#i am made up of guilt and crushed dreams

[pleasesendfrogs]

TW: transphobia, suicide mentions, ableism, racism, basically everything horrible white people created.

ever since i was little, i knew that i was different. i knew the way that my brain worked was unique. i knew the way that i acted was odd. i was different.

i loved the way that teachers said "everybody is unique!" because it made me feel like maybe, just maybe, i wasn't wrong. it only took a little while for me to realize that "everybody" didn't include me.

i knew i was a girl, but i didn't want to be. not in the sense that i didn't want to do stereotypical little girl things, i did, oddly enough, but in the sense that i was not a girl. maybe i was a boy, i thought, but maybe i was something else.

i came out as queer at age eleven. i was young, but i knew that i loved women and that i shouldn't love women. my mother took it well, although she thought it was a phase. my dad, an autistic, emotionally unavailable man didn't want "that life" for me.

i questioned my gender for the entirety of middle school, but when a child less than a year younger than me came out as transgender, their father killed himself. i decided to drop any idea of being trans.

i wore a pride flag to school one day as a protest.

i was scared, and i kept it in my bag mostly, but during the morning, i had it over my shoulders like a cape; i was a superhero. apparently superheros aren't invulnerable to slurs and rocks being thrown at them, because that night i attempted suicide for the first time in my life.

i watched as people purposefully misgendered trans kids. i watched as parents came to school board meetings, arguing that the sixteen year old with crippling dysphoria was going to cause their children to turn gay. i watched as the child whose father killed himself said that it was just a phase, he couldn't be gay. i watched as slurs were written on bathroom walls and before i knew it, i was the only queer kid left at my school; everyone else had left.

i ignored any questions i had about who i was; i lost my identity. i was a graveyard of hopes and dreams for a normal life. still, no matter how hard i tried, no matter how many masks i wore, no matter how many jokes i made, i was not normal.

i became popular. i was openly queer, and although some people still yelled at me for it, still threw things, most people ignored it. in return, i ignored the slurs about trans people. i ignored the red-necked, white teenagers as they compared trans people to nazis. i ignored the hatred. i ignored it until a black hole formed in my gut. i ignored it because they weren't saying it about me, no, they said i was "one of the good ones," and at least i wasn't trans, because maybe being gay could be forgivable to the lord, but not being trans, never that.

the black hole grew and it sucked up every ounce of dignity i thought i had. it swallowed and grew until there was nothing left of me, i was the black hole.

and when i lost my popularity, when i realized it was just a ploy to make them feel better about themselves, i accepted it. i became the black hole.

i grew to become something they hated, something unforgivable.

[tini5]

In Paris, With You...

Pairing : Drew Starkey x Reader

Summary : What starts as a playful tease from your best friend, Timothée about a crush quickly turns into an unforgettable night. Being invited to the Loewe fashion show in Paris, leads you to get tangled in your sheets with Drew.

Themes : Fluff/Smut

Word Count : 4346

Note : I am apologizing in advance bc it's my first time writing a fic that long, along with first attempt at writing smut and for drew in general!!! I tried my best, even tho i think i wrote more about timmys and taylors relationship i hope you enjoy!! Not proofreaded!!

"I wish you would get invited to Loewe’s fashion show in Paris,” Timothée said, his lips curling into a playful smile as he picked at a piece of sushi on his plate. The familiar hum of the restaurant around you made the moment feel even more personal, like the world outside was a distant dream, a comfortable quiet between you, only interrupted by the clinking of plates as the waiter brought over a fresh round of sushi. 

Your place—our place, you thought—was a small, hidden sushi restaurant in New York, a cozy spot where you two came to unwind, laugh, and share stories you couldn’t share with anyone else. It was a place you and Timothée had claimed as your own since your careers first took off. A lot has changed since then. Starring in Luca Guadagnino’s movie “Challengers” and seeing your career take off at just 22, was truly amazing.  

He leaned in with a mischievous glint in his eyes, narrowing them at you like he was about to reveal a grand secret. “That way, you could meet your lover boy,” he teased, adding a dramatic hand movements with his chopsticks.

You rolled your eyes, but there was no hiding the flush creeping up your neck. “You want me to go to Loewe’s show just because of Drew starkey? I don’t even like him like that.”

Timmy raised an eyebrow, the smirk widening. “Lies, lies, lies,” he sang, his voice dripping with mock accusation. You hated how well he knew you—sometimes better than you knew yourself.

“Whatever,” you muttered, stabbing at your own sushi defensively as you put down your chopsticks. “Do you know who’s the brand ambassador of Loewe?”

The shift in Timothée’s expression was instant, his face scrunching up in a mix of guilt and annoyance, as if he knew exactly where this conversation was heading. He sighed dramatically, but before he could stop you…-

“The most gorgeous woman you fumbled because of you know who – the one who shall not be named,” you said, letting the word her hang in the air, dripping with emphasis.

There was no need to explain further. He knew exactly who you meant. You watched as his shoulders sagged slightly, but the smirk stayed on his face, though now it was more resigned than mischievous.

“Low blow,” he muttered, and you both burst into laughter, the memory of his ill-fated relationship hanging between you like a shared joke.

Who knew that Timothée’s big mouth could sense the future? But here you were, sitting in a car, watching the skyline of Paris blur past as you headed toward Loewe’s fashion show. It was almost too surreal, the memory of that sushi restaurant conversation lingering in the back of your mind.

You glanced over at Timmy, who was typing something on his phone, his thumb moving in rapid, practiced motions. He looked up for a second and grinned. "See? I told you. Here we are, ready for your lover boy," he teased, leaning back in his seat, eyes glinting with mischief.

You couldn’t stop the eye roll that followed. "I swear, you have an obsession with that phrase. But we don't even know if he'll be there."

"You hope he’ll be there," Timmy quipped, nudging your shoulder playfullly.

You tried to suppress a smile, but it was useless. Yes, you hoped. Drew Starkey had become a quiet fixation in your mind—there was something about him that you couldn’t shake off. Maybe it was his blue eyes, his charisma, his –

Your hands smoothed over the fabric of your dress, custom-made by Loewe, every stitch and detail meticulously crafted to perfection. Jonathan Anderson had made sure it reflected not only the brand’s style but also you—soft yet bold, striking but elegant. You looked stunning, and you knew it. 

The car ride felt both too long and too short, your mind spinning with what-ifs. Timmy, noticing your quiet, serious for once, put his phone away and turned to face you. "Hey," he said gently. "We can ditch it if you want. No fashion show and no boy is worth you eating your nerves over."

You smiled softly at him. That was the thing about Timothée—he knew when to be playful, and he knew when to be serious. He knew you. "I know," you said, your voice quiet but steady. "But I’ll be fine. Besides, you’d be miserable if you missed the after party later.”

Timmy shrugged with a grin. "Yeah, you’re probably right. But seriously, if you want to go, we’ll go. If you want to leave, we’ll leave."

You appreciated that more than you could say, but instead of responding, you looked out the window. The car slowed to a stop, and the reality of the situation hit you. The cameras, the people, the flashing lights—it was all waiting just outside.

"Ready?" Timmy asked, holding out his hand like a knight in shining armor.

You took a deep breath and nodded, slipping your hand into his. "As ready as I'll ever be."

The fashion show itself was a whirlwind. Lights, camera flashes, the hum of conversation blending with the soft music in the background. But amidst the glamour, you were determined to keep your distance from Drew. Every time you caught a glimpse of his tall frame, you did your best to blend into the crowd and focus on the runway.

Timothée, couldn’t resist teasing you about Drew, his playful remarks making it even harder to stay composed. Despite your heart fluttering every time you heard his soft laugh, you managed to keep your cool, or at least you hoped you did.

The show itself was a visual feast, with stunning outfits by Loewe that left everyone in awe. Timothée was in his element, charming everyone he spoke to, effortlessly gliding through the crowd. Yet, you could tell he was also trying hard to avoid running into Taylor Russell. 

You couldn’t miss how his eyes flickered toward her now and then, a flash of something in his expression that only you could read. But you gave him space, knowing that whatever was going on between them was its own delicate web.

You exchanged polite smiles and laughed at jokes, did your best to keep up but your thoughts always circled back to one thing: Drew Starkey.

You both succeeded in your mission during the show. But as the show came to a close and the after-party beckoned, the sense of triumph was short-lived. 

The after-party was a different beast altogether. And there, at the heart of it, was Drew Starkey, mingling with his entourage and catching your eye from time to time. Despite your best efforts, you felt the electric pull of his gaze, the gravity of his presence impossible to ignore.

Timmy noticed, of course. "We can leave, you know, get a take out" he offered again as you both stepped into the car. But you shook your head, determined now. “Then stop worrying. He is not going to eat you.” Teased Timmy. 

Then it happened. As you sat at the table with Timothee, you saw Taylor Russell make her way through crowd. 

You quickly turned to Timothée, a note of urgency in your voice. “Timmy, don’t panic, but she’s coming over.”

Timothée’s eyes widened slightly as he turned to look at Taylor. His usual nonchalance faded into a look of mild panic. “You’re kidding,” he muttered, trying to keep his cool. “Why does she have to pick now to come over?”

And before you knew… - “Hello” – Tension shifted as Taylor greeted you with her ever the sweetest voice. 

“I’m going to grab a drink. I’ll catch up with you later.” you said, your voice carrying a light, reassuring tone. You shot him a quick look, raising an eyebrow. "I’ll kill you if you screw it up," you mouthed playfully, earning a quick smirk from him before you excused yourself to give them some privacy.

Making your way to the bar, you tried not to let your nerves overwhelm you. Just a drink, you thought. Just a quick drink, then I can blend into the background.

“One Cosmopolitan, please,” you told the bartender, just as a familiar voice from beside you made your heart skip a beat.

“It’s on me.”

You turned, and there he was—Drew Starkey, leaning against the bar with a whiskey in hand, looking as effortlessly cool as ever.

Your pulse quickened at the sound of Drew’s voice. He stood next to you, casually leaning on the bar like he belonged there—like he belonged everywhere. His tailored jacket hung off his broad shoulders as though it was designed for him alone. His eyes, that piercing blue you couldn’t forget, caught yours as he smiled—a lazy, confident grin that made your stomach do a flip.

“It’s on me,” he repeated, a little softer, his voice low enough to feel intimate despite the crowd around you.

Your heart stuttered, and for a split second, you forgot how to respond. All those times you’d fantasized about running into Drew Starkey in moments like this and now-  He was right there, buying you a drink, and you felt like a teenager all over again.

“Thank you” you finally managed, forcing the word out without sounding too flustered. But your face betrayed you, the warmth creeping up your neck and settling in your cheeks. You prayed the dim lighting would hide the blush.

The bartender slid your drink in front of you, and you lifted it to your lips, hoping the cool liquid would calm your nerves. But Drew was watching you—really watching you—and that made it impossible to relax. His eyes never left yours, and there was something about his gaze that made you feel both exposed and flattered at the same time.

“You look stunning, by the way,” Drew added, his voice velvety smooth, the compliment slipping out so easily it nearly disarmed you.

You blinked, trying to play it cool, but the way he said it made your heart race. "Thanks," you said again, "You’re not so bad yourself."

Drew chuckled, a deep sound that seemed to ripple through the air between you. His presence was intoxicating, almost as much as the drink in your hand. “I’ve been told,” he joked, his smile widening just enough to show a hint of mischief. Your lips tugged into a grin despite yourself. 

“So," he said, leaning in a little closer, his elbow brushing lightly against your arm as if testing your boundaries, "how are you enjoying Paris?”

A warm smile spread across your face, and you took a moment to gather your thoughts. “Paris is... well, it’s like coming home in a way,” you began, your voice tinged with affection. “Even though I grew up in the States, there’s something about this city that just feels incredibly familiar and comforting.”

You took a sip of your cosmopolitan, letting the flavors mingle with your emotions. “It’s the little things, you know? The way the light changes on the Seine, the scent of freshly baked pastries through the streets, It all feels so...Parisian. It’s like stepping into a world that’s both new and deeply personal at the same time.”

Drew’s smile widened, his expression softening, a genuine appreciation in his eyes. “I can see how much this city means to you. It sounds like you’re really embracing the magic of Paris.”

You nodded, a playful smile tugging at your lips“So the Queer, huh?” you asked, your tone light and teasing. Drew’s chuckle was light and warm, making you smile even more. “So the Challengers, huh?”

You both laughed, the easy banter between you making the moment feel effortless and natural. 

“So, how was working with Luca? I know how he gets sometimes.” 

His eyes lit up at the mention of Luca’s name, and you couldn’t help but smile warmly. “Luca is incredible. He’s not just a director; he’s like a creative force of nature. it’s like he has this unique ability to bring out the best in everyone he works with.”

You leaned in slightly, enjoying the conversation. “Oh, absolutely. Luca has this way of making you feel like you’re part of something truly special. I’ve learned so much from him. He’s like a father figure to me.”

Drew’s gaze was warm and appreciative, “Its sweet how full of love you are.”

You felt your cheeks warm at his compliment, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Oh, is that so? But enough about Luca. What about you, Drew? What’s your creative magic like?”

Drew’s smile widened, a playful glint in his eyes. “My magic? Well, I’d say it’s more about finding the right moments to create something special. And right now, I think the real magic is happening here.” He gestured between the two of you with a teasing grin.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “And what makes you say that?”

Drew leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. “Well, I have to say, talking to you is a highlight of my night. You’ve got this incredible energy that’s hard to resist. And I’m not just talking about your career.”

A soft laugh escaped you, and you could feel the flirtatious tension between you growing. “Is that so? I must admit,you’ve got a way of making me feel special.”

Drew’s eyes met yours with a look that was both sincere and playful. “I’m glad to hear that. It’s not every day I get to chat with someone as fascinating and pretty as you”

You felt a flutter in your stomach at his words. “Well, I’m glad I could make an impression” 

Drew’s smile grew, his gaze held yours, But before either of you could continue, the moment shattered.

“Drew? What took you so long?”

Odessa’s voice sliced through the comfortable haze you and Drew had created, and the tension in the air shifted immediately. 

You didn’t have to turn around to know it was her—the sharpness in her tone was unmistakable. Drew’s shoulders stiffened slightly, and though his smile didn’t completely fade, it wasn’t as easygoing as before.

Odessa was stunning, of course—there was no denying that But there was something about her presence that felt... strange. Maybe it was the way she looked at you, her eyes flicking up and down, sizing you up in a single sweep. 

Her expression betraying a hint of impatience. “I was just about ready to head out. Are you not coming?”

Drew turned to her, his face a mixture of apology and concern. “Oh, right. I just got caught up in a conversation here. I’ll be right out in a moment, go wait outside okay?”

Odessa’s eyes flicked to you with a mixture of curiosity and something sharper—perhaps jealousy. She gave you a curt nod. “Nice to meet you.”

You offered a polite smile, trying to keep the interaction friendly despite the underlying tension. “Nice to meet you too, Odessa.”

Drew’s gaze returned to you, and there was a softness in his eyes that made your heart flutter. “I really enjoyed talking with you. I’m sorry –

You nodded, feeling a mix of disappointment and understanding. “It’s okay. I hope you both have a good night.”

Drew’s smile was tinged with regret as he leaned in slightly, his voice low and sincere. “I’ll text you.”

With a final, lingering glance, Drew turned and walked away ,leaving you with a swirl of emotions. You watched him disappear into the crowd before taking a deep breath, trying to calm the fluttering in your chest.

You downed the rest of your cosmopolitan in one go, hoping the drink would steady your nerves. Pulling out your phone, you quickly texted Timothée, letting him know you were heading out.

As you made your way to the Uber pickup area, you could feel the mix of excitement building inside you. Just as you settled into the backseat of the car, your phone buzzed with a new message.

It was from Drew. 

Drew: I couldn’t stop thinking about our conversation. I’d love to continue it… 

You: 44.

You: It’s my hotel room number. 

You: Don’t make me wait. 

The Uber ride back to your hotel was a blur. Your heart hadn’t stopped pounding. 

You leaned your head against the window, watching the lights of Paris blur past as the adrenaline surged through your veins. 

Stepping out of the car and you hurried your way up to your hotel room. Part of you wondered what you were getting yourself into, but the other part—the part that had been down bad for Drew Starkey since the moment you saw him—couldn’t resist the temptation.

And then, finally, not too long after you entered your room, a soft knock was heared.  You froze for a moment, staring at the door, before gathering yourself and opening it.

Drew’s eyes were dark, intense, but his smile was soft, disarming. He stepped inside, the door closing quietly behind him, and suddenly the air between you felt charged, thick with anticipation.

“You really sent me your room number,” he said, voice low, teasing, as he leaned against the wall, watching you with that same amused glint in his eyes.

You shrugged, trying to keep it light, though your heart was racing a mile a minute. “I figured you’d appreciate the direct approach.”

Drew laughed softly, stepping closer, his gaze flicking over you like he was taking in every little detail. “I do,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a near whisper as he reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I really do.”

