him to the brink of insanity each time. 

Gluing your eyes to your lap for the sake of having anything else to concentrate on, your fingers dug into your thighs for a moment as you thought of something to say. Hearing the sloshing of the water bucket as you shifted uncertainly, you were reminded of why you were in this position in the first place. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a twin?” You finally broke the tense silence, the one during which his gaze not once left your delicate side profile. A dainty smile pulled at your lips when you glanced back up at him. “Probably would have saved me the embarrassment— his boyfriend looked like he was going to kill me on the spot.”

“Why— think you’d like the other one better?” It was so like him to brush off your questions with a jab and a matching smirk, though you had a feeling there was some truth hiding in the depths of this one. 

“Is that what you thought?” You questioned, not matching his banter as you usually did. Instead, your voice was level, careful in how it broached this topic with him.“That I’d prefer your brother?”

The reaction he tried to disguise revealed itself within his fluttering blink, the way his smirk faltered for even just a millisecond before he scoffed. You caught it though— that rare sliver of vulnerability in his eyes just before he turned his head away from you under the guise of pushing his hair from his forehead. 

“Bullshit,” He quipped, that guarded smirk back on his face faster than it had left. Reaching down to scoop up the towel he’d left beside the bucket, he placed it in his lap before abruptly pulling your feet out of the now luke-warm water to dry them. “Brat might be nicer than me, but he sure ass hell don’t got my hands, huh?” 

Before you could even consider flushing at the implications of his words, said hands were kneading into the searing arch of your feet with more pressure than any of the myriad of foot rollers you’d come to know in all your years could ever manage. All thoughts of Yuji and his brother’s oddly stubborn defenses vanished from you as you fell back horizontally against the couch, a gutteral groan leaving you that Sukuna hadn’t even realized could come out of such a comparably small person. 

“Geez, doll,” He whistled lowly through the pure mirth etched onto his face as he drifted his focus down to your heels, rolling his knuckles over them tantalizingly. “Not what I imagined when I thought of you all spread out and moaning on my couch, but I’ll take it.”

With a burning flush, you dug the back of your head into the cusion below you to shield yourself from his teasing gaze. 

“Sorry,” You mumbled, covering your timid face behind your hands with a blissful sigh. “Just haven’t had much of a break lately.”

“Take it easy the next few days.” He grumbled as though he hated how his own concern sounded in his ears, fingers trailing up to gently massage into your calves. His neck nearly snapped with the abrupt turn it took at the sound of your quiet, incredulous laugh at his suggestion. “Did I say something fuckin’ funny?” 

“No!” You squeaked, though the amusement still lingered in your tone as you peaked at him through your fingers. He only raised his brows at you in challenge. “That’s just… not possible right now. Swan Lake is only like a week away, remember?” 

Of course he remembered— he had been reeling to see you perform again since that first night you took his breath away, though he’d never admit it. The air of nonchalance that waved from him when your ecstatic voice squealed through his phone weeks prior that you had been picked to portray Odette was carefully calculated. In truth though, he felt as though his chest might burst with a sense of pride he wasn’t sure he’d ever experienced before. 

Sure, he hadn’t the slightest clue who the fuck this Odette character was, but he wasn’t at all surprised after a quick google search that you would have been the only choice fit for the lead role— though perhaps he was a little biased.  The stoic man wasn’t upfront with his praises though, but you heard it loud and clear in his simple response of yeah, no shit you got picked, a hidden smile lingering in his otherwise gruff tone. 

“Yeah? How you gonna play Odyssey with no fuckin’ toes left?” He quipped, purposefully mistaking the name just to hear that saccharine laughter of yours as he paused his massage to creep between your legs. 

“It’s Odette, Ryo!” You giggled, pushing at his chest to no avail as he hovered over you to pepper wet kisses along your jaw. “And I can’t afford to slack off.” 

“You’re taking a day offa’ practice.” He grumbled against your ear before snagging the soft lobe between his teeth. Your breathless pants tickled his neck, and the hands that had since been haphazardly shoving at his broad shoulders curled into the neckline of his shirt. 

Those pretty, pink lips that took up so much space in his mind circled into the gentlest of oh’s as his hand wandered down your waist and grasped at your hip, pulling it up to press you against him. 

“I-I can’t—”

Slipping that same hand down, he cupped at the warmth between your legs purposefully, sending your back arching up from the plush cushions. 

“Hm?” He hummed tauntingly at your sudden loss for words, easing up the pressure on your center just enough to make you beg him for it. “You gonna stay home and rest those pretty little legs of yours tomorrow?” 

The heat radiating from your cheeks warmed his lips as he traced them up your face and nipped at your pouted lips. You nodded deleriously, tangling your hands into his hair to pull him in to properly kiss you. 

“I’ll take a break.” You barely got out against his curled up lips before he was consuming you once again. 

His once idle hand eagerly snuck up to dive down the front of your sweatpants, and he tsked in aggravation at the barrier that was the leotard and tights you had yet to change out of. Pulling away from you with a wet smack, he instead focused his efforts on snaking down your body, pressing kisses against your clothed chest, across your ribs and down your stomach. 

A faint rumble had him pausing his pursuit to glance up at you, that familiar glitter of amusement hidden in his ruby eyes. You quickly shook your head, mumbling that you were fine, and your eagerness had all but convinced him that you were, diving back down to slip his fingers into the waistband of your sweats. Your fingers danced up to tangle into his already mustled hair, lifting your hips ever so slightly so he could tug down your bottoms. They had only just barely grazed the swell of your ass before he heard it again— this time more vengeful than the last. 

“Okay, put your fuckin’ shoes on, we’re getting you a burger.” 

Much to your dismay, Ryo did convince you (stood over your shoulder until you texted your instructor that you were sick) to take the day off of practice the next day. In his defense, the foot that you had injured the day prior had begun to take on a faint purple hue along the bridge. Still, you couldn’t help but barely relax the entire day as you were meant to be doing— too caught up in the fear that the mere day you were taking would set you back tremendously. 

Truthfully, while you were completely over the moon to have been given such a coveted role, one you’d dreamt of since you were little no less, the years of buildup had paved the way for a blackhole of self doubt. Not only were you given the opportunity to perform your dream role, but you knew for a fact there would be recruiters for at least three professional dance companies in attendance for the show. Additionally and nearly as nerve-wrecking, Ryo would be there, and it would be the first performance he would see following that first night you two had spent together. 

With how matter of factly he always spoke of your dancing abilities, you couldn’t bear the humiliation of messing up under his watch. Aside from him, your identity as a dancer was all you had since moving here. Without it, you weren’t sure there was anything left to you at all. There was a gnawing fear sprouting roots in each of your bones that told you that Ryo wouldn’t find much else either. Perhaps it was unfair, unhealthy to be putting such pressure on yourself, but you’d much rather drown in your contradictions than bear the weight of swimming up to the surface to confront them. 

Maybe it was the fact that you had worried yourself into the early hours of the morning when you should have been sleeping to prepare for the hours of practice that would be awaiting you when you woke. Even more likely was the fact that it was the barely healed, blackening bruise lingering maliciously on your foot that assured that you just wouldn’t for the life of you land any of your grand jetés, your aching tendon simply dipping too far under the leaden weight of your drops. Your partner, who would be fulfilling the role of Prince Siegfried alongside you, really did try to help, his hands tightening in a barely noticeable fashion around your waist each time you came down from your leaps in hopes of easing your landing so that you may execute it with more grace— but not even his mercy seemed to save you. Whatever you could inevitably point the blame at though caused you instructor to finally snap about four hours into practice that day.

It took barely a sharp glare, a hushed critique, but it sliced through you like a knife. Over the years, you had of course learned to take and constructively use the feedback given by your instructors, though the weight of your role’s importance to the success of the show perhaps made her words cutting and her eyes despondent toward your previously blossoming potential. You could even feel your partner’s typically playfully smug expression boring into the side of your head with barely concealed sympathy, but not even Satoru’s usually life saving swoop-ins could pull you out of the hole you were throwing yourself down.

You could hardly think of a thing else when you left that evening, sun already prepared to retreat soon for the night. The score played resoundingly in your headphones speakers that sat snuggly against your ears, aiding in your wide-eyed, mental rundown of each number on your trek back to your dorm, every muscle in your body seemingly screaming with every dragged step.

Nothing would allow you to let up on yourself, it seemed. You stared blankly into your fridge for nearly ten minutes following your scalding shower before deciding your mind was far too preoccupied to conjure up any sort of appetite. And so you didn’t rest when you got home that day. With the increasingly taunting melodies of Tchaikovsky's compositions filling the already tense air of your dorm, you continued your trembling fouettés and pirouettes until each of your steps wavered and it became glaringly difficult to lift yourself from your rocky landings. 

There was barely a glimmer of sunlight left shining from your window, and you weren’t sure how long you’d been furiously torturing yourself for, each falter or misstep being met with blindly frenzied repetitions. A sharp rap on your door seemed to shake your resolve, almost drowned out by the volume of your music that had been steadily ticking up and up and up until the fact that you hadn’t received a noise complaint had to have been chalked up to a heavenly intervention. 

It startled you in the midst of your leap, reducing whatever semblance of grace you had prepared for your landing into a thudding heap on the floor. Your knee’s resounding smack against the wood floor along with your frustrated cry was only followed by a harsher pound at your door, and you were sure you saw the door frame rattle even if just by a hair. 

“I’m coming!” You tried to sound as though you weren't ready to open your window and scream your miseries out to the world, though you weren’t sure how well it translated. A shuddering breath shook your frame as you rose from the floor to make your way to the door one wincing step at a time. You had barely the chance to crack the door before it was being pushed open, and the spine-chilling scowl on the face of the man who invited himself in would have had you calling campus security in any other situation. “Ryo?”

“What the hell happened to you? I haven’t heard from you since this morning. Ain’t been answering any of my—” His exasperated interrogation died in his throat as he took in the state of your dorm— namely the main floor, where your modest couch had been pushed haphazardly against the far corner of the room, with your rug rolled up and slouched against the wall. The body mirror that typically hung on your bathroom door was ripped from its place and leaned against the wall to face the makeshift practice space. 

You watched with a waxing humiliation as his expression morphed into a startled disquietude he did little to mask. With a flickering gaze, the cool air of your space whipped against your burning cheeks as you shook your head, placing your hands desolately onto his shoulders in an attempt to push him back toward the door. 

“You should go, I—”

“Like hell I should go, what the fuck is going on?” Sukuna’s venomous tone contrasted the desperately gentle manner at which he reached out to grasp at your cheeks. In his frenzied inspection of you, he noted how your flushed face and damp skin paired painstakingly with the droop of your exhausted eyes. “Have you stopped at all today?”

“I—” Your weak stammer pitched until you could no longer hear it falling from your lips. The fat of your cheeks squished against his palms as you slumped defeatedly into his grasp, a traitorous tear slipping down your burning eyes. You tried to cast your gaze downward in search of any solace against the way you were breaking down so pathetically before him, but his insistent fingers prevented you from doing anything of the sort. 

His incredulous eyes widened as one tear turned into several, until no dam could possibly stop your abrupt onslaught onto the tightening grasp of his hands. And god, how he felt he was the worst person to have stumbled upon such a scene, because Sukuna had never in his life been sure what to do with tears. In all his years, he’d solved matters with his sharp tongue and barreling fists— though he’d never quite mastered the intricacies of handling anything with fragility or care. 

So, as comforting as he thought he could manage, he stiffly pulled your head against his chest, sighing in modest relief when you buried your nose in further. The motion gave him hope that just maybe whatever foreign moves he was making didn’t come off as horribly stiff and unnatural as they felt to him. 

