#i always go through the passages i annotated

[is-that-an-error]

„why are you annotating your book? you will never take it in your hand after reading anyways.“

EXCUSE YOU?

i am totally going through my books after reading them. i need the nostalgic kick and want to feel what i felt while i read them. me annotating and writing thought in my books is all part of a bigger plan.

just because you put your book in your shelf and let it collect dust there doesn’t mean i do it too.

[kaira-diaries]

Teacher's Pet:

⚠️: smut || age gap (18+) || teacher’s pet trope

pairing: professor!in-ho x fem!reader (no games)

wc: 1.2k

a/n: now that I’ve watched LBH’s entire filmography I’m obsessed with his teacher roles…don’t know if should do more drabbles for this story? Kinda like the idea of continuing their relationship.

summary: I feel like the name is self explanatory!

-> Masterlist <-

It wasn’t like you meant to fall in love.

If you could even call it that.

Infatuation seemed more fitting—an unshakable pull, a slow-burning ache that settled deep in your bones. Perhaps even obsession, the kind that took root beneath your skin and refused to let go.

You weren’t some naive teenager.

You were a junior in college, fully grown, well past the age of consent, old enough to know better. And yet, nothing had prepared you for him.

Your Literature Professor.

Older, impossibly refined, with a presence that commanded attention without effort. His voice was rich, deliberate—each syllable a slow caress against your ears. His eyes, dark and unreadable, held the kind of secrets that made you want to drown in them. And when he spoke, quoting poetry and prose with an intimacy that felt illicit, you could do nothing but sit there, enthralled, burning beneath the weight of his words.

It wasn’t supposed to happen that one night.

But it did.

You sank into the plush cushions of his living room sofa, the scent of aged paper and faint traces of espresso lingering in the air. The space around you was a sanctuary of words, lined wall to wall with books that carried the weight of centuries, their spines cracked and well-loved, whispering stories from every corner of the world.

Your gaze drifted across the towering shelves, fingers itching to trace the gilded titles. Then, one book in particular caught your eye—its cover worn, edges softened from years of handling. Curiosity pulled you to your feet. You stepped forward, the floor creaking beneath you as you reached for the novel, its leather binding cool beneath your fingertips.

Flipping it open, your breath hitched. Nearly every page was marked with notes, the margins filled with hurried scrawls in a familiar, precise hand. Observations, questions, underlined passages—traces of a mind that dissected literature with an almost obsessive devotion.

Of course.

Dr. Hwang had always been relentless about annotating. He preached the importance of engaging with the text and of leaving a mark on the page as proof of understanding. And now, seeing it for yourself, you realized he didn’t just teach this—he lived it.

A strange warmth curled in your chest, a quiet thrill at witnessing something so intimately him.

"Snooping?" His voice cut through the quiet, low and smooth, pulling your attention instantly.

You turned toward him, pulse-quickening as your eyes took him in. His usual reading glasses were absent, allowing the warm glow of his deep brown eyes to shine unfiltered beneath the dim lighting. His black hair, normally neatly combed, had fallen into an effortlessly tousled state, strands curling slightly at his temples. And his shirt—half unbuttoned, revealing a sliver of collarbone and the faintest hint of his chest—was enough to send a rush of heat straight through you.

The sight of him relaxed and undone in the privacy of his home, nearly made you come apart.

You swallowed, grounding yourself by pressing the book closed against your palm. Your eyes flickered to the title before glancing back up at him.

"You have quite the collection, Dr. Hwang—"

"In-ho," he interrupted gently, his gaze holding yours with quiet insistence.

A small smile tugged at your lips. "In-ho," you repeated, the name rolling off your tongue with a newfound intimacy as if speaking it aloud changed something between you.

You placed the book back, walking across the living room to him. God he was beautiful..so strong, yet gentle. You nearly shuttered as his hands curved around your waist pulling you into him.

He sighed as his long fingers caressed the skin of your neck, just over your pulse. "This is shameful."

Your lips parted, breath hitching as his hovered just a hair’s breadth away—so close, yet not close enough. The anticipation was electric, a charged silence stretching between you for a fraction of a second before he closed the distance.

The kiss was deep, slow, devastatingly experienced. He didn’t rush—he knew exactly what he was doing, how to unravel you with the way his lips moved against yours, how to make you sigh into him as his tongue teased yours, coaxing rather than demanding. Every motion, every flick, and stroke was deliberate, leaving you dizzy and clinging to him as if he were the only thing tethering you to reality.

Your friends knew you were seeing someone, but you’d been careful—strategic, even—about the details. You never mentioned who he was, never let slip the little things that might give him away. And, of course, you’d completely omitted the one fact that would send them into a frenzy.

His age.

Forty-five. Nearly twice yours.

Twenty-one and forty-five isn’t that bad… right?

The thought alone made you cackle every time you tried to defend it in your mind. Maybe you should feel conflicted. Maybe you should care about the whispers, the judgment, the moral grayness of it all.

But then his tongue brushed against yours again, expertly, wickedly, pulling a soft whimper from your throat, and just like that—any lingering doubt, any concern for right or wrong—simply ceased to exist.

Another hand found its way to the back of your head, taking a fist full of your hair.

You’re probably wondering how the two of you ended up here.

Let’s just say it might have had something to do with your insufferable class participation—the way you challenged him just enough to be intriguing, how you always had an argument ready, your voice laced with just the right amount of defiance to make him smirk.

Or maybe it was the way you chewed on the ends of your pens, absentmindedly biting down as you listened to him lecture, completely unaware of how his eyes would flicker toward you, his train of thought stalling for just a second too long. You had no idea, at first, that he noticed—the way you stared at him a little too intently, lashes fluttering as if you weren’t hanging onto his every word.

And then there were your visits.

The ones that started out innocently enough—stopping by during office hours, armed with questions about literary theory, with scribbled notes and highlighted passages. But then the conversations started to stretch beyond the curriculum, turning into something softer, something dangerous. You’d linger too long, leaning just a little too close, your laughter filling the dimly lit space of his office.

Flirting was inevitable.

Touching came next.

But never kissing..at least not until tonight.

You remembered the first time the air between you changed.

It had been subtle(kinda, not really)—a shift so delicate(You'd beg to differ) it could have been ignored if not for the way it made your pulse stutter(yeah, right). A moment suspended in time, when his gaze held yours for a second too long, when his hand brushed your thigh beneath his desk his fingers lingering, making heat bloom under your skin and warmth pool between your legs.

He was so close, and you hadn't remembered what the two of you were talking about, but did it really matter?

Once his fingers had skimmed the material of your underwear you blinked, licking your lips. "Is this okay?" he had asked. He wanted permission. And while you didn't give it verbally, you embraced his hand pushing it beneath your lace underwear. Wanting his fingers to dig deep into you.

That was a week ago.  

Tonight, he'd invited you over.

And you'd never been so quick to accept an invite. (yikes)

His lips broke from yours, teeth scraping against your cheek as he sucked at your neck, "always so good for me in class," he practically breathed into you. Your hands grabbed at his neck, pulling him in more...if that was even physically possible.

"Always so stunning for me."

Right..did you forget to mention your dress code? And how it drastically got more..dangerous.

It wasn't like this was breaking any rules. Was it unethical? Hell yeah, it was, but what was college without a little drama? You're only young once right?

Time must have warped...or you somehow teleported to his bedroom, and the time read 3 am.

Hell, you couldn't tell which way was up or down as he dragged you into your fourth orgasm of the night, pulling you from your hands and knees to collide with his chest from behind. His moans filled your ears as he nudged into your neck, arms wrapped around your torso, hands tangling with yours.

You knew you were in trouble as he whimpered your name.

But the best part?

He knew he was in trouble, too.

Because no matter how much restraint he tried to summon, no matter how often he reminded himself of the lines he shouldn’t cross, you had an unshakable grip on him. It was maddening—this pull, this undeniable force that wrapped around him like a vice, refusing to let go.

You were young. Too young for him.

Beautiful, in a way that was effortless, in a way that made it impossible not to look.

And smart—so fucking smart.

It was your intelligence that ruined him the most.

He had noticed you the moment you walked in on syllabus day, slipping into your seat like you belonged there, like you were meant to be seen. There had been something about the way you carried yourself—self-assured, observant, a quiet confidence laced with just enough mischief.

Then you spoke.

And that was it.

Sharp, articulate, never hesitating to challenge an idea or poke holes in an argument. You were fearless in the way you debated, your mind quick, your words calculated. He told himself it was admiration—professional, appropriate. But admiration shouldn’t make his chest tighten when you look at him like that. It shouldn’t make his thoughts wander to places they had no business being.

And yet, from the moment you took that seat, he was doomed.

[gay-dorito-dust]

How I think Jason shows his love includes…

Annotating/highlighting romantic passages or moments of high tension between two characters in the books he reads before passing them over to you. He’d even have the exact pages marked and when asked why that was, all he says is that they were the key pivotal moments in the story that he thoroughly enjoyed, and all with a cherry red face might I add as he intentionally leaves out the fact that he envisioned that it was the two of you in those moments as he annotated the books.

Will stand close to you for a plethora of reasonings but the main one being the fact that he wanted to be the first one you look towards when in need of anything. Comfort, protection or reassurance. Just say the word and Jason will do it without question like an obedient dog, he just wants to be someone you can hopefully rely on and trust in the future, only if you let him in first.

Jason just wants you to know that no matter what happens he will always be in your corner, uncaring for what the future will have in store for you both, whether it’d be good or bad. He’d willingly stick his neck out for you in any given situation, even if it meant putting himself in the line of fire, a few new scars won’t bother him if they were earned by keeping you safe and sound.

He doesn’t care about himself nearly enough as he cares about you and your well-being. He just doesn’t and it’s not until you were pleading with him to take care of himself, that he ultimately decided that to care for you was to care for himself as well; So for your sake he keeps himself relatively stable.

Not a great mindset but it’s Jason, he’s not exactly a practitioner of affirmations, journaling his feelings or having healthy habits.

Smiles more when he’s with you, even if it’s corny dad jokes or just bad jokes in general, Jason still smiles and might even let out a chuckle now and then.

Spends an unhealthy amount of time with you that it was impossible for you to be seen without Jason following close behind. Also Jason isn’t great with voicing his feelings in wanting to spend time with you, and instead just asks what you’re planning to do later on and whether there’s room for one more and takes it from there. He cuts out the bullshit and gets straight to the point of what he wanted to ask you.

Night rides on his bike.

Now this is mainly a boost for his ego as he loves feeling you clinging onto him for dear life as he speeds down the road with little care for the speed limit. He’s such a prick but will slow down if he see that your visibly distressed with the speed of which he was going, after all he was always going to prioritises your wants and needs above his own.