The touch of his fingers on your skin sent a shiver through you, and before you knew it, you were standing impossibly close, the space between you shrinking with every breath.

“Do you know how hard it was to not look at you all night?” he asked, his voice warm against your skin, his lips just inches away from yours. “You were all I could think about.”

Your breath hitched as his words settled over you, your heart pounding louder in your ears. You looked up at him, eyes wide, and for a moment, all the nervous energy melted away.

“I noticed,” you whispered, barely able to keep the teasing out of your voice.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your cheek, his breath warm against your ear. “Good.”

Before you could respond, his lips found yours, soft but deliberate, like he had been waiting for this moment as long as you had. The kiss was slow at first, testing the waters, but when you kissed him back, everything else melted away. It was just you and Drew, the rest of the world fading into the background as his hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer.

Time seemed to blur as the kiss deepened, your hands instinctively finding their way to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, your lips tingling from the intensity of it all.

Drew leaned his forehead against yours, his breath ragged, his hands still holding you close. "I've wanted to do that for a while," he admitted, his voice low, almost a confession.

You looked up at him, your heart swelling at the vulnerability in his words. "So have I."

Without thinking, you closed the distance between you, your lips crashing into his in a kiss that was nothing like the first—a kiss filled with longing and heat. Drew responded instantly, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you tightly against him. His lips moved over yours with urgency, as if he’d been waiting for this moment for far too long.

You moaned softly into his mouth, and that seemed to be all the encouragement he needed. He backed you toward the bed, his lips never leaving yours, his hands roaming over your body, sending sparks of desire everywhere they touched. You stumbled slightly, your legs hitting the edge of the bed, and you pulled him down with you, the both of you collapsing onto the mattress in a tangled heap of limbs.

Drew’s body hovered over yours, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. His hands, now more confident, slid up the sides of your body, teasing the hem of your shirt before pulling it up and over your head in one smooth motion. The cool air against your skin contrasted sharply with the heat radiating off his body, and you felt a rush of anticipation as his gaze darkened, his lips quirking up in appreciation.

“You’re stunning,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire.

Your breath hitched as his lips found your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. You arched into him, the sensation of his mouth on you sending a wave of pleasure coursing through your body. He worked his way lower, his fingers deftly unclasping your bra and tossing it aside before his lips closed around your nipple, his tongue flicking against the sensitive skin.

A soft moan escaped your lips, and Drew groaned in response, the sound vibrating against your skin. He moved with purpose now, his hands sliding down your sides, tugging at your pants until they were nothing but a heap on the floor. Every touch, every kiss, felt like fire, like he was branding you with his desire.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he whispered against your skin, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver through you.

You reached up, pulling him closer, your lips crashing into his once more. The kiss was frantic now, filled with need and desperation. 

Before you knew it, Drew had shed his own clothes, his body pressed against yours, skin on skin, the heat between you almost unbearable. His hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve, every dip, like he was trying to memorize the feel of you. And when he finally slid his hand between your thighs, teasing you, you gasped, your body arching into him, silently begging for more.

“Drew,” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, laced with need.

He smirked against your lips, his fingers dipping lower, sliding inside you with a slow, deliberate motion that had you seeing stars. You clung to him, your nails digging into his back as he worked you, his thumb circling your sensitive spot, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“God, you feel so good,” he groaned, his voice strained with restraint. “I don’t think I’ll be able to stop…”

“Then don’t”, Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling beneath him, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable level. And just when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, he pulled his fingers away, leaving you aching and desperate for more.

You let out a frustrated whimper, but Drew silenced you with a heated kiss, his body pressing down against yours as he positioned himself between your thighs. The moment stretched out, the anticipation crackling in the air, before he finally pushed inside you, filling you completely. You gasped, your head falling back against the pillows as the sensation overwhelmed you.

Drew groaned low in his throat, his hands gripping your hips as he began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, teasing you, making you crave more. Your hands slid up his back, your nails digging into his skin as you urged him to go faster, your body meeting his with every thrust.

The pleasure built quickly, each movement sending waves of ecstasy coursing through you. Drew’s pace quickened, his breathing ragged in your ear as he drove you both closer and closer to the edge. Your body was a live wire, every nerve ending on fire as he pushed you higher, the pressure building inside you until it was almost unbearable.

“Drew,” you gasped, your voice trembling with need.

He responded with a deep groan, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate as he chased his own release. And then, with one final, powerful thrust, you shattered, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave, your body trembling beneath him as you cried out his name.

Drew followed soon after, his body tensing above you as he found his own release, a deep groan of satisfaction rumbling in his chest. He collapsed beside you, both of you panting, your bodies slick with sweat, still reeling from the intensity of it all.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the room filled only with the sound of your ragged breathing. Then Drew turned to you, a lazy, satisfied smile playing on his lips as he reached out, pulling you against his chest.

“I think I’m gonna need your room number more often,” he murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion and contentment.

You laughed softly, your body still buzzing from the aftermath of everything that had just happened. “I think I can arrange that.”

With that, you curled up against him, your head resting on his chest, your heart still racing as you drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep, the feeling of Drew’s arms wrapped around you the last thing you remembered. 

And just like that, as you drifted into sleep, one thought lingered:

"Sometimes, love isn’t about chasing a fairy tale or clinging to the past. It’s about embracing the unexpected, even if it’s wrapped in a Loewe suit and a pair of smoldering eyes that see right through you."

TMZ_TV : Last night’s Loewe show was nothing short of spectacular! From jaw-dropping designs to unforgettable moments, the runway was on fire. 🔥

🌟 Y/N L/N stunned in a custom Loewe creation by Jonathan Anderson, embodying elegance and innovation. Meanwhile, Drew Starkey’s sleek Loewe suit had everyone talking.

👀 The real buzz? The chemistry between them at the afterparty! The night was filled with high fashion and even higher drama. 💫

Swipe to see the highlights and catch up on the latest fashion gossip! 💃🕺

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────

I am very nervous!! Hope you liked it and i did not disappoint you...

[alwayscorvus]

Waking up from nightmares - Wuthering Waves Characters

Waking up from nightmares - WuWa Characters

malereader x Jiyan/Calcharo/Mortefi/Yuanwu/YangYang/Baizhi (separated), fluff, scenarios;

mxm or mxg; they can be a little out of character;

Yuanwu

You saw it again. Your partner slipping away, on the ground, in your arms. Just because you arrived too late to rescue him.

You couldn't get over it. Your heart started beating like crazy. Tears came to your eyes. And seconds later you woke up. With a headache that was killing you.

You growled angrily at yourself. Again you let yourself be swept away by those awful illusions.

You looked around, but in the darkness you couldn't see what you were looking for. Nor could you sense it. Unsatisfied, you moved closer to other side of a bed. Fortunately, this helped you reach your partner.

You hugged him gently around his waist and he instinctively woke up by that.

When it came to him that you were not an assassin, only his fiancé, he just murmured questioningly.

-I'm sorry - you replied with slight guilt - Bad dream

-I didn't know that boys your age still have nightmares - he said teasingly.

At which you pinched him with a scowling face.

-Oi oi I was just joking - he assured while snorting lightly, really amused by your behavior.

-This old jokes are not really funny

-Maybe for you - he replied trying to light the mood.

After a while, however, he turned towards you and returned the hug.

-Are you all right? - he asked this time with clear concern in his voice.

-Yes, because I am here with you now

Jiyan

At first second you were running through the middle of a battle, escaping from monsters.

And at the next one you were snatching your upper body from a bedsheets scattered all over your tent.

Your eyes were wide open and your mouth gaped.

You don't know how long it took. Seconds, minutes or maybe more.

Eventually, however, you came back to reality. You calmed your breathing and looked around, recalling where you actually were. Still at least a couple of kilometers away from a battlefield.

You threw something over your uncovered shoulders and blindly walked out of a tent.

A small campfire and glow of stars allowed you to see more than just a tip of your own nose. You were deeply grateful for that.

A few steps away, just under a large tree, Jiyan seated himself. As you thought, he had taken over the watch over this part of a camp.

Even though it should be done by someone lower in rank, Jiyan still felt this strange sense of responsibility inside him. A need to be sure that all his comrades were safe.

You used to try to talk him out of it, but over time you got used to it. And at this exact moment you needed something other than an argument.

With a sleepy steps you walked through the separating distance and took place right next to him.

Beaten, you rested your head on his shoulder and closed your tired eyes.

-Bad dream? -he asked just for affirmation.

And you murmured with a nod, snuggling your head more into his body. Trying to find a perfect position and insisting on getting those few more precious minutes of sleep.

Jiyan understood well what you were facing. He himself had experienced it many times. Nightmares only escalated the more you approached your next battle. Memories kept coming back and phantoms of your lost comrades haunted you after nights.

Yet he also knew that there was no way to deal with it.

So he took your hand in his and began to knead it gently. He didn't want to express his feelings too much in public, but at the same time he wanted to reassure you about his presence. Hoping that his support would allow you to relax and drift off. While he kept protecting you both.

Mortefi

-[M/N]! [M/N]! -irritated Mortefi slapped your arm several times. Stubbornly trying to get out of your embrace. He didn't know about what terrible thing you were dreaming, but whatever it was, it made you squeeze him with an unhuman strength. Almost crushing his fragile body.

-[M/N]!

Your heart beat faster.

Suddenly you opened your eyes. Your grip only tightening.

-Mortefi? -you asked hesitantly. Wanting to make sure of his nearness.

-It won't be for long, if some fool doesn't stop suffocating me! - Mortefi hissed with a fake anger in his voice.

And without warning, he flashed with colors of his scales. Thanks for that, even in the darkness, you could see his sulky face for a split second.

-Oh… sorry.

Still not fully awake, though rather sad, you loosened your grip. Mortefi immediately crawled out of your arms and moved to a sitting position.

However, hearing your voice, his heart melted. Real Mortefi instantly returned.

-Can- can I do something for you? -he asked unsurely, angry at himself over how he had jumped on you.

For a moment, he just really felt close to getting broken ribs.

-Oh, no baby no -you assured- Nothing really, don't worry -you suddenly raised yourself on your elbows- Are you alright? Did I hurt you?

Mortefi rapidly shook his head. However, he quickly remembered that with the light off you couldn't see it.

Not wanting to bring up the subject again, he reached out his hands in your direction.

At first contact, his fingers gently brushed your neck. Slowly he moved his hands higher. Stopping on your cheeks. He squeezed them tighter, pulling your head in his direction and laying it on his stomach.

-Are you sure? I don't want to hurt you - you asked slightly heartbroken. At that, Mortefi could almost picture you with imaginary flopped ears.

-Then I'll wake you up again- he assured, quite embarrassed.

-What did you dream about? - he changed the topic.

You just frowned and mumbled, not really wanting to return to that.

-Do you want me to sing for you? - he bit his lip unsurely, recalling situations from the past.

You rapidly nodded your head, and Mortefi laughed lightly at the sensation of your tickling hair.

He grabbed your strands and began to gently play with them. Massaging your head in the process. After a long moment, he began humming a lullaby from his childhood.

Calcharo

You jumped off the bed with a silent scream. Looking straight ahead, you were inhaling air with a greedy gasps. While thick drops of sweat ran down your face, chest was dropping and rising like crazy.

You involuntarily slid your hand out to your right side, in search of help. Instead of the expected warmth of your partner's body, you appeared to come into a contact with the cooling bedsheets.

You rushed with your eyes to the other half of a bed.

Calcharo was nowhere to be seen.

Though still in shock, you made your way to the hallway.

A dim light came from a small kitchen, so you followed its path.

When you crossed a doorway of room, your partner came into a view.

Calcharo was standing backwards. In his hand he was holding a cup with an unidentified drink.

-Care to join me?

He turned towards you. As if completely unfazed by your presence. Even though it happened to you for the first time.

Still hot and overwhelmed with emotion, you looked at him more closely. Despite your distraction, you couldn't help but notice a slightly torn white T-shirt. Signs of overclocking.

-What-… what's that? - you asked hesitantly while slowly stabilizing your breathing.

Man spun around once again. Though this time sideways, to the close stove. He pulled a new cup from a cabinet and turned his attention to a pot from which steam was still floating.

He moved as smoothly as if things that he had just experienced were completely normal for him.

-One of my clients said that hot milk helps. Not that I believe him. But we are wasted anyway.

Baizhi

You were awakened from your nightmare by a gentle shaking. You gritted your teeth and squeezed your eyelids tighter. Trying to banish a sight of fallen comrades from your mind.

-[M/N]? -someone squeezed your shoulder harder.

You pulled yourself up on a bed. Sliding your hand out of a pair of delicate palms. You opened your eyes blinking several times. You could feel something wet slide off your forehead. A cold compress.

-You started to sweat a lot and tremble as well - someone explained monotonously and quietly.

You turned towards direction of that voice. Sight of your girlfriend came into a view. Light of a candle placed on your bedside table was falling on her body dressed-up in your white shirt.

Baizhi looked like she hadn't slept for a fairly long time.

-At first I wasn't sure if it was a nightmare or an illness. But after a long analysis, I came to the conclusion that it was just a bad dream.

You looked at her confused and at the same time slightly offended.

-Just?

Baizhi looked down at her hands, avoiding eye contact. She bit her cheek gently.

You were already about to say something when she got up from her knees and, almost jumping off the bed, ran to the cabinet.

-Herbal tea made with flowers from Taoyuan Vale. It is supposed to help with sleep - she straightened her hands, moving cup closer to you. By doing so, she bowed in traditional way, with expectation of you accepting her gift.

Drink definitely left a bitter aftertaste, but at the same time it strangely calmed you down.

-Thank you, Baizhi - you replied with genuine gratitude. Corners of her mouth gently lifted upward. Not to mention a slight blush on her cheeks.

Yangyang

Frightened, you rose quickly from a bed. Panting heavily. In your head you still saw that chase. Or rather, an escape. In this dream, you were the prey.

You quickly pulled yourself together. You wanted to go right back to sleep, just to avoid waking up your girlfriend.

However, when you were about to rest your back against the mattress once again, something prevented you from doing so. And it wasn't that suspiciously lit bedside lamp. Something was stubbornly squeezing your hand.

You looked to the side. Your girlfriend was kneeling by your bed. Waves of her black hair splashed across your duvet, right next to your body.

-Yangyang? -you asked softly. Girl, however, didn't respond.

You dipped your free hand into her hair and gently stroked her strands. Trying not to get tangled in them, and in the same time awaken your partner. Slowly you repeated her name louder and louder until she finally woke up.

-[M/N]!

She immediately got off the floor and threw herself around your neck, squeezing as hard as she could.

-I was so scared! -she spoke in a shaky voice- I tried so hard to wake you up, but- but I couldn't! And you-. you just…-

Words caught in her throat, she couldn't finish. She began to swallow air and tears greedily.

Worried, you squeezed her torso, pushing her back by a short distance.

-Hey, babe. I'm completely fine, you have nothing to worry about -you assured, stroking her cheek in a calming manner.

You quickly forgot about your nightmare when all your attention got preoccupied with taking care of one tiny soul.

[miumura]

BITTERSWEET DELUSIONS — JAY ONESHOT

— you still exist in jay’s world. you’re still here, he believes, yet he doesn’t want to face the real truth. you’ll still stick with him, right?

pairing ⋆ 𖦹 ‧ best friend!jay x best friend!fem reader

(_ _ ) . . z Z % genre : angst, best friends to ???

warnings : mentions of diagnosis of disorder

feat. ᥫ᭡ : jake (enhypen) | word count : 1.4K (1408 words)

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 — no way, soph is going on a posting streak??? only the proofreaders remember this fic 🙏 LMAO idk why i didnt post this sooner — i kinda forgot about it and would always scroll right past it in my drafts (or i never see it cause i dont scroll that far down) this has been stuck in drafts since may 25 2023 😊 BUT this is finally released !

"Whoever loses has to buy lunch for the other person!" Your words echoed as you sprinted along the sidewalk. Glancing behind, you noticed Jay's bewildered expression while you dashed ahead. The black cat keychain swung side to side with each stride you took.

"That's not fair! You started running first!" Jay remarked, observing your increasing distance with a smirk. As usual, he swiftly caught up, transitioning from being far behind to directly trailing you. His sudden voice surprised you, causing a gasp to escape your lips.

"How did you—?" Before you could finish, Jay leaped onto you, causing both of you to tumble onto the ground. Instead of getting upset, laughter erupted from both of you. Clutching your sides and still pinned beneath Jay, you playfully nudged him aside.

Feigning offense, Jay's expression elicited more laughter from you. He smiled, captivated by your radiant smile and how you wiped away tears of joy. He wished he could witness this pretty sight every day.

"Shall we start over?" you proposed, smirking once more.

Beep Beep.