“I kept messing up my choreography today, a-and I just— I can’t—” The choked sobs were rendering your frenzied explanation nearly incomprehensible as you began heaving out your breaths. Your shoulders were jostling with the sudden expended efforts of your erratic breathing, and he decided that perhaps a hug wasn’t going to cut it, because your skin was clammy and you were choking on your breaths and he was sure you’d pass out any second now. 

“Nah, c’mon, get it together f’me.” Ryo muttered with a crippling effort to not raise his voice and make the situation worse. With a firm hand on your nape, he began urging you toward the hall where he nearly tore your bathroom door off the hinges opening it. Twisting on the faucet of your ivory sink, his hand pushed you down until your frazzled face was a mere inches from the now running water. Cupping his hand under the stream, he ran the starkly cool water down your feverish face. You gasped softly at the way it seemed to shock your already strung-out nervous system. “Breathe, dammit.” 

But the much needed air was already crashing against your withering lungs like waves against an unsuspecting shore as his hand continued splashing at your face. 

“I’m sorry— I’m sorry.” You finally rasped out, feeling as though you were at last breaking through the surface tension that had been trapping you in your haze. The grip on your nape slowly loosened in tandem with your leveling breaths, and you leaned against the counter for support. 

Sukuna switched the faucet off before turning you to face him once again. There were stray droplets of water still rolling down your face and dripping into the divets of your collarbones, and he swiped at your dribbling jaw as he waited for you to collect yourself. It was silent as his intense gaze burned holes into your forehead, and it pushed the few stray tears lingering in your waterline out. 

“She told me that I—” You cut yourself off, face scrunching up in embarrassment, but he gently jostled you to urge your continuing. “That I-I’m not taking this seriously.”

“Fuck that—”

“No, she’s right, Ryo.” Your sudden insistence caught him off guard, his eyes searching yours incredulously because he couldn’t think of one person who could’ve grasped at their goals as tightly as you had between your delicate fingers. “I skipped practice yesterday, and I haven’t been putting in as much time as I can— I’m gonna mess everything up.” 

“Hey, no that’s bullshit, you hear me?” His fingers squished at your cheeks in order to urge your wet gaze onto his grave eyes. “You ain’t a damn machine— how the hell do you expect to put in a hundred percent when you’re grinding yourself stupid? Huh?” 

You didn’t answer him, instead opting to squeeze your eyes shut, chewing on your bottom lip. 

“You need a break. You need to fucking relax, alright?”

“I can’t— I don’t know how.” You admitted meekly as your own trembling hands came up to grip desperately at his wrists. The scent of his cologne helped marginally to ground you as he leaned down to press ardent kisses against your temple and forehead. “I feel like I’m possessed or something. I can’t sit still, I can’t—”

“You gotta try for me, baby.” The way his gruff voice reverberated in his chest had you pulling yourself closer to him, desperate to drown in the intoxicating distraction that had been laid before you. Because Ryomen— he smelled like a forest, his hands were so sure in their pursuit of you, his voice flowing like the most expensive of wines, and he had never called you that before, and you thought there was nowhere you’d rather plummet into insanity than his fortifying embrace. 

“Can you…” Your soft whisper drifted in apprehension, a deep scarlet painting your still drying cheeks. He hummed in question, already terrifyingly resolute in his decision that he’d burn cities down to complete whatever request it was that would fall from your lips if it meant that painstaking little crease of worry between your brows would leave you alone. “Can you help me? You know… r-relax?” 

And oh how his chest filled with pride, because the tears and the speeches were lost on him but this? This he could do, he determined as he sank to his knees before you. He’d felt utterly hopeless at the hands of your tender nature and gentle touches, because he knew that anyone else would be able to reciprocate them to you far better than he could ever hope to, though he knew one thing for certain as he tugged your bottoms down, chin propped on your navel to look up at you in that sweltering manner he was so good at— there was no one alive or dead that would be able to take care of you like he intended to. 

Your hands found purchase on the counter behind you in desperate pursuit of support as he nudged your legs further apart and buried his head between them. His tongue was warm as it lapped mercilessly at your center, urging hands gripping at the back of your thigh to wrangle one of your legs over his shoulder. He moaned against you as you arched into him, his grip around your thigh tightening as if to encourage your movements, and you found yourself crying out along with him. Your chords meshed together and danced harmoniously off the thin walls of your dingy, dorm bathroom. 

The mystery raced through your mind of what planet this man had come from, as he was managing to pull at threads you hadn’t known existed in you with each skilled thrust of his tongue. Your balance wavered on the leg that remained standing, trembling on its tiptoes as it attempted desperately to keep up with him to no avail. Just as you slipped forward, Sukuna’s bicep was hooking under the wavering limb before hoisting himself up along with you. 

Your back fell against the mirror once he dropped you onto the counter, and his fingers were soon replacing his tongue just as all your crippling thoughts of self doubt were soon replaced by him. Him as he lurched forward over the sink to capture your lips, allowing you to taste yourself lingering on his tongue before leaning back to watch the way you began to desperately grind yourself against his fingers. 

“What are you thinking about right now?” He all but growled out as his fingers found a blistering rhythm within you, the continuous, wet smacks of his palm against your heat making it difficult for you to think of anything at all though. So, you only whined out in response, your feet craning up to gain any kind of leverage on the counter’s edge. At once, his free hand was grasping at your nape to angle your gaze to look up at him, his incandescent eyes demanding to be met. “I asked you a question.”

“You!” You gasped out, the searing pleasure making way for the tears that gathered in the corner of your eyes. He smiled wolfishly at your response, and you moaned softly at the sight. “Just you, I’m thinking about you, Ryo.”

“Yeah?” Sukuna muttered smugly, grasping at your leg as it continued to slip against the counter in search of support. 

His heated touch ran down your calf teasingly until it curled around your ankle that was still partially covered by the ties of your pointe shoes. Ever so slowly, as if testing the spellbinding flexibility that had had the perverse wheels turning in his head since he first witnessed it on stage all those weeks ago, he inched your leg up and up and up until the bridge of your foot brushed against the mirror only a mere inches away from your rapturous face. For once, the wind felt as though it had been knocked from his lungs at the sight, but he worked to quickly compose himself lest you bear witness to the slip in his resolve. 

So, he instead leaned in closer to you, the back of your thigh now flush against his chest as his hand kept your leg pinned up. A shuddering moan slipped from you at the feeling of his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. 

“And what am I doing in those thoughts of yours, doll?” The whisper sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn’t help but turn your face away from him bashfully. Tutting softly in mocking disapproval, he nudged your face forward once again with a push of his nose against your chin. “Hm? Speak up now, I can’t hear you.”

But your climax was nearing closer and closer, evident in the way your warmth squeezed around his relentless fingers and your breaths grew choppy. Perhaps that was the only reason you had the nerve to actually answer him.

“Y-You’re— ah!” A sharp gasp shook you as he angled his palm to brush against your clit with each stroke, but he quickly ground out for you to keep talking. “You’re making love to me, Ryo.”

Your high came crashing down onto you just as your words seemed to shatter his mind, his mouth falling open in tandem with your pitched cries as you peaked. His brows drew fiercely together, his teeth gritting together as he worked you through the waves of your release, and he no longer cared if you saw the way his thusfar fierce front had fallen, because Ryomen couldn’t possibly want anything more in that moment than for you to allow him to bring your lust-clouded thoughts to fruition as he leaned forward to swallow your moans.

“Can’t talk like that, doll.” He groaned despondently against your lips, foreheads brushing together while your lower half jolted against him.

“Why?” In your delirium, you could have cried at his disapproval. 

“Cause I might just fucking do it, that’s why.” 

It fell silent in the already small bathroom that seemed all the more cramped with Sukuna’s Herculean figure occupying the majority of it. Your soft pants puffed against his mouth, eyes fluttering out a stray tear as you reached up to grasp at his nape. The sensation of your nails dragging down the blunt hairs of his undercut made his fingers curl deeper around your ankle, scrambling for any semblance of restraint. It would never come though, because you had the gall to pout against his parted lips, your grip like a vice on his neck as you whispered to him.

“Please, Ryo.” 

He certainly didn’t feel as though he deserved such a privilege, but it was also far from him to make you beg for a part of him that was already wholeheartedly yours. So, his grip fell from your leg in favor of scooping you up by your thighs, your dripping core soaking against his shirt as he moved through your dorm like a man possessed, kicking at your bedroom door impatiently. 

You barely had the chance to recover from the abrupt manner in which you bounced back against your mattress before he was wrangling your sweater from over your head. Sighing wantonly at the sight of his tattoo marked proudly against your heaving sternum, he leaned down to sink his teeth into it. Any semblance of rationality seemed so far from you as your jaw hung open, and you blindly reached down to tug at the back of his shirt until he disconnected from you to pull it off. 

In a lust-filled haze, you reached out to trace the black ink that ran down his chest, making him hum appreciatively, his own hands capturing yours to hold them against him even if for just a moment longer. Slowly though, those sinful hands were drifting down your bare sides until his fingers dug into the swell of your hips to yank you down until your ass was just barely kissing the edge of the bed. 

“These legs drive me fucking ballistic.” His sultry confession would have made you blush had you not already been spread open so vulnerably before him. Laden fingers dragged down your legs as he gathered them up to rest against his chest, turning his head to press salacious, open mouthed kisses along your calves. With a feather-light touch, he drifted up toward your ankle before tugging at the tie of your pointe shoes hungrily. That fervid, side-long glance he tossed your way as he worked the stiff shoes off you was nearly too intense to take head on, but there was a glint in his eyes that told you that you should know better than to look away. 

The offending shoes fell against the floor with a soft thud. The keen gaze he kept on you should have sent you sprinting, akin to an apex predator scouting its next meal. As you assured yourself just moments prior though, you knew better. So, you stayed perfectly still, save your heaving breaths, as he dug a small, gold foiled packet from his wallet, holding it between his teeth before working his belt off and allowing his pants to pool at his feet. 

There was the slightest hint of a pause as Ryo allowed the scene to settle in— to give you a chance to turn back at the very moment you’d left off on the last time your fates brushed this closely. That resistance never came though, and your ankles dug into his shoulders in anticipation. Your eyes fell on their own volition as he pushed his boxers down to join the rest of his clothes, and you thought you might swallow your own tongue in the midst of your shock. 

His erection sprang from its cotton prison, ever so gently brushing against your core in its escape. You shuddered at the sensation, but for once your tremors rooted not in fear but instead in an aching anticipation. Much like the rest of him, as you had assumed, he was intimidatingly… above average— not that you had much by way of comparison. Gulping down the saliva that seemed to pool dramatically on your tongue, you took note of the black rings that circled his upper thighs, and you couldn’t help but let your lips curl up at the sight. 

“What’re you smilin’ at, huh?” Ryomen teased through clenched teeth, the condom still hanging between his lips. An adoring smirk was splitting across his own face as he took the opportunity to pump leisurely as his leaking cock, using his free hand to smooth up your navel. 

“You just… match everywhere.” Your timid giggle had his length twitching in his grip, his intense gaze softening just a bit. Abandoning his caress against your lower half, he reached up to tear open the foil between his teeth.

“What— don’t like ‘em?” His husky question was followed by the teasing plap of his heavy cockhead on your sensitive bud. The amused smile on your lips quickly fell into a sharp gasp at the sensation. Sukuna hummed as he rolled the condom over his aching length before guiding it through your folds. 

“I love them.” Your sincere, breathless confession caught him off guard. “You look like… a piece of art, Ryo.”

For the first time since knowing him, you watched a genuine flush fall over his face at your words. Wide eyes were staring down at you as though he’d never received a compliment a day in his life, but, truthfully, he wasn’t sure anyone had ever bothered showing him such tenderness, always preferring to veer off his path lest they get caught in his crossfires. There was a barely noticeable tremble in his breath as he sighed out. 