Teaches you the basic defence and even teaches you in the usage of weapons, and all for the sake of your own protection.

He doesn’t like the idea of you walking through the streets of Gotham amidst criminals and creeps alike without at least some form of defence. Jason doesn’t trust anyone with your safety except if their names happen to be Roy and or Dick. Other then that, Jason likes to be the one protecting you but had to accept that he wouldn’t always be there to do so, which lead him to constantly pester you into taking up his offer in teaching you self defence.

God knows what he’d do if something happened to you, all he knows is that it would be brutal, violent and bloody for sure.

It’s annoying at first, being pestered and all, but you understand Jason’s reasonings and went through with it for his sake.

Lastly Jason trusts you enough to bear his heart out to you and be vulnerable in your presence, so much so to the point that you knew stuff that he wasn’t as willing to disclose to even the ones he considers his closest friends and family. It’s not often that Jason bears it all to someone but when he does, he does so out of confidence that they wouldn’t use it against him down the line.

He hopes that this method could be applied to you as well and he thanks every god in existence when you open up your arms for him to fall into them in acceptance. He smiles as he closes his eyes, feeling warm and safe within your arms, forever wanting to stay here for as long as forever allows.

[leclsrc]

hi, could you please do the five confessions prompt with charles?

proving my devotion – cl16

genre: fluff, sry charles is a pining yearning mess, title from this

send for five times the receiver almost says ‘i love you’ and the one time they do.

The plates clack against each other, dissonant in the otherwise still evening. Charles stacks one atop the other, awaits his mother’s nosy questioning—the inevitable gamble, every time he brings a girl home—but she’s quiet, humming a song under her breath, the one she always sings when she’s doing the dishes. Something’s different tonight, a slight change he can’t name.

“So,” he starts, because she won’t and the curiosity kills him. His eyes find you, with the ease he’s adopted in the months of knowing you, dancing with Lorenzo on the patio to a Luther Vandross song. “Thoughts?”

“Hmm. Tu es fouineur.” She teases, a glint in her eye. How the tables have turned, she seems to say.

Silently, over the dirty dishes, they both recount the day gone: the lunch moved from noon to half-past-three because Arthur burned the turkey, the dropped bottle of wine you’d gifted because one of Charles’ uncles accidentally let it slip from his hand (you said it was okay, it was just a hundred euros when it was closer to one grand), the guitar performance from Charles.

The way the sun had drowned in a sea of Monaco orange, and with it the stories of weddings, Jules, and Hervé, and the affair moved outside to the patio so Lorenzo could boast his brand new speaker that was so worth the many zeroes on the price tag, maman! And you had quickly found out Charles’ inability to dance was, in fact, genetic.

It’s a new sensation for Charles, a thrilling one, a frightening one even. He squeezes the sponge and watches soap filter through his fingers. He turns, lets his green eyes meet your soft ones. It’s an exhausting effort but he says it anyway, wrenches it out quietly: “I think… I think I…”

“I know,” Pascale says. She presses a kiss to his shoulder. “I see it.”

—

You’d taken home a frayed copy of The Little Prince you bought at a garage sale.

It’s so old, its pages have long yellowed and there’s evidence of past ownership all over it. Most notable of them is a name on the front page, along with a number that’s probably unused now. Isn’t it so quaint—and the words, babe, you’d said with conviction when he questioned your purchase, the words are in French!

You’ve been trying your luck with the language for a good few weeks, but it’s a brick wall—mur de briques, if you go by the textbook on your bedside table. You huff when you can’t translate the last lines of the passage you’re reading, tossing the book onto the empty space beside you that is quickly occupied by Charles’ bulky figure.

“Stuck again?” He asks, opening the dog-eared pages to find where your bookmark is nestled. Under your palms, you groan and nod with frustration.

“Don’t try me,” you say, voice gravelly. “I can’t translate it.”

The rough pad of his index finger traces the yellowed page, and he smiles softly at your many annotations. Verb conjugation, words you found easy, words you still forget now.

His eyes flicker up, to your lying figure, the freckles on your arms, the mole on your hip he can only see because your shorts have ridden down low. His heart swells, seizes, his mind rampant with thoughts of you. Please tell her, he says to himself. Tell her everything. Tell her how you find her in all the passages, in all the French words, in all the books, in all the times she says your name. She’s everywhere, she’s everything. Tell her tell her tell her you lo—

But the realness of it all chokes him, and he says instead, placing a big palm on your abdomen, “I’ll read it for you.”

—

There are few sentences considered odd on a paddock. People say anything on it—driver gossip, car gossip, celebrity gossip, engineer gossip. Charles can guarantee he’s heard some of the weirdest statements and Freudian slips (the one time Christian Horner called Toto ‘dad’) on a paddock. 

“Carlos—pshhfhf—sprayed—pfffsh—whip cream—on my face!” …Okay, that’s. That’s different.

He turns, eyes wide. “What?!”

You stand in the doorway, frozen.

Your face is almost completely covered in white, and bits of your hair have fallen victim to the sweet spray of whip, too. You look frazzled and freaked. “I just got my hair blown out. I did my makeup. Dude. I look like a clown.”

“Oh, my God,” he says, already unable to contain his laughter. “I love you—!”

A millisecond passes him by like an hour. “—r uh, your new makeup hairdo, thing, a-ling. Thing-a-ling. Makeup. Your new makeup.” 

—

There is an angel in Charles’ bed. She leaves a lovebite on his neck.

“Good morning,” he says, gruff. I love— but it stops itself before he can even open his mouth.

—

You get into a minor fight about cooking music.

Charles waves the whisk in the air, claims he will die on the hill of cooking to French jazz. You call it pretentious and crank up the Stevie Wonder. Eventually you fall into a repeated pattern of songs that satisfy the both of you.

“I read somewhere that if you roll basil up,” you say, chewing on a rogue leaf of mint from your pre-dinner mojito and walking up to him, “and chop it, it saves time trying to cut it up by itself.”

“Does it?” Charles asks, entertaining you. You roll your eyes and shove him lightly. He raises the knife in his hand, mumbles careful, baby under his breath. You insist he try, so he rolls up two leaves. Unfortunately, you’re right.

“So now we get to have pesto in five minutes instead of five hours,” you tease, kissing him. It’s minty, there’s French jazz in the background, and you’ve taught him to chop basil in the most affectionate soft-spoken way possible. It’s sacred. He’s afraid, he’s always been, that he would never be able to say it, that it would always be a losing game of wrestling words out of his throat—but now he’s not. 

“I love you,” he mutters. It’s easy, unforced, natural. The words find solace, find home in the warm kitchen. He refuses to open his eyes because God knows what you’ll say then. Run away maybe? Throw all the basil to the ground? Down the entire cooler of mojito?

Your silence is deafening. “Did you hear me?” He opens his eyes.

A foolishly pretty smile greets him. “I got it the first five times.”

[froggibus]

Hi there! If requests are still open, would it be alright if I requested HC’s for D.Va, Mei, Sombra, and Mercy with an S/O who’s a writer?

Thank you!! You rock! Keep up the amazing work!

Writer S/O Headcanons - D.Va, Mercy, Mei & Sombra

Genre: fluff!

Pairing: D.Va x gn! reader, Mercy x gn! reader, Mei x gn! reader, Sombra x gn! reader

CW: mostly fluff, some canon/implied canon things (we love our doctor/science women), i'm horrible at writing sombra (sorry)

been a while since i did an OW request, haven't touched the game since the beginning of Dec since i don't play for a team rn & hate the direction the game is going :( but i love the characters so its a dilemma lol anyway enjoy!!!

(also!!! i am once again bothering you guys to vote in this poll if you haven't already. your input matters to me vv much & would love to hear about what you want for our valentines event this year!)

D.Va:

literally your biggest fan

she always supports your writing no matter what & definitely shares it on her stream

will probably just game while you’re writing 

she gets loud sometimes but she tries her best to stay quiet so you can focus

does her best to read your writing but she has such a short attention span she just can’t sometimes

will write little hearts and stars on her favorite passages in your writing 

brings you lots of snacks and drinks!! makes sure you’re always hydrated and that you don’t work too long

honestly probably gets really distracting sometimes

like reading your writing over your shoulder or tapping her nails on the desk really loudly

“Hana…”

“sorry,” she’ll say sheepishly. “you just have me on the edge of my seat.”

Mercy:

your proofreader/beta reader

she LOVES to read so you know she’ll pick up anything you write and devour it

will lay on the couch with you after work while you write and listen to the taps of your laptop 

“hey, Ang, do you know the word? like the one—the word for—ugh”

“luminescent.”

you’re not sure how she does it but she always manages to read your mind & know exactly what word you’re looking for

also super helpful when you have random medical questions

she’ll break down exactly how you treat a stab wound in a dingy motel for you without batting an eyelash

queen of overworking so she won’t judge you too harshly if you work all night 

but will definitely be there to chastise you with a glass of water in one hand and some plain toast in the other 

Mei:

literally the sweetest ever

always tells you how amazing your work is & recommends it to all her friends

working in the science field she’s always reading scientific journals so your work is a breath of fresh air 

she’ll have a glass of rosé and settle down with your book after a long day

NEVER critiques your work because she thinks you’re the best ever 

probably annotates it with her thoughts while reading it and voices her excitement about it 

asks you a million questions about your work and nods along while you give long winded explanations 

cooks you yummy food & brings you 5 spice hot chocolate to keep your energy up 

snuggled up to you on the couch and listens to you think outloud 

Sombra:

absolute best research buddy

you open your mouth to ask her a writing question and she already has it pulled up in four different browsers 

thoroughly explains everything to you too

through her work she knows a lot about violence and other things

so she’s always willing to answer questions—especially spy + stealth related things 

if anyone ever tries to criticize your work online she’ll literally doxx them

probably hasn’t read much of your work but she makes it up for it in undying support 

you could be writing about murdering a public official and she’d support it 

lets you sit at her desk with her while she works and hums soft songs to you

(if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! comments, likes & rbs are always greatly appreciated ^-^ !!)

masterlist | overwatch masterlist

[apteryxparvus]

hello and congrats on 100followers!!!

wanderer x rtawahist darshan scholar reader, who really overworks themselves and almost always gets sleepless nights because of their occupation in rtawahist, and so wanderer often finds reader either sleepy (or sleeping) in the akademiya's library, or on some open grounds where they can stargaze not only for their studies, but for themselves, and wanderer js either can't see them so sleepless and forces reader to go to sleep, or he watches the stars with them༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶ

Thank you!! I really like the idea of a Rtawahist Reader, and I hope I did your request justice 😊

Part of my ✨ 100 followers milestone event ✨ running from September 2nd to September 9th.