Jay's eyes shot open, startled by the sudden sight. He gasped for air, his heart racing. Anxiously, he fumbled for the towel placed beside his bed, using it to dab away the sweat clinging to his forehead. Tossing it back in place, he sat on the edge of the bed, feeling a sense of emptiness wash over him.

Oh how he could wish he could start over with you.

With groggy eyes, he tries to make out the numbers on his digital clock.

9:15 AM.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. He had another dream about you, a bittersweet one. Or, should he call it a nightmare? Every time he dreams about you, a wave of guilt crushes over him, even if it’s not his fault. Staring at the blank expanse of his white wall, he reluctantly rose to begin his day.

Jay made his way to the bathroom, methodically rolling up his sleeves. As he turned on the tap, he cupped his hands to splash water on his face, revitalizing his senses. Wiping the water off his face, he noticed a new notification on his phone. Curiosity piqued, he glanced at the screen to find a text from Jake, compelling him to click and read the message.

“You wanna meet up?”

Grasping his phone, Jay contemplated his response. After thoughtful consideration, he finally typed out his reply, observing the words before hitting send: "Sure, where?" Suddenly, with a plan to hang out and no longer a day filled with nothing, a sigh of relief escaped his lips. Placing his phone on the counter, he resumed his morning routine, knowing that today held a purpose.

Running a comb through his hair, he meticulously arranged each strand, allowing them to gracefully cascade across his face.

It's a hairstyle you adored on him, often playfully brushing the strands away and commenting on how handsome he looked.

As he selects his attire, he opts for a simple combination of beige pants and a brown cardigan, a wistful sigh escaping his lips.

The colors hold a special significance, reminiscent of the times you praised how well they suited him. In an attempt to hold onto a piece of your presence, he chooses to wear lighter shades day after day.

Preparing to leave the house, he reaches for his cologne, spritzing a few times with a bittersweet smile.

Jay recalls how you held strong opinions about his fragrance choices, finding some too subtle and others too overpowering. However, this particular scent held a special place in your heart, and he remembers the joy it brought you. Since you mentioned it, he always made sure to keep that bottle in his possession, a subtle gesture made solely for you.

Exhaustion engulfed him, as the burden of the world settled upon his shoulders, relentlessly crushing his spirit. The weight of it all became insurmountable, rendering him a prisoner within the confines of his own room.

Every breath felt like a futile struggle, an agonizing reminder of the impossibility of escape from the torment inflicted by your absence.

Ignoring his thoughts, Jay steps outside his house, a rush of nostalgia flooding his senses as he inserts earbuds into his ears. The gentle caress of a fresh breeze momentarily grants him a fleeting sensation of freedom, but it quickly gives way to a surge of overwhelming emotions.

Each stride feels burdened, as if his body rebels against venturing into a world that still echoes with your memory, causing a subtle frown to etch upon his face. It serves as a constant reminder of the connection he once shared, amplifying the weight of your disappearance.

Despite knowing deep down that you wanted something better for him, Jay finds himself trapped in the inability to move on. He's trying with all his might, and today is no exception.

As he crosses the bustling streets, a soft, melancholic melody seeps through his earbuds, the gentle beats mirroring the fragments of you slipping away, gradually causing him to lose himself in the process. The sidewalks grow increasingly crowded, forcing Jay to navigate through the swarm of people, squeezing his way past them in a bid to move forward.

Placing his earbuds back into their case, he retrieves his phone and scrolls through his contacts until he finds Jake's name. With a mix of anticipation, he dials the number and brings the phone to his ear, the ringing echoing on the other end. His gaze scans the surroundings, desperately searching for any sign of his best friend's familiar presence.

Amidst the sea of faces, Jay's eyes lock onto a figure in the distance, stirring a glimmer of hope within him. Squinting, he desperately tries to discern the features, momentarily believing it to be Jake. But as he looks again, his heart sinks. It's not Jake; it's someone else entirely. Yet, their back, the way they stand, the clothes they wear—everything resembles you, frozen in time since the day you vanished. His eyes widened in disbelief, momentarily forgetting the call with Jake.

It was you.

There was no denying that that black keychain was yours, you guys had matching ones.

He could spot it anywhere, he knows.

Igniting an urgent determination, Jay pushes through the crowd, disregarding the pleas of his best friend on the other end of the line. He runs closer, his voice cracking as he calls out, desperately pleading for people to clear a path, oblivious to their bewildered gazes and startled reactions.

All that matters in that moment is the possibility of finding you, of reuniting, even if just for a fleeting second.

“Y/N!”

No response.

“Y/N!”

No response still. Just you moving farther and farther from him.

Farther.

and Farther.

He's on the verge of reaching you, his heart pounding in his chest, but among the overwhelming crowds flooding the streets, he loses sight of you. A rasping cough escapes his throat, his vision blurred by tears, and the last glimpse he ever catches is of your retreating back.

All he could see was your keychain, swinging from side to side. But this time, he couldn’t chase after you.

He can’t see your face again, can’t hear your laugh again, and can’t hear you request for another race.

You had won.

You had finally won the race.

So, why do you keep leaving him?

Why can't you simply return and reassure him that everything will be alright?

“Jay? Jay, listen to me.” a voice pierces through the haze, calling him back to reality.

He lifts his gaze from the black cat keychain in his hand, finding his psychologist looking at him with a gentle smile.

Confusion mingles with emptiness as he sits in the suffocating confines of a small room, engaging in a conversation he has no desire to partake in.

"Where's Y/N?" he finally manages to utter, his voice tinged with desperation, causing a slight frown to crease the psychologist's brow.

"She's not here anymore, Jay," the psychologist responds, and an irritated expression flickers across Jay's face, disbelief etched in his features.

"No, she is. She's still here!" he insists, his voice growing louder, his anxiety showing up with his bitten, peeled lips. "You just don't understand!" He confronts his helper with a mix of aggression and frustration, seeking validation.

“She’s going to come back. I just saw her earlier—even though she disappeared before I could talk to her, I know she’ll come back to see me.”

His psychologist sighs, holding onto their clipboard. Clicking onto their pen, they swiftly scribbled the words:

Delusional Disorder.

ENHA PERM TAGLIST (1) — @flwoie @ixomiyu @haruavrse @shinsou-rii @bearseulgs @ilovewonyo @yenqa @dimplewonie @bubblytaetae @wtfhyuck @ineedaherosavemeenow @ml8dy @starikizs @wonioml @chirokookie @xiaoderrrr @neozon3nha @en-chantedtomeetyou @millksea @enhaz1 @eundiarys @hyeosi @ja4hyvn @judeduartewannabe @j-wyoung @thia-aep @vampcharxter @softpia @officiallyjaehyuns @itsactuallylina @hsheart @sweetjaemss @ahnneyong @hanienie @jwnghyuns @kpoplover718 @jiawji @rikizm @haknom @yeokii @wvnkoi @whoschr @teddywonss @shinunoga-iie-wa @isoobie @skzenhalove @misokei @s00buwu @ox1-lovesick @miercerise @litttlestars @enhapocketz

[simp4konig]

Intimate König headcannons

Gender-neutral Reader

Word Count: 1246

*FLUFFFFFF!!!!! YES FINALLY WE (I) LOVE THAT ☁️☺️💫

MANY THANKS TO @puff0o0💫🩵🫂💙🩵✨⭐ FOR GIVING ME TJE IMMEDIATE INSPIRATION TO WRITE THIS 🥰🥰💖 LOVE U SM POOKS I AM SO THANKFUL TO HAVE SOMEONE LIKW YOU AS MY MUTIAL 🥹🥹🥹 YOU ARE SO SWEET AND DESERVE THE WORLD (and to be with your crush😤 fuckingGOD im in AGONT when the FUCK is the wedding gonna be 😭😭💔)

Was down in the dumps and feeling really guiltt for not delivering fanficgions on time but you really reassure me and make ot seem like its alright for me to take my time 😇 Honestly am forevr used to the stress of deadlines and alwahs achieving expectations always expected of me thay i always feel intense guilt whenever i delay 😿😿 Thank you so mucj for your love and support uour messages are whay have kept me going 🙏🙏💖🫂(and motivated me immediately to write this in <5 hours LOL🤭)

also pls do NOT track my ip address puff PLEASE this is some next-levdl fbi investigation type shit and im honestly SHOOK are u secretly an fbi agent ?????😰😰never poetinf screenshots ever AGAIN ❌🚫‼️

*Physical intimacy (not sex guys🗿) headcannons for before your relationship and during your relationship

Tag List ♡ @simpforkonig ♡ @abysslovesyou ♡ @puff0o0 ☆ @rustic-guitar-notes ☆ @happy-mushrooms ♡ @reyner-lee

...

König's crush on you was not subtle. At ALL.

My personal headcannon is that he has never had a girlfriend/boyfriend/lover before. :(

I mean, bullied at school, enlisting into the military aged 17, climbing up the ranks to become a Colonel... yeah, to me it doesn't sound like the man would ever have time to find a significant other.

Oh, don't get me wrong, he would devote so much time to a partner (if he had one), would coddle them and cuddle them more than humanly possible and spend every, making the most out of every moment together. Precious hours never taken for granted that he dreamed of while on deployment.

...Yet, having no experience with receiving affection and being affectionate since being a very young boy, when his mother was still around to take care of him before he attended secondary school, up to this point he had ZERO (0) experience.

Still, König ALWAYS had a hand over your body in some way, under the guise of protecting you and keeping you out of harm's way. It was endearing that he cared so much about your well-being. 🥹

Resting a large hand on the small of your back as he guided you down crowded rooms (though that was almost always a pretence, as there would actually be very few people around, and it was only his excuse for touching you).

Leading you out, his hand would be quickly replaced by his arm wrapping around your side and pulling you close, closer even than you had been moments prior.

Truth be told, the way he touched you was the way he longed, craved for someone else to touch him. To long for him and crave him as much as he craved you.

It wasn't like you were oblivious. In fact, you were hyper-aware of the skin-to-skin touch, of every instance his fingers grazed your knuckles when handing you something, of every "accidental" bump of your head into his chest in corridors, of each time he rested a hand on your shoulder. Or on your back for reassurance — though, whether it was for your reassurance or his own, you couldn't tell.

All his touches, his gazes at your from afar and up close, the way his pale blue eyes crinkled in happiness under that long hood of his: all of it; you noticed it all. Every single time.

Obviously, you didn't object. You relished in this attention, so touch-starved that each touch made you melt. Besides, how could you even? You became putty in his hands, and you revelled the feeling of being so loved.

...However, your own intrusive thoughts insisted that you wouldn't be good enough for König, did not deserve such a man like him.

As much as it pained you to do so, you shied away from his advances, always the first to pull away.

And, of course, König noticed it. Every single time.

His immediate thought was that you didn't feel the same way. That you felt disgusted, disgusted by him and his touch.

Did you not like the way he touched you? Did you not like him?

Therefore, for a while, he toned down the touching. A simple pat on the back or a tap on the shoulder would have to suffice, despite his desperate need to feel more of you, touch you more.

Judging your reactions, scrutinising your cues... you weren't disgusted. Not in the slightest, it appeared.

You just looked... flustered. Shy. A hand would go up to hide the blush on your cheeks — nothing discreet about that — stubbornly avoiding his gaze, yet a small smile was on your face, and it made him wonder: what if you really did like the way he touched you? Liked him?

His touches became more daring. Confident.

One day, all of his anxiety ceased to exist when you reciprocated his touch with some of your own.

The hand kept in place of your hip flinched slightly at yours timidly moving to touch the top of his, interlocking fingers over his palm. Momentarily causing König to short-circuit, he became stiff, audibly gulping.

Adam's apple swallowing the dryness of his throat, he looked at you, frantically attempting to read the expression on your face.

You said nothing, didn't look at him at all, yet through that gesture alone König understood it better than had you could have ever said it in words.

For a moment, you regretted it. Even made a move to sheepishly pull your hand away. König, finally pulled out of his daze, held your hand in place, squeezing it three times. You squeezed it three times, too.

Suddenly, it all made sense to him, and, somehow, made sense to you too. You two were meant to be together, regardless of your insecurities.

Now, your dynamics shifted slightly.

Hands held together as you two sat by each other in a room, neither acknowleding the situation in case the other pulled away in embarassment. Never parting ways without a good-bye hug from you, your arms lingering by his own for a moment longer than they should have.

When you two are finally in a relationship?

☠️ Say goodbye to privacy and personal space ig

König is unbelievably clingy, and literally clings on to whatever of you he can reach. He does not let you go. There can be no compromise, and he keeps you in place, despite your protests and squirming, face flushed as you tried to playfully push him off you, obviously to no avail.

At the same time, König's touch is so, so gentle.

Tentative touches on your skin as if your body was precious porcelain, a fragile fine china.

Callous hands that had killed so many in cold blood running across your back, your arms, your waist, your legs, anywhere that König could reach, with a mildness that could have made people question whether it was even the same man and if so, how he could ever be capable of being so soft.

It doesn't matter whether you go to the gym regularly and have put on muscle or whether you are someone on the more petite side, you're so delicate to König. Like you could be broken at any moment.

For that reason, he holds back. Or, at least, tries to, for the most part. Bless his soul, he tries his best, but it's impossible not to cradle your body in his arms. <3

Unable to restrain himself, his resolve breaks after five minutes of going without you under him or on top of him or beside him or entangled with him, and his hands go back to touching you all over again, caressing you with such care and love that tears often brim in your eyes.

No one has ever been so gentle, so attentive, so loving. No one has ever touched you like this before.

And, seeing how you allow yourself to be vulnerable with him, to see you so sensitive, he would wordlessly wipe the tears away with his thumb, your eyes glassy like a doll's.

He'd run his fingers through your hair, whisper sweet nothings in a mix of English and German, often forgetting to speak in English and unconsciously reverting to German, calling you the loveliest things in a tone that expressed his complete devotion to you.

And, as you'd sleep peacefully beside him in bed, he'd admire you, and wonder how on Earth he possibly could have gotten so lucky.

...

Note: can i please have my own König irl please and thank you🙏🥰 want nothing more than a big beefy man to hold me 🥹❤️❤️(😭 man i need some mentsl help 🗿thays for another day tho am not wbout to get into the catastrophic state of my brain😊✨gonna keep deluding mtself instead !!<3)

[galene-gothic]

𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝖺 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎?

୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ I hope this reading found you in good health, every reblog is appreciated and thank you for everything :) ˖♡ ˎˊ˗ ꒰ 🐇 ꒱

˗ˏˋ༻ʚ♡︎ɞ༺ˎˊ˗             PAID SERVICES

⸼ ۫ ︎︎⊹ ! 🪡︎ Pile 1 ꒱

Some sort of an event happened in the past, that's what people are discussing. Whatever happened seems to have caused you a lot of confusion. I honestly feel like people were purposely trying to cause chaos in your life in order to have some drama in their lives. These people seem to either have been/are close to you or just a close witness to the situation. They're saying good things about you, they're talking about how you released your sorrow, resentment or just negative emotions in general. They're saying that you've left your past behind. I just heard 'this boy', I have no clue but the drama might have included some boy. They're saying that your motivation and enthusiasm are returning now. They're saying that you've accepted the situation. They're saying that you're choosing to focus on the positives of life. They're saying that back then you were trying your best to have a positive attitude towards life and make what you could out of it. They might have witnessed you crying or expressing your sorrow, anger or whatever on the verge of tears. They're talking about how you've grown out of it. They're saying that you've grown to respect yourself now and have a lot of courage. The people who put you in such a situation might've been victimizing themselves and might've successfully guilt tripped you to a certain extent but you seem to have recovered from the guilt. They're talking about your endurance and your morals. They are saying that your views have changed or seem to have changed. There's another group of people, likely the ones who made you go through such a traumatizing time. They're saying that you lack self-awareness. They're saying that you only care about yourself. They're saying that you've not accepted what you've done and believe that you've been falsely blamed. I'm getting that it's because while some of it was your fault.

The way they dealt with the situation and treated you was much worse plus they seemed to just need an excuse to criticize you when they weren't even that affected by the situation. People who had nothing to do with the situation might've gotten involved too. Like, supposing you dated your friend's crush, the whole friend group might've turned against you when it didn't even affect them at all. Some of you might've trouble regarding education, some of you might've been forced to drop out or dropped out on will too, for the rest, you're just having difficulties with your studies. People are talking about it. The people who legit pray for your downfall are saying that you have unrealistic dreams and plans. They're saying that you don't have realistic goals and lack the motivation and discipline to work on your career. Someone saying that you're not someone who wants to work solely for money, you're not the type to be like 'as long as I get money, I don't mind giving up on my dreams' or atleast that's what they think and are talking about. Whatever everyone is saying seems to be assumptions mostly. People from the past who know nothing about who you've grown to be. I'm getting some sort of a pause for you. Gap year from work, education or social media. People who literally have nothing to do with you are gossiping about how you lack direction in life. For those of you who aren't dropouts or are not taking gap years, you might give really vague answers when asked about what you wish to do in the future. You might say things like "I haven't thought much about it yet" or "we'll see" or you might be unsure about what field to study next and you might accept it and sometimes vocalise it "I am not sure what to take yet". People wait for you to post so that they can have something to discuss or make fun of. People from the past are slowly beginning to see that your perspective is changing and you're gaining enlightenment.

