#i believed you william blake

[youjustwaitsunshine]

"Look at their eyes. See how big they are? It's because they're looking at God."

[queenlua]

as a kid i read a lot of william blake and a lot of william james

but i was constantly getting them mixed up with each other because, idk, it’s some dude named william aren’t they all the same

and it occurs to me suddenly that the combination of those two would be the ur-being.  blake’s proto-romanticism and unhinged artistry and obscure wee-woo-ness meets james’s hoity-toity genteel proto-psychology and warm pragmatism and dweeby religious preoccupations.  can we combine these into one dude.  kid-me was onto something i want to believe

[harmonysanreads]

sunday with a singer! darling, one who had escaped from him almost seven years ago, and disappeared off the face of the galaxy. imagine his reaction when he gets word of a famous belobogian band on the radio soon after it’s connections to the IPC were restored, comprised of a woman named serval landau, and a *very* familiar young woman, with an even more familiar voice.

- (…could i be ✨ anon?)

Curtain Call

Yandere!Sunday x Reader

cw(s) : yandere, written before 2.2

wc : 2.6k

You have the power of democracy by your side ✨ anon and I have no choice but to adhere to public demand :] Even though you mentioned a female!reader, the direction of the narrative didn't necessitate that specification, so the reader is gender-neutral! But they have been called ‘babygirl’ once.

“How can the bird that is born for joy

Sit in a cage and sing?”

— William Blake

You've avoided all shades of white and blue since the dawn of this day.

Serval regarded your pertinacity with a voiceless breadth of intrigue, before yielding with little to no resistance. A smidgen of guilt had briefly permeated your consciousness upon the vague shadow of a pout on her face, you recalled her enthusiasm passed through plans of matching outfits on your debutante from days now labeled as the near past. She picked herself up quickly though, her free-spirited ideals would not be compromised by some mere color choice.

It was difficult to not admire her. Lamentably, it is much easier to cradle the preachings of an unrestrained life than to actually act upon them — and by doing so, shouldering the frigid reality that came with such a life. As a child of frozen terrains although, frigidity must be Serval's playground, you eventually conclude. That is hardly the case for you, but you'd rather swallow whole chunks of ice than pin the blame on yourself alone for that apparent incapability.

You aren't at fault for your paranoia in embracing freedom, but you are resolved enough to try breaking away from its clutches. But just as tattoos sink deep beneath skin, that anxiety stubbornly clings to your psyche and the memories of the past nurture and allow it to fester. Which is why, you must avoid any shades of white and blue, at least until the dawn of tomorrow graces Belobog. Be it a superstition with no rational ground or scientific explanation, you decide to believe firmly in your gut.

The walls of the makeshift back-room muffle the chorus of the crowd outside, but it is enough to comfort you that your long held wish did come true. The single light bulb hanging beyond the door of the room serves as the sole source of luminescence, although it is barely helpful, the light bounces off from your back and reflects a scarcely tangible silhouette in the mirror of the dressing table. Glitters of dust floating around are illuminated by that light, abandoned furniture peek beneath their veils from your peripheral — they exclaim what this room's previous purpose had been.

Neither the modest setting nor the small trinkets spread across the dressing table come close to what you had a taste of ; glimmering surfaces, brands of beauty products worth a man's life savings and silks of no contender would mock this shack, if they could. But your heart soaks in solace whenever that irritatingly bright light flickers and mellowed cheers of the crowd permeate the room's thin walls, not because you lack taste in life, but because you recognize the futility of vanity.

“You did amazing there, babygirl!”

Your vision stutters at the impact of firm touch, you feel arms rest atop your decolletage, a shadow cloaks your reflection in the mirror. The cool touch of metal upon your left shoulder and a distinct streak of blue masquerading among blond locks of hair draw out a breath of relief from your lungs. But a faint twist engulfs your gut the very next second, you recall asking for a moment of quietude vividly.

“I don't think my performance was as great as you say, Serval. And whatever I achieved, it wouldn't have been possible without you guys.” your fingers twiddle with your sleeves, your eyes find interest in an abandoned nail polish.

You peek up in time to meet the rockstar's stare through the mirror, with some wrestling with the light, her disapproval shines through to your eyes.

“Nonsense, you were the star of today's show. Give yourself some credit, would ya?” your cheek soaks in the pinch before your brain can decode her words, you muffle a whine in protest.