“Art, huh? Nah.” He murmured, pushing forward until his tip dipped into your straining entrance. 

You cried out softly at the abrupt stretch, and he quickly hushed you with a soothing hand up your thigh. It felt so incredibly cathartic, enduring the dull pain at the hands of Ryomen. No matter how much you felt you might split in two as he gradually introduced each inch of himself into your honied heat, you would have done it all over again if it meant you’d be able to see that look on his face as he bottomed out. Eyes rolled back, fingers clutching at your thighs as they rested against his chest with a bruising grip, with a gaping mouth that curled up at the corners in a lingering, intoxicated smirk. 

He fell forward until your knees pushed up against your breasts, moving one hand to fist the sheets beside your head to pace himself as he licked at the tears rolling down your cheeks. 

“This is art.” Sukuna corrected as he dipped down to capture each, pained whimper that fell past your lips until it was your moans would soon compete against his favorite of artists, because if he was art then you must be a masterpiece. 

You slept with a serenity that rivaled a corpse that night, your dreams floating through clouds as your mind was utterly consumed by him. For the first time in weeks, something had rivaled the searing ache in your feet, and it was the dull reminder of Ryomen between your thighs— though you couldn’t possibly bring yourself to deem that particular pain unwelcomed as you stirred from your slumber. 

The frigid air bit at your bare skin, sending a tremor through your shoulders. Cracking your eyes open, you were greeted by the sight of the man so many seemed to fear, his lips gently pouted as half his face molded against your pink pillow sheet. You wondered if it was his perpetually defensive nature that made him sleep on his stomach, the idea putting an amused grin on your tired features as you observed how his arms clutched onto the pillow under his head. 

His legs were tangled into yours under the covers, giving you the vital information that he seemed to be putting out far more body heat than you could hope to at this hour. Shuffling closer to him, you carefully placed a hand under his arm in an attempt to lift it just enough to slip into his warm embrace for solace against the cold. 

“What’re you doin’, brat?” His gravelly voice cut through the morning silence, catching you red handed without ever having opened his eyes. 

Biting back the disappointment upon realizing that you weren’t nearly as stealthy as you thought, you smiled sheepishly despite his closed eyes. 

“I’m cold.” You whispered softly.

“No one told you to get this thin ass blanket.” He grumbled, and you let out a quiet huff of disappointment before turning over and pulling the covers tighter over yourself. It only took a mere few seconds though to hear the rustling of sheets behind you, and you were soon being enveloped in a bear-like embrace nonetheless. His arm dipped under your head to cross over your chest, and you smiled against the warmth of his forearm. “What’re you smiling for? Too fuckin’ early.” 

The fervent kisses he began pressing against your shoulder contradicted his grumpy rambling though, and he was soon nosing at your jaw for you to expose your neck to him. His teeth sank into the new area bared to him, and you arched against him just as his tongue began circling the attacked skin. 

“Hmm,” He hummed in a deep baritone, his hand running up your thigh before dipping down to where you still ached of him. “Better cancel whatever fuckin’ plans you had today.” 

Just as you nearly allowed yourself to succumb to him once more, his words sunk into your still barely functioning mind. 

“Oh my god!” You shrieked, shooting up from his grip and nearly tumbling off the bed as you reached for your phone. 

“Woah, woah, settle down. What the hell are you tweaking about?” Ryo groaned, rubbing at his now ringing ear as he propped himself up to watch you. 

“I’m late! Oh my god, I’m so late.” You rambled through trembling breaths. It was like watching a tornado ripping through your tiny room, clothes flying as you wrangled on whatever was closest to you. He quickly sat up at your frenzied movements. “I’m supposed to be at practice!”

“Hey, take a fucking breather, you’re gonna pass out.” 

“I can’t take a fucking breather, Ryomen!” His eyes widened at your uncharacteristic tone, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever heard such… unsavory language falling from your lips. Tears of frustration blurred your vision as you began shoving your abandoned pointe shoes haphazardly into your bag. “I keep messing everything up, I’m such a—”

“Nothing’s messed up—”

“Everything’s messed up!” You cried, grunting in frustration as you shoved your aching feet into your boots. “My foot is still messed up, my routine is messed up, my instructor thinks I’m a joke, and I’m about to screw everything up because I keep letting myself get distracted, and I—”

“Distracted?” Sukuna scoffed, pulling on his boxers as he stood up to follow you out of your bedroom. “Is that what I was fucking doing last night? Distracting you?” 

“I don’t have time for this right now, Ryo.” 

“Well you better find some fucking time before you mess this up too.” He regretted them as soon as the words left his mouth, but his entire nervous system had switched onto the defense at your ruthless undermining of what had transpired between you two last night.

 The wounded expression on your delicate face told him he should drop to his knees to beg your forgiveness, but the wounded pride of the rejected child in him refused to submit so easily. So, he simply stared back at you with that callous expression you hadn’t ever seen him dare direct your way. Wiping furiously at your traitorous tears, you slung your bag over your shoulder and left, slamming the front door behind you. 

That door had shut in his face five days ago, and you had yet to hear from him since. In hindsight, you knew that what you said was out of line, and it was clear that you had hurt him in a way that he would refuse to outwardly display. Sukuna would always bare his teeth before showing his belly— you knew that whole heartedly even after knowing him a mere few months. Still, his words stung, and you were too afraid of how the things he’d left unsaid might feel if you should reach out to him first in the midst of his anger. 

You tried to use his absence to your advantage, throwing yourself wholeheartedly into your now daily practices that went hours on end. Your grief, anger, and betrayal fueled each twist and turn, each leap you aimed to perfect until you could convince yourself it was worth what you had damaged in the name of your passion. Even when you finally received that pathetically anticipated approval from your instructor, it no longer felt as sweet. 

There was hardly time for you to wallow over Roy’s radio silence though, because Swan Lake was in a day, and you weren’t even sure that he’d still show up. The thought clutched at your chest, but you were quick to dismiss Satoru when he’d whispered his concerns into your ear during your final dress rehearsal. It felt as though you were back in that desperate solitude that had inadvertently veered you on his path in the first place. 

Sukuna had been pretending that it wasn’t eating him alive that you had yet to crack first, but he sure as hell wouldn’t do it. Everyone around him could tell though. He was quiet— even more so than usual, and the fuse that they were sure couldn’t get any shorter was blowing easier than ever. Choso was met with a biting snap when he dared to ask why he hadn’t seen you around lately, so he figured you must have something to do with it, and he’d be damned if he sat back and simply watched his brother fuck this up. 

“Hey,” Despite his determination, his tone was still careful as he approached the pink-haired man who was still hunched over his client, brows furrowed as he concentrated on the cat he was coloring in on the woman’s thigh. It so obnoxiously reminded him of you and the soft spot you held in your heart for the damned feral animals. Sukuna grunted in question at his half-brother. “You still coming to the show tonight?”

He paused his careful strokes for a fraction of a second before blinking away his frustration. 

“Why the hell wouldn’t I be?” 

His gruff response made Choso’s eyes roll in annoyance. It was so like him to pretend as though no one could tell that something was going on with him. 

“Well she just texted me to ask, so I figured there was a reason.”

It took every bit of restraint in him not to jolt in surprise and completely fuck up this client’s day. Why didn’t she text him? Why the hell did she feel more comfortable going to his damn brother than him? His jaw clicked as it clenched in indignation. An aggravated huff escaped him as he wiped at the woman’s tattoo and prepared to wrap it up. 

“You can tell her that if she wants to know that she can ask me her fucking self.” The dark-haired man’s brows rose at his brother’s tone, pursing his lips as he turned on his heels with a shake of his head, a motion that certainly didn't go over Sukuna’s head. “You got something to say?” 

“Other than you’re going to regret whatever the hell it is you’re sulking over in a few days? Nah, it’s all good. I’ll let her know that Yuji and I are still coming.” 

He didn’t give him a chance for a rebuttal before he made his way back up to the front. A grumbled tut left him as he cleaned the tattoo before him and began wrapping it. 

“That sketch is gorgeous.” The client commented as he busied himself with her wrap. He glanced up at her in question before following her gaze to the sketch that he’d created for you that night and inevitably inked on you. The original was still taped to his station, always having been his favorite reminder of you to get him through his shifts. “You the artist? I have a friend who would probably love to get that inked.” 

Faster than he could even fully process her request, he was adamantly shaking his head with a fierce defensiveness. Even through the haze of his hurt, he knew that that drawing would never grace the skin of anyone else— no one else would be worthy of a piece inspired by you, no one had the right. He couldn’t bear the thought of tainting its sanctity with the likes of some of the scum that came through here. 

“Out of commission.” He gruffed plainly, not bothering to grace the notion with an explanation. Ripping off his gloves, his eager fingers dug his phone from his back pocket, but he was only met with further disappointment at the realization that— no, you still hadn’t reached out. 

As he walked his client to the front, he could see his brother typing away adamantly on his phone, and it pissed him off to think of you on the other end of it with the reassurance that his damn brothers would be coming to support you tonight. 

Sukuna couldn’t drag himself outside fast enough, hiding under the guise of needing some air when, truthfully, he was tempted to rip the stupid fucking buns right off Choso’s head if he heard his phone ping one more time. It was his rage, that’s what he’d blame it on as his thumbs furiously pounded at the poor, unsuspecting screen of his phone before hitting send.

I’ll be there.

You were sure you would throw up if there had been anything in your stomach to begin with that day. With your nerves so overwhelmingly shot, you could barely stomach a few saltine crackers before even they were making you nauseous. 

Staring back at you in the mirror was the woman you had been fighting tooth and nail for for so long. The white, feathered headpieces sat snuggly against your temples and into the sides of your slicked-back bun. You almost didn’t recognize yourself in the dramatically winged, dark shadow that shrouded your eyes. 

You couldn’t be sure if the reassurance that Ryo would be coming despite your near week of radio silence comforted or intimidated you even more. 

From the closed door of your dressing room, you could hear the orchestra performing each intricate number as act one got the ball rolling. There were dancers in and out of the room, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move, stuck idly in your chair as you awaited act two to begin with your entrance. 

No matter how much you had soaked it, iced it, rolled it— goddamn it, prayed over it, your foot still throbbed under the constraints of your pointe shoes. It only needed to get through the next hour and a half— that’s the mantra that played like a broken record in your head in hopes of calming your very real fears of it failing you mid-performance. 

The minor piece of solace you had apart from that was that your sudden change in behavior had urged you and Satoru to get a bit more comfortable with each other as you had to begrudgingly explain to him why you had been a bit off your game. You were shocked when the man, who you were sure hadn’t a sincere bone in his body, reassured you that he’d be more cautious with you with each lift and land the two of you had ahead of you tonight given your injury. 

You watched with bated breath from the side stage as Satoru aimed the prop crossbow before turning to prance toward his stage left to mimic his hunt, the long awaited queue for your entrance. The peripherals of your vision blurred as you allowed your muscle memory to take over, and you were soon landing your grand jeté before dipping into your first bow as Odette. 

Ryomen felt each last puff of air in his lungs abandon him at the sight of you with your breathtakingly intricate, snow-white costume, truly embodying a princess. He had admittedly been growing restless throughout the first half hour of the production without so much as a glimpse of you. Now though, as the glimmering crown tucked into your hair shimmered under the stage lights, he was sure he’d wait it tenfold to relive the magnetic way you commanded the stage upon your first arabesque. 

The grip he had around the base of the bouquet he’d brought you tightened as he watched you and your partner float about the stage, twisting and turning against and around each other with a synchronicity that embodied just how much dedication you two had put into your performative chemistry— at least that’s what he hoped as your noses brushed in an almost kiss. 