The tea here isn't about what they're saying, it's more about how fearful they are of your growth and how many people have their eyes on you. People who literally do not know you but know the people or one of the people who tried their best to traumatize you tend to follow you, your friends, your love interests, etc. just because they're obsessed with you. Like, these people went off to college in the same or different places while you could not afford it, their college mates and friends follow you, the guy you were seen hanging out with, etc. I'm getting a very karmic vibe here. I'm not sure what or when but them looking at you and talking shit about you is weighing them down and lifting you up, little by little. Things are rebuilding for you. You're independent and friendly and the new people in your life see that. You know, the first few days at a new school, college or work. If you're pretty, you realise that you're pretty because of the way people act towards you and the things they say. You might suddenly have those moments "maybe, I am even more attractive than I originally assumed". People are obsessed with you and watching you. They're trying to strategize your every move and keeping tabs on you. Someone here legit dreams about getting a revenge on you and some imagine being better than you, being chosen by someone over you. Even if people do not say that they're mad at you due to external validation from people, they make it obvious and they literally form bonds based upon their jealousy masked as hatred towards you. They're mad because of the support you receive from others. Some of these people regret it because they never imagined you actually leaving them and letting go of them completely. While, one of them was definitely praying on your downfall and still is, the rest, they were just trying to poke some fun to excite themselves. The tea is that people have so many different assumptions about you at this time because they have no clue as to what you're doing, who you're with, etc.

⸼ ۫ ︎︎⊹ ! 🪡︎ Pile 2 ꒱

Some of you here are from Pile 1, someone here is praising you, they're saying that you're mature and grounded. I think that this is someone close to you because you actually do seem to be this way. They're saying that you're generous and social. They're saying that you're practical and care about material objects. They're saying that you have a good nature and intentions. They're saying that you're nurturing and emotionally intelligent. One hint as to who is praising you, it is someone you've talked to when you didn't do your routine or felt unproductive. You likely told them that you didn't get your work done that particular day and they likely told you that it's okay to have those days as long as you do not make it a habit. Some of you might be balancing between two or more different streams of income and they're saying that you are trying to harvest better time management skills. This person understands you very well, they're saying that you have a personality that is very balanced and traits that often contradict each other. You're the coldest warm person, warmest cold person, nicest mean person, meanest nice person, logical and emotional, etc. all at the same time. They're saying that you've gone through many ups and downs in life but always try to balance things out. They're saying that you try your best to keep your grace under pressure until you finally crack and burst.

They're also saying that you struggle with balancing though. This is definitely someone who knows you well. They saw you finally being able to mentally leave a situation. They're saying that you're releasing past hurts and pain. They're talking about your sense of independence and courage. They're so proud of you and your growth and they feel happy to be able to witness your growth. They're saying that you regained balance and control over yourself and your life again. This person has a lot of love for you. The connection between the both of you is likely platonic. This person really admires you for walking away or distancing yourself from past situations. You still seem to be healing though. They have a lot of faith in you. They're talking about your friendliness and ability to grow. They're saying that you're efficient and most likely will be successful in the future. This person knows that you felt used by people even if they do not speak about it. While, this person talks highly about you, there's someone else who's talking shit about you. They're saying that your relationships are very short lived and that you're superficial. They're saying that you're a bitchy person who has no friends (I'm getting that it's not like you cannot have friends, it's just that you don't have a lot of them or people extremely close to you right now.)

If you do, they're not aware of that, I'm getting that this person is likely making other people hate you along with them. If you guys had a break up, people are talking about that. There's a lot of gossip going around currently. This pile definitely seems to have had a falling out with friends or something. I just heard "if she's sad, she tries to drag your mood down too". You guys might have started your healing journey around children or are healing your inner child. Some of you have different projects that are helping you heal better. There's also a chance that some romance changed your perspective, people are not talking about it but it's kind of a confirmation for some of you. People are saying that you lack a vision for the future. They're saying that you do not have enough drive to go after your dreams and stay consistent. People are also talking about your failed long distance relationship. For some of you, it might've been just a situationship but they're not fully aware of that. A group of people are talking about how you've lost direction. They're saying that you'll get nowhere in the future, I just heard it's 'neighbourhood karens'. Someone is saying that you're going through an unrequited love. People are saying that you have blocked emotions and legit tell people not to talk to you so that you feel alone. They're saying that you hurt their feelings, made them sad and are exaggerating everything you've done to them even though they've done worse to you.

⸼ ۫ ︎︎⊹ ! 🪡︎ Pile 3 ꒱

People are saying that you're a social climber. If you go to school or college, juniors are talking about how mean you are. People might even be slutshaming you behind your back. The funny part is that so many of you here are probably virgins. They're saying that you lack/lacked financial stability and stayed friends with people just for their money. People are saying that you're out of control. They're saying that you're obsessed with status and use people. People are also saying that you act like you don't need anyone. The person or people who are talking trash about you are people who are still crying over spilt milk, likely people from the past. Someone is talking about how you have large sums of money and are likely stealing money from others. If you went to a sleepover recently, the person might've lost some money and talked shit about you behind your back. These people tried their best to guilt trip you in the past and it did work for a while but it stopped working after a while. They're still blaming you for everything. I'm getting that people tend to feel lower than you and then act like you're the problem. You might have betrayed them or they might have betrayed or both. This is someone you trusted who let you down. You might have done something that hurt one person in the group and the whole group turned against you is the scenario I'm getting. You might have almost completely hid yourself away from the world. These people are not open to change, they take everything as a personal attack and are still the people that they were a few years ago. You, on the other hand are the type to grow every single day. I'm getting that for some of you, you used to talk shit about others with this person or group of people but as you started growing older, you started feeling like it didn't align with your personal values and you might have called them out.

Maybe, you just refused to talk shit about others but they were like "oh, you think you're better than us/me?" Let's just say that they failed to understand you but they fear you strongly. They know that you have a lot of hidden secrets, there are so many things that they're trying to figure out about your life. You've withdrawn and are silent but you are often not like this and they feel like you're going to come up with something in full force. You naturally attract attention even if unwanted and right now you do not want attention, you want peace but when you come out of this period of solitude, they don't know what's going to greet them. They were in your life for pretty long until you had a falling out, they were always confused when you entered those periods of solitude and jumped into conclusions but everytime they did that, you did something surprising so they're naturally confused when it comes to you and your life currently. Everytime they ignored your potential, you proved them wrong. They spread misinformation on you but well you have something you have been working on that they can pick up on intuitively and they're so curious and feel like when you do step out of the self isolation or whatever, you're going to be so big, they will not know what to do. However, some of them are trying to reassure themselves and the rest that you lack potential for any of that. They think that you might've hidden agendas against them. These people cannot let go of you, mostly because if one of them doesn't bring you up, the other does. You're rising above the problems and their bitchiness. You've realised how worthy you really are and you think that you've gotten over the worst already and they can pick up on it too. You do not give them the time of the day. Your life improved in some way after they left your life and they know that.

It could be anything, something as small as your first job or something as big as a successful business, however, either way you're ahead of them in some way, regardless of whether they accept it or not. You've let go and learnt from the past to a certain extent and you're trying to fully release, they feel like their fears will come true. Their biggest fear is you realising your worth and achieving success. The amount of resilience you have is something that they cannot deny. Some of you are taking a break from school, college or work, maybe it's been one or two years now, you're still growing something for yourself though. They know that you have an ability that they lack, self awareness and acceptance, you're very much the 'yes, what I did was wrong but I forgive myself' kind of person while they're the 'yes, everything is my fault' while denying everything and refusing to look into themselves and their actions. I just heard that you're on your way to become a ten. You know and manage to take time out when you burn out, they aren't like that. They're too scared of being behind in life even though something like that doesn't really exist. They're burnt out and not content. Their life is tiresome because of some routine, I just heard 'rat race'. You're taking a lot onto yourself and someone else is talking about how hard you are on yourself and appreciating your efforts. Some are talking about how beautiful, nurturing and respectful you are. You're growing, please continue doing so.

[eularin]

I was watching some scenes from Naruto, and then I saw the one where Obito summons the Kyuubi in the cemetery, apparently next to Rin's grave and I was like "WTF you crazy? Right there next to your crush's grave? What the hell man" and then I remembered that Obito always does things with some justification (every villain does), but it is Canon that Obito likes to prove his PoV to others, and also to himself. So I asked myself: why the hell did Obito summon the Kyuubi near Rin's grave? What could he be thinking? And I came to the following conclusion:

He wanted to prove to Rin, and to all those other dead ninjas who probably sacrificed themselves for Konoha that their sacrifice was in vain. Obito's story, and especially Team Minato's story, is about sacrifice, promises, and tragedy.

Obito sacrificed himself for Kakashi (and the Team) bc he thought it was the right thing to do and the most important thing. He was more loyal to the team (his friends) than he was to Konoha (am I the only one who noticed that by going to save Rin, Obito basically abandoned the Kannabi Bridge mission?)

On that mission, Obkk made his promise, Kakashi gained his Sharingan, Obito "died" believing that by joining his power with Kakashi's, it would make them stronger and in a way invincible to protect Rin (his precious people) so of course the cruel world and cruel destiny proved to the two that the sacrifice and their promise were worthless.

When Obito finally realized that his shared power with Kakashi was not enough, and that Rin's loyalty to Konoha far outweighed her loyalty to the Team, Obito had a meltdown (another meltdown). I can reflect on Rin's character later. Let's focus on Obito.

When Obito chose the graveyard to summon the Kyuubi, he was making a strong statement. He literally wanted to tell Rin (and the other ninjas who sacrificed themselves for the good of Konoha) this: "hey Rin, look! You killed yourself to stop a Bijuu from destroying Konoha, but your sacrifice can't stop this Bijuu now. See? No sacrifice is worth it. You only delayed the inevitable. You died for nothing and without meaning" - Obito must have been very angry with Rin and Minato. At least I think he was.

During the 4th war he was literally mocking Minato and his acclaimed speed. Basically he was saying "there's no point in being the fastest man in the world if you don't arrive at the moment that matters most", and I don't think he was referring to the Kannabi Bridge mission. So there's that weird conversation where Obito tells Kakashi that Rin is an impostor?!? I don't remember that dialogue anymore (I watched it with subtitles, so I really don't remember what I read years ago)

the only thing I understood was "Rin killed herself, so she's not the real Rin, she's just an impostor that this world created!" – Obito is so... crazy? logical? delirious that I couldn't keep up (I always rewatch the 4th war arc)

also, i'm thinking about it 🤔 i think obito might have been bitter towards Minato bc out of all team 7, Minato was the only one who got along in the end. get my drift: obito "died"; kakashi and rin were devastated and minato probably suffered too, but the anime only shows kakashi for most of the whole story, suffering much more. (unfortunately, the anime shows almost nothing of Rin and her personality. she's portrayed as... idk, easily disposable background character. we don't see anything about her dreams, her struggle to be a great ninja, we don't see her other friends or family... she's almost an empty character, even though she's important to the story of two big prominent characters.)

So back to the main focus: Obito "died"; Rin and Kakashi suffered, then Rin died and Kakashi was left to wallow in his guilt and pain, then Minato went and put a traumatized child in the ANBU. And we know that Obito was already spying on all of them. He certainly didn't like seeing Minato being a beloved hero, enjoying his laurel leaves after the war, so he fulfills his dream of being Hokage, marries his wonderful Kushina, plays house and has a child. In other words: Minato moves on while Obito doesn't (and Kakashi doesn't either). I bet that made Obito pretty angry. I can imagine his anger at Minato's good life. So he went there and ruined it all. 💁🏻‍♀️💀

Well, that's it. That's my theory (?) about why Obito summoned the Kyuubi at the graveyard that night.

So, what's your take on this?

[bit-odd-innit]

I made a joke tag on this post about how Nancy is genre-aware and can feel the arbitrary love triangle closing in around her but then I thought about it for a millisecond too long and— Nancy can’t shake it: The muggy, suffocating pressure prickling along her skin and cottoning up her lungs. At first it’s easy to ignore. She’s been shaking off the relentless crush of pressure in one form or another for years. They are bigger things to focus on, bigger mysteries to solve. So when she catches Dustin watching her and Steve with what she can only describe as wist she’s confused, but she lets it slide. She thinks, not without guilt, they really only spend this kind of time together when the world is ending. Maybe he’s nostalgic. It’s sweet, in a twisted, broken sort of way. She resolves to make more of an effort when this is all over, but right now everyone needs to focus on what’s important— But then she’s walking through the woods and Robin is talking about rekindling old flames that should have never been snuffed out and it jars her into a stutter step. Because what? Where did that come from? Robin wasn’t there when there was a flame, paltry and dim though it was. Steve’s always been kinder to her than she deserved, so maybe his version of events gave Robin a false sense of their compatibility. Even so, why? And why bring it up now? She can’t parse it now, so she latches to the one thing that makes hope spark in her chest: Robin calls her a friend. Robin considers her a friend. And it’s been so long since someone has earnestly, sincerely called her a friend, she basks in the warmth of it and almost lets herself forget how strange— And then Steve is smiling at her so sweetly and his eyes are shining so brightly and he’s telling her about his dream, about six kids and a Winnebago and she knows she’s meant to be charmed by it all but instead she feels like she standing at the gallows with a noose flush to her throat. When they get a brief moment of calm, she takes Eddie aside. 

“Did you tell Steve we should get back together?” He grins, lopsided and smug. “No need to thank me, when it comes to matters of the heart I am but a humble messenger—” “Why?” “Why what?”  “Why do you think Steve and I should get back together?” Eddie blinks, his smile sliding off his face, and there’s a dull flicker of confusion in his big bright eyes, as if he just found himself caught somewhere he was not meant to be. But then it vanishes and he’s back to one, beaming and bombastic as he answers, “Isn’t it obvious?” “Explain it to me.” “I—” His tongue darts out to wet his lips and his gazes bounces across her features, scanning for the answer he thinks she wants. “Its...That’s what’s supposed to happen.”   “Eddie.” She doesn’t break eye contact, keeps her voice steady, encloses her hands around his trembling fingers.  “Dig deep. Why did you tell Steve we should get back together?” The color drains from his face, his eyebrows bowing in fear. “I don’t know,” he whispers. “I don’t know why I said that. I think...” His mouth falls open, working soundlessly, and he huffs out a shaky breath. “I think I wanted to say something else? But I don’t remember...I don’t remember what I, and then that came out instead, and I don’t know why I said it I don’t know why I said it Wheeler what the fuck?” “I know.”

“I’m wanted for murder I don’t care about your relationship woes! I didn’t even know you guys dated until after you broke up, and that was what? Two years ago?” “Almost three,” she says quietly.  “Wheeler what the fuck?! Is this...?” He drops his chin to his chest and waggles his hands in a faint circle. Because they are still connected, Nancy’s hands go along for the ride. “Is this him?” “No.” A righteous fury licks its way up from her belly, fanning out across her circulatory system. The muscles in her neck strain as she clenches her jaw. “No, this is something else.”

“What’re we gonna do?” “We’re going to fix it.” “How?” “I’m rewriting our plan,” she replies. And when she sets her shoulders and straightens her spine she feels the pressure that means to crush her push in.  And she pushes back.  “I’m rewriting all of it.”

[carpetbug]

ML Feline Blue AU Chapter Two: The Pont des Arts

1 • 2 [tw: blood and slightly gory imagery] • 3

ao3

The last time Marinette had felt such paralyzing anxiety as she traveled towards the Pont de Arts was middle school. It was the day she realized she had a crush on Kim, and Socqueline - her best friend at the time, who left Francois’s Dupont at the end of 8th grade - had almost immediately shut down the immature day dream that was their future together. Still, Marinette had made her way to the bridge after school to stare at the locks of all the couples that had been here before her and conjure up sickeningly sweet fake scenarios of her new heartthrob. The craziest thing she had done that day was silently wish that Kim would magically reciprocate her romantic feelings, and still it had felt like she was walking some invisible tightrope, putting her life on the line for some spectacular balancing act she knew she could never pull off. She can still remember the way her hands shook and stomach churned while she perused the locks that decorated the bridge's walls. The fear she felt that day, that heavy stone of discomfort that lodged itself in her stomach, she felt it now all the same. Only this time, instead of feeling like she was merely risking her life, she could have sworn she was marching straight to death's door. And the miniature ladybug creature, this ‘kwami’, was doing little to put her unease to bed.

“You’re not listening, are you Marinette?” the alien-like red bug questioned delicately with a slight inflection to her already syrupy voice. Her eyes softened with guilt when Marinette met her expression with a lost look, lips parted slightly as she struggled to respond.

“I-I’m sorry.. uh.. Tek…?”