Pairing — Scaramouche / Reader

Word count — 1,657

Content warning — none

The first time Scaramouche lays eyes on you, he assumes you’re just another one of those Akademiya students, running on caffeine and a never-ending string of sleepless nights. You're sporting the school's uniform, your hat somewhat askew atop your head. He notices the blue pin adorning it, signaling your affiliation with the Rtawahist Darshan, and he can't help but scoff at how it's slightly crooked.

You're stumbling through the hallway, precariously balancing a tower of books that's taller than you. It’s no surprise when you collide with him. He watches as the heavy tomes scatter across the floor, and you scramble to gather them, your lips rapidly uttering a thousand apologies.

With an exasperated sigh, Scaramouche crouches down and grabs the book closest to him — "Starry Atlas: Navigating the Night Sky." He idly flips through the pages, half-curious about the illustrations and the meticulously written descriptions and notes.

"You could at least lend a hand," he overhears you muttering under your breath.

He scoffs once more, closing the book. "You could at least attempt not to endanger anyone's life, Rtawahist."

You respond with a huff but continue collecting your scattered belongings. "My name's not Rtawahist," you retort, meeting his gaze. He can't help but notice the dark circles under your eyes and the exhaustion in your expression.

Scaramouche raises an eyebrow, expecting you to introduce yourself. However, you remain silent. You grab the last of your fallen books, "Exploring Destiny through Astrology" — the thickest and most heavily annotated of them all — and with that you scurry away.

As you vanish from his sigh, he doesn’t give the encounter much thought.

That is, until he meets you for the second time.

You’re nestled in a quiet corner of the House of Daena, face buried within the pages of yet another heavy book. Your hat sits neatly on the table, surrounded by an array of colored pens and papers adorned with doodles and incomprehensible scribbles.

He decides not to approach you directly, choosing instead to observe you silently from his own secluded nook. He has his own agenda for being in the library — researching the available books on the history of Inazuma, specifically the Tri-Commission. He’s feeling irked by a student from his own Darshan, a brash and loudmouthed boy, who had confidently presented what Scaramouche considers the worst thesis defense he had ever witnessed, centered around the history of the socio-economic and cultural impact of the Tri-Commission. He’s now determined to scrutinize the books he had referenced, seeking out the specific passages so he can construct his own review paper, one that disputes the boy's conclusions.

Perhaps it's a tad bit petty, but he couldn't care less.

After an hour or so of sifting through poorly written and dull texts, mental exhaustion starts to set in. His gaze lifts to where you're seated, and he notices that you're on the verge of dozing off. Your eyelids droop, and you unconsciously lean towards the book you're reading.

He can't help but find it foolishly stupid — your unwavering dedication to academics that drains you to such an extent.

Yet, in this particular moment, his icy heart, scarred by past experiences, seems to thaw as he watches you.  Eventually, you surrender to the drowsiness, your head leaning against the wall. He stays in his spot for a moment, confused by the inexplicable warmth he feels towards you — you've only crossed paths twice, and he doesn't even know your name.

When you start shivering, your Akademiya robes not offering sufficient protection against the chilly air seeping from the library’s walls, he doesn’t even think as he rises from his own spot, removing his tunic. He drapes it over your slumbering form.

He’s even more baffled by his own actions as gathers your scattered materials and arranges them neatly on the table.

Finally, he takes a seat beside you. His own body lacks warmth, therefore, he cannot shield you from the cold, but he allows you to lean against him. It’s as if you sensed his presence and an unconscious desire to close the gap between you overtook you. He sighs, adjusting your head to prevent any neck soreness after your nap.

The two of you remain like that for a while, and he's surprised to discover that he doesn't recoil from physical contact. At least, not when it comes from you.

Scaramouche lets you enjoy the nap, aware of your need for rest. You sleep peacefully, faintly snoring. When he decides it’s time for you to leave, not wanting to have you traverse the city’s streets so late at night, he gently disentangles himself from you and rises.

"Rtawahist," he calls out as you stir. You blink up at him, your eyes heavy with sleep and mild confusion. It takes a few moments for you to fully awaken, and he watches as your eyes widen before you avert your gaze bashfully, embarrassed by being caught napping in the library. "Go home and get some proper sleep."

Scaramouche can't help but feel a bit self-conscious, as if he's suddenly become aware of his own actions. He strides away from your secluded corner.

"Hey, wait! Vahumana guy, wait!" you yell, voice still tinged with sleepiness. However, he doesn't turn back, already on his way out of the library. You blink in confusion, fingers fiddling with the extra clothing draped over you — it's the white tunic with blue accents that you'd seen him wear before.

As you stand up and begin gathering your belongings, you’re further taken aback by how neatly they are organized.

That night, as you stroll past the dimly lit streets of Sumeru City, you think that perhaps this may have been one of the most refreshing naps you've experienced in months, if not longer.

The third time he meets you, he finally learns your name.

Nightfall had fallen, the clear sky adorned with countless twinkling stars. The songs of Dusk Birds fill the humid air, echoing through the rainforest, and tiny critters scurry about in the shadows of the lush foliage.

Scaramouche is returning from a mission given by Nahida — intelligence from numerous travelers had revealed multiple hidden Fatui camps, and his task was to determine their intentions and eliminate the threat. 

Strangely, he doesn’t feel tired; he doesn't feel anything at all. His mind is numb. He knows he should be experiencing some sort of emotion after encountering the soldiers proudly donning the Fatui insignia — perhaps anger or revulsion — but instead, there is a hollow void where his heart should have been.

He passes by a hilichurl camp, the savage beasts sitting around a campfire. Their leader, nearly thrice their side, senses his presence and roars, raising his ax. The entire pack rises, each wielding their own weapon, ready to confront the intruder that dares to trespass on their territory.

Scaramouche barely lifts a finger, sending sharp wind blades towards the creatures. They fall to the ground, unconscious. He stares silently at their grotesque forms, repulsion rising in his throat.

"Hey! Vahumana guy!" A familiar voice rings out. He looks up from his position, body freezing as he spots you waving from a nearby cliff. Anger surges within him — how reckless could you be, wandering through the forest littered with roaming territorial Rishboland Tigers and wild hilichurls?

“You idiot,” he yells back, using his Anemo Vision to propel himself towards you. He lands at your feet, and you let out a shriek, clearly not expecting him to soar through the air. 

Your eyes lock on the glowing teal Vision pinned alongside a singular gold feather. "Oh," you manage to mumble. “You have a Vision.”

Scaramouche dismissed your comment. “You foolish Rtawahist,” he continues to berate you. “How irresponsible must you be to wander alone in the rainforest at night?”

“I’m perfectly fine. In case you didn't notice, I'm here to gather data for a paper I'm writing.” You gesture towards the spot you’d arranged on the grassy cliff — a cozy blanket adorned with snacks and a thermos, as well as star charts, maps, and your tools, including a shiny astrolabe, a small old telescope, and a planisphere. “And also to enjoy the breeze and the clear night sky,” you add bashfully.

"Didn't you see the hilichurl camp below you?" Scaramouche demands angrily.

“They were all sitting around the fire! They couldn’t have attacked me!” you counter.

"Do all Rtawahists have a death wish, or is it just you?"

"First of all, stop calling me Rtawahist. I have a name, and it's Y/N," you say with an eye roll. "And since you're already here, why not take a seat and enjoy the night sky with me?" You gently grasp his hands, and lead him towards your cluttered spot. Scaramouche allows you to guide him, remaining silent.

You settle on the blanket, making some room for him. “I never got your name, Vahumana guy.”

"You may call me Kunikuzushi."

“Hmm,” you muse, pronouncing the name slowly, syllable by syllable. “I like it.”

Scaramouche doesn’t quite understand why he had shared his old name with you — he had believed he had moved past that part of his life. Yet, hearing the way you pronounce his name stirs something warm and comforting within the depths of his stone-cold heart.

You adjust your position and point towards a constellation. "That is Peregrinus, a constellation said to represent the free spirit of exploration and self-discovery."

Scaramouche stays silent, listening to you ramble about the stars twinkling in the night sky, the constellations and their deeper meanings. He notices your voice grow drowsy, and soon, you are nearly mumbling your sentences.

You struggle to repress a yawn. "By the way, I never got to thank you for the tunic, nor did I get the chance to return it."

Scaramouche chuckles softly as he watches you drift to sleep moments after finishing your sentence. He watches as you snuggle closer to him, head resting against his chest.

Author's note: being an overworked STEM student myself, I can totally relate to Reader 😪

Do I have 3 chapters and 1 lab protocol on Genetics, and 2 chapters and 3 research papers on Psychology to read for this week? Yes. Am I procrastinating reading them by writing this? Yes, again 😋

[melisnonstop]

𝙱𝙴𝚃𝚆𝙴𝙴𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙴𝚂

↳📱𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚊 𝚊𝚞 (13/)

TikTok Video – Henry reviews Rapture byCarol Ann Duffy

@sonnetsandspice

(The video starts with Henry sitting in his cozy nook with nice bright lighting despite the New York winter,a cup of tea in hand. The camera slowly zooms in as he begins speaking)

Henry:

"There’s something about poetry that lets you sink into emotions without being swallowed by them. It lets you explore them safely—at a distance—but every now and then, a collection comes along that feels like it's staring right back at you.

“For me, that’s Carol Ann Duffy’s Rapture."

(Henry holds up a worn copy of the book)

Henry:

"It’s an unflinchingly raw portrayal of love, written with an intensity that’s almost palpable. Duffy captures the entirety of a relationship—from the dizzying highs to the inevitable unraveling—and does so with a precision that cuts to the core."

(He glances off-screen for a moment, gathering his thoughts before continuing)

Henry:

"One of the reasons this collection resonates with me is how Duffy makes the personal universal. Every poem in Rapture feels like a shared experience, as if she’s handed you the language to describe something you’ve always felt but never quite found the words for. It’s... relentless in its vulnerability."

(Henry pauses for a beat, his voice softening)

Henry:

"And yet, there’s a quiet strength in that vulnerability. It’s as though she’s saying, ‘Here, this is what it feels like to love deeply, to lose, and to keep loving anyway.’"

(He flips through the annotated pages, finding a passage)

Henry:

"Take this line, for instance: 'The bed we loved in was a spinning world of forests, castles, torchlight, cliff-tops, seas.' That’s love, isn’t it? It’s fantastical, all-encompassing, and yet... fragile. It’s the places we go when we’re in love—both real and imagined."

(He closes the book and looks into the camera, his expression thoughtful)

Henry:

"If you’ve ever loved deeply, or even if you haven’t, Rapture will show you just how messy, beautiful, and human love truly is. It’s a modern masterpiece, one that lingers long after you’ve finished it. And for that, I can’t recommend it enough."