Not even in his wildest dreams would he have thought he’d ever find himself sitting through a two-hour ballet, but you had him completely enraptured. He recalled what you had mentioned about the recruiters that would be coming to this performance, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that this was your night. The recruiters had to be captivated by you— just as every soul that was surrounding him seemed to be. 

As the show progressed, it was clear how you lost yourself inch by inch to Odette, and you soon weren’t sure where you ended and she began. You had just been starting to convince yourself that you’d make it. There was but a half hour left, and though you could feel your injured foot growing angrier and angrier with each pointed formation, you were pushing it to the back of your mind, something to be dealt with later. 

But somewhere after the fourteenth of the iconic thirty-two fouettes in a row you had to execute as your darker counterpart, Odile, was perhaps the beginning of the end for your optimism. As fate would have it, each gruelling fouette was meant to be spun off of that fucking foot, and by the end of them you were sure your face was tinted red from the way you held back your cries of pain. 

Ryomen could see it too, despite how well you disguised it as an expression of passion. His fingers dug deeper and deeper into his thighs with each spin during the sequence, because he could practically feel that bruised foot crumbling under such pressure. Despite it all— you did it, and, not only that, you made it appear damn near effortless. 

It was nearing the final number now, and he had been watching your eyes morph with each second that passed. Perhaps it wasn’t clear to anyone else, but he knew that glassy look wasn’t just your impeccable dedication to the scene. You had been changed back into your white swan costume, taking the stage with both Prince Seigfried and Rothbart as you gracefully dashed yourself between the arms of each man. It wasn’t until the final leap that Satoru would catch you from that you felt it.

Just as your pointed foot hit the stage floor, you could all but hear the tiniest of cracks. Your breath hitched, a nearly muted choke catching in your throat that luckily the audience couldn’t hear over the orchestra. Satoru did though, his hands on your waist tightening as he attempted to subtly lift you ever so slightly to take some of the weight off your foot. A whimper lingered in the back of your throat as the pain radiated up your leg. 

“It’s okay.” Your white-haired partner whispered subtly so as not to break the illusion of the performance. “You just have to make it to the lake.” 

His near silent reassurance into your ear was fleeting as you spun away from him. Make it to the lake. The words were chanting like a mantra in your head. 

Ryomen thought the armrest of his seat would snap under the pressure of his grip, watching in horror as a single tear slipped down your cheek upon that fateful landing, and he knew something had gone wrong. Judging by the way your partner seemed to subtly lean in to whisper in your ear, he knew he was right.

Still, your remaining bourrees across the stage were flawlessly executed despite you feeling the likely fracture in your foot arguably worsening with each step, and Odette was finally taken up into the arms of Rothbart, lifted high above his head to take her behind the veil of the lake to die— and that’s certainly what it felt like you were doing. 

Sukuna was out of his seat before Prince Seigfried could even properly fall to his knees to mourn the loss of his love, practically hopping over seats to get to the back. It was proven difficult, what with all the attendees rising to their feet to offer a standing ovation as the show concluded. Finally making it out of the row, he shouldered into attendants and workers until he found the backstage entrance sign. 

A worker placed a hand on his shoulder to inform him that he wasn’t authorized to go back there, but he knew the man wasn’t about to be stupid enough to fight him if he pushed his way through those doors anyway. There were troves of ballet dancers moving like ants through the hallways, all looking up at him in bewilderment as he pounded toward the dressing room at the end of the hall. 

“Oi, you all had better be fucking decent cause I’m coming in!” It was the only warning he gave along with the three cautionary pounds against the door before he burst in. There in the far back surrounded by a myriad of frazzled dancers was you, still hauntingly enchanting in your Swan Queen costume as you heaved out cries against the cold floor. The pointe shoe on your injured foot had already been wrangled off, and Satoru was frantically tearing your tights between his fingers from the ankle down to observe the damage. 

You looked up at the sudden commotion. The dramatic, black makeup that had been so intricately painted onto your face was now streaming down your cheeks in ugly, noir waves as your face scrunched up heartbreakingly at the sight of him standing before you. 

“Ryo.” You choked out helplessly between your heaving sobs of pain, and he felt his heart shatter all at once. Parting through the sea of dancers, he shoved at the white-haired man’s shoulder. 

“Move the fuck outta my way.” Sukuna bit out, probably much harsher than necessary for someone who seemed to be trying to help, but he did just watch this dude grabbing at your waist and thighs and caressing your face for damn near two hours straight. And sure, he knew it was all part of the performance, but fuck you didn’t warn him that you’d actually be kissing the dude. In spite of it all, Satoru didn’t need to be told twice before he was standing to let him take over. 

“I-I think it’s broken. I can’t m-move it—” 

“It’s okay, I’m right here.” He urged, his fingers just barely ghosting over your calf as he took in the sight of your mangled foot. It had swollen considerably within the confines of your pointe shoe over the past few hours, and the nearly black skin was hot to the touch. 

“The recruiters, Ryo— I screwed it up, I—” 

“Fuck the recruiters, I’m taking you to the fucking hospital.” You didn’t get much of a word in edgewise as he scooped you up, darting through the parted crowd and out the back exit. 

Though he wasn’t quite sure what he would say if given the chance, your frenzied sobs filled the air around you two the entire drive. He tried to calm you, but it was proven difficult with his split attention on the road. It also wasn’t clear if your cries were mainly attributed to the pain or the mental anguish. Still, with sweat beginning to bead at his temples, he grasped at your hand and placed it over his chest in a desperate attempt to get you to match his breathing. Although it seemed like you were truly trying, you continued choking up with each throb of your foot. 

Sukuna’s perpetual feeling of being absolutely worthless continued as you sat silently in the hospital bed, only your occasional sniffles breaking through the white noise of the room as you awaited the okay from the doctor to be discharged. The xray they performed confirmed your suspicions, and you had been suffering from a stress fracture. He sat in the stiff chair beside your bed, hunched over with his elbows resting on his thighs as you stared blankly at the stark white cast now covering your foot and ankle. 

Neither of you were quite sure what to say to one another. Your current state was… delicate, and he wasn’t sure that bringing up the fight would be the best idea for you right now. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he straightened his posture, eyes fluttering over you apprehensively before he cast his line out. 

“I don’t know how you do it.” He confessed sincerely, watching as your eyes cast a sidelong glance at him. 

“What, manage to fracture my foot during one of the most important performances of my life?” 

“How you let yourself feel so much for everyone to see.” His response made you flush, your brows furrowinf as you looked away from him once again. 

“I couldn’t really help it, my bone was kind of split—”

“I’m not talking about your damn foot, doll.” Ryomen sighed in exasperation. It was already difficult enough for him to be so sincere in his appreciation, and your making him spell it out was twisting the knife in his already wounded pride. “The show. I… I ain’t ever seen anything like that before. You’re just not fucking scared of yourself.” 

Twisting your arms around yourself, you gulped down whatever emotions his words seemed to ignite in you. 

“Yeah, well it doesn’t matter now. I screwed it all up.” 

“Bullshit, you had everyone hanging off their fucking seats.” 

“And they all watched me ruin it with that— that stupid landing.”

Sukuna blinked harshly in disbelief at your self-critictism. With an incredulous laugh, he leaned forward to look you in the eyes. 

“You played that shit off like nothing happened. No one noticed.” 

“You noticed.”

“Yeah, cause I fucking love you.” It tumbled out his mouth faster than he could have reeled it back in. For the second time that night, he was struck by the gruelling confusion of how the fuck it came so easily to you to pour your heart out, because it felt like he was chewing on glass right now as he awaited your response. Your glassy eyes finally looked up at him, face stained by makeup and disbelief. It all showed so clearly on your face, so bravely and unabashedly. It made him want to stand resolute for something for once in his pathetic life. “I love you.”

Soon, your lip was trembling once again as a fresh stream of tears stung at your already burning eyes. Burying your face into your hands, you shook your head. 

“I said such awful things to you, Ryo.” You cried into your palms, the guilt that had been festering over the gruelling week finally coming to fruition without the distraction of your performance to keep your mind from dwelling on it. “Y-You were just trying to help me—”

“Hey, I say mean shit all the time,” He reassured, moving from his chair to squeeze beside you in the bed. “You should’ve beat the shit outta me if we’re really trying to get equal.”

Your back shook, and he knew this time it was finally from your laughter instead of those gut-wrenching sobs that had been frequenting his ears. Desperate to catch a glimpse of your smile after so long of being met with your frown, he gently pried your hands away from your face. Ryo sighed wistfully at the sight of your wobbly grin, reaching up to wipe at the smudged makeup under your eyes. 

“You look more like a fucking racoon than a swan right now.” Your teary-eyed gaze didn’t seem to help his lack of brain-to-mouth filter at all, and he smirked at his own pathetically weak restraint. “See? I should’ve gotten my teeth knocked out for that one.”

But, of course, you only smiled at him— that glimmering eyed smile that even after all this time he felt so undeserving of. 

“Well, you’re lucky I love you then, huh?” 

His heart pounded embarrassingly against his chest, blanketed with the safety of your reciprocity. 

“The luckiest bastard I know.” He whispered before pressing a kiss gentler than he was accustomed to against your awaiting lips. 

There was a soft knock at the door that had him sighing in frustration against your face, but he pulled away from you nonetheless. When the door cracked open, it wasn’t the doctor as the both of you had been hoping so you could get the hell out of here. Instead, Choso and Yuji both filed in hesitantly as though they weren’t sure what kind of energy they’d be met with. When you smiled brightly at the sight of the various flowers in their arms, the pair felt more at ease as they stepped fully into the room. 

“That was the most metal shit I’ve ever seen in my life.” Choso was the first to gush excitedly, setting down both his and Sukuna’s abandoned bouquet in your lap. 

“So sick— I can’t believe you just walked that shit off!” Yuji was rushing to the far wall of the room to snatch the marker off the whiteboard containing the nurse’s information on it. He continued to ramble enthusiastically as he sat himself at the foot of your bed to doodle on your cast. Your eyes fluttered between him and his twin, and it was a bit disorienting seeing them side by side for the first time. “You’re a total badass.” 

“Oi, easy with her fucking foot, brat.” Ryomen grumbled as he flicked his brother in the forehead, already annoyed at both his brothers for butting into you two’s moment. 

It was clear that his bright-eyed counterpart was used to his brash nature as he completely brushed it off, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on his drawing of what you could only assume was supposed to be a swan. It was clear his twin got all the artistic ability while Yuji was left with all the sunshine. As if his drawing triggered his memory, he quickly perked up. 

“The casting was crazy too! That girl playing the black swan seriously looked just like you.”

A quiet disbelief fell over the three of you as the boy continued marking up your cast. 

“Yuji—”

“Don’t bother,” Ryo quickly stopped you from correcting him with what could only be described as a fierce look of exhaustion on his face. “He’s a little slow— it’ll come to him.”

All the artistry and the brains— got it.

gojo and itafushi crumbs because your girl is starving

masterlist | requests | talk to me ❤︎

I love hearing everyone's thoughts! ◝⠀(ᵔᵕᵔ)⠀◜

[phantom-of-the-laboratory]

In case any of yall were wondering why my Clarice Starling interpretation has those big ol round glasses- it’s cuz of Anthy Himemiya.

From a (cinematic? Storytelling? Artistic?) standpoint, I really like the scenes where Anthy’s glasses are cleverly reflecting light in order to obscure her face.

Anthy is someone who has to cloak her emotions often, not allowed to express herself to her fullest. And that- at least to me- resonates a lot with how book Clarice has to push everything down and not react extremely to extreme things, (cuz of her job and also kind of because she’s a woman and thus will be even further judged for reacting) if any of that makes sense. And so I imagine in my head that her glasses do the Anthy thing in scenes where she’s doing this. Particularly in a certain scene in the book where she’s talking to Dr. Lecter.