“Tikki” the small bug smiled patiently.

“Right. Tikki. I’m sorry Tikki” Marinette sighed and adjusted her hold on the miracle box. What a guardian she would be, she couldn’t even remember this kwamis name. How was she supposed to do.. well, everything else?

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“I died. That old man pushed me into the seine and I died.” Marinette stammered in disbelief as her limbs pushed her away from these freaks of nature without waiting for her brain's command.

“Don’t be scared, Marinette! We’re your friends!” The ladybug themed creature said reassuringly, dropping the intense tone with which she was speaking seconds prior. She, along with all the other small beings, floated effortlessly in the air. “I am Tikki, the kwami of creation. We aren’t going to hurt you, Master”

“Master?” Marinettes throat went bone dry as the words rattled her brain. She was their master? “Oh my god I’ve actually lost my mind.” She chuckled under her breath. The chuckle morphed to a steady laughter, and soon enough she was doubled over in hysterics, hands clutching her sides so tightly she could feel her nails digging into her ribcage. “That OLD man PUSHED me into the SEINE and I DIED!” She shouted in a side-splitting roar of laughter.

“Good job Sugarcube, now she’s having a breakdown.” Marinette heard a much more sour voice taunt. Suddenly what seemed like a million more voices chirped in, each unique in its pitch and pronunciation, and each more desperate to be heard than the last. She could only hear broken sentences and words through the plethora of noise from the kwamis and her own uncontrollable laughter, an occasional ‘We’re doomed!’ and ‘Master Fu!’ catching her ear.

“Just hush, Plagg!” the ladybug scoffed in annoyance. She darted closer to Marinette, small fin-like arm extending to pat her shoulder in a comforting gesture. “Tune them out Marinette, you simply need time. Your bravery will surface soon.” She tried to soothe the frantic girl before returning her attention to the other beings. “Everyone, please listen! We can’t do this now, not to her.” Tikki spoke sternly, yet the words hung in the air like a plea. “I.. I’m certain none of us are ready to speak about Master Fu," a dejected tone began to cling to her small voice as she continued “But he wants us to go forward. And he needs us to guide the new guardian”. Marinette looked up as her voice began to catch in her throat, a pang of pity shooting through her unstable heart at the sight of the tears beginning to pool in the small beings eyes.

“Master Fu?” Marinette repeated softly, peeling her hands off her body and standing up from the rough cement platform that offered her safety. With a powerful shudder she became painfully aware that she was still soaked from the seine. Her hands traveled up to her hair, removing the smooth ribbon that held together her right pigtail - the left had come undone in the water. “Is that... was that the old man?” She asked the kwamis with a weary tone, eyes trained on her soggy shoes as her hands wrung out her dark hair of the water still wearing it down. “Why did he-?”

“Throw you in a river?” the sour voice chimed in again. It belonged to the black cat, who was now floating leisurely on his back with a yawn. Marinette was almost certain she could see sharp teeth in the kwamis mouth. Tikki shot him a deathly glare, but he went on. “I’m Plagg, kwami of destruction, lover of cheese” He stated with casual disinterest, as if nothing traumatic had just occurred. “Not his smartest move, I’ll agree. But-” he sat upright and narrowed his eyes, voice taking a more serious tone “-he did what he had to do to keep us all safe.” his long tail flicked, motioning to the other kwamis. “That includes you.”

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“I was telling you about the kwamis, '' Tikki chirped, following by her guardian's side while levitating in the air. Marinette nodded, quickly glancing up to check what street they had reached, then darting her eyes back down to the wooden box she had hugged to her chest. It was getting harder and harder to focus on the bugs' words, her mind occupied only with thoughts of Master Fu. Despite the kwamis, and the freezing water that seems to have seeped into her bones, and the distressed voices in her head yelling at her that she was alone in this, Marinette couldn’t shake the idea that this man was still alive. He would be waiting at the Pont de Arts, ready to retrieve his miracle box and kwamis, and he'd reassure her that she would never have to worry about any of this miraculous nonsense ever again. Marinette wasn’t going to find his body. She wouldn’t.

“There's nineteen kwamis in all, but two of us are missing. Nooro and Duusu are the kwamis of transmi-”

“Tikki, I’m- I can’t-” Marinette bit her tongue as she fought to find the right words.

“What is it Marinette?”

“I’m sorry but I just can’t talk about this with you. It’s just… too much” Marinette mumbled, wishing the earth would open up beneath her and swallow her whole. “Can’t this Master Fu just explain things to me when we find him?”

Tikki blinked in surprise and remained silent for a few seconds. Then, she nodded and feigned a weak smile. “Of course Marinette. If we find Master Fu he will explain everything” she reassured.

Marinette nodded absentmindedly, taking another brief glimpse at the street signs and sighing in relief at seeing they were close to their destination. Suddenly this all felt like some sort of fever dream, like she would go home and sleep tonight then wake up in the morning with nothing changed. Except maybe she would always think about being thrown in the seine, the cold and brutal water that had seeped through her skin, leaving her fingertips wrinkled and pruny against the wood of the miracle box. And sure, it might feel real enough that her knees still wobble a bit as she walks, but everyone has horrible nightmares sometimes - right?

“Marinette”

“One second, Tikki” she stopped the kwami, still stuck in her train of thought.

“Marinette!” Tikki had paused, and Marinette turned her head to see the small red kwami floating, arm extended to point at the bridge that suddenly seemed to appear in front of them. When had they gotten here?

“Oh. Great, we’re here! Let’s find this Fu-Man and let me get home so I can go to bed and forget all about this.” She adjusted her hold on the box and began to cross the wide bridge when Tikki darted in front of her with urgency.

“Wait! Master, I must tell you, thi-”

“Sorry, but please just call me Marinette.”

Tikki smiled and continued “Marinette, I have to quickly warn you that- even we kwamis are not sure of the lengths this villain is willing to go. We do not know if he acts with mercy, so this may be something you don’t want to see. If you’d like, I can go ahead without you and see for myself then come back?”

Marinette scrunched her nose as she thought for a few moments. Eventually she shook her head and smiled- a genuine and kind smile that made Tikkis heart ache. “No need, I’ll come with you. You’ve been here for me during all this, so I want to be here for you until you’re back in good hands” she promised.

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“He was being chased?” Marinette questioned, reeling from the information the cat kwami had just dumped over her head like cold water. Fu had been pursued by some unknown antagonist for several weeks, until they eventually found and attacked the guardian. Marinette had only been an innocent bystander, a stranger in the wrong place at the wrong time, and a helping hand when Fu was at his most desperate for any kind of savior. She was the only way to get the miracle box out of the villains' reach in such a short amount of time. And the seine had been the only way to get her out of danger.

“More like hunted” Plagg sneered in response and crossed his arms

“Plagg, you're scaring her!”

“She should be scared!”

While the black and red kwami hissed at each other, the girl's head was spinning, overwhelmed with this new world she was suddenly a part of. There were so many questions running through her mind, all begging to be answered. But the most desperate one came first “Can we go back to the Pont des Arts?” She asked softly, interrupting their argument.

Plaggs expression widened in shock, and he was about to protest when Tikki stopped him. “Good idea, I’ll have all the kwamis return to the miracle box.”

“Well, wait-” she stopped her “Will you stay with me? I would feel a bit better if I had someone more informed by my side”

The red bug smiled and nodded, still ignoring the bewildered look from the cat. Before he could say anymore, she turned back to the kwamis, leaving him grumbling and following after her.

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“God. It’s already three a.m, papa is going to be awake and getting started in the bakery soon.” Marinette muttered to herself while checking the time, her and Tikki moving at a slow pace across the bridge. It was dark, the moon providing the majority of the lighting cast down on them. And, it was almost entirely silent. Save for the constant rushing of the water beneath the bridge -the sound was making her hands begin to shake all over again-, and the occasional distant hum of a car passing nearby.

“A bakery?” Tikki whispered in response.

“Yeah,” she smiled. “My parents own a bakery. ‘Tom and Sabines’.” Her hands came together then spread like she was forming a rainbow in the air as she spoke, adding a loving touch to the simple name. Tikki gave a light giggle.

“Sounds amazing! What kind of sweets do they make?” the red bug questioned before suddenly gasping, “Do they make cookies?! I haven’t had a chocolate chip cookie in so long!”

Marinette was taken back by the kwamis sudden eagerness for one of the simplest sweets their bakery had to offer, but she couldn’t help but give an entertained laugh. “We make all kinds of cookies. Snickerdoodle, peanut butter, red velvet, oatmeal raisin, -”

“Yuck.”

“Don’t you dare say that about oatmeal raisin cookies.”

“Get to the good stuff!”

She stuck her tongue out teasingly at the kwami before continuing, “chocolate chip, chocolate chunks, and like a billion other ones I'm forgetting. Give or take seasonal and custom flavors my dad makes from time to time, too.” When she looked up, Marinette swore a line of drool was trailing from Tikkis mouth, but as soon as she had noticed it the bug was in her face in excitement once again.

“Wow!” Tikki exclaimed. “I can’t wait to try them.”

“How long has it been since you last had a cookie?” she asked. Marinette wondered what parts of human life the kwamis knew of and took part in, given the ‘secrecy’ about their existence. They were familiar enough to have opinions on cookie flavors, apparently.

“Oh, I'm not sure. I haven’t had a holder in a few decades, though I have left the miracle box during that time, - Marinette? Are you not listening again?”

Almost as soon as the kwami had started talking, Marinette had frozen her stare on something ahead of them, and she seemed a million worlds away. Tikki turned to look and her heart dropped.

Blood soaked into the wood underfoot, leaving a dark stain that seemed pure black in the night time. More sat in small pools and splatters, some spraying across the lock decorations and steadily drip-drip-dripping into the surface below. The longer she stared the more she realized the Pont des Arts would now always feel like it had been smeared with death. It was all too fresh, like someone had drained the old man of all his blood and used it like paint, spreading the viscous liquid on any surface they could. It seemed like both an introduction, and parting gift. The display was left with intent, the predator that had gotten Fu was leaving a warning for whoever tried to come to his rescue. It said ‘I’m here, look what I am capable of. Look at everything I did. Look at what I’m willing to do.’

Marinette took a step back, mouth agape as she realized breathing was becoming increasingly difficult. Her blood pounded in her ears, droning out the seemingly fraught help Tikki was trying to provide the panicked girl. Another step back and her legs buckled, dropping her directly into the glistening pools of gore. Her hands clenched into fists, now stained a dark red as she kneeled in the blood, and she panted in desperate need for air. It seemed to hang in the air now, the metallic tang filling her mouth and nose.

“Marinette!”

The screech - almost directly in her ear - snapped her attention back to the ladybug creature, whose voice was feverish with alarm. “Tikki..” she breathed, still struggling to keep from hyperventilating. “Tikki, this is him, isn’t it?” Marinette brought her hands up, now holding them raised in the air to shine in the moonlight. The crimson liquid trickled from her palm to her wrist, then down her elbow and back to the bridge. “This is Master Fu?” the tears began to fall down her cheeks now, the reality setting in. She was the guardian. She was alone.

“You need to get home.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Marinette gets home, soaked (though no longer bloody, thanks to an alley hose she passed on her walk), and exhausted. Her breathing still awkward and unbalanced, lungs aching from whatever water she took in from the seine. Her emotions bubble inside her, threatening to spill over from her eyes once again. It was bad enough you could tell she had been crying already, she didn’t need her parents to see her in the act. Tikki rested on her shoulder, tucked neatly into her hair as they approached the bakery.

“Home sweet home” she said, waving her hands with pretend enthusiasm as she tried to revive the playful energy they had earlier. Instead her voice felt deflated and hollow. Her hands reached for the doorknob, shaking slightly as they hovered above it.

“Do you not want to go in?”

“Its not that.”

“Marinette. You can talk to me”

Marinette took a deep breath. “I can’t hide all this from my parents. Not yet, at least. If I go inside now and they’re awake, they'll know I was outside then they’ll see I was crying and I’m terrible at hiding things from my maman so one word from her and I’ll instantly spill everything that happened and then they-”

“Slow, Marinette. Is there any way you can sneak in?”

“Only through a window or my balcony, both of which I definitely can't reach from down here” she huffed, the puff of breath blowing through her still damp bangs that hung across her face. She was about to grit her teeth and accept the inevitable interrogation her parents would give when Tikki spoke again.

“I can fix that.” the kwami gave a sweet smile before phasing seamlessly through the wood of the miracle box and returning with a small case in her arms. “These are the miraculous of the ladybug. If you put on these earrings and say ‘Spots On’, you'll transform and be able to get to your balcony undetected.”

Marinette hesitated, then reached for the box and opened the lid to peek at the miraculous. Inside were two round, red earrings each with five small spots, which she carefully plucked from their resting places. They went through her ears effortlessly and lacked the weight that many earrings came with. “Please don’t tell me this is going to hurt” she wheezed, eyes drooping with sleep.

“Definitely not.” Tikki reassured quickly. “When you’re inside just say ‘Spots Off’ to drop the transformation.”

“Well… spots on?”

Tikki flew through the air, this time as if she was being pulled by some invisible force - one coming from the earrings. Her vision exploded with pink as bubbling, glowing masses appeared out of thin air and swarmed onto her body. She held her breath and pressed her eyes closed, still awaiting a sting or ache to overtake her body despite Tikkis reassurance. Instead the magical clouds felt light and tingly on her skin as they passed over her from head to toe.

The buzz came to a stop in a few moments which Marinette took as a cue to open her eyes. Nothing around her had changed, she was still standing outside the bakery clutching the miracle box, only now she was dressed in a sleek red and black spotted suit from neck to toe. She was a ladybug.

Marinettes breathing hitched in her chest as she ran her gloved hand across the material, then up to her face where she felt the grooves of a mask across her eyes. Built in secret identity, cool. She felt refreshed, the soreness in her legs was now just a weak discomfort. She took a relieved breath, and slowly stretched her limbs as she gathered her bearings. A yoyo rested on her hip, also a solid red with five black spots like the earrings, but with the same honeycomb texturing of her suit.

“A yoyo? I’m going to… yoyo to my room?” she mumbled to herself as she gave it a few experimental tosses. Looking up, she took a few breaths and prepared herself. She took a step back and threw the yo-yo towards a neighboring roof, then gave a slight tug when it had wrapped around some solid object. It pulled her effortlessly from the ground, propelling her upwards while she struggled, airborne, like a fish out of water. In moments she landed, almost entirely flat on her face, on the spine of the rooftop.

It took a minute for Marinette to figure out her next step, which ended up being just to drop from the roof to her balcony. It had seemed much more complicated in her head, like she would have to be some ninja, hiding in the shadows. But she had left the trapdoor to her room unlocked, so it had required no more effort than opening a door. She landed softly on her bed, and subsequently threw herself back onto her blankets with an exasperated sigh.

“Spots off” she mumbled, already fighting the alluring call of sleep. Another flash of the magic light and the suit was gone, leaving Tikki in its place. She looked around, observing her new environment before turning back to Marinette.

“Home sweet home” She echoed the previous statement, then burrowed into the crook of Marinettes elbow as the girl groggily put herself to bed. With the miracle box held firmly in her grip, and the deep ache slowly returning to her muscles as the magic of the miraculous wore off, she mumbled a barely coherent goodnight to Tikki and let herself fall into the comfort of sleep.

[torukmaktoskxawng]

through thick and thin

Pairing: Teylan/Gn!Sarentu!Reader

Warnings: Spoilers for AFoP. Panic attacks, angst, trauma, mentions of grooming and abuse.

A/n: Another short idea I wrote up while playing AFoP

Taglist: @mooniequeen @avatar-lover @taronyuhunter

~~~~~~~~~

He couldn't stop shaking.

The guilt and dread in his gut were too overbearing, clogging his lungs, and making it impossible to breathe. Every inch of his body shakes from adrenaline and fear, the weight of his actions crushing his chest.

Teylan has had panic attacks before, but this was the worst one.

And he wasn't sure if hearing your voice over the radio made it better or worse.

"Teylan? It's me."

Of course, it's you. You, the one who was closest to his age among the Na'vi children at TAP.

You, who stuck by his side whenever Mercer had beaten him.

You, who he had to wrap his little body around at night after losing Aha'ri when you were kids, terrified that he'd wake up and lose you, too.

You, who always brought something back for him from your travels to multiple clans, trying to help him get accustomed to your new way of life.

You, whose voice was full of concern and desperation, as you continued to talk through the radio when you didn't get a verbal response.

"Teylan. Talk to me. Where are you? I can come and bring you back to the Resistance."

He gulped in a small bit of air, realizing he had only been shakily breathing into the radio instead of speaking all his thoughts out loud, "No... Not there."

"Okay," you, ever the calming negotiator, tried to ease him into a sense of security, even without being able to see him, "Where do you want to go?"

"It doesn't matter," Teylan forces out even with tears running down his cheeks, "Nothing matters now."

"Everyone's worried about you, Teylan. I'm worried about you."

He bites back a sob, his heart squeezing painfully in his chest, "They're gonna be angry. You'll hate me, too. I did this."

"You can't blame yourself," you whispered gently through the radio, only strengthening his guilt.

Another sob shatters through him, "But I am to blame. He said nobody would die. He said."

"Who said?"

He couldn't help it, he kept talking, unable to stop spilling out all his sins, "We talked on my radio. He told me we could be together again. Like a family. And so, I told him when the party was happening."

"Wait. Mercer?" You finally realize what Teylan was trying to say, and he winced when he heard the tone of quiet disbelief in your voice, "You told Mercer things about us?"

"He needed to know when to arrive, so he could keep the soldiers away."

It wasn't an excuse. He just needed to reason with himself into believing this was all just some misunderstanding, or better yet, just a bad dream. He wasn't trying to convince you, just himself. He needed to feel convinced that he wasn't about to lose you for his betrayal.

"Let me come get you." 'To take you back to the people you betrayed.'

He wasn't sure if you actually said that or he imagined it. Nevertheless, it burned through his chest like a bullet, eyes widening with the most terrifying realization. He lost you. He lost you... helostyouhelostyouhelostyou--

"No. I don't belong there anymore. I have nobody now."

"Teylan? Teylan!"

He cut off the call.