(He smiles, a little wistful)

Henry:

"I’ll leave you with this: if you want to feel—really feel—without being afraid of what comes next, read Rapture. It’s one of those books that finds you exactly where you are.

"Until next time—happy reading, and cheers."

(The video ends as Henry puts down the book, the quiet clink of his teacup against the table in the background)

↳📱

↳📱

[chaotic-on-main]

I love your Unspoken Words series so much! As someone who goes nonverbal from time to time when overwhelmed. This is also why i ask anonymously, I am feeling a bit too much of everything and seeing my name on your blog makes me nervous.

i just really appreciate the whole story and i just love how everyone is so understanding and supportive and nobody demands she „just talk“. Levi taking sign classes had me crying, seriously.

You posted you were open for prompts. It‘s a bit self indulgent, but I would be interested how Reiner (and maybe some others) would react when they either catch you reading smut or randomly grab one your smut books that you annotated. (I am not asking for explicit stuff, just how they would react to you reading that kind of stuff).

Oh my gosh thank you so much for saying so!! 😭 Unspoken Words has definitely been my little baby for a while and I'm really glad I portray nonverbal people to your liking! I am just obsessed with the fact that Levi's love language would be acts of services so putting in that communication barrier really puts light on their interactions instead of words, for the most part lol.

I totally know how it feels to have everything feeling like a little too much, believe me. It's overwhelming, so it's totally okay to stay anon! Though, I am sorry you're feeling like that today. But if you'd like, I'm perfectly happy to have you in my DMs. This will always stay a judgement free zone. 💕

These were really fun to think about! I'm not used to writing most of these characters tho so I'm sorry if my hcs don't line up. 😅

No actual smut is mentioned but there are some suggestive themes!

How AoT Characters React To You Reading Smut:

Reiner ->

oh he is SO shy about it

like he does a double take as he walks by you, all curled up on the couch with it wide open and you're so enraptured you don't even notice

"What are you reading?" he can't keep himself from asking but his face is so flushed and there might be a little stuttering

when you tell him about it, he's doing his best to stand straight and keep a level voice

he's also a little curious though, and will ask something along the lines of "Would you want to try this out sometime?" while he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly

Armin ->

he accidentally finds your collection when he's looking for a specific book

he thumbs through it curiously because he's just like that lol

at first, he's incredibly shocked to see that you're into that kind of stuff

but then he gets a little self-conscious because he worries that he might not be giving you what you want

you have to force it out of him because he's ruminating in silence and when he finally says something, he's all blushy and not looking you in the eye

Jean ->

HE'S SO SMUG ABOUT IT

he grabs it out of your hands and reads out some passages in a teasing manner while you're fighting to get it back

but then he comes across the filthiest thing he's ever read and it shuts him right up, turning into a mess and his words are all jumbled lmao

I also see this man looking over the top of it and is like, "C'mon, we're trying this out right now." and then grabs your hand and pulls you into the bedroom

Hange ->

they are so excited to see that you read these BECAUSE THEY READ THEM TOO.

I imagine they catch you reading it and recognize it right away, going all "OH I'VE READ THAT ONE. What do you think about _____?"

and they start overanalyzing it all out loud while fingering through the pages

it's kind of a mood killer (affectionate) but it's funny to watch them talk about these crazy scenarios and you laugh too because they are quite silly when you think about it

Levi ->

he sneaks up on you one day while you're on the couch reading and he starts reading the page you're on over your shoulder

his sudden voice makes you jump out of your skin and snap the book shut

"Is this how you spend your down time?" not accusatory tho, genuinely curious even though his voice comes out bored lol

he says nothing else as he raises an eyebrow at you then walks away

only when the next time you get down and dirty with him do you realize he must have been looking through your books and seeing what you liked and didn't like from your annotations in the margins

he's a really fast learner

Send me prompts with an AOT character and I'll write a lil something! Fill this 16 hour shift for me, I beg of you. ✌🏻

taglist: @averysmolbear @humanitys-strongest-bamf @youre-ackermine @notgoodforlife @roseofdarknessblog @missamity @levis-squishy-cheeks @icansmellsouls @dkbktk420 @elnyrae @romantichomicide95

If you'd like to join my taglist to be notified for my works and/or games, please go to the link on my pinned post! ✌🏻

[romanceandstarlight]

Fictober 2023 Day 1: It’s Not Too Late, Let’s Go

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Rating: G

Characters: Lyney, Lynette, Wriothesley

The Fortress of Meropide fell silent at night. Workers and inmates alike were expected to be in bed, and one’s sentence could be extended if you were found wandering around by one of the guards.

Technically, however, Lyney was not an inmate, not anymore. The wallets he and Lynette were accused of stealing had all been found, and they could go any time. Freminet still needed time to rest, and that was the only reason Lyney hadn’t yet made a break for the surface.

Well, that and his curiosity got the better of him. And that’s how he was found in Wriothesley’s office at about 2am, looking around for anything he could find. Opening up the passage would make too much noise, but surely there was something interesting here?

“Why am I here?” Lynette asked quietly as they both searched the bookshelves. The only light was a flaming arrow in Lyney’s hand. Neither dared to light a lamp or bring a lantern along with them.

“You’re my partner in crime, after all.” He gave Lynette a bright smile before turning. “Huh, that book looks suspicious.”

Lynette sighed and reached for it, being closer than her brother. Pulling it free, she held it out to him.

“…’The History of the Tea Industry in Inazuma.’” Lyney looked like he wanted to say something, but even he knew better. He watched Lynette open it and rifle through, but it really was what it said on the cover.

Just as he was passing a section about a famine that killed several strains of tea that never recovered (and an annotation by Wriothesley that mostly amounted to a frowny face) there was suddenly a click, and the floor nearby opened to a staircase.

Lynette let out a sigh. “It’s not too late, let’s go.”

Voices were getting closer and closer. They both frantically glanced around as Lyney put the arrow out.

By the time Lourvine and Jurieu appeared, bickering as always, Lyney was behind a bookcase, and Lynette had escaped up the stairs. They left without incident.

“Here for tea?”

Lynette wasn’t one to jump in surprise, but she did turn to see Wriothesley there at his desk, stifling a yawn.

“…no thank you.” She was surprised enough that all she could do for a moment was answer him sincerely.

“Eh, don’t worry, I’d never dishonor tea by putting something in it. That’s Sigewinne’s job.”

Lyney quickly ascended the stairs.

“Go to bed, guys,” Wriothesley said. “You’re not gonna find anything here. Unless you’re actually interested in my personal book collection.”

Lyney glanced down to his hand. He was still holding the book they’d been looking through when they ran to hide.

“…thanks, if I need something to put me to sleep, I’ll keep you in mind.”

“Ouch.”

[lightthewaybackhome]

Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarke My rating: 5 of 5 stars 2024 Reread: (Spoilers) Somewhere in early January, I got the hankering to read this book again. It is the absolute best January read since so much of the book takes place in winter. I indulged my need to underline things to my heart's content. I flagged passages, annotated sections, and just gleefully delighted in the amazing crafting that went into this tome. I was able to see many more of the connecting lines flowing through this book, the prophecies, the foreshadowing, and I actually feel like I'm understanding the whole instead of parts. This time through I picked up on the way Strange and Norrell were Arrogance and Fearfulness, and how they each had to overcome that. I better understood Flora's part. I finally caught that both magicians had to fail, and I think I see why the darkness didn't dissipate with the death of the gentleman, for darkness is John Uskglass' realm. As always, I adore Childermass to the very end. I think he is simply the best. I am happiest when he is on the page. There are moments with him that absolutely give me chills. I also adore Wellington. I think Susanna Clarke must like writing about winter as much as I do. Now, I shall try to practice some self-control and not read it again until next January. 2023 reading: Ahhhhhhhh! Finished, but I don't want to be finished. I want to start it again immediately. And seeing as it's Monday morning, there is nothing but my own will-power to stop me. Help. I'm in danger. So I read this book sometime in the 2000s. It had been described as a cross between Pride and Prejudice and Harry Potter. It is absolutely nothing like that. Nothing. Not at all. And I hated it that first time. Hated it and didn't get it at all. It's much more accurate to describe this book as Dickens if he written a fantasy novel. That's what this book is. And this time, I loved it. I read it in about 4 full-days-of-reading. It is beautifully written, covers a huge swath of history, has fairy tales, myth, prophecy, the 95th Rifles!!! magic, lost Kings. Nothing about this book wasn't awesome, all while being written in a very Dickens-esque styled descriptions and observations of every day life. Childermass was my favorite character. Strange fighting through the Napoleonic wars was great after reading so many Sharpe's Rifles. I marked all over in this book. There were beautiful descriptions, moments were themes were repeated, questions about hidden identities, and meanings of prophecies. And just like Dickens everything was important. I lived in great fear that I was going to miss something by not reading this huge book in one sitting. Which is why I now want to read it again. So tempting. View all my reviews

[akechi-stole-my-heart]

remember (remember) annotations because why the hell not

I've always wanted to make annotations for something I've written and I figured this would be a good opportunity, since this is a short and yet somewhat complex fic with a lot of parallelism/references. I'm writing this for the hell of it and because I think it'll be fun, I'm guessing it'll be pretty long and so for that reason I'm putting the rest under the cut. Without further ado, here are annotations for my recent 2k word one shot persona 5 fic remember that you can't save everyone (remember that you have to try).

part one: the writing process

My writing process varies for each project. I definitely tend more towards outlining, but this fic was somewhat of an exception for me. Since I knew it was going to be so short and very dialogue-heavy, I basically just had the rough idea planned out when I started drafting. Normally I might outline the whole thing, if not on paper then in a note or at least in my head, all in great detail. For this fic, I decided to write it on a whim, so there wasn't much time for the outlining stage.

I wrote the first draft in chunks of 500-ish words at a time over the course of a single night, pausing whenever I hit a roadblock or a good temporary endnote and returning to it a bit later. My drafting process is pretty basic. I tend to hyperfixate on whatever I'm writing and get into a flow state--and if I can't reach that flow state, I struggle to write anything at all. The words just kind of come to me, usually even a bit faster than I can write them (though I've started to catch up with my typing more recently--it helps that I write on my phone more often than not these days and I'm a lot faster that way).

Once the first draft was finished, I let it sit overnight, and since I was hyperfixating on it, I started work on the second draft basically right away once I woke up and kept working on it until it was done. Normally I don't work nearly this fast, but it helped that this was a hyperfixation-driven fic and that it was so short and simple.