In the scene, Lecter pushes a crucifixion watch design he made through the food tray in his cell, and then it’s revealed that he had drawn the crucified Jesus Christ of Nazareth with Clarice’s head. It’s a pretty bone chilling scene imo- but how Clarice reacts- or rather- how she doesn’t react is really interesting to me. She just continues on with the conversation. We don’t get to be told exactly how she felt in that moment. Just like how we aren’t explicitly told how Anthy feels in the scene pictured above, during her call with Akio (although the audience can infer how anthys feeling here.)

Pointless nonsense word salad rambling aside, In my head, in that scene where Clarice looks at that little napkin-sized drawing of her being literally crucified- her expression is kinda cloaked by her glasses.

Like the little artistic rendition pictured below

(I really hope this makes sense and isn’t like. An insane leap or a ridiculous comparison to make it’s 3:35 am cut me some slack)

[terror-punk]

Something I think is required for all people to be able to embrace terrorpunk is white terrorpunks specifically being terrifyingly antiracist and protect BIPOC who are not safe to appear frightening in the world. Just a movement and consciousness expanding thought

This is ABSOLUTELY included. Forgive my ramble here, mental word-salad from psychosis is being a bit hard to formulate words with.

This is about protecting and uplifting each other. Society is not right about deeming a lot of us as scary, and we should be able to be ourselves even if people make assumptions based on what we look like, what we call ourselves, or what we're doing. Those who are particularly unsafe to be themselves or be seen due to societal pressure, especially BIPOC as they face a large amount of societal unjust fear, are to be protected by those of us able to. As a term, terrorpunk has no room for racism. None.

And this is not about harming people or putting them in dangerous situations for fun, this is about protecting those who are "scary", and protecting them fiercely. That means EVERYONE. This is about being you where you can, normalising things people would rather sweep under the rug. Even if you can't be open and you publicly, knowing within yourself that even if people see you as something to be feared, you are a being worthy of life and love and caring and rights, and extending that support to your community to the best of your ability.

It's about uplifting and caring for other "scary" individuals, and breaking down your own barriers of internalised fear or societal perceptions. Realising that being scared or unknowing is not a reason to hate, and instead embracing minorities with love and kindness, while defending them fiercely at the same time.

[mysticstarlightduck]

(Another) Writing Share Tag

Let's go with my newest side (twisted fairytale/dark fantasy) WIP, Crooked Fable, for this one!

(Context: This story starts out as a traditional Fairy Tale but then takes a turn and gets progressively darker and larger scale than usual fairytales lol. So you can probably guess what this scene leads up to doesn't exactly end well)

Nadya, the Queen, took a long sip of tea, sitting at the small, ornate table by the window as she spoke, a smile on her crimson lips, "I saw you with that... boy, yesterday, dear. You ventured out into the woods, did you not?" The girl, Maisie, stopped in her tracks, straightening out her flowy gown as the soft summer breeze flowed from the window into the small tea room. "... Y-You did?" She stammered with an awkward smile, mouth straightening into a thin line, "Well, he's my friend, we just went for a little walk." Nadya chuckled, giving the girl a matronly knowing look as she set down her cup on the table, "Oh, I'm no dummy, dear." She turned to Maisie with a slight shake of her head, voice percolated with sweetness, "You've been sneaking out of the castle for the past month every day - that, and I saw the look in your eyes," The Queen paused, tilting her head as she turned - almost imperceptibly - more serious, but still smiling, "We both know he's much more than a friend to you." Maisie made a surprised little sound, more akin to a squeak, and her cheeks flushed bright pink, "Oh." She fiddled with the hem of her glittering corset, "I'm not that sure yet." The girl bit her lower lip as if holding a lovestruck giggle, before being unable to contain herself and speaking out again, almost stumbling over her words she was speaking so fast, failing to notice the slightly smug smirk in her aunt's lips, "Well, Rory is indeed wonderful! He showed me the most beautiful meadow and we read books -" The Queen cut her off, "And he's a blacksmith's apprentice. Is he not?" Maisie deflates, voice shifting from joyous back to anxious in a flash, "Yes," She tilts her head, nervous about where this was going, "But why do you ask?" Nadya smirks, but this time all hints of matronly care and sweetness have left her expression, leaving the sight cold and calculated. "Because you are a Lady - my sister's only heir. And he's a peasant." She says with a distinct look of disgust, dismissing the word with a wave of her hand, "Whatever is going on between the two of you, it needs to end, my dear." The girl shakes her head, speaking through gritted teeth, "You don't know what you're talking about -" Her aunt cuts her off again, and this time, her tone is imposing and harsh, like the one she uses in Court to get other nobles to heed to her words. "Maybe not, but what I do know is that I will not tolerate my niece strolling around in the woods with some random pauper she met in the city! What kind of Queen would that make me?"

Tagging (gently): @sleepy-night-child, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @smol-feralgremlin, @oh-no-another-idea, @littleladymab,

@winterandwords, @eccaiia, @sarahlizziewrites, @illarian-rambling

@agirlandherquill, @anoelleart, @ray-writes-n-shit

@writernopal, @anyablackwood, @unstablewifiaccess, @forthesanityofstorytellers, @finickyfelix

@i-can-even-burn-salad, @cakeinthevoid,

@lassiesandiego, @thepeculiarbird, @clairelsonao3, @memento-morri-writes, @starlit-hopes-and-dreams and OPEN TAG

[anxiety-lemsbian]

‧͙⁺˚･˖ ࣪⭑☾[ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴀʙʙɪᴛꜱ ɢʟᴀʀᴇᴅ ᴀꜱ ᴡᴇ ᴅʀᴏᴠᴇ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴀᴅ? ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜꜱ, ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ, ᴏʀ ꜱᴄᴀʀᴇᴅ. ɪ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ ʜᴇʀ ᴡᴀɪᴛɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪɴᴅᴏᴡ ᴛᴏ ᴅʀᴏᴘ. ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀᴛɪɴ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴏx ɪꜱ ᴠᴜʟᴘᴇꜱ ᴠᴜʟᴘᴇꜱ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅᴇᴅ ɴɪᴄᴇ.]☽˖ ࣪⭑･˚⁺‧͙

hi! i'm aster.

she/they, minor, ENG + some ESP and Auslan, poet, audhd, sapphic ace, careless man’s careful daughter, infj, shark lover, lucy dacus listener, aries sun, gemini moon, pisces rising, #1 boygenius (+ solo careers) obsessor, ravenclaw but FUCK JKR, pinterest princess (androgynous), aspiring forest witch, chronic fatigue + generalized anxiety disorder + depression sufferer, greek salad lover

FREE PALESTINE 🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸

current hyperfixation/talk to me about:

arcane

special interests:

sylvia plath, boygenius, bluey, sharks

fandoms:

everything sucks, boygenius (+solo careers), jucy, gilmore girls, brooklyn 99, heartbreak high, bluey, bridgerton, osemanverse, sunflowers and lavender, kiki’s delivery service, hamilton, matilda the musical, ruby redfort, aurora cycle (zila's my GIRL), nevermoor, stargirl, agggtm, biac, wednesday, lady bird, the owl house, arcane

books:

the anthropocene reviewed, the bell jar, stargirl, loveless, radio silence, death sets sail, goddess girls series, dear poppy, aurora cycle, anne of green gables series, sick bay, henry hamlet’s heart, hani and ishu’s guide to fake dating, nevermoor, iwbft, heartstopper, solitare

ships:

wenclair, lumity, cazzie, emisue, kind of caitvi but only because i want vi to be happy

artists:

lucy dacus, chappell roan, hozier, florence and the machine, radiohead, phoebe bridgers, julien baker, gracie abrams, noah kahan, boygenius, taylor swift? (melbourne n3), lorde, cavetown, mitski, eliza and the delusionals, boyish, beabadoobee

songs:

claw machine, nuvole bianche, leonard cohen, garden song, there it goes, triple dog dare, home by now, no surprises, cartwheel, me and my dog, american teenager, good news, scorpio rising, townie, last words of a shooting star, strawberry blond, we’re in love, so much wine, apple cider

playlist:

psa: when i use 'girl' in relation to me (crafty girl summer, etc.) i mean it androdgynously :))

my sideblogs are:

@leftfromrightfromwrong : boygenius and sometimes art

@listen2yourownvoice : radio silence+ a bit of general osemanverse

tags: # aster writes- poetry. #aster writes i guess- more poetry. #asters saved posts- saved posts. #aster loves boygenius- me loving boygenius. #aster's lyric rambles- when i just post a bunch of song lyrics in a format. #aster bawls on the floor- due to sadness, cringiness or laughter, i am on the floor and out for the count. # aster thinks (not really) - what it sounds like pretty much # it’s me i’m the girlfriend - can’t even explain this one actually #percy <3- literally just @trashmeowcan #ari 🌻 - @waitingforthesunrise

@asterisalemsbian • Pronouns.page

link to my old intro post:

[castieldelamancha]

Sam's constant rambling about the case, the victims, the monster and the salad he is going to get for dinner is just a distant white noise in the background.

Dean is going to regret not paying attention once he has to ask Sam to repeat all of this later on, because he isn't really eager to get a bitchface and a lecture. But, oh well.

He just can't help being distracted by the sight in front of him.

Sitting at the table, facing Sam but focused intently on Dean's laptop, Cas listens closely, nimble fingers moving across the keyboard as he nods along to whatever Sam is saying. He looks otherworldly, sitting there by the window, the weak sunlight that fights to shine through stormy, heavy, gray clouds, framing his handsome profile and surrounding him with a glowy halo, a distant echo of the one he has lost forever; his hair a mess, the sleeves of the flannel he is wearing rolled up to his elbows, showing his strong forearms and the last tattoo he got just a couple days ago. A bird in flight, full of movement and freedom.

Dean bought the flannel for him, green, because it suits him. Green because Cas once said it's his favorite color.

Dean nods along when Sam asks if he wants a sandwich before leaving to get their dinner.

Castiel stops typing, as soon as the door closes, but his eyes remain focused on the screen before him.

"I thought you said staring was a rude thing to do, Dean." There is no real heat or annoyance behind his words, if only there is a hint of amusement in his voice, a spark of mirth in his beautiful blue eyes, a subtle smirk on his lips.

Dean huffs, cheeks heated, the tips of his ears turning red too. "I was just thinking," he replies, lamely, " I'm sure you've listened enough for the both of us anyway." He adds.

Castiel hums nonchalantly at the last part, "you were listening, right?" Dean asks, frantically. "Because if I have to ask him again I won't hear the end of it."

"Yes, of course, unless you want to know about the salad, I stopped listening there."

Dean laughs quietly.

"I can't divide my attention between more than one task as well as I used to," Castiel continues, "I guessed it was best to put my abilities to use on our investigation, not on helping Sam decide what kind of tomatoes are better to go with a certain type of cheese, like that would make a difference." Castiel rolls his eyes.

Now Dean's laughter is louder, filling the room and making Castiel smile lovingly at him.

"Okay, okay, good."

"What were you thinking about?" Castiel's tone is now curious, he sighs tiredly and closes the laptop, rubbing his eyes. He gets up and stretches with his eyes closed, breathing deeply in that yoga style way he has learned on his own and that he has taught Dean about too, to help him cope with his late night nightmares. Effective, yeah, but not as much as simply turning around and letting Cas' arms surround him.

Dean watches him, enthralled, from where he is sitting at the edge of the creaking old bed and raises his arm, offering his hand to Cas, wordlessly asking him to come closer.