~~~~~~~~~

MASTERLIST

REQUESTS

[eepyuii]

frostbite — pt. 11

pairing ; childe x gender neutral!reader

content ; childhood friends to “rivals” to lovers, slowburn-ish

cw ; several mentions of blood, torture and killing (could you guess that it’s dottore related) as well as mentions of self-loathing

notes ; sorry folks, no childe this time! this is the dedicated sumeru chapter, i am not dwelling any fucking further on it or i might die. this chapter is also solely focused on the relationship between reader and scara! bonding about your fucked up boss with the bitchiest little cockroach on earth <33

honestly pretty happy with this one, it’s got the exact depth of character that i’ve been wanting to add to the reader, their internal moral conflict, their skepticism toward gods and their eternal guilt as to what they’ve gone through with dottore. as well as how they’re definite besties with scaramouche!!

finally, just ignore the nahida logic toward the end- i don’t CARE if it doesn’t make sense in the lore for her to be able to do that and also DONT MIND the self insert of the name i gave to my wanderer. ok goodbye.

previous | next | masterlist

you wish someone had warned you of how cold nights in the rainforest were.

leading up to this trip, you were only trying to mentally and physically prepare yourself for the extreme weathers of sumeru, obviously more directed towards the desert. you expected to only be hit with scalding heat that you’d never once see in snezhnaya— but in the rainforest, where you’d been stationed, it was shivering cold during nighttime. cold is no stranger to you, unspokenly so, but the chilliness in sumerian air was different from the one you grew up with. snezhnayan cold was dry and sharp, like microscopic shards of ice constantly nip at your skin, which you’ve long since learned to bear— though sumerian cold was overwhelmingly humid and smothering, like a—

“can you stop shivering? the sound of your joints shaking is gonna give me a headache.”

oh, that’s right. you were in a room with that brat.

for a moment, for one shining moment you’d forgotten you were in a damp workshop, dottore branded, in the middle of the rainforest with the doctor’s most promising little experiment— the balladeer. it’s only been a few weeks into the collaboration between the sages of the akademiya and the fatui, to create a manmade god out of scaramouche with the electro gnosis he’d previously disappeared with. even thinking about everything that was explained to you about the project made bile rise up to your throat.

“is there even anything inside that porcelain head of yours to ache?” you snarl back.

scaramouche scoffs, you can’t tell if he’s annoyed or amused by your response.

“watch your tongue, vermin. wouldn’t want me to call your boss over and see how fast he finds a new squirming roach to refill your position.”

“for someone destined to be a god, you seem to really rely on a ‘mere mortal’ like dottore to get your way.”

“you cower in his presence like a cornered lamb and then start running your mouth the second he’s away, don’t even try to act as if you’re better than me. you never will.”

“it’s funny that you think someone with an ego as catastrophically big as yours could ever become a real god.”

scaramouche inhales sharply, his eyebrows furrow further as a manifestation of how irked he’s become.

“the gall you have to criticize my divinity… i heard of what you did in liyue, y’know— your little.. moment of unfaithfulness. you were only lucky that the imbecile of a harbinger you were up against wouldn’t dream of hurting you.”

the mere indirect mention of ajax makes your heart stutter—you’d only ever admit to yourself how much you wish you were still back in the golden house facing off against foul legacy instead of here. anything but here. the balladeer, somehow, seems to sense that you space out slightly at his words and presumes his snark.

“unlike him, if you decide to join that pathetic traveler and try to stand in my way, i won’t hesitate to crush you into a fine pulp.”

your fists close so tightly that your nails begin to dig into your palms. “at least i have somewhere else to be and someone else to get to! you have nothing but this, if this fails you’ll stay in this form and remain stuck in dottore’s grasp until he gets bored and finds a better lab rat to experiment on. you chose to isolate yourself in the grasp of a fucking monster like him up to the point where this stupid project is all you have in life and it’s all you’ll lose when it goes shit!”

your outburst seems to have finally broken through scaramouche and you can tell that if he had any veins under his skin, they’d be tensing through it at this moment from how vexed he becomes— if he had any blood, it’d be slowly seeping through his bottom lip from how hard he bites it. even though he’s strapped to a wall of tubes and machinery inside the workshop, he launches as far forward as he can like he means to strangle you where you stand.

“i could end your depressing excuse of an existence right this second if i wanted to!” he practically barks out, his words echo through the empty metallic room as you give up on retaliating. silence invades the space between the two of you while you both pant from how much you’ve argued.

this always, inevitably seemed to happen whenever you and scaramouche interacted— you’d back and forth like bickering siblings until both of you were entirely too pissed off at each other to keep going. it was pointless. knowing someone as ‘take-no-shit’ as the balladeer, you’d expected for him to have reprimanded or even just kill you off for your insolence long ago, but he does nothing and your arguments just happen again and again. you can’t tell if it’s because he recognizes you’re one of the few people who has enough of a brain to try to humble him cleverly or if he’s planning a bigger, more painful demise for you lest you stop overestimating your authority before him.

“why…?” he growls lowly, but this time it doesn’t sound like intends to verbally berate you— rather it sounds like he’s just… frustrated. maybe even with himself.

“why are you so sure that this’ll fail? even if you have that idiot to go back to, you still put your career and your life at risk by working for dottore. why? why do you work in fear of him and skepticism of the tsaritsa’s cause?”

you chuckle bitterly. “i had no choice. if my homeland wasn’t so reliant on its military, i would’ve never even considered getting a medical degree in the first place. and,”

you pause, flashes of dottore’s cruel scarlet gaze stab at your mind and you physically flinch slightly. it seems it hadn’t settled into your chest how imprisoned you were as definitively before— you talk big talk but you’re just as trapped as scaramouche.

“a-and he forced me to. i blinked once and suddenly there was blood on my hands that wasn’t mine and an assistant title over my head.”

scaramouche is silent. you can feel his stare on you but, once again, it doesn’t feel as though he scrutinizes you. a smaller, more hopeful part of your brain whispers to you that he might even be sympathizing with you— even if he’s so convinced that this is righteous, that his godly destiny is finally within his grasp admittedly because of dottore, he still fucking despises that man. probably more than you do, given how much he’s been prodded and tested by him over the years of his position within the fatui.

“would you kill him?” he asks suddenly, the question hangs heavy in the air of the workshop. his tone is quiet and deliberative.

“w-what?” your breath is briefly taken from your throat.

“if you could. if you had the chance to wipe his livelihood off of teyvat, would you do it?”

your mind blanks. it’s equally a simple question and the hardest one you’ve ever had to answer in your life. it’s about an innate desire for liberation, for closure— if you just could would you? but then… it’s also about opportunity, about the possibility of you ever stumbling across the chance to finish him— if you would could you?

now that you think about it, you’ve never considered dottore to be someone killable. he’s always been so up high, so entirely unreachable to anyone around him. the second fatui harbinger is a heavy crown, perhaps not for him to wear but for you to bear witness to. it’s almost as if… he’s the untouchable god here, he’s the culmination of unjust divinity that you so loathe, not scaramouche. it was never scaramouche.

you have your answer.

“no.”

“h-huh? why?”

the balladeer is visibly taken aback, his shoulders roll back slightly and his head leans backwards into the wall. sheer incredulousness overtakes his features before it blends into suspiciously— he’s looking for you to elaborate justly on the choice.

you chuckle. “even if it’s.. not exactly right, i’d love for nothing more, trust me. but comparing the two of us… i think you deserve to stab him in the heart more than i do. you’ve known him for longer and that’s a misfortune few people have.”

his breath hitches. it seems he wholeheartedly did not expect that to be your reason for hypothetically letting go of the chance to make sure dottore feels as much pain as he’s cause you— for it to be so he can return what the doctor has done to him over the years. scaramouche analyzes your expression, as if he’s desperately looking to find the logic in your sympathy, after all you barely know what he’s been through. all you’ve been told is that he was supposedly a puppet prototype created by the electro archon, hence his attachment to the relative gnosis— but beyond that, you can’t even begin to imagine what sorts of hardships he’s been through to turn out as hostile as he is. yet this was still your answer. he looks aimlessly toward the ground defeated and… if you dare to say, he’s trying to hide how much your answer affected him.

“foolish human… once i become a god, it won’t matter wether that doctor lives or not.” scaramouche dismisses with a growl and your suspicions are confirmed.

—

at some point of this project, you became thoroughly convinced that you’re a terrible person.

most of your time has been spent inside joururi workshop, overseeing the construction of scaramouche’s godly form— shouki no kami, it’s been called. even overseeing is a gross overstatement of what you do here, which is essentially nothing. you’re a medical professional specialized in, well, human patients and with the closest thing to a patient here being a doll created by an archon, there’s little for you to do.

within these rusted metal walls, you’ve had more than enough time to think over everything— especially how you work for possibly one of the most terrible people in teyvat and do nothing but cower in his shadow while constantly praying that he gets what he deserves without doing anything about it. you’re pathetic. you’ve since met the traveler and paimon in their current stay in sumeru, they’ve told you about their ventures and investigations around the land in the midst of heroically trying to solve the nation’s problems and have specifically reported to you about their discoverings on a scholar named zandik and his atrocious actions, you don’t need to think twice to wonder who he’s become.

you recall paimon’s look of horror while she retells what they found about zandik murdering a classmate, how adamant he was about investigating a ruin killing machine that took several of his peers, his involvement with the investigation of eleazar, the hospital in the desert— and hearing it all, you couldn’t even muster fake shock. all you do is watch that man do unthinkable, inhuman things without even batting an eye, it’s all normal to you now.

you’re a terrible person.

you can’t even bear to recall the forest ranger the traveler and paimon befriended, that they told you about— collei, an unfortunate victim of eleazar and even worse, former… patient of the doctor. you don’t think you could ever muster up the audacity to look her in the eyes if the two of you ever met. collei is partially why you don’t dare to leave the workshop if unrequired, any venture around the rainforest could very likely lead you to stumble into her and be forced to face the very personification of your guilt.

you spend so much time deliberating over all of this and yet… you still blindly follow after the traveler, paimon and a small girl when they enter the facility.

you hide within the shadows and pipeways of the workshop, watching the three brave souls solve the overly complex and arguably unsafe pathways of the place and waiting for them to unlock the marbled elevator leading to the larger area where scaramouche’s fo— err… shouki no kami rests to await the final touches.

when the puzzles are completed, you move to stand beside the structure of the lift and the traveler is the first to spot you as they arrive. she presents you a small, friendly smile, you don’t think you’re deserving of it. you think you’re much less deserving of the immediate kindness you receive from the small girl who came along with the two travelers. she speaks so wisely and patiently, with a distinct aura… it’s like a change in the air, you’ve only felt it twice— near the tsaritsa’s quarters in zapolyarny palace and during your dinner with zhongli. she’s an archon.

your hands close into fists, nails digging into your palms— you’re so tired of entangling yourself with godly beings. yet… your feet still take you inside the chamber, your fingers still tingle with slowly growing cryo energy, your body still mindlessly wants to help sort this out. nothing will fix what you’ve done, what you’ve been an accomplice to and what you’ve allowed to happen, so why are you still here? why are you still trying to help your friends by sustaining them with your healing capabilities, why are you still putting yourself in the frontlines of danger just to provide the most minimal assistance?

you want to say it’s because you’re itching to see scaramouche get his ass handed to him, but… that’s not it. why isn’t that it? he’s so arrogant and condescending, even more now that he’s so far into divinity— he’s never looked at you as if you were an ant to crush quite as much as he is now. he attacks you so mercilessly, like he promised he would, like your answer to his question truly meant nothing to him. he’d evaporate your and dottore’s existence all the same with his new powers, it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. though, that taste could also be the blood invading your lips from all the injuries you’re sustaining.

scaramouche, or whatever it is he wishes to be called now, has pushed you to your physical limit and he’s done without breaking a sweat. so why is that something tugs at your chest when he’s desperately clawing out of his cushy seat inside shouki no kami to reach for the gnosis that’s just been torn out of his chest? why do you swallow hard when you hear his nearly crying pleas, or more so threats since it’s scaramouche, for nahida to take anything but the gnosis— his wails that he’ll never go back to what he was before?

and moreover, why do you sprint to catch him, despite how entirely hurt and exhausted you are, when the tubes on his back finally give way and he proceeds to fall from the absurd height of his mechanical form? why do your eyes sting when you fail to catch him and he hits the ground with a devastating cloud of smoke? why is there a warm wetness flowing down your cheeks as you spot a crack on his pale porcelain skin, obviously a consequence of his hard impact against the marbled floor.

and the most vexing question of all— why does nahida let you stay as she whisks away his unconscious form?

—

it’s ironic how much you hate gauzes.

they’re so itchy… they prick at your skin and press uncomfortably against your injuries— you’re only lucky you’re usually tending to others’ wounds rather than receiving them. in fact, the other way around occurs so rarely that you don’t even remember how you got hurt this time. it truly, wholeheartedly escapes your mind and you consider yourself to be someone with a good memory.

every time you try to recall how you got injured, it’s like a buzzing sensation in your brain, a hurtful one, that doesn’t reveal a single mental image of the situation. you’re almost beginning to consider the possibility that you just fell from your bed while sleep and fell so hard that you had to be bedridden in sumeru city while dottore took off to the motherland without a glance back. but to be fair, he’s probably still fuming internally from having to shut down all of his clones at once before the new, young goddess of wisdom.

personally, you’d say it serves him right for uh.. f-for err… what was it again?

gods, you must’ve hit your head when you fell from your bed— that has to be why you’re struggling so hard to remember what dottore was doing in sumeru, the very reason you were transferred here so abruptly.

though, you don’t dwell on the matter for much longer, as nahida, the traveler, paimon and… an unknown person walk into the little room inside the sanctuary of surasthana that you were given. all four of them stare at you expectantly, especially the individual you’ve never seen before— you note that he wears a ridiculously wide hat.

“so… did you intend for them to remember?” paimon asks with uncertainty, still looking at you up and down.

“…no, you idiot. did you forget that i intended to erase myself from the world?” the stranger scoffs toward paimon, you’re slightly unnerved by his rudeness.

he looks over to you and you swear that his gaze unhardens in the most microscopic degree, as if he’s saddened that you… apparently don’t remember something.

“there just—“ he pauses with a sigh and looks toward nahida. “there has to be another way, right?”

the small archon proceeds to gaze down at the floor aimlessly, finger tapping her chin and quiet hum escaping her throat as she thinks deeply. she shakes her head in disappointment.

“directly, no— i can’t extract memories of theirs that don’t exist anymore due to your wish. the closest thing to that would be for me to replicate the compilation of memories i showed to you, only narrowing it down to the moments between the two of you. they’d be watching their past self from your perspective.”

the strangers gaze lights up, once again in the slightest, and he nods vehemently. “yes yes, try that.”

you feel like you’re in a fever dream, or an out-of-body experience where you’re not present in the room at all as they continue to discuss something to do with you that you couldn’t decipher to save your own life. you frown and stand up frustratedly.

“i-i’m sorry, are any of you gonna explain what in teyvat is happening? what memories, what wish? i mean— who even is this guy?!” you gesture to him incredulously.

nahida quietly steps over to stand right in front of you and cups both of your hands into her own with the softest, most gentle hold you’ve ever felt. she looks up at you with equal patient and shoots you a sympathetic smile.