My editing process is basically just a lot of rereading, tweaking/reordering/deleting/rewriting until I have something I'm happy with. In this case, I added about 200 words worth and deleted a lot of dialogue that I didn't think worked or didn't sound therapist-y enough. It's extremely hard writing Maruki's dialogue--just in general, but especially when he's in therapist mode.

The following is an example of the changes passages go through from the first draft to once its completed. The first draft is in italics, anything I cut is struck through, and anything I added is in bold.

-

Kurusu sniffles, and there's another long silence. Takuto gets up to refill his water glass in the meantime. While digging in the fridge, he ends up grabbing a beer too. Takuto tucks the phone between his cheek and shoulder to pick up his water glass and carry both back to his room.

He hates knowing Kurusu is suffering while so utterly helpless. He wishes more than anything he could do to something other than offer what must sound like empty platitudes.

After a long while Kurusu takes a deep breath and sighs. "Thank you, Doctor Maruki. I think I feel a little better now."

"I'm glad to hear it. If you ever need me, please, call me, at any time of day. Don't ever feel like you're bothering me."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Takuto runs his hands through his hair, a tiny bit of tension dissipating–but most of it remains.

Takuto sets the drinks down on his bedside table. He grabs his phone with one hand and runs the other through his hair. "Would you like to talk about anything else?"

"No. I'm good now. Promise."

"I'm glad to hear that. If you ever need me, please, call me, at any time of day. Don't ever feel like you're bothering me."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"All right. Don't forget what I said, Kurusu-kun. It's natural to be feeling a lot of conflicting emotions right now. If you ever need to talk it out more I'm here. It's okay to need help navigating the this grieving process."

"Yeah. Thanks." A door opens, and Takuto assumes Kurusu is headed back up to the attic for the night. "Goodnight, Doctor Maruki."

"Goodnight, Kurusu-kun."

Kurusu hangs up. Takuto sighs, allowing himself to slump forward and hold his head in his hands. He's so helpless. Not only with Kurusu, but also with his Kurusu's friends, and everyone else. At least with those like Rumi and Sumire Yoshizawa he'd been able to help, but the rest of them…there's nothing he can do. Absolutely nothing. Takuto opens the beer bottle and takes a swig.

-

I reordered the dialogue in one instance because I realized it sounded like Maruki was ending the call before Akira gave any indication that he was better/done talking, and it surprisingly still worked without having to change much. As you can see, there's a lot more added than subtracted. I'm an underwriter, and I wanted to break up the dialogue and indicate Maruki's what reaction was to what Akira told him through his actions. The rest of the changes are pretty small and were tweaked during the final few proofreads before I posted the fic on ao3.

Fun fact, I was debating for a long time whether he should refer to Sumi as Sumire or Kasumi in his head (on one hand, she believes she's Kasumi because of him and maybe he wants to respect that, on the other hand he's well aware she's not Kasumi and only believes that because he made her do so), before I remembered he pretty much exclusively refers to her as Yoshizawa out loud in the game and that that worked as a good compromise.

part two: commentary

Now we get to the fun part! This part is going to be pretty much nonsense unless you've read the fic already, so I recommend you go do that first, and then you can come back here. I'm going to take out passages and explain my thought process behind them/any parallels/deeper meaning behind them. This might take some of the magic out of it in the same way explaining a joke takes away its humor, so if you'd rather not see this peek behind the curtain, I understand.

Her back is to him, but she's closer than she's ever been. If only he could get her attention–Takuto reaches out, and he could swear, the tips of his fingers graze the back of her head, just barely tousling her hair. She's so close.

Bzzt.

Takuto is ripped away from her.

The fic opens with a dream Maruki is having of attempting to reach Rumi. This is pretty straightforward--he misses her and wants her back in his life, but he knows that's impossible, so he can't reach her no matter how hard he tries. I started here because I wanted to remind the reader where his mindset is at and the trauma that's led him to this place as context for the rest of the fic.

He fumbles with the phone, nearly accidentally rejecting the call as he struggles not to drop it. He manages to press accept and presses the phone to his ear.

I love how awkward and clumsy Maruki is. I headcanon him as ADHD and I tried to reflect that in this fic by describing how restless he is later on, constantly pacing around his room as he and Akira talk. But anyway, as for this little section I wanted to include his clumsiness without breaking the tone of the fic, so this happens early on before the more serious stuff happens and it'd be jarring to hear about Maruki stumbling around.

"Kurusu-kun?" he tries.

Silence. Then, a very soft and quiet, "...Yeah."

"Is everything alright?"

More silence. An even softer, "No."

Takuto switches on his lamp. Kurusu has never called him before, let alone in the middle of the night. Whatever this is about, it's serious, and he's trusted Takuto with it above anyone else. "Do you want to talk about it?" Kurusu mumbles something inaudible. "I'm afraid I couldn't make out–"

"I'm sorry," Kurusu says. "I didn't realize it was this late. It's nothing. Forget I even–"

While Akira is the one who called, I wanted to make it clear that he was hesitant about talking to Maruki, since I think it's in character for him to be afraid of making himself a burden. He called because he was so overwhelmed with emotion and immediately regretted it, and he continues to be hesitant to share his feelings for the rest of the fic. He just isn't used to talking about them out loud with anyone, not even his own counselor.

"We don't have to talk about anything if you prefer. I'll sit on the line with you until it's safe to hang up."

"It's not like that." Kurusu's words come out rushed, almost panicked, like he's desperate to clear up a misunderstanding.

"Like what?"

"I don't want to hurt myself. Or…whatever."

Oh, Akira. He called Maruki in the middle of the night and yet he's still worried about making Maruki worry about him. He doesn't want Maruki to think he's weak, either. My sweet, sweet child and his debilitating hero complex and aversion to vulnerability...

There's more quiet sniffling from the other side. "I'm sorry," repeats Kurusu. "I'm so sorry…"

Somehow, Takuto doesn't think Kurusu is talking to him anymore.

This is probably my favorite moment in the fic. Akira has already been apologizing, but this is the moment he breaks and starts talking about Akechi, even if he doesn't fully realize it himself yet. My baby boy and his overwhelming crushing guilt. ;-;

Kurusu's apologies deteriorate into sobbing. Takuto listens silently, his heart aching for the kid who helped him so much with his research. He swears to himself, right then and there, that he'll do whatever is in his power to end Kurusu's suffering, no matter what.

Here's the first obvious parallel between Maruki and Akira--they both want to save everyone else. In fact, they believe its their duty to do so, to their own detriment. There's another parallel in here too, with Maruki feeling like he owes Akira for how much he's helped him in his research. I think Akira feels the same way about owing people, since his confidants are all structured as give-and-take deals.

More creaking steps. A squeaky door opens and shuts. Kurusu sighs softly. "I took us back down to the bathroom. I don't want to wake Mona and…the café isn't exactly…um. Forget it. It doesn't matter."

Takuto sets that aside. It's not important right now that he understand Kurusu's situation, so long as he's comfortable where he's at. "Are you feeling any better, Kurusu-kun?"

"Um. I guess?" A pause. He sighs. "No, not really. I'm not." He sniffs again. His next words are muffled, almost unintelligible. "Ugh, fuck."

Obvious reference to Futaba's bugs is obvious.

Since I'm not sure how clear Akira's side of things is from Maruki's perspective, I'll just explain it here. Akira left to "clean himself up" in the bathroom after crying. In reality, the moment he tried to calm down, he just ended up breaking down all over again and cried for almost five minutes. Eventually he forcibly gathered himself so he could be coherent for Maruki and prevent him from worrying about him too much. Akira is assuming when he goes back upstairs to retrieve his phone that he'll be able to have better control of his emotions now that he's let himself cry for a bit. Him saying "fuck" is when he realizes that's not the case, and he hasn't regained his composure the way he thought he did. He's already on the verge of crying all over again.

"No, it's not–I just. I don't…really…talk to people. Anyone. About this stuff. Or…anything." He pauses. "I just…I mean, last month, I went through hell, and even then, I didn't–I didn't talk to anyone. Because I was fine! It was okay. I was okay. But now I'm just–I'm falling apart, and–" He breaks down again, starts to cry. "Goddammit. I shouldn't be–I'm sorry, I never should have called you."

Akira's partially convincing himself he was fine, of course. Akechi's death was just the straw that broke the camel's back (though it was a really huge straw). In a way, though, he's not lying either, because Akira just. cares more about others than he does himself. He can deal with his own suffering and trauma--its the suffering and death of his friend that breaks him.

Takuto wants something to chew on–something to distract himself from this listlessness he feels just listening to Kurusu, unable to help him in any meaningful, measurable way. He settles for the inside of his cheek.

"ADHD Maruki loves his snacks" but angst.

"He was right there," Kurusu continues, "but I couldn't do anything. And then it was too late, and…it's all my fault. I should have done something. I should have reached out sooner, but I didn't know what to do. Maybe if I wasn't so helpless and stupid I could have stopped him but now he's gone and it's all my fault."

Takuto waits until he's sure Kurusu's finished. "Forgive me if my assumption is incorrect, but this friend…did he take his own life?"

Kurusu laughs, and he hasn't sounded more miserable all night than he does now. "Yeah. Something like that."

Yeah. I mean, that's really the only way for Maruki to understand Akechi's death at this point. Once again, Akira blames himself and unrightfully puts all the responsibility on his own shoulders when the circumstances were out of his control. Remind you of anyone else?

"You don't need to apologize," Takuto repeats. He takes a breath and sits back down on his bed. "I'm terribly sorry for what happened to your friend. It's a horrible thing to lose someone that way. But it's important to accept that sometimes circumstances are out of our control and there's nothing we could have done to save them."

Maruki take your own advice challenge (IMPOSSIBLE!)

Seriously, though, Maruki having a double standard for himself and everyone else, where he breaks every rule he sets for his ideal reality because he is the exception, he is the one who must suffer for the sake of everyone else, is so incredibly interesting and tragic to me and I wanted to explore that here. How it doesn't even occur to him to take his own advice because of course it doesn't apply to him. He's the one who must save everyone, because he's the only one who can.

Of course, that complex of his gets a whole lot worse once he's offered the power of a god.

"What do you think he'd say to you now, if he were here?"

"Um…well." Kurusu sighs. "He'd…tell me to move on. That it's stupid to blame myself and that he made his choice."

"He'd want you to forgive yourself and live on for him, then?"

"Yeah. Yeah, he would."

Maruki, that's an incredibly generous way to put what Akechi would have to say if he saw Akira crying over him. (He's not wrong, though. That is what Akechi would want, even if that's far from how he'd put it himself.)

"You're a very strong young man, Kurusu-kun. You've endured so much this past year, trials you didn't deserve to face. And yet you've triumphed over them every time. That deserves recognition. It's okay to need help. Losing a friend to suicide is not an easy thing to deal with."