Castiel steps closer, taking Dean's hand with his and letting him pull him even closer, until he is standing between his legs, looking down at him.

Castiel's free hand closes over his cheek, he bends down, pressing a lingering kiss to his forehead, peace and warm wash over him.

"This,"Dean whispers, "I was thinking about this." This closeness, this simple touches, this easy intimacy. He feels Castiel's smile against his forehead and a grin graces his own lips.

[kovacs-of-courage]

Rings of Pressure--A Stream of Consciousness

I’m half and half on whether I should apologize in advance for this word salad.

----------------

Do you ever have a visual, thought clear as crystal, that won’t leave your head.

And I don’t mean a vested interest in a fictional character or setting, while what I’m about to say has much to do with fictional creations, I mean something that just won’t tear itself from your mind regardless of any joy obtained. The kind of thing that steers into focus like a deer who just can’t stop leaping into headlights.

I’ve decided to make a stream-of-consciousness post about this experience of mine because I hope putting it to paper will help me sleep better at night. Articulating in a fashion comparable to the rambling homeless man at the bus stop might give me ammunition to put it to rest.

Also, to preface the ranting ahead, I don’t really expect anyone to read this and go “Wow, I completely and totally understand what he’s saying, his criss-crossing incoherent rants are entirely grasped!” I’ve spent my whole life, whether due to neurodivergency or my own ineptitude, being told the things I say don’t make sense. The reality of that happening again and again is a fact of life I’ve long come to peace with.

Anyways, onto what I wanted to talk about.

Everyone handles and copes with stress in their own ways, some objectively healthier and saner then others. I grew up in a very stressful, poor environment growing up. The harsher, trigger warning details aside, I ended up as a kid who imagined scenes in my head with my favorite characters to sleep at night. Sometimes things would get bad enough that I’d try to work through them as the characters, or more commonly picture a scenario where the characters were in a situation of equal pressure.

Comics and their heroes were the biggest outlet for this, I remember being miserable and abused and eleven years old thinking of how the constant trainwrecks of humiliation and mental anguish from family and school was like the bizarro over-the-top deathtraps that Batman was put into.

See, in Batman comics and media, there’d be these moments where the World’s Greatest Detective was trapped in truly desperate, unwinnable scenarios. He could have cinderblocks chained to his feet, stuck in a sealed chamber with water rising a dozen feet by the second, motorized sawblades dropping down from the ceiling for good measure--sure to turn him into a crimson stew upon contact.

Or maybe Batman would be hunted down by a legion of heavily armed criminals, his utility belt gone, ribs cracked and energy drained to the final morsel, and the time upon their discovery of his position quickly closing in.

It’d be these impossible situations, often the subject of cliffhangers for the next issue/episode. Makes the viewer think “Wow, there’s no way he can escape this time, I mean how is he going to get himself out of that?”

And then Batman did, everytime.

The comparison to these horrible fictional deathtraps was a morbid connection for my younger self to make, I’m aware, though framing my worst pits of despair in this context gave me some measure of hope. The characters I loved so much could always turn the tables on their foes, change the odds in their favor, and that was enough to keep me from ending myself for several years of my life.

Swear to god that this context is important, it has a point, just bear with me.

As I grew up, I never really let go of that coping mechanism; imagining my old friends of heroes in these nail biting situations, the danger and threats creating an external stress comparable to the sheer internal existential dread and misery I might feel at any moment of the day. It’s the idea that if they can expertly navigate the sawblades, the overlapping fields of deadly gunfire, the many deadly enemies that want them six feet under--then maybe I can navigate my problems too.

I don’t like to talk to people much about my stresses and issues, even close friends, so this coping mechanism fills that void of companionship too in a sense. When I was young, I didn’t have people to talk too about issues without fear of being berated or ruthlessly put down and mocked. I figured that my fictional heroes wouldn’t mock me for these stresses, that while they’d never be real, they could be a vehicle in which I coped with my own torments.

A childish and immature gesture, I’m well aware. I don’t plan on doing anything about it anytime soon.

The most recent of these stress-coping imagined scenes my mind wanders too is related to the hero who’s imagined I hopefully tagged in this text post: Green Lantern.

Green Lantern is a simple character to understand here, I mean how complicated could a guy with a magic green ring get? (The answer to that question is Very, but let’s pretend otherwise)

The basics of GL is that his ring runs on willpower, that he can create anything his mind can conjure when he uses it. So say he creates a wall, if a giant truck runs into that wall, it takes his entire being and mental strength to not only make the wall of light in the first place, but to keep it stable after said truck just crashed head-first into it.

Think of a GL’s willpower as mental stamina, of strength of the spirit made glistening emerald reality.

A Green Lantern’s Ring is referred to as “The strongest weapon in the universe” because it allows the user to create anything as long as the ring is charged and their willpower strong. It can move mountains, construct cities of verdant light, manifest weapons of mass destruction, it’s only limited by the user.

And that’s the interesting, human element. The User.

There are these scenes in Green Lantern Comics and Media where an inconceivably powerful threat, whether that be an act of cosmic nature or a super villain, or even a god, is barelling towards GL. GL, at the end of the day, is a person wielding the magic rings of magic rings--nevertheless, they have to act.

GL realizes that their only hope is to delay, contain, and stall. That the threat pushing to destroy innocents and personally rend them atom from rebellious atom is going to overwhelm whatever moral willpower that can fuel their sparkling fingerwear with. There’s this one scene from a justice league animated film, where the sun is sending out a massive solar flare to earth, capable of burning the planet pole-to-pole as a charred crispy orb.

The JL need time to figure out a solution, so GL comes to back, manifesting this massive wall of viridescent light in a futile, suicidal attempt to buy his comrades more time. The wave of sunfire meets his dam in full force, punching cracks and nestling dents across the construct.

The camera would cut back to GL, sweat trickling down his face, hair matted to forehead, pushing his every iota of mental and physical strength into maintaining this wall against a force that will inevitably overcome it. It shows the wall breaking more so, second by second of the earth’s emerald shield deteriorating as GL pulls forth his entire being into his ring.

Those scenes always struck a chord with me, and I don’t wholly know why. The scene that my mind’s obsession targets, however, is this one, which I saved as a gif.

It’s a simple scene, of GL fighting this thunder god super villain Black Adam(the comic version, not the rock). He creates barrier after barrier to defend himself from a being who’s more living pantheon then mortal man. This almighty bastion of strength and malicious fervor, gunning to kill him.

And again, GL is just a person with the magic ring of magic rings, it’s his inner strength and willpower which defines his survival

You see the shields face, shattering to glass, Black Adam tackling him to the ground. Cracking his human fingers like paperweights, GL on the losing side of this physical struggle. In the end GL loses, he doesn't make it out of this scene alive even. I don't know why my brain fixates on it. I'm constantly stressed, stressed in the backround of my calmest moments. It's a dull kind of stress, a stress that I learned to live with a long time ago. It's the type of numb stress and anxiety that makes you okay with the idea of getting into a car crash, because you won't need to worry about it anymore. When I close my eyes, I think about this scene with GL and Black Adam all the fucking time, it's maddening. It's a short clip from a trailer of a game that no one remembers nor cares about. I sound like a lunatic transmitting my stress and problems through this vehicle. I think of GL creating those barriers, one after another, maybe each is stronger then the last. I think of how what kills him breaks through anyway, I think of the futility of even trying, how the futility is WHY he tries. I think of my own anxieties and fears, that I hate talking about, the idea that I'm going to be on my own handling them like GL is here. I close my eyes and I think of the emerald barriers, failing to stop the threat, that every night I keep making more and every night they keep breaking. That I spend my whole life building walls that my own issues shatter like glass, that the work is meaningless, that my struggles have been this constant mental fight since I could imagination a world outside my continued myopic miseries.

The analogy is insane, the idea of using a magic ring to ward off these issues that, within the structure of this comparison, will be my end regardless, doubly so.

I keep thinking about these rings of stress, of these barriers that keep breaking and being rebuilt. Every day what remains bottled is fought internally throughout the night.

And I always, without fail, lose. I never beat these stresses, these fears, I just keep making more barriers to protect myself. The death trap has morphed into a rigged cage match, the framing turned against me. At the end of it all, I never find out if the thing smashing the barriers does me in, it's just my assumption. I only end up in the cycle of defending myself...from myself.

I'm not looking for advice on how to handle these issues, I don't know what I'm looking for.

[babyarmybabbles]

Run ARMY! (Cooking Part) a2 d3

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Reader won the opportunity to film a spin off of Run BTS! celebrating the boys return from enlistment, called Run ARMY!, over the course of seven days.

Word Count: 733

Notes: This part takes place way later, towards the end. I wanted Reader to have a nice candid moment with ARMY, bc I love this fandom a lot, y'know? It needs a lot of revision so that it's less rambly and dense, but I'd like to keep the honest and frank atmosphere I've got going on here. It'll probably change a lot by the time I actually get to this part of the fic, but I'll keep something like it in the final product, I'm sure.

Took Inspirations from Run ARMY! series on Tik Tok by _yamanika_ and Guess The Bias! by HelloMyAlien7 on Ao3

Warnings: I don't think there's any?

Masterlist Link <3 | Prev Part Link c: | Next Part Link :D

You crouch down to come face to lens with the camera in the hallway and wave tiredly.

“Hello~” you drawl out in a whisper, giving a small smile, “The boys have treated me to so many yummy Korean foods, so, because this is our last morning before we travel back to Seoul, I am up stupid early,” You pause to pull out your phone to show the glaring 5:15am, as if the pre-dawn lighting wasn’t already evidence enough. “So I make them my family’s traditional pre-travel breakfast feast!” You give a near-silent cheer and jazz hands to the camera before heaving yourself to your feet and ambling your way over to the kitchen.

As you set about gathering up your ingredients and finding your required utensils, you make sure to look around and spot all of the kitchen cameras. You hadn’t really had much purpose in here before, and when you had there were usually camera directors about to be mindful of instead of the mounted cameras you were taking advantage of now.

One of the cameras happens to be angled toward an ideal space to do most of your prep work (probably on purpose) so you point to it and make your way over.

“I don’t like cooking alone.” you tell it in a low, conspiratorial tone. “So you’re gonna be my buddy and listen to me babble.”

That being said you really only whistle lightly to yourself as you finish collecting the ingredients and lay out the stuff for your first dish - a simple fruit salad. When you begin slicing up the first apple, you finally start speaking to the camera as promised.

“Now, I know I’m not one of the members, but I hope ARMY will be fine with whatever this segment looks like anyways,” You start softly, “BTS may be my ult bias group, but ARMY is my ult bias fandom, you know? It might be weird to say as ARMY myself, but I’ve never seen another fandom quite like it.” You take a breath and pause your chopping, flexing your wrists and popping your knuckles while you contemplate.

“ARMY was welcoming from the start, for me.” You continue, “Heck, someone gave me a link for a BTS101 guide at some point! That was actually super helpful, It made catching up with content and understanding memes a lot easier.” you smile at the memory, grateful still to the person who’d given it to you. “It’s a very warm and close community, and very open and accessible to new people. That’s pretty rare, in my experience.”

You switch tracks now, beginning to explain what you’re making even though you’re already halfway done. No one claimed you were a pro at this entertainment stuff. “I’m making a fruit salad right now. It’s easiest to start with because after I put the lemon juice on, i can just put in in the fridge and get it out of the way.” You inform the camera. “My Ma says it’s the most important part of this spread because it lets us pretend any of it is healthy.” You laugh softly at yourself as you dice up your chosen fruits.

You’d been kind of surprised you’d been able to find everything you wanted, given that you weren’t entirely sure which fruits were available in South Korea. There had definitely been a few you’d never seen before when you’d gone shopping, and you were curious to try, but you were going for traditional today so you’d just have to hope you could find them again at an Asian market at home.