“y/n, please answer this honestly, would you trust me to do this? i know we only met recently, but i promise you i would not take a subordinate of the doctor under my care after they willingly injured themselves to assist me, only to put them back in harm’s way later.”

your eyebrows furrow with confusion once more— you willingly hurt yourself for nahida? not saying that you’d never do that with full consciousness but… how in her majesty’s name could you have possibly injured yourself to the extent you’re currently recovering from?

she chuckles. “that is how you would expectedly react to such a wild reveal of information. but what i am attempting to do next is with the full intent to help you remember what happened. i can’t promise it will fully work, as i’ve never done this before, but i’ll do my best to make sure it will not damage you in any way— past a mild headache, i’d say. i just need you to trust me.”

gods, how could you ever say no to such a soothing presence like nahida’s? there isn’t a single bone in your body that thinks she’s lying to you. plus, the stranger looks at you with such innocent expectancy that there’s an odd pang in your chest, though you don’t know why it’d ever react like that.

you face nahida once again and nod firmly. “i trust you.”

her smile widens with satisfaction and she steps away from you, turns slightly to the side, closes her eyes and joins her palms. after a few seconds she produces a small, blindingly glowing green orb. it’s got several specks of stylized sigils radiating from it, ones that are signature to nahida’s abilities. you give each person in the room a quick glance and they all grin up at you as a silent wish of good luck— except for the stranger, who looks ever so slightly anxious.

you touch the orb.

the first thing you feel is the forewarned headache, it hits you with full force instantaneously. next is horrifically blurred images of… you, from someone else’s perspective. in one image, you’re looking unsuredly at the person, as if it’s a first meeting and not a friendly one— you note that the background seems to be dottore’s lab. next is another environment resemblant of dottore’s work and you’re found in the dead center, yelling with at the person with genuine, irreplicable anger— you note that the perspective is taller than you, as if the subject is physically taller than you or… mounted to a wall or something. finally, the most blurred image of all, you’re sprinting toward the subject from afar with terrified tears forming at your eyes, arms stretched out in front of you as if you’re trying to catch something— you note that you’re upside down in the perspective and it’s in motion, as if the subject is actively falling head first into the ground.

your head really fucking hurts.

your brain is entirely unsure of what to do with the information it’s fed but… what does it mean for you? that you knew the man in front of you and physically forgot of his existence? now what— you still can’t put a name to the face, or the face to someone you know at all!

the stranger seems to recognize exactly what you’re feeling and steps up to exclaim.

“dottore— would you kill him?”

and it’s like everything clicks.

suddenly, you remember everything. you’re hit with a frying pan to the head’s worth of memories, of familiarities and it all clicks with the point of view you were shown. he’s here, he’s okay. and he’s very obviously not a god anymore.

your mouth hangs open as immediate tears gather at the corner of your eyes and you examine him up and down. he’s wearing different clothes, they’re blue and turquoise now— and most of all, he’s got a shiny new anemo vision hung over the left side of his chest. no, more importantly than that, the crack on his porcelain skin is gone. you’re so relieved.

“n-no.” you manage to get out in a shaky, sob-y voice, big relieved smile on your face.

he’s forced to suppress a chuckle at your answer, one that he fails at hiding before you could fully register it. he looks to the side and pulls his hat slightly downwards.

“glad to see you haven’t lost your head, worm.”

you laugh warmly, tears freely flowing before you pause for a moment— sure you’re happy to see him again but… what was his name again? it’s at the very tip of your tongue, to the point where it’s frustrating. it just never comes out.

“wait, uhm— this’ll sound weird but… w-what do i call you? i don’t know if i’ve fully recovered my memories, i just can’t figure it out.”

“wanderer.”

“wanderer..? i-is that a proper name or a title, are you—“

“i’m not going back to the fatui. i have no business there.”

“oh…”

“don’t sulk. i’ll still get my revenge on dottore later.” he teases.

the traveler nudges.. wandere’s side and he coils away with a scowl briefly, before the notices the knowing look on her face. he takes a moment to understand what she’s implying.

“and i suppose… there is another name, i’m not as used to it.”

“what is it?”

“…kunikuzushi.”

“kunikuzushi…” you sound it out and nod with an approving smile.

“i like that.”

taglist ; @kentply @osaemu @rain-and-a-nice-nap @koichirana

[peppymintdreams]

Crumbling Dreams

Elias x Barista

Life has been hard on Elias and he just wants to vent

The safe house was eerily quiet. Elias sat slouched on the couch, his chest rising and falling in the rhythm of shallow breaths, a cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers. He hadn’t smoked it yet, but the temptation lingered. The tension in his body told him he needed the release, the calm, even if it was only temporary.

Barista was sitting across from him, reading a book though Elias knew they weren’t truly focused. Every now and then, their eyes would flick up toward him, concern simmering behind their gaze. They hadn’t asked about the fresh bruises, the way Elias winced every time he shifted in his seat, or the gnawing silence that had filled the room since he returned.

He could feel their unspoken questions. Where had he been? What had he done? But Barista wasn’t naive. They had seen enough to understand the world Elias belonged to, even if he never fully explained it. They were smart, careful, and Elias knew they had put together enough pieces of the puzzle to realize what kind of life he lived.

But he wasn’t ready to say it. The Wraiths, the violence, the danger it was his burden, not theirs. He had dragged them into his mess once before, and since then, he had tried to keep them at a distance. But Barista kept showing up. They were always there, a constant presence that both comforted and terrified him.

"You alright?" Barista’s voice broke through the quiet, soft but firm, as if they could sense the weight pressing down on his shoulders.

Elias shifted his gaze toward them, the cigarette still unlit in his hand. "Yeah, I’m fine," he lied, though the exhaustion in his voice betrayed him.

Barista didn’t push, but their silence said everything. They didn’t believe him.

Elias clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists. He wasn’t sure what frustrated him more, the fact that he couldn’t lie convincingly anymore, or that Barista cared enough to keep asking, even when the truth was ugly.

"Long night?" Barista tried again, their tone gentle, non-judgmental.

"You could say that." Elias finally lit the cigarette, taking a deep drag and holding the smoke in his lungs for a moment before exhaling slowly. He didn’t offer more, and Barista didn’t pry. They never did. It was one of the things Elias appreciated about them, even if it left an ache in his chest.

Barista’s eyes lingered on him, as if weighing whether to say more. They closed their book and set it down on the coffee table, leaning back into their seat. "You can talk to me, you know. About… whatever’s going on."

Elias let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and short. "Trust me, you don’t want to know what’s going on."

Barista looked at him, their gaze steady and unwavering. "Maybe not. But I’m here anyway."

Elias hated how much those words hit him, how much they made him want to break down his walls. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t let them see the truth as the weight of what he’d done, the choices he’d made that dragged him deeper into a world he used to despise.

"You shouldn’t be here." His voice came out colder than he intended, but it was the truth. Barista didn’t belong in his world. They had a future, a life that wasn’t tainted by blood or violence, and he couldn’t stand the thought of dragging them down with him.

Barista leaned forward slightly, their expression softening. "And yet, here I am."

The words cut deeper than Elias expected. They were too good, too understanding, and it only made the guilt weigh heavier on his chest. He didn’t deserve this didn’t deserve them.

He crushed the cigarette into the ashtray, letting out a frustrated sigh. "I’m not someone you should care about. I can’t give you anything. Not… not a future. Not a normal life."

Barista’s gaze softened even more, a slight smile tugging at the corners of their lips. "I never asked for that. I knew who you were when I stuck around."

Elias ran a hand through his hair, his frustration bubbling over. "Why? Why would you stay? You know what I am. What I do."

Barista stood up, walking over to him, their eyes never leaving his. "Because I see more than that. I see you."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, Elias couldn’t breathe. He felt something crumbling inside him, the walls he had built, the defenses he had clung to so tightly. He wanted to believe them, wanted to believe that there was something in him worth saving, worth seeing.

But all he could see were the shattered dreams, the broken promises, and the life he had sacrificed to survive. His mother’s death, Fresno, the Wraiths, they had taken everything from him, including the boy who once looked at the stars and dreamed of something more.

"I used to want… something else," Elias admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wanted to be something else. Someone else."

Barista sat down next to him, their hand resting lightly on his arm. "You still can."

Elias shook his head. "No, I can’t. That life… that dream? It’s gone. Crumbled. And I don’t think I’ll ever get it back."

Barista’s hand tightened on his arm, their voice steady and calm. "Dreams don’t crumble. People change. You can still be whoever you want to be, Elias. It’s not too late."

Elias swallowed hard, the weight of their words settling over him like a blanket of both comfort and fear. He wanted to believe that the dreams he once had weren’t completely lost. But in the world he lived in, dreams didn’t just crumble, they shattered.

"I don’t know if I can." His voice was strained, full of uncertainty and the fear of hoping for something more.

Barista’s gaze never wavered. "I’ll be here. No matter what. Even if it takes time, I’ll be here."

For the first time in what felt like forever, Elias allowed himself to lean into their words, to believe, if only for a moment, that maybe just maybe there was still something left worth holding onto.

But even as he sat there, the weight of his choices and the world around him pressed down, a reminder that dreams weren’t easily rebuilt once they crumbled.

The weight of the silence pressed harder now. Elias stared at the extinguished cigarette, the ash smeared in the tray like an echo of something lost like his future, like the person he could have been. The ache in his chest wasn’t just physical anymore; it was something deeper, older, a pain that had been growing ever since the day his life shifted since Fresno, since his mother’s death, since the moment everything he once imagined for himself had been taken away.

He glanced at Barista, their eyes full of warmth and patience, and it twisted something inside him. How could they sit here and believe in him, when he barely believed in himself?

Elias leaned back into the couch, his gaze drifting to the ceiling as he let out a slow, shaky breath. The stars had always been his escape cosmology, the universe, the endless possibilities that used to fascinate him. He could still remember the way he’d sit in his dorm room at university, pouring over textbooks, imagining the future he’d once dreamed of. He’d thought about becoming an astrophysicist, maybe working at a planetarium, traveling the world, and finding his place somewhere far away from Stockton’s dark streets.

But all that had died the day he dropped out the day Warden pulled him into the Wraiths.

He didn’t get a choice.

His mother had been gone for years by then, and without her, Elias had drifted. escape the clutches of the gang that had taken so much from the people of the city. But when she died… Elias knew he couldn’t outrun it forever.

He’d tried, though. Tried to hold on to some shred of the life he could have had. He remembered walking the halls at college, laughing with classmates, feeling just for a moment like a normal kid. But he always knew, deep down, that it wouldn’t last. Warden would pull him back in. It was inevitable.

His hands tightened into fists at the memory of that day Fresno. The last time he felt like he had control over anything. He had been on break, visiting his mom’s grave, when everything went wrong. The sounds, the chaos, the blood, everything that happened afterward blurred together, but he remembered his father’s cold eyes, the unspoken understanding that there was no going back after that. Warden had told him the truth about the Wraiths, about what they really did, and what his future now looked like.

And just like that, the dream was gone.

He could still hear his mother’s voice sometimes. Soft, sweet, so full of hope for him. She had been the only one who really believed in him, the only one who saw him as more than just a gang heir. And maybe that’s why it hurt so much. If she had lived, maybe things would’ve been different. Maybe he could’ve held on to that part of himself she nurtured the boy who loved the stars, who believed in more than just violence and survival.

Elias swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat as memories of his mother flooded back. He hadn’t thought about her in a while, and hadn't let himself. It hurt too much. She had been his light, and when she died, that light went out. Warden had never been enough to fill the void she left behind. If anything, his father had only made it worse.

His fists unclenched as he stared down at his hands, hands that had seen too much blood, hands that had taken more lives than he could count. His mother would have hated what he’d become. He knew that. And that knowledge broke something inside him every day.

"You know she would’ve wanted more for you." Barista’s voice was soft, like they knew exactly what he was thinking.

Elias didn’t respond immediately. He couldn’t. Instead, he just kept staring at his hands, wondering how things had gone so wrong. His mother’s face flashed in his mind smiling, bright, hopeful and he couldn’t stop the tear that slipped down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly, hoping Barista didn’t notice, but of course, they did.

"Elias," Barista said softly, their hand resting on his arm. "You don’t have to carry all of this alone."

He shook his head, pulling away slightly. "Yes, I do. It’s my fault. All of it."

"That’s not true. You didn’t ask for this."

"No, but I didn’t stop it either," Elias muttered, his voice bitter. "I could have walked away. Before Fresno, before all of this. I could’ve told Warden no. I could’ve "

"You were a kid, Elias," Barista interrupted, their tone firm but gentle. "You were just a kid. It wasn’t your responsibility to fix things."

Elias clenched his jaw, the familiar guilt and anger rising inside him. "I’m not a kid anymore. I haven’t been since… since she died." His voice cracked on the last word, and he hated himself for it, for the weakness that crept in whenever he thought of her.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, trying to steady his breathing. "She should’ve been here," he whispered. "If she hadn’t died, none of this would’ve happened. She could’ve gotten out. She could’ve taken me away from all of this."

Barista didn’t say anything for a moment, and the silence was suffocating. But then, they moved closer, wrapping their arms around him, pulling him into a gentle embrace. Elias stiffened at first, not used to the softness, the comfort. But slowly, he let himself lean into it, resting his head against Barista’s shoulder, his body shaking with the weight of all the pain he had tried to keep buried.

He hadn’t cried for his mother in years. Not like this. Not since the funeral. But now, with Barista holding him, the floodgates opened, and the tears came silent, but relentless. For his mother. For the life he’d lost. For the dreams that had crumbled the day Warden pulled him into the Wraiths.

"I’m sorry," Elias whispered, his voice broken, barely audible. "I’m sorry I couldn’t… couldn’t be what she wanted."

Barista tightened their grip on him, their voice steady and soft. "You are so much more than what you think, Elias. She would have been proud of you. Even now."

He wanted to believe them. God, he wanted to believe that his mother would still be proud, even after everything he’d done. But the guilt was too strong, the regret too deep. He had let his dreams crumble, let himself be dragged into a life of violence and darkness, and he couldn’t see a way out.

The stars felt so far away now. The boy who once dreamed of exploring the universe was gone, buried beneath the weight of his choices, his mistakes.

But as Barista held him, Elias felt something shift a small flicker of hope, barely there, but present. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe he could still find a way out, find a way back to the dreams he’d lost.

But for now, he just let himself cry, let himself feel the pain of everything he’d buried for so long. And for the first time in years, he didn’t feel so alone

Elias leaned against them, cigarette still in hand, watching the thin trail of smoke rise and curl into the air. His eyes were distant, unfocused, staring at nothing in particular as he took a long, deliberate drag. The silence in the room felt suffocating, thick with the weight of unspoken thoughts.

“A cigarette’s like life, y’know?” he muttered, the words slipping out before he fully realized it. His voice was low, gravelly from years of smoking. “Burns slowly at first. You think you’ve got all the time in the world. But then, before you even notice, it’s gone, just ash and smoke.”

He exhaled, watching the smoke vanish like the future he once thought he had. A future that didn’t involve gangs, violence, or the suffocating weight of responsibility.

Elias rubbed his forehead, pushing back memories he’d tried to bury. “It’s funny… I used to have dreams, y’know? Real dreams. College, a career hell, maybe even a chance to travel. See the world beyond Stockton. But all it took was one decision, and all of that crumbled.”

He took another drag, the cigarette burning down to the filter. “I think about it sometimes… What if Fresno never happened? What if my mom was still alive?” His voice cracked slightly, the image of his mother flooding his mind. “She never wanted this life for me. She had dreams too. I think she could’ve gotten out, maybe we all could’ve.”

He flicked the cigarette away, watching it roll across the floor before it stilled. “But that’s the thing about dreams, right? They’re fragile. One crack, one wrong turn, and they crumble apart.”

Elias clenched his jaw, his thoughts spiraling. "Everything I wanted, everything she could’ve had… just dust now. And all that’s left is this." He gestured to the room, to the life he was trapped in.

“I guess this is it,” he whispered, almost to himself. “This is what’s left when dreams fall apart.”

[eelfuneral]

Bedtime Stories

I’m multishipping garbage, so I decided to write a little TechPhee fix-it piece because they deserved so much better. They’ve also got a newborn.

Phee was pulled from the gentle sea of sleep by the precise staccato of a familiar whisper. Before giving birth to Aroha, she had been a heavy sleeper, but having a newborn had somehow made her more prone to waking at the slightest noise, her brain filled with one phrase: “the baby”. Phee rubbed the sleep from her eyes and rolled over towards the source of the sound. A broad, scarred, brown back topped by a head of grey-streaked auburn hair cut through the moonlight flooding through the window, and Phee felt warmth down to the very pit of her stomach.

She sat up and scooted towards the opposite edge of the bed. When she reached her husband’s warmth, she rested her chin on his shoulder. Tech glanced up from the quiet bundle in his arms and turned to Phee, stealing a quick but scorching kiss from her parted lips.

“The baby okay?” asked Phee, reaching down and stroking an old, silvery scar that ran like a ravine across Tech’s left pectoral.

“Yes,” he replied, still whispering, “Aroha was sound asleep. I, however, was not.” It wasn’t uncommon for Tech to pick their daughter up from the bassinet beside their bed in the middle of the night, and it had been like pulling teeth to get him to admit that his dreams were the catalyst.