"Yeah. I just…" His voice lowers again. "I wish he were still here. I miss him so much."

"I know."

Okay, there's a lot going on here.

First of all--Akira is definitely misinterpreting Maruki's words right here. Maruki means to be saying that Akira's already dealt with so much that its okay to need help, but he's unintentionally supporting the narrative that Akira's been told by so many other adults. "You're so strong and capable and mature, it's incredibly impressive"--and Akira is internalizing this as they have high expectations for me, I can't fail them. He's seen as strong and capable so he's not ever allowed to be anything less. Its another way that the one adult Akira thought he could rely on ends up failing him by putting far, far too much on his shoulders.

This is something Maruki consistently does throughout the confidant by turning the person he should be counseling into his therapist, and later by placing the fate of the world on Akira's shoulders by forcing him to make the decision of which reality to subject the whole world to all by himself. This isn't a choice Akira should be forced to make, and yet Maruki is making him do it anyway, because he sees Akira as the ultimate arbiter of true justice. Akira is seen as incredibly mature and capable for his age by every adult he befriends and they each tell him so, which absolutely cannot be healthy for a sixteen year old kid to hear.

Second of all--"I wish he were still here." There it is. Akira's wish, everyone. The phrasing was entirely intentional. This is how Maruki finds out about Akechi's death. Once he gains access to Mementos and learns what happened in Shido's Palace (likely through Shido's Shadow), he puts two and two together and realizes the "friend" Akira must have been talking about was Akechi. This is how Maruki knew.

And here's the thing. Akira hates being vulnerable already. This phone call was incredibly difficult for him to make as it was. And now, because he talked to his therapist and told him something so deeply personal--that's why Akechi's brought back. That's why he's forced to go through the trauma of 2/2 and let Akechi die all over again. This is Maruki's ultimate betrayal, to use Akira's vulnerability as a weapon against him and hold Akechi hostage.

I believe Maruki when he says he doesn't want to do this to Akira. But that didn't stop him from doing it anyway. Because he believed his reality was worth putting that huge of a burden on Akira's shoulders, one he'll have to live with for the rest of his life. Imagine the toll that's going to put on Akira now. Imagine how much more difficult it'll be for him to talk to anyone about his problems ever again, for fear it'll be used against him like Akechi was. For fear he might put his friends in danger simply for the sin of opening his mouth and daring to be vulnerable.

Takuto gets up to refill his water glass in the meantime. While digging in the fridge, he ends up grabbing a beer too.

This is a reference to that one cut scene that implies Maruki may be something of an alcoholic. "Ends up" was intentional phrasing--Maruki doesn't see it so much as an active choice. He needs it to cope.

Takuto wishes he could do something, anything, to help him. But even with his powers, not even he can bring back the dead.

✨ Foreshadowing ✨

He finds himself in his office. His research paper is sitting here on the desk, already printed out. This is all he has–that, and his powers, which are currently limited and mysterious, but with the proper research might be able to grow into something that could help so many more than the very few he's helped so far. If only he had the resources to actualize it.

He has to find a way to help people like Kurusu and his lost friend. What he has now isn't much, but it's something, and he's determined to turn it into something more. Something that can save everyone from their suffering for good.

Takuto finishes off a third beer bottle. "I swear it, Kurusu-kun, on my own life," Takuto whispers. "I'll save you and all your friends."

Obvious foreshadowing is obvious. Once again, this is Maruki doing the exact thing he told Akira he shouldn't do--place responsibility on his own shoulders for other people's suffering.

"All your friends" is very intentional phrasing as well. He's including Akechi in that. He doesn't know how yet, just that he has to...well...try to save everyone.

Speaking of the title, its referring to both Akira and Maruki. Akira feels he should have been able to save Akechi, while Maruki feels he must save Akira and everyone else. The title was really what tied the whole one shot together. I realized what the title had to be while thinking about the one shot in the shower, and that's when I discovered what thematic throughline was. It retroactively justified my arbitrary decision to have the one shot be from Maruki's perspective (I initially thought it would just be an interesting experiment since I've never written anything from his perspective before). This one shot is about how Maruki does the exact thing Akira feels he should do. Its about how they're thematic foils, and yet similar in so many fundamental ways. It foreshadows their ideological struggle in the third semester and how they're driven by such similar motivations. And how easily Akira could have become like Maruki if he'd been alone.

[imraespace]

the word lethargic just brought me back to ap eng from last year….. my teacher always valued “elevated diction” when writing like mf WHY AM I WRITING IN SHAKESPEARIAN ?? but ithink its better to be more like IDK HIW YOUR ENGLISH EXAM WORKS BUT WE HAD TO WRITE AN ESSAY BASED ON THE PASSAGE GIVEN (WITH ANNOTATIONS) + AN ANALYSIS OF A POEM OF CHOICE i … i did better than most ppl but it was smth else idk i feel like writing an essay in an hour and 30 isnt enough for me idk…. HELP 🙏💔

BUT U GOT THIS POOKIE I HEARD LIKE YOU CAN BUILD ON YOUR VOCAB THROUGH READING SO TECHNUCALLY YOU CAN ROT ON TUMBLR AND GO FIND THOSE 50k+ WORD FICS (go to ao3 i guess…..) HELPME

- 🐙

HELP IKR WHERE AM I GONNA USE THESE BIG WORDS like yeah better for your essays.. BUT IT PISSED ME OFF WHEN MY TEADHER IIS LIKE yall supposed to know that *speaks in same broken english* 😒 DO WHAT YOU PREACH GIRL YOURE THE SAME ONE ON GOOGLE😒😒😒

THAT SOUNDS LIKE ENGLISH B IVER HERE there's english a which is like grammar errors, similes, personification uhh answering poem question and comprehension questions THATS FOR PAPER 1 we get two papers for all subjects besides like Spanish anyways paper 2 for English a is storying writing, summarizing a story or sum, uhh letter writing and an essay!

english b is stuff like writing an essay based of a book or play ir described this certain character or sum idk I don't do english b anymore bc it's not a subject in business studies😊

LMAO IKR but I gotta read those old books..

[sordidmusings]

THE BITTERSWEET TONE OF THIS HAS ME IN A CHOKEHOLD AND THE SONG CHOICE IS PERFECT FOR IT AND THE SETTING AND AAAAAAAAAAA

You packed so so much into this and somehow it didn’t feel too dense or like I was being assaulted with exposition. I think it’s because there’s a really nice flow to it and you paced it out well after sliding smoothly into it. The switches from explaining reader’s character to reader’s story and such also helped a ton and felt like we were being guided into Sanji’s world and affection with it so SO well done!! You also have a knack for saying a lot with a little which is impressive!!

Def a H U G E recommendation for this❣️❣️ especially if you want a taste of ‘genuine love, wrong place and wrong time’ because life paths and duty are really unforgiving 🥲

As I’m trying to form in habit - annotes below the cut!

What an opening 😩😩😩 and what a very Sanji opening on top of that!! His romanticizing ways and his sweet overwhelm come through first thing and I love it!! You got it all through clearly, potently, and smoothly all in just four lines 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻 and it just keeps that wonderful skill going!

The pairing of Sanji up with someone serious and driven is always a good choice - I mean there do be a reason I love me some Zosan 💀 beyond that someone with his persistence in affection and service is a perfect remedy for anyone who has had a life that has hardened them so. The choice for her to be Vivi’s guard is a fun one too!!! I’m used to seeing reader be some sort of free agent or going after their own goals not being tied so closely to another character who is transient in their story. It’s usually a much more passing connection in those cases and not something so filled with loyalty like this.

“Snapping words at his crew whenever they grew too careless around your princess” I HAVE A NEED TO HAVE SEEN THIS I mean someone really should have been there to put them in line sometimes and it’s ripe for adding humor in their dynamic - like just imagine how reader would react to Luffy decking Vivi 💀💀💀

Oml Sanji wanting to give reader some relief is too gOOD this man really is into service (in both the regular and naughty ways sorry not sorry for stating Facts) so he so WOULD and it warms my heart 🤍 also how you talk about him wanting to “ease that pain and strife” made my brain think of the thing people who have experienced great trauma do where subconsciously they try to fix others because they can’t fix those old hurts they have in themselves and I feel like that’s a thing with Sanji and it’s making me feel too many things 🥲 I also love how opposing their trauma is to Sanji’s - they had to suffer losing a loving family and he suffered losing his family from their own hateful nature, taking the only loving ones from him with it too. Both orphans in their own right from such different places.

SANJI DOWNPLAYING FLIRTING IS SERIOUS STUFF I love this addition because it speaks volumes while being funny at the same time 💀 I also love that the reader “cracking the smallest of smiles” shows that he slowly wore on her over the passage of time 🤍

I AM SO FEEAL FOR THE SHORT CIRCUITING SANJI YOU HAVE NO IDEA I JUST

ALSO READER SHYLY APPROACHING HIM JUST MY HEART 😭 I NEED THEM TO SMACN THEM AT EACH OTHER LIKE TWO DOLLS TO KISS and their teasing flirting is giving me LIFE

You also do a great job at portraying the overwhelming joy and relief and bliss they’d have after such a monumental even as getting their country back and being in the healing rains. That’s a hard thing to do so major props!!

“You laugh in that silvery way of yours” um excuse me what a beautiful phrase how dare you

“You were going to leave him just as he had been gifted your smile and laughter and joyous brightness” uMm exCUSE me what a wonderfully heartbreaking notion how dARE U

Bless dancing challenged readers because I never had an opportunity to learn how to dance and I feel like it’s Too Late now so unless it’s clubbing I ain’t know wtf to do even tho I have rhythm 💀 makes it relatable to specifically me and I am selfish about it sometimes lol

A KISS A KISS A KISS AND NOW ILL CRY IN PAIN WONDERING IF THEYLL EVER SEE EACH OTHER AGAINNNN 😭😭😭

Just For One Dance

Sanji x GN!Reader

Summary: You didn't smile. Didn't laugh. Didn't dance. But when you do, you become Sanji's whole world.

Warnings: Fluffff, some angst, Spoilers for the anime (Alabasta Arc)

Word Count: 1.1K

Song:

September - Instrumental

A/N: I've had this little idea for a whileeee now, and I've been itching to write it, so I hope you all enjoy!!! 🩷🩷🩷

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It was as if the moon had carved itself onto your lips. So bright and shining with a celestial glow that was otherworldly. 

You were smiling. 

You were smiling and it was making it hard for Sanji to breathe. 