You fall into a bit of a daze as you wash fruits, chop them up, and dump them in a bowl on repeat. The silence you fall into is broken only by the occasional whistled tune or soft hum from you. You’re broken from your trance when it’s at long last time to sprinkle in the lemon juice and sugar and stir it all up. You speak to the camera again as you give your arm a workout trying to mix everything.

“If I really wanted to make this how my grandma does, I’d add this mix of cream cheese and whipped topping that she uses. It’s really yummy, but I think it’s a bit too much like desert for today.” You cover the bowl when you’re done and place it in the fridge.

[whos-tanya]

Alright prepare for me to ramble about Morrowind again (and also to get really pretentious as per usual).

I recently got to the part of the game where, if you choose to advance in House Hlaalu, you’re forced to take your clothes of for Crassius Curio. Before I go further, I want to clarify that I understand these games are older, these types of jokes were commonplace, and that I’m approaching this from a very subjective angle. Also - I am not a loremaster lol! I also haven’t finished this game.

But anyway, even though I knew this scene was coming, it left me feeling uncomfortable, which I wasn’t really expecting. I’d just gotten back from getting the moon-and-star ring, and I was feeling like absolute fire. I’d reached a certain level of confidence in my silly little skills, and I was ready to take on the world. Going from this point to talking with Crassius was such an intense shift in tone, one which subverted this sense of autonomy and power. Your character has grown, done some pretty monumental things, but you must take off your clothes. You’re sexually assaulted, and there is no clear/direct way around it. The dialogue around this incident is mostly jovial, and I’ve even seen this be called Morrowind’s “casting couch,” which is funny but also implies something more sinister.

It makes me wonder if your status as the Nerevarine really matters. This question has been asked before, and it’s even a large theme of the game itself, but what strikes me the most is this element of submission. Is there a certain autonomy or selfhood you continue to lose throughout the game? To what extent will those around you go to utilize your mind and body? Do those things even really belong to you? I’m certain Morrowind’s team wasn’t going for this type of thing with Crassius Curio’s scene, but you’re nonetheless forced into further vulnerability. You’re always at the mercy of others no matter how powerful you think you’ve become.

I hope that wasn’t a lot of word salad lol. I’ve been going through it lately, and this interaction kind of rattled me. Rambling helps. But anyway - as much as I love the elder scrolls to death, there’s definitely something to be said for the undertones of assault/rape/etc. Some users on Tumblr (can’t remember their urls) discussed the heavier implications of The Real Barenziah and The Lusty Argonian Maid, and I think those topics (while maybe uncomfortable) are worth talking about.

[entoman-created-by-the-tallgreys]

I've come so far.

I told as many truth that I possibly could.

I no doubt now that everybody that ever walked across my goddamn blog everyone on the internet that could possibly see it no doubt every one of them thought I was an unhinged schizophrenic.

this whole time I was just trying to find my people and people even being so understand that they sit on a ball and a fucking universe that really goes on to Infinity.

is it on this big ass fucking planet but literally you are a smaller than Adam compared to it all.

. . . . .

I'm not going to say that I'm not just going to say it fucking hurts when people think, I'm mentally ill.

the whole purpose of me going through all this extreme effort was to try to find my people and I talk about something from off the planet if I'm a forced incarnation under this planet and it's really hard to talk about that stuff without earning the title of a schizophrenic which only makes it more fucking impossible for anybody to give a shit what you say cuz I just think I like it psychotic babble or insane rambling.

like psychotic word salad that just makes no fucking sense.

. . . . . .

it's Really painful and it hurts but I had to do something.

. . . . .

My overall intent was to attract my people mainly see if I can get one human at 8 billion that live on the entire plant and give a fucking help me out.

I said one human being at 8 billion not to limit it to one human being but just get at least one human being because it's quite literally a billion on the entire planet and I know all 8 billion don't use Tumblr and I know tumbl is an extremely unpopular platform.

I still like it.

logical is useful and it was very intellectually crafted.

the software the website actually really hate the fucking porn band but the same goddamn time everyone was jumping fucking jail for crazy for the sexual content and they weren't paying attention to anything else so I kind of welcome the whole porn ban.

ultimately I'm going to shut up now cuz I made this too long I just wanted to say anybody that reads my goddamn blog I hope you understand why I went so far and did so much.

🙁

and please, Please

if for a moment you start to think I'm mentally ill just leave my blog I don't need more people being mean to me I only people hurting Me, I didn't hurt you.

I just want to find my people and I'm not mentally ill I'm literally a humanoid I'm not a human being.

my soul is a fairy and I come from a different planet.

I was forced to be on this goddamn planet from the Grays and their agenda they necromanced us and they have a constant psychic link with us it's really dark it's horrible we're kept in a psychic prison.

they monitor our minds and they monitor our souls they monitor all our thoughts and they control over our actions.

A crazy would call like demonic possession but it's not it's literally psionics.

I'm going to shut the fuck up now.

🙁/🤐

[heartshapedbubble]

HI I ZOOMED AS SOON AS I SAW THE WORD QUICKEST I HOPE IM QUICK ENOUGH HWHSHSBAJAKJAH

So I'm a really quiet introvert for most people. Often, the most you can hear from me are a few words and hums. But actually, there's a lot of things I want to talk about. I just don't have the courage to vocalize them. Because whenever I speak, I stutter and fumble over my words. I'm really embarrassed by that and it resulted to me just staying quiet or anxiously repeating the things I want to say in my head before I say them like a script. That's why I prefer texting texting or writing over face to face communication. But that doesn't mean I don't have fun when talking with someone personally. I do get talkative with people I'm close to because I feel comfortable with them even if I make mistakes in speaking–most of the time atleast.

I'm very ambitious but lazy (hehe sorry). But these days I do try to be productive. Like trying out new sports even though I hardly go outside. And I'm trying to build new habits to improve my skills. But whenever I see someone better than me, it's either I feel motivated to do more or give up.

It's very easy to make me laugh as it is to make me cry. I laugh the simplest and smallest things. Even the ones people don't find that hilarious. And yelling at me or even the slightest change of tone on me would send me tearing up.

I am an emotionally sensitive person, yes. But I do hope that doesn't make me look pathetic.

I am on the path to become a doctor but I haven't decided what kind. But I am considering about studying for psychology.

Now as for preferences, I am fond of space and nature! I think both are equally beautiful and fascinating. I like sweets, especially chocolate but I don't like eating a lot. My favorite type of foods are cold foods and salad! I just think it taste good–and usually healthy! I also like journalism and taking videos/photos of a lot of stuff.

That's all! Sorry if this seems weird or maybe vague.

And Happy Valentine's Day!!

DW ANON!! no shame at all we're all cringe and affection starved here

HAPPY VALENTINES NONNIE !!!!! 💞💞💞

i match you with...

joseph desaulnier! 📷

oh my god he finds you SOSOSO cute you literally turn into putty in his hands

like literally gushing over you and pinching your cheeks whenever you cutely stumble on your words or get red in the face

he's going to give you all the time and comfort in the world to get you to talk and ramble about your interests, he wishes you could speak up for yourself more easily so he's going to assist you whenever needed :<

would absolutely pick you up bridal style and twirl around with you... hehe...

would try to motivate you as much as possible during those lazy days when you don't feel like doing anything - and if it doesn't work? mannnn what a shame (proceeds to pick you up and bring you to his room to cuddle instead)(this is all part of his plan)

i feel like your interests would overlap! he loves listening to you and sharing his bits of knowledge and help whenever possible

yo like.. this man would literally spoon feed you if you're up for that... i feel like he'd have the time of his life just spoiling the shit of his partner

often suprises you w/ bouquets (help did i write it right) of your favourite flowers, small bottles of nice perfumes, trinkets and gadgets related to your interests and obviously your favourite food!! do NOT try to talk him out of doing that tho - the prices don't matter to him, he just wants you treat you well when you're feeling burned out, sad, and even in general

takes pictures of you often and has them pinned all over his studio and even has one that he keeps inside of his coat <3

his favourite thing to do is to tuck your hair away behind your ear and do that thumb stroke thing (YOUKNOWWHATIMTALKINGABOUT) whenever he gets his hands on you

skygazing and herbarium-making dates?????? ummm hell fucking yes

he's deeeeefinetly clingy especially considering what happened to claude. he doesn't like to admit it but he gets a bit whiny when you're not around and often spends hours just holding you in his hands and savoring the feeling of safety he gets from you

is your shoulder to cry on whenever you're feeling overwhelmed or sad, this man would jump in front of a train before ever raising your voice @ you you're so precious and beautiful to him :((

[mokonahapuuuuuu]

Every Minute

It was a nice spring day. 

After clothes and grocery shopping, Neil and Belle were at a cafe having lunch. 

“The pies are so good here…” mused Neil as he sipped his tea. “Made from scratch, and local. Makes me glad we fight monsters on a daily basis to keep in shape.” 

Belle smiled, and placed her fork back on her salad plate. 

Neil leaned into his hand as his elbow rest on the table. It was a surprise to himself, but he had feelings for someone. And that person was right in front of him. 

Sure, he would flirt with a couple of girls, though they just seemed boring. 

Belle was kind. Brave, insightful. Sure, he would still love himself at the end of the day, though what if he made a mistake like he made the last time he was on a date? 

Though he knew that Belle was a person who would never give up on him. 

“So I’m practicing with Pegasus and Apollo tomorrow, and guess who I’m sharing the gym with,” began Belle. “Archie.” 

Neil knew how they both didn’t get along. Archie could get crass with the people around him, but being with the guys, Neil knew Archie didn’t mean to be full on mean. 

She leaned into her hand. “Ever since I came here, he always knows exactly what to say to ruin my day.” 

“Hopefully, there are others here who make New Olympia feel like home for you,” said Neil. 

He hoped one of the people was him. 

“Oh yeah,” began Belle. “Jay being the leader makes sure we all are connected. Herry, a bit dim, but means well… Odie rambles on and on, but at least he helps us out in a lot of ways.” 

Anyone could get lost in Odie’s explanations. 

“Atlanta and Theresa are amazing,” she continued. “Atlanta’s trying to make me go on a vegetarian diet, what with us being around animals all the time, and I can see that… Theresa and I being distant cousins, I’m so glad we get along. It’s like I had family here all this time.” 

He smiled. Despite how complicated mythological Greek family trees could be, at least Belle didn’t have to be alone. 

“And how about me?” 

Belle looked at him. “Hm?”

“How would you describe me?” 

May they be good words. 

He didn’t wait and just went on himself. “Amazing, charming? The greatest guy you’ve ever came across?” 

“Gay.” 

His eyes widen. It was like the world came to a complete halt. Him, gay? 

The person he liked thought he was gay. 

“G-Gay?” 

Belle shook her head. “I mean, I didn’t mean to sound offensive, and it’s totally fine if you are gay, and I totally support you.” 

There goes the rest of the day. They went shopping for clothes and groceries, having a nice lunch, and it ended up like this. 

“I mean, you love no one but yourself, but you do kind of give off that vibe of not exactly liking girls. The modelling, the make up, how you always dress better than the rest of the guys. Sorry…” 

It was like he was fading out of existence. Being a descendant of Narcissus, of course he’d be in love with himself and how he looked. 

Though Belle did have a point, and ever since being with the team, they said the same thing in common. 

Neil wasn’t a typical guy’s guy. 

He wasn’t tough like Herry, nor assertive like Archie. Jay’s confidence brought everyone together. 

If he did come across as gay, his chances with Belle were out of the door. 

Gentlemen always paid for the lady, not that this was a date. “I’ll go get the bill, then…” 

In a way, if she picked up the sign, paying for her lunch showed her that he was definitely not gay. 