“Another of your dreams?” asked Phee, reaching down to run a gentle index finger along Aroha’s chubby cheek. The newborn’s eyelids twitched, but she remained lost in slumber.

“The one with the needles and the electricity,” said Tech, his voice cracking. He pulled his daughter closer to his chest and took in a tremulous breath.

“Oh, Brown Eyes,” Phee said before tilting his strong chin towards her and kissing him deeply. She felt a tear escape her eye. When the kiss broke, Phee stroked the side of Tech’s neck. “It’s all over. You’re on Pabu.”

“Sometimes, I am prone to forgetting,” said Tech, his voice colored by guilt for horrible things that he didn’t remember, and yet had been forced to do.

“I know,” replied Phee, only to be interrupted by a shrill cry.

Aroha’s wide, brown eyes opened for a moment before a shrill cry for her mother erupted from her toothless mouth.

“She’s hungry,” said Phee as she plucked the baby from her husband’s arms, lifted her shirt, and allowed Aroha to latch on and feed.

Tech turned around and looked at his wife and daughter with a warm smile, and the motorized components in his prosthetic arm hummed as he adjusted the silk bonnet that sat askew atop Phee’s locs.

“You are beautiful,” he said, “so is little Aroha. She has your smile.”

Phee’s heart lept as though she were a schoolgirl talking to her first crush, “she’s got your pretty eyes, Tech. What were you talking to her about tonight?”

Tech took Phee’s flesh hand in his cybernetic one. It was warm. “I was simply telling young Aroha the tale of the Prince in the Cursed Mask and the Pirate Queen whose kiss broke the spell,” he said.

Phee hummed and gave Aroha a smile, “how’s it end?”

“Just like this,” said Tech.

[codfanficedits]

Don't fall in love - Part two.

Summary:

You get warned not to fall in love with Ghost, but you did anyways. Turning this into a little series!

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 916 | Rating: E (18+ only!)

Warnings: a little bit of angst - swearing

Part One here

‘Don’t fall in love with him.’

And you can’t fall in love with something you can’t see, at least that is what you’re telling yourself as you avoid him. Memorizing how his footsteps sound like so you know when to slip out of rooms, to leave gatherings whenever your ears pick up the heavy steps. But you can’t avoid him forever, not matter how hard you try. The most hypocritical part? You’re hurt when he doesn’t look at you during a mission briefing. And now you understand the women you’ve seen crying about him before, because it seems like Ghost hold your whole being in the palm of his hand, only to crush it when he refuses to acknowledge you’re even there. Why are you craving his validation so much while you’re the person who turned him down, who left first? Why do these feelings have to be so complicated?

It isn’t until the briefing is dismissed that he finally looks at you and again you don’t know how to handle it, why do you want him to look at you and why do you want to look away at the same time. The cold air that he leaves behind when he walks past you without giving you a crumb of attention hurts into the core of your soul and you can feel the hot tears burn behind your eyes, but you refuse it. You refuse to become one of the women who were stupid enough to fall in love with him and cry about it, after all, you did get warned about it.

You feel regret whenever you remind yourself that you were the one who left him that night, because now your mind can torture you with things that could’ve been, but never happened because you decided to leave. You’re so lost in thought that you nearly bump into a large back. One you could recognize from afar.

Ghost turns around, those beautiful brown eyes are cold, harsh behind his mask.

“You’re avoiding me.”

“Am not.” You protest, although the both of you know it’s a blatant lie.

His eyes narrow, before he shakes his head. “Was it something I did?”

It’s a question that caught you off guard. The vulnerability in his voice wasn’t something you expected to hear, you had expected anger, coldness, hate maybe even, but not this. The man who you were warned about, stood before you, a strain on his voice as he asked you the question that had been haunting his heart for days now.

Ghost wanted to pull up the walls again, shut you out, move on to the next. But Simon needed to know, Simon couldn’t take your silence, a rejection that stabbed him through his heart. Because there were two longings inside of him, and one was fighting with the other. Simon wanted to be loved and Ghost wanted to be always alone.

Because Simon dreams of conversations Ghost never get to have. He is unable to take the silence anymore, the guilt growing rapid in him.

“Please. God, don’t tell me I did do anything you didn’t want.”

What? You’re confused. Is that what he is thinking? Now it’s your turn to feel the guilt inside of you grow. You were so caught up with your own feelings, you never took his feelings into account, after all, you were warned about him, to not fall in love with him.

He takes off his mask, the balaclava following after. A look of distress on his face as he runs a hand through that dirty blonde hair.

“Because if I did, I’m so sorry. I really thought you were into it too, and I never meant to push you over any of your boundaries.” The words spill out of him as water spills out of a breaking dam.

“Stop.”

Silence

“You didn’t do anything I didn’t want.” You reassure him.

“Then why?” The same strain on his voice again, a look of hurt on his face. But how can you tell him how you feel without giving him the ability to completely destroy you?

“Why do you avoid me?” He asks again, because Simon wanted to know what made him so unlovable.

“They told me not to fall in love with you.”

 “Why?” The look of hurt changes to one of disbelief.

“Because you break hearts!” A reproach towards him.

“I’m the one breaking hearts? I had to wake up in an empty bed while you promised to stay the night!”

Why did it bother him so much? You had heard the stories about him kicking women out right after he had reached his orgasm. He shouldn’t care at all.

“Why do you even care at all?” You snap back at him, trying to keep your own feelings hidden by going for the attack.

“Because I wanted you to be different.”

Silence.

You don’t know what to say, you’ve been so keen on telling yourself you couldn’t fall in love with him, that you never ever saw the opportunity that the feelings could be mutual.

“Fuck.” His voice is strained at all. “Say something.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?”

“I’m sorry I left that night.”

A pained laugh escapes him. “Fuck. That’s not what this is about.” He shakes his head. “You know what? Forget I said a fucking thing.” He hisses before he turns around on his heels, leaving you behind. And you can’t help but feel as if you showed that you cared too late.

[ryomku]

thank you satoru - gojo satoru

synopsis: Thanks for looking at the cherry blossoms with me Satoru.

character: Gojo Satoru

tags: gojo satoru x reader, gn! reader, one sided crush, angst, no happy ending, use of y/n, no curses au!

a/n: apologies in advance for any mistakes, english is not my first language, curse you gege this is all your fault, not proofread it's like 1 am y'all I'm just sad and stressed lmao

a/n 2: took some inspo from the song: 8 Letters by Why Don't We.

You are the one who knows me best and the one who hurts me most, yet here we are seeing each other.

“Why do I pull you close but then ask you for space?”

“Am I just hurting myself?”

“Why is it so difficult to tell you that I love you?”

Isn't it amazing?

Like every day we meet without missing a beat, days where we love and hate each other.

“Are we going to change it?”

We don't know yet.

“Can I touch your heart?”

“How can I get closer to you?”

Surely I won't be able to, knowing how you are like with a heart that's as hard as stone and cold as ice. Yet, you made mine fragile like glass I am at my limit and anything can easily break it.

“Will the day that I deserve you come by?”

Let me be your love.

It's always you, you're always the one who hurts me, you make an impact in my life.

“Why can't I make an impact in your life?”

I know that if I curse at you it won't hurt, I know that if I yell at you it won't matter and I know that if I leave you won't miss me.

I know you don't love me and I still want to keep trying to win you over even if it's in vain.

“Could you do me a favor, Satoru?” Although I wanted to look into your eyes at that moment, mine only focused on the cherry blossoms and the soft pink petals that fall softly and delicately touch the ground.

I know he doesn't care about me but I still want him to do one last thing for me, I know I've bothered him too much but this is the last thing I ask of you my friend.

“What do you want me to do idiot?”

“Could you take me outside to see the cherry blossoms?”

I know I'm asking a lot of you, but please just do this for me. I fell for you many years ago and I want to be in your arms this time once and for all.

“Sure, I'll take you right now if that's okay.”

“Perfect.”

Every look, every touch makes me want to give you all of me, but I can't and I never will be able to, I know, I know that I don't deserve you and that I'm not enough for you, but at least my dream will come true.

You took me by the hand to the backyard of my house, helped me go down the stairs and stopped every time I felt a sharp pain in my chest. I'm sorry to give you so much work for this last favor.

We walked to the other side of the garden and sat under the cherry tree, as always sitting next to each other. I didn't like it but since this is the last favor I ask of you, I might as well change things. With some effort I got up from my place and let myself fall gently between your legs sensing that you were startled by how sudden everything was, I took your arms and put them around my shoulders so that you could give me a hug.

“Sometimes I wonder, what would happen if I found a soul like mine?”

“What do you mean dumbass?” Those ways you call me don't hurt me anymore Gojo, nothing hurts me anymore.

“I would like to find someone who loves me like I love that person, I want someone who loves me for who I am and not for what I do or what I can give them, I want someone who understands me and is there for me when needed, I would have loved to meet someone like that.”

“You and your love things.”

I know you don't understand them because you don't feel it the way I feel it for you Satoru, I know you don't feel it and you won't.

The sky was painted in dark colors and the clouds looked even more beautiful than before. I adore sunsets and even more so if it's with someone I love, even if that someone doesn't love me like I love them.

I wanted to tell you what I felt at that moment but I know that if I do you will live with that guilt that you did nothing to love me more and I don't like when you feel guilty, I wanted us to have a future in which we continued playing and being side by side like we've done since we were children but Satoru I can't do it anymore.

If I could be half of what you think of me, I could learn to do anything and maybe then you could love me for who I am.

I always thought I was bad but look at you, you are the best, how much I adore you and how much I love you.

Thank you for all these years my faithful friend, my confidant and my love, I will never be able to thank you for everything you have done for me, but at least I enjoyed all these years by your side my beloved, but it is time to go, maybe it hurts you that I'm leaving or maybe not, but I want to think that I am special to you and that at least in some way you love me, even if it's just as a friend.

Thank you for letting yourself be loved without knowing it.

“Thank you for seeing the cherry blossoms with me Satoru, thank you.”

“No problem, I don't mind doing this with you Y/N.”

You very rarely called me by my name, thank you for doing it in the end Satoru

“Satoru, I adore you.”

For the last time I felt my face get wet from the hot tears that I shed for the last time and for the last time I was able to see the cherry blossoms.

Closing my eyes along with the last beats of this sick heart.

Thank you Gojo Satoru, I love you.

The white haired boy felt his friend's body go limp in his arms, tightening the hug on the other body to feel its warmth.

“Did you fall asleep Y/N?”

His friend was finally in eternal slumber, it's a shame that the blue eyed boy didn't notice and slept next to his already dead friend.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

stop-motion poetry

Fandom: Masters of the Air Rating: T Word Count: 1295

Summary: the irony of loneliness / is we all feel it / at the same time - Rupi Kaur (Italicized passages are also Rupi Kaur poems.)

i tried to find it but there was no answer at the end of the last conversation

Everywhere was empty, like a museum. Crosby’s skittish fingers kept tracing around inside his pocket, and he finally realized what he was absent-mindedly feeling for: the snow globe.

In his other pocket, he had the intercepted letter. He was treating those words as Bubbles’ last to him, though… would Bubbles have shown him the letter? Maybe, if Crosby had asked. Maybe, because Bubbles might feel he was coming between Crosby and Jean if he didn’t. He could be funny like that. Whenever Jean came up, Bubbles made Crosby feel like Wendy regarded by the Lost Boys—an adult among children.

Wouldn’t you like to know, Bubbles had shot back when Crosby’d repeated the name of the plane. Suddenly, Crosby was the clueless one, Bubbles with the inside baseball on the mystery of women, high on the promise of She’s Gonna. Now, Crosby wasn’t so sure Bubbles was correct; why should he have liked to know? He had no inclination to know what Bubbles knew. What the sky looked like when all the planes in it were falling. Whether you felt an explosion that happened so close, so fast. How long it took to die from a thing like that. Nope, Crosby wasn’t interested.

He preferred to remember Bubbles the way he remembered the snow globe: a little something to carry with him everywhere he went. When the world slanted, something to be plucked from the tilt and, once held, leveled.

—

i hardened under the last loss. it took something human out of me. i used to be so deeply emotional i’d crumble on demand. but now the water has made its exit. of course i care about the ones around me. i’m just struggling to show it. a wall is getting in the way. i used to dream of being so strong nothing could shake me. now. i am. so strong. that nothing shakes me. and all i dream is to soften.

She recalled that he’d had too much to carry, heavy kit bag slung over his shoulder, but when he’d taken the provisions she’d passed him, he’d managed not to crush the donut against the mug of coffee he’d held in the same hand. Herbert had been gentle, that was what Helen recalled. Forward, yes. Obvious, yes—but gentle.

Some of them hadn’t taken the donut, but just about all of them took the coffee, unless they were very young and shied from the bitterness. There had been others before Herbert. Men who’d crossed a room to talk to her, men who’d announced their name and stuck out their hand. Helen had felt their palms on the small of her back when they’d danced. She’d seen their faces up-close, with the bravado gone, had understood herself an as object of lust or a tap on their watch, reminding them time might be running out. Sometimes, she’d only danced with them through words. Sometimes they hadn’t come back from the mission, and she’d wished she’d been kinder.

It was good though, that she and Herbert hadn’t kissed on the mouth. It meant she couldn’t miss that feeling. Missing the smile he’d given her the morning they flew out was plenty hard. Missing the scent of the oil he’d used in his hair, the rosy smudge of lipstick she’d left on his jaw during their dance.

Ever since Major Rosenthal had told her, since he’d said Lieutenant Nash had gone down, Helen’s chest had been a crater she covered over with smiles like old boards, stiff and creaking, threatening to cave in. She felt guilt, because Herbert had called her “Helen of Troy.” She hadn’t sent them, but she was too smart and too good at punishing herself not to figure that she had, in a way, launched those ships of the air. She represented the innocent, to them. Sisters and sweethearts. To fight for her or something like her, they would all go, go by the hundreds. One less, now.

At the next dance, Helen decided, marooned on the grass by Rosenthal, she would shake her head and stay at the table.

—

yesterday when i woke up the sun fell to the ground and rolled away flowers beheaded themselves all that’s left alive here is me and i barely feel like living

Dawn came. Bucky wasn’t convinced the sun came with it. Through the windscreen and the cigarette smoke trapped in the cockpit, the sky changed colour, definitely paler than night as it arrived before his itchy eyes, but if there was light, he didn’t register it. Like a telephone call in another room, it wasn’t for him.

He wanted to drink himself into the plane. Become so liquid that the seat absorbed him, that a thin trickle of whatever was left of him dribbled into the fuel tank. Then he could be burnt up. Sic transit Major Egan: He was an unpredictable drunk, and a more successful flirt than he’d deserved to be. He’d had a best friend, once. That man—that better man—was gone and nobody was lookin’ for him. Bucky was looking pretty damn hard in the bottom of this flask, but so far, no luck.

The horizon turned blue, which was bullshit. Blue was for eyes. Bucky laughed harshly at nature’s mistake.

“Hey, Curt,” he called over his shoulder, loose grin sliding all over his mouth. “Curt!”

But that had been a different today-is-tomorrow. Bucky blinked more tears back into his eyes, like he’d been doing all night. His smile withered. Too much water. Not enough light.

—

in order to fall asleep i have to imagine your body crooked behind mine spoon ladled into spoon till i can hear your breath i have to recite your name till you answer and we have a conversation only then can my mind drift off to sleep

It was usually that Curt’s body did what his mind would’ve urged him not to if it’d been paying attention. As the plane swept towards the ground and his body, shoved back against the pilot’s seat, couldn’t slow the descent, his mind took the controls and slowed time. He began to be able to separate the breaths in his rapid panting. He could think of stuff that wasn’t this, climb into the top turret of his own brain. He could see that it was a stupid fuckin’ idea to try to land a Fort with a belly full of bombs while his hands distantly and futilely kept trying to pull up and slow the glide. His body knew how it ended: in an orange ball, fire round as a cloud. His mind reached out and tugged up another reality like a blanket.

A blue hour, walking the wing, the air damp and cool, but it didn’t matter because he was warm from drinking, but not so much drinking that he couldn’t strike a taunting Bucky hard and sharp with a clean, swift hook, but not so hard and sharp that Bucky didn’t still smile after it connected, but not such a big smile that Curt was in danger of thinking it was real. The smile. The memory.

The plane battered through the trees.

“Oh god.”

He tugged up another place, another time. Dickie with a whole, smooth face. Buck’s voice coming down the line, callin’ Curt Bucky’s little spoon. Smilin’. Sleeping in a Scottish bed that smelled like wool and the fire that’d burnt down in the hearth. He’d been wound up so tight after the crash-landing, scoring those rows of cabbages from the earth. He hadn’t thought he’d be able to surrender to anyone, ever, including sleep, but sleep had come eventually.

“DICKIE—”

Yes, sleep had come.