The cigarette he had lit seconds ago fell from his lips as he watched you tilt your head up to the sky, arms spread so you could feel every last droplet of rain upon your skin. Tears rolled over the flushed rounds of your cheeks, a laugh bordering on a sob falling from those grinning lips of yours. 

Your laugh--your laugh. 

It was a sound sweeter than honey--richer than the smoothest chocolate. It was a sound that was engraving itself into Sanji’s very mind. One he would not easily forget.

Sanji had known you for a short while now. Had known you ever since the protection of Vivi had been passed from the recently deceased Igaram onto you. 

He knew you were a serious, honor and duty-driven warrior. Knew you didn’t seek any of life's pleasures out for yourself, putting your duties and princess above all else. 

He knew that included any of the special treats or drinks he made for you and the ladies of his crew. Included the simple act of partaking in conversion outside of snapping words at his crew whenever they grew too careless around your princess. Words Sanji himself had been bitten by more times than he could count on both hands for even trying to make a conversion with you. 

Sanji knew you didn’t laugh. Didn’t joke. Didn’t cry or get upset for yourself. Didn’t smile. 

He had wanted to change that ever since he had first laid eyes on you at Little Garden after you had someone managed to track your princess down. 

He had wanted to bring you joy. Had wanted to try and ease that pain and strife waging a war in your eyes. 

He had learned from Vivi what had happened to your family. Your mother and baby sister had been killed during a rather horrid sandstorm. Your father, after joining the royal guard, had been killed in battle. Your brother, very shortly after joining the rebel forces currently opposing Vivi and her father, had been killed during a raid. 

Yet you stayed steady in your loyalty to Vivi, who had become your friend and given you sanctuary as her handmaiden as well as the opportunity to train with Igaram. Yet you sought nothing out for yourself, always giving and protecting. 

So Sanji did what he could to make you feel appreciated. He made sure your meals were prepared with the utmost care and packed with all the protein and nutrients you needed. Made sure to bring you water after hours of sitting in the sun and training. Sanji even tried his hand at downplaying his flirting. At just sitting with you in your silence and even throwing you the occasional joke just so he could see you crack the smallest of smiles. 

It never worked of course. You were a steadfast warrior, one whose serious nature rivaled that of the Straw Hats’ own warrior. 

But here you were, smiling as the rain-soaked you to the bone. Smiling and laughing and crying for your country which had faced so much hardship.

And when you turned that smile onto Sanji, his heart stopped. His brain stopped. The soft hush of the rainfall around them and the voices of his crew fell away until all he could hear was you.

He watched you approach him with a carefulness he wanted to tell you wasn’t needed, but his throat had run dry--words catching and faltering under your stunning beauty. 

A calloused strong yet gentle hand smoothed over his, slowly interlocking fingers in a soft hold. Some semblance of sense came back to Sanji then, his fingers tightening their hold around your hand and feet moving him closer into your joy-filled presence.

“Dance with me?” You asked, eyes turning away from his in yet another emotion you had yet to gift him. Shyness. 

“I thought you didn’t dance?” Sanji teased, leaning ever closer. 

He wanted to be near you--needed to be near you. It was a feeling so strong it had a hold on his physical body. 

You rolled your eyes at his tease, but that smile never once drooped. 

“I told you I wouldn’t dance with you until the rains fell for my home again.” You said, voice cracking in your over-flowing happiness. Your light-filled eyes glanced upward once more, your smile only growing. “I could be mistaken, but I believe it’s raining now.” Sanji’s own laugh flew from his chest, gaining those watery, joy-filled eyes once more. 

“I believe it is.” He pulled you carefully against his body, his own hand guiding yours to lay on his shoulder. 

“I must warn you though. I am a horrid dancer.” You laughed in that silvery way of yours, pulling your body flush against Sanji’s. “I am but a lowly soldier.” 

“And I am but a lowly pirate. What brilliant dance partners will we make for each other.” You watched Sanji was a long moment. Watched him as your eyes softened and your smile grew warm. A softness and warmth meant only for him. Warmth that wormed its way into Sanji’s heart and would stay there until death was kissing his brow.

Just as Sanji’s hand found purchase on the small of your back, the voice of your princess came floating closer. A voice that had your smile faltering and that seriousness filling your eyes. You were going to leave him just as he had been gifted your smile and laughter and joyous brightness. 

Sanji held you closer against his body--leaned in closer so that his nose was just a breath away from kissing your own. Your eyes widened and that shyness Sanji had instantly loved upon its first arrival bloomed over your face. 

“Let's be selfish. Just for one dance.” You blinked at him. And blinked and Sanji was sure you would pull away from him. 

“Just for one dance.” You agreed, your smile growing once more and setting Sanji’s heart ablaze. 

The rain was your music and the beat of your heart against his guide. 

You may have been true to your word about your dancing abilities, but it hardly mattered to Sanji. Not when you hooked your arms around his neck, resting your forehead against his. Not when your smell, like the very rains falling around you, filled his nose and sent his head spinning. Not when after moments of lovely quiet in each other's arms, you showed him one last gift.

You gifted him a kiss. A smiling kiss he was more than eager to gift right back.

Tags: @fanaticsnail , @lostfirefly

[froggibus]

Valentine's Day HCs - Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, Duke Thomas, platonic! Damian Wayne

Includes: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, Duke Thomas and platonic! Damian Wayne

Summary: how your fave batfam member would treat you on valentine's day

CW: gn! reader, some are a little ooc cause its my first time writing them, fluff and sweetness all around, dames is strictly platonic!!!

another part to my valentine's hcs!! if you guys enjoyed this, consider checking out some of the other ones!

Valentine's 2023 Masterlist

————

Bruce Wayne:

probably one of the only nights you can actually convince him to take a break and pay attention to you

(read: Alfred would ground him for weeks if he forgot to do something nice for you)

leaves you a big gift box on your bed stuffed with fancy tissue paper and a little card 

it just says ‘wear me’ and when you unwrap it it’s a super formal outfit 

Bruce doesn’t tell you where he’s taking you until he shows up at your house in one of his cars, holding a dozen roses 

he ends up taking you to his private airstrip in Gotham 

he flies you to Monaco and takes you to a restaurant you always wanted to try!! 

and since you’re away from Gotham, the press isn’t even bothering you

after dinner, he takes you to a nice speakeasy for drinks and dessert 

he even turns his phone off so that he can focus on you 100%

you guys stay the night in a penthouse suite above Monaco 

“I know I don’t always have a lot of time for you, but I hope you know that I do really love you.”

Dick Grayson:

this man is CHEESY I’m sorry 

like he goes all out and he’s not even embarrassed about it 

probably asks you to be his Valentine in like a cute promposal-esque way

he’s somewhere between between Bruce and Jason on Valentine’s plans 

like he doesn’t want to go all out to all these fancy places, but he doesn’t want to just do a date at home 

so he ends up taking you ice skating!! 

(unrelated but I HC him as a really good figure skater)

holds your hands the whole time and does like some cutesy couples skate 

also he definitely shows off what a good skater he is and does some cool gymnastics moves 

after skating, you guys go through a walk through the park 

he takes you to get some yummy street food and hot chocolate too 

“Thanks for always sticking out the good and the bad with me, y/n. Whenever you’re with me, I feel like there’s nothing I can’t do.”

Jason Todd:

I feel like this man is secretly super romantic 

he doesn’t really like big crowds and don’t even get him started at fancy restaurants where the portion is way too small 

also he’s a big softie so he probably plans something super intimate for you guys

picks up a copy of his favourite book and annotates his favorite passages 

and writes little stories and things he loves about you in the margins 

he invites you over to his place to cook dinner for you

has a playlist of your favorite music playing while he cooks

definitely something super yummy and comforting!! 

he gives you the book after dinner while he waits for dessert to be done

you guys eat dessert and cuddle on the couch and talk about books and movies 

he would definitely dance with you in the living room too!

like cute dorky dancing where you stand on his feet and just kinda sway around the room 

“I’m pretty sure you know how I feel about people, but y/n? You make me think not everyone is so bad.”

Tim Drake:

he is definitely the type to not care about Valentine’s Day 

anytime someone brings it up he has to go on this tangent about how it’s not a real holiday 

however, if his partner cares about it, he can put his own feelings behind him and suck it up for the day

definitely stays up for several days trying to plan out a perfect for you guys

but since he’s so tired he ends up sleeping in past when he’s supposed to pick you up :((

you don’t mind tho because Tim sleeping is a gift in itself lmfao 

he scrambles to get ready and picks you up not much later than he was supposed to 

he takes you to a super cute video game cafe 

you guys get some yummy drinks and cute little heart shaped cookies and snacks 

and then you guys hop on the computers to play some games!! 

he probably plays some fun little coop games with you so that you can actually spend quality time together 

takes you home and you guys just relax on the couch and watch tv 

(Tim definitely watches Criminal Minds and relates a little too much to Spencer Reid)

“I know I said I don’t really care about Valentines and honestly I don’t but I know you do and I know it’s not a lot but I just really wanted to give you the date you deserve.”

Stephanie Brown:

this is HER holiday 

like it might as well be St Steph Day

she has MAJOR plans for the two of you

and she definitely asks you to her Valentine with this cute little homemade Valentine she made just for you

she brings her camera with new film because she’s going to take so many pictures!! 

probably coordinates her outfit to yours just so you guys look all cute and matching

she takes you to a light dinner first, probably like sushi or ramen or something 

and then you guys go to a special Valentines concert in the park!! 

of course Steph knows all the songs and all the choreography 

she dances all goofy and tries to get you to dance with her too! 

sends you copies of all the pictures she takes after and posts them on her Instagram with a cute caption like

“Best Valentine’s Date Ever!! y/n truly is the loml !”

Cassandra Cain: 

she’s probably never celebrated Valentines before

just never did as a kid and then never had any interest as an adult 

but you seem so excited about it that she wants to try 

she definitely goes to Steph and Barbara for advice on what to do for you

and of course her girls have her back!! 

she’s really shy when she asks you, but she decides to go the simple route and straight up asks 

she’s so relieved when you say yes!! 

she gets you a potted plant instead of flowers cause she doesn’t really get the point of getting you something that’ll die soon 

she packs you guys a really nice picnic and the two of you go for a hike by her favorite spot 

there’s a really nice waterfall up there and some dry rocks where she spreads out a picnic blanket 

the two of you snack on the food she brought and just chat 

you’re honestly really touched that she was thinking about you this Valentine’s Day and wanted to do something special for you 

“I know it’s not much, but it’s my first time celebrating and I really wanted to do something nice for you.”