Lunch was a total let down, but even though there was a chance that Belle didn’t see him as more than a friend, he’d take his time with her. She was worth the wait. 

She was worth every minute. 

[mysticstarlightduck]

Heads Up Seven Up

Thanks for the tag, @the-golden-comet (here)! Let's go with a snippet from The Crystal of Ash, for this one! (:

"You said you hated humans." Declan piped up from where he'd trudged up to walk beside their strange half-Leavathian guide. He'd never been this close to a descendant of the feyfolk before. And honestly, it was quite frightening.

The cantankerous, pointy eared girl did not look at him as she grumbled, "I do."

"Then why are you helping us?" Declan asked, with a tilted head and furrowed brows.

"I'm not." She said through gritted teeth, "You guys are just the tools to help me achieve what I want."

Declan had opened up his mouth to question what she'd meant, but behind them, Nikolay piped up before he had the chance, cheery voice laced with curiosity.

"And that is...?"

Emrin, the half-elf, shot him a sharp glare, "Paying up an old debt to someone dear to me." She paused with a growl, "And stopping that idrash'tah abomination from gobbling up my realm."

Despite himself, Declan found himself asking "What does that word mean?" and immediately regretted it.

"It means human magic." A ghost of what could be a smirk crossed her lips - and it dawned on Declan that she found her words to be quite humorous, "Elves also use it to refer to common filth."

"... Good to know." Declan answered, before stammering, "Wait, aren't you like half human? Isn't that... insulting to yourself too?"

Emrin chuckled angrily at him, "Yes, I believe that's the point," She said, before muttering under her breath, as she stalked forward and away from him, but the young man could not help but hear it "It's not like I'm fucking proud of what kind of magic runs through my veins."

Tagging (gently): @kaylinalexanderbooks, @smol-feralgremlin, @oh-no-another-idea, @littleladymab, @winterandwords, @eccaiia,

@the-letterbox-archives, @illarian-rambling@agirlandherquill, @anoelleart,

@ray-writes-n-shit @writernopal, @anyablackwood, @unstablewifiaccess,

@forthesanityofstorytellers, @finickyfelix@i-can-even-burn-salad

@cauliflowermaterial @thepeculiarbird,

@clairelsonao3, @memento-morri-writes,

@starlit-hopes-and-dreams and OPEN TAG

[wirewitchviolet]

It kind of hurts to think about just how stupid nazis are, and they need to be picked on about it more often.

It's late, I'm procrastinating about going to bed, and some nazi just wandered into a Discord server I'm in and started rambling in the most breathtakingly brainless way. He's not having any sort of conversation with anyone or saying anything relevant to the purpose of the channel, just... random stupid gibberish, mostly nazi coded, but mixed in with other stuff that's just... stupid. He's rambling about people clutching pearls over "the sexism and AI" in some banner ad that's just like, one of those generic corporate art deals with a bunch of random people smiling, and then he starts rambling about spiders and viruses that "shut computers down from epilepsy" and you can just see everyone else in the server having this mental debate over whether to just start shouting "what the hell are you even talking about you deluded weirdo? Do you even know what any of these words you're using mean?" or try to be more polite and diplomatic, or just pretend this loser isn't there.

Personally I'm biting my tongue because I have this strong urge to just kinda pin this creep to the wall and start interrogating him about why he's wasting his time watching youtube videos from other braindead losers and trying to parrot the incoherent garbage that comes out of their mouths, and how he expected people were going to react to this drivel, but I know this particular crowd wouldn't appreciate such an active effort to try and restart this piece of garbage's critical thinking skills.

For real though, it's one thing to internalize all the really really stupid propaganda and invent strawmen to try to argue with and all that, but even without the incoherent mutterings about feminism, this guy's making a first impression on a crowd of strangers that his brain doesn't function, he's not going to shut up, and he's just going to keep throwing out incomprehensible word salad until people stop paying attention or kick him out. How is that your gameplan in life? What sort of setting is that going to work in as a means of integrating with some sort of community?

This isn't the only recent example I've seen of this either. Someone was just telling me the other day how the whole nazi culture war sphere wasted like a week or two moaning and rending their garments because they got the idea in their head that in TMNT: Mutant Mayhem (which is really great, and you should see it), they "made Splinter gay." And like... they didn't. They didn't do anything that would ever give anyone that sort of impression. They actually made him rather emphatically heterosexual, and there's this whole bit about him wishing he could find a date. But... some braindead nazi got this idea in his head, somehow, and ranted about it because it was the best dumb culture war thing he could think of to ramble about, and then all the rest started parroting this idiot and shouting about how much they hate this movie that clearly not a one of them has actually watched, or read a review of, or seen a trailer for, or read a vague wikipedia summary on. They're just all making complete clowns of themselves for like a straight month. It's really just beyond pathetic seeing this stuff.

And like... I dunno. Obviously some of these people are so far gone there's nothing to be done for it but justified self-defense measures, but when these idiot children are first dipping a toe in the water, someone really needs to just pull them aside and ask them why the hell they think it's a good idea to take advise from the dumbest most reviled losers on the planet and start acting in a way that's obviously going to leave them completely and utterly shunned and ridiculed by basically every single person on the planet, you know?

[valiant-portabella-pirkko]

Timey’s Great Big Pinned Post of Everything

[   she/her | writer/artist | 29 | IGN (NA) Timey.6853  ]

just another friendly local aro-ace salad enthusiast

Hi yes hello, welcome to Timey’s Guild Wars 2 blog where I post about Guild Wars 2 and basically nothing else. Expect a lot of salads, a lot of Living World 1, and especially a lot of Scarlet Briar. Sometimes I draw or write things, too. Mostly I just yell my meta commentary of questionable sanity into the void, though. Y’know how it is. Scarlet stole my last remaining brain cell and adamantly refuses to give it back.

I’m always happy to chatter with folks! Feel free to drop by anytime; I can be a little slow to respond at times, but I really love exchanging theories and ideas and hearing about obscure or interesting details people have found! Give me ALL of the lore. Tell me about your favorite characters. Ramble about OCs. For real, I love to hear all the things okay; don’t worry about being mutuals, either!

DISCLAIMER: This isn’t a place for bigotry, drama, or rudeness though; nobody’s got time for that. Terfs, racists, ableists, and all such things get blocked on sight out here. Hate of any form will never be welcome, period.

With that out of the way, I’ll include some helpful navigation links and summaries of my various AU projects below the cut! Feel free to take a peek if you want. I’ll gradually add more stuff over time, too.

The Handy Dandy List of Links

My Posts

Reblogs

My Art

My Fics

Regrowth AU

Portabella Pirkko - Tag

Harbinger Saoirse - Tag

“Lost But Not Forgotten”

“A Garden of Memories”

Flourish AU

Ceara the Defiant - Tag

Dragonheart Pirkko - Tag

Saoirse the Flame - Tag

Pact Admiral Mai Trin - Tag

Tideturners AU

The Sidewinder - Page | Tag

Grand High Sovereign Ruju - Tag

       1: “Red Alert”

Timey’s AU Collection, in Summary

Regrowth AU: What Would You Do For a Second Chance?

Even Elder Dragons have limits. And as it happens, a being whose power relies on life has no hold on the realm of the dead. In the Domain of the Lost, a spirit awakens for the first time in many years. For a time, she spends her penance leading those that her actions sent to their graves too early-- but that would never be enough to satisfy Scarlet Briar. It’s too slow. Too tedious... Too boring. And she isn’t prepared to spend all of eternity tending to spirits who hate her for choices she never would have made of her own volition.

So when a stranger reaches through the Mists seeking her guidance and her power in a new alliance, Scarlet accepts-- and finds her spirit anchored to a rather unconventional ex-mordrem revenant. But the world has changed a great deal in her absence, and thanks to their new goal... It’s about to change a whole lot more. They’re both going to make quite sure of that.

Tyria isn’t the only thing that’s going to change, though. Ceara hasn’t been herself in a long, long time... And now, without the dragon’s influence crushing her sense of self, she’s finally free to rediscover the person she should have been. Maybe there’s still time to reclaim her legacy after all.

If she can avoid almost destroying the world (again), that is...

Flourish AU: What If One Choice Could Change the World?

Sometimes all it takes is a few words in the right place at the right time... A moment of solidarity that by all rights, never should have happened. But the Dream works in mysterious ways, and as echoes rippled across the Mists from distant worlds, it learned of a different future and an unexpected outcome. All it took was a single, subtle nudge to set the ball rolling, and so it did.

On that fateful day in the Grove, Caithe never would have thought to ask the inquisitive sylvari what she was working on. But, just this once, the Dream did.

Curiosity was repaid in kind. A repaired healing device was left in the infirmary, its Secondborn donator unspoken but well-known. Beginning to recognize the value of Ceara’s peculiar research, others began to quietly peek at the budding scientist as she worked. And while she might never have been a social butterfly, the acceptance warmed her heart of ice into something far softer. She didn’t have to choose between her dream and the Dream. And even if she left the Grove far behind... Perhaps she didn’t have to cut it off entirely.

And that was all she’d ever truly needed; the opportunity of choice.

Ceara never left the Dream, not entirely. She listened to its advice, following when it suited her and forging a unique path all her own. She became not an engineer, but a thief, following in the footsteps of her new mentor. When Saoirse needed her advice, she was still in the Grove to provide it. The world changed, slowly but surely, one altered life at a time.

The Dream’s grand design came to pass. Three champions would rise like stars, facing the dragons together. Heart, Mind, and Soul... Pirkko, Ceara, and Saoirse, from the Priory, Whispers, and Vigil. A bold new future awaited-- a future where the horrors of Scarlet’s Alliance would never be known, for there had never even been a Scarlet Briar to lead it.

But the greater their success, the lusher their world...

And the higher the flames would burn when it all ignited.

Tideturners AU: What Happens When There is No Hero?

Mai Trin wasn’t born to be a hero. That was supposed to be Ruju’s job. He was the one who would become the Commander, leading unlikely alliances to victory time and time again to save his world from the draconic plight. He was strong, and relentless, and brave, and intelligent. He was always meant to be a leader.

But his heart was just as cold and dead as the biomechanical minions he commanded in battle, and the future he would create was not a kind one.

He was invited aboard Scarlet’s Alliance, but this would prove a deadly error; Commander Ruju made no differentiation between a willing dragon minion and a rebelling one. Scarlet Briar was claimed by his blade in the dead of night, and the rest were left with a brutal choice: fall in line, or share her fate. Mai, realizing this was no longer the alliance she had once believed in, took her Aetherblades and fled into the Mists.

But the Grand High Sovereign’s rampage did not end. He blazed a devastating trail of bloodshed across the Tyrian continent, wiping away all that dared stand in his path. With every fallen foe, his army only continued to grow. Dragons were crushed by brute force, and magic poured into the increasingly unstable fabric of reality. With every passing day there was less left to save.

Mai Trin wasn’t born to be a hero. She never would have chosen that role for herself-- and whether that was what she became would be debated by many. But she was meant to be a leader, and if Ruju would not be the one her Tyria needed, she was the only one left who could. Alliances were forged, civilians were evacuated, and a mask was donned; she was no longer Mai Trin. She was the Sidewinder, and their hidden Turnabout deep in the Mists would offer a second chance to those who had nowhere else left to go. As the years passed, it became the stuff of legend, a tale of hope and renewal even in the face of impossible odds.

Their world is long-gone now, nothing but haunted memories in the minds of those precious few who escaped alive. But the Tideturners remain, one last refuge against a Commander who decided the world wasn’t worth saving. He won’t save them, so they’ll save themselves instead.

“We're the Tideturners, and we won’t be washed away.”