Duke Thomas:

he’s super nervous to be celebrating your first valentines together

and knowing him he just has to make it perfect 

he’s probably had his dinner reservation for like a month at least 

picks up a bouquet of your favourite flowers too (bonus points cause he gets them from a local florist instead of a supermarket) 

spends hours and hours picking out the perfect outfit too

probably calls Steph and asks for her advice on his outfit, cologne, his gift for you etc. 

is at your house ready to pick you up super early 

waits as long as you need to get ready and his jaw DROPS when he sees you 

all flustered and shy and stumbles over his words while he tries to compliment you!!

he definitely relaxes a little on the way to the restaurant

by the time you’re eating, you guys are making easy conversation and by dessert he’s holding your hands across the table <3

insists you guys go for a walk after dinner to look at the stars !!

“so, how did I do? did I nail it?”

Damian Wayne:

he is a complete stranger to the concept of Valentines 

And much like Tim he simply does not care 

however his teacher makes them make little mail boxes in school and teaches them about the history of the holiday 

and he gets a bit of a heavy heart realizing this is something normal kids do and he just really wants to fit in even if he’ll never admit 

which is what leads him to you the day before Valentine’s Day 

and of course you can’t say no to him because he’s being vulnerable with you and he’s just so fragile :((

that’s how you end up taking him to the craft store to pick up foam and ribbons and glitter glue and stickers 

the two of you sit down at the table and get to work making cute little heart shaped valentines for all of his classmates 

he probably handwrites a message on each of them individually 

things like “I tolerate you” and “you’re not the stupidest person in our class”

the spirit is there lol 

Steph and Dick definitely join in and help you guys make them at some point 

and Alfred makes sure you guys have snacks and drinks the whole time 

at school the next day he’s so nervous to give them out but when he gets his first ever Valentine he’s so happy !!

and when he gets home you’re waiting there with the rest of the family with more Valentine’s for him!! 

pretends he doesn’t care but he’s smiling and blushing and hides them in a shoebox in his closet

he looks at them whenever he’s sad :((

“As stupid as Valentines are, thank you, y/n, for helping me join in this year”

pretends he doesn’t care but he’s smiling and blushing and hides them in a shoebox in his closet

[wuahae]

✶ seventeen, after it all ends.

post-breakup hcs, ft. hip hop unit

-> performance | vocal

the phone rings at 2AM, and seungcheol immediately knows it's you. it's becoming all too familiar, he laments distantly—the neon numbers blinking on his bedside, the three rings he lets pass before inevitably answering on the fourth, the voice that greets him on the other end of the line. ("hi, cheol," you utter quietly, and it's like he's back at the starting line, still gathering up the courage to tear himself away.) he wants to blame his lack of resilience on the hour, the repeatedly promised 'one last time,' but seungcheol knows he ends up here every single time because he would rather you cry with him than alone. he's not anything to you anymore, seungcheol tells himself, but he can taste the lie before it even forms on his tongue, the way it tangles itself between late night calls and quiet words and—("i'm sorry, cheol," the nickname feels like a mottled bruise, a confession tumbling soon after. like defeat in the admittance. "i didn't know who else to call." you always sound so hurt when seungcheol hears you speak; he wonders if it's his fault.) seungcheol knows better than anyone that he can't keep doing this with you, that it's unhealthy and you both need to move on, that he can't keep letting things linger as a pitiful attempt to ease his guilt, but old habits die hard; seungcheol wonders if this is just becoming another.

wonwoo finds an old note you'd written a week after, tucked away into a borrowed book you'd forgotten to take back. it wasn't anything special or profound, just a little bookmark put for a future-him to find, "this made me think of you," scrawled on the sides and in the margins and page numbers for passages you thought he would like. the annotations speak in a language all by themselves, care crafted into each word, each stroke, and somehow, he sees you in it all. (how had you put it again? like it was memories permanently inked into paper, a version of yourself you could always come back to.) they say that to love is to lose, and that grief is just love with no place left to go, but wonwoo can't seem to care about the accuracy of poetry and prose when he is still mourning of someone lost to him forever. ("don't be a stranger," you had reminded him softly, the day you left, but you both knew it was all wishful thinking than an actual promise. in the end it would all be the same— a forced blank slate, a version of himself grappling with a soul still shaped like you.) wonwoo supposes it's a little too late to feign ignorance and give the book back to you, lovenote tucked back in; it would be cruel for him to insist on making you revisit a past scratched and scribbled and thrown away. he runs a hand over the paper, ink under skin, heart in throat, and closes the book. even if he came back it would never, ever be the same.

mingyu can't hear anything over the roaring of his ears. he can't remember much from the night either, something about his lost phone he probably left on the uber here, fumbling favors from a nearby stranger, something else distant and fuzzy that lead him to sitting on the curb outside waiting for—"mingyu." (oh. it's you.) your voice strikes clean through the fog, but mingyu only manages to utter your name; the muffled bass playing from inside the bar still thrums in his bones. you sigh quietly, taking a seat next to him, arms touching. (it burns, the forgotten familiarity. "let's get you home, okay?" you nudge gently, and mingyu has to remember that home doesn't mean the same thing to you anymore.) it isn't until you're parked outside of his apartment that you ask the burning question ("why did you call me?") and he answers truthfully ("your number was the only one i remembered."). your eyes flicker with the confession and he almost wants to take it back, his secrets displayed raw, but hidden truths already start to spill out of mingyu's mouth, things he's been wanting to say for months. (i'm sorry," he ends up saying, eventually. "i really loved you, you know?" he thinks he still does.) some would call it drunken courage but mingyu thinks it's just his sober cowardice instead. maybe if he had said it when it mattered, 'home' would still be you.

it's been two months, and vernon still hasn't figured out how to break the news. he practices it in his head more times than he can count, drafting and erasing and rewriting the right words to tell his family that you and him are over, but it all falls flat the minute he tries to get them past his lips. some days he gets close, the first few words spoken before his mom interrupts asking how you are; other days, the words die before they even have the chance to form, all amounting to a wooden tongue, a puff of empty air. his sister knows, vernon thinks, the way she shoots him a look half-pity half-judgement every time he tries to bring it up. maybe you were the one to tell her, or maybe she had just figured it out all by herself, but it comforts him, in a strange way—like he's not alone in his unintentionally kept secret. ("dad wants to know if you're able to come over for christmas," vernon tells you over the phone, and the line goes silent. vernon winces, already anticipating what comes after. "have you..." you start carefully, "...not told them?") a part of him wants to say that it's all a matter of luck and timing, that he just hasn't found the right time and he'll do it soon, he promises, but the rest of him knows that it's all just excuses. (vernon is scared, he thinks, still trying to stall the sinking feeling that there truly is no coming back after he tells his family. it feels more like admitting it to himself, carving it into stone, cementing it into the ground where his love lies buried.) vernon says that his biggest problem is figuring out how to break the news, but really, it's figuring out how to let you go.

[bethanydelleman]

Knightley isn’t the Secret Villain of Emma

The book Jane Austen, the Secret Radical by Helena Kelly has been haunting me despite the fact that I’ve never read it and I probably won’t because everything I hear is wild. Theories from that book come up in discussions a lot.

Anyway, I would like to address the author’s theory that Mr. Knightley is actually the villain of the novel, marrying Emma just to he can enclose land and become more powerful/wealthy. Also, he caused the turkey theft by making people poorer. There is a argument against this theory here and, by the excellent John Mullen: here.

So firstly, this goes against everything we know about Mr. Knightley’s character. He shows concern for everyone, especially the poor, and he respects people of the lower class, such as Robert Martin. We see many examples of this, the Bates being a prime example. He sends his last apples to Miss Bates and offers his own carriage for the Bates and Jane Fairfax to go to the Coles. (This also proves he can use his carriage if he wants to). The most dramatic point of the book is him scolding Emma for being unkind to someone poorer than herself!

Secondly, there are still common fields, it’s right in the book: if one is blown over in the bleak part of the common field there will be the other at hand. I dare say we shall be all safe at Hartfield before midnight (Ch 15).

Thirdly, I don’t see how this is evidence at all of Knightley having evil plots:

“True, true,” cried Mr. Knightley, with most ready interposition—“very true. That’s a consideration indeed.—But John, as to what I was telling you of my idea of moving the path to Langham, of turning it more to the right that it may not cut through the home meadows, I cannot conceive any difficulty. I should not attempt it, if it were to be the means of inconvenience to the Highbury people, but if you call to mind exactly the present line of the path.... The only way of proving it, however, will be to turn to our maps. I shall see you at the Abbey to-morrow morning I hope, and then we will look them over, and you shall give me your opinion.” (Ch 11)

Knightley is talking to his own brother, among family. We have absolutely no reason to believe he is lying. In his annotated Emma, David M. Shapard points to this same passage as an example of Mr. Knightley’s thoughtfulness to the local people. If anything, this makes him an ideal, not a villain.

Fourthly, like, theft happens people. In every society all the time. Poultry are smallish and stupid and easy to steal. And to blame Knightley for poverty when even Jesus admitted that poverty will literally always exist? One man can only do so much!

Finally, Jane Austen does mention enclosure in her novels, indicating she’s not scared to bring it up, and which character does it? John freaking Dashwood. When telling his sister why he is so poor, John says, “The enclosure of Norland Common, now carrying on, is a most serious drain [to his finances].” (Ch 33, Sense & Sensibility) Of course he’s not poor; he also does not engage in charity at all, not even when he makes a deathbed promise to his father. If you read both of these novels and somehow took away that Knightley is another John Dashwood than... I mean honestly I don’t even know what to say.

But it’s also unclear in S&S if Austen though enclosure was a bad thing. Henry Dashwood, the girl’s father, seems to me to be presented as a good man, and he might well to have been planning enclosure as well:  

Mr. Dashwood’s disappointment was, at first, severe; but his temper was cheerful and sanguine; and he might reasonably hope to live many years, and by living economically, lay by a considerable sum from the produce of an estate already large, and capable of almost immediate improvement.

Which leads me to believe that the real crime of John Dashwood was to complain to his impoverished sisters, not necessarily the enclosure itself. He’s claiming poverty while doing something to make himself more wealthy.

Either way, however Jane Austen actually viewed enclosure, I don't know how you can read Emma and decide that the thoughtful, caring, polite, and truth-telling Mr. Knightley, who gives up his actual home to live with Emma and her father, is somehow the villain.

Additional Note: I am pretty disinclined to believe anything in the book Secret Radical because of her argument that Fanny bought a knife for Betsey to protect her from the abuse of Mr. Price. Which is.. just insane. I really doubt either Susan (14) or Betsey (5) could fight off a former Marine Officer with a pen knife, even if that was how child abuse worked... but also none of the Price children ever act like they are afraid of their father. He yells at the boys once to zero effect and then they come and make noise right in front of him... Anyway, I'm just addressing the Knightley thing because it comes up a lot online now.