“Okay, okay! I'm sorry.” your hand quickly soothes over the tempered skin when her fingers retreat, that's the extent of ‘retaliation’ you offer Serval, having accustomed yourself to her spontaneity in the interim of your stay under her care.

“I saw you look... pretty unnerved after the performance, so I came to check.” you scratch your cheek, eyes darting upwards to find her face shielded by your hair. You cannot pinpoint why, but for a second it seemed like she struggled to find footing with her phrasing of words. You've never heard her falter, at least in speech, but the waves of conversation swallow that momentary observation just as quickly.

Instead of being candid, you take a different turn, “You know, I wasn't lying about being grateful to you all. To perform on a stage without any rules was a long held dream of mine,” you feel gooseflesh bloom across your arms as tip-toeing touch descends to your sides, something within tempts you to curl in on yourself but you force your breath to finish. “If it hadn't been for your help, I would never succeed in fulfilling it.”

Serval hums in understanding, the timbres of it traverses from your skull and extends to your nerves. Her arms rest snuggly around your waist and you swallow dryly. Serval always wrapped her arms around your shoulders whenever she felt the need to and the fact that it made your head nearly spiral with questions didn't require to be stated. Only now do you reckon the slumbering atmosphere, without the jeer and cheer of the audience, you felt Belobog's cold biting into the tips of your fingers. You told everyone to not disturb you — your mind echoes without clarification.

“Is it because of that husband of yours?”

Your shoulders tense and for a litany of reasons, most obscure enough to be dismissed as misnomers produced by your instincts, none but one potent enough to be addressed. “Well yes… I told you about a man, but I don't remember specifying that it was a ‘husband’ responsible for my situation.”

Your words materialize as half confused and half laden with caution, you'd told Serval a few things about your predicament — nothing groundbreakingly detailed, just enough to earn a portion of her empathy. It kills you to follow tactics that enticed you to your doom, but what is life, if not a series of trial and error? It's best to apply the teachings of a manipulator than to continue being manipulated for eternity. But of course, you'll admit, such carefully taken steps still don't lessen the likelihood of meeting a dead-end to zero. How unfortunate.

It's Serval's turn to tense, but it's so quick you're left questioning whether it really happened. “Ah, but there was a ring on your right ring finger when you first came here! And the ‘man’ in your stories didn't seem to be different persons. So, I took a guess…”

An awkward chuckle leaves the rockstar's lips and you blink. She's right, you were still wearing your wedding ring when you came here ; an amateur mistake, you should've left it at some abstruse corner of the Dewlight Pavilion. You glance up at your reflections on the mirror, Serval was now mimicking your previous antics, a painted nail against her cheek albeit, the opposing light veiled her expression from recognition. One of her arms was still around your waist, loosely this time.

“I didn't say anything offending, did I?” the mechanic mutters tentatively. You take a deep breath and exhale, vacillating between the multitude of scenarios conjured by your lingering paranoia. But if it's Serval, you give it more thought, there was no tangible reason as to why she of all people would bring this up with malicious intent — or at least, none that you could come up with. She was likely merely concerned for your well-being, a big sister's instincts perhaps.

“Not at all,” the three words are uttered with more difficulty than needed but the effort is proved worth it when she relaxes and returns to embrace you with gusto.

This time you can feel her touch vividly across the bare skin of your midriff, a reminder of your present dress up automatically causes blood to rush to your face. The matching crop-top with Serval was hardly the most revealing thing someone had worn in this universe, but it was the boldest you'd been with your attire. You think you saw her gaze tilting at the sight but the only way to affirm it would make things further awkward. As you melt upon recalling that you'd sung your lungs out with this on in front of a crowd, the rockstar chimes in again.

“Ah right, I almost forgot why I actually came here. I have a gift for you!” you blink out of your stupor to hear shuffles, a bottle of hairspray is knocked to the ground due to her movements. The object clamors down and rolls a few feet away but Serval pays it no attention, you quirk a brow at her sudden briskness. “Close your eyes.” she lulls sweetly, you obey despite your state of disorientation.

You feel the faint brushes of her fingers first, then a noticeable weight around your neck, fastened a little too tightly. After she beckons you to open your eyes, you scrutinize the object through your reflection on the mirror and recognize it to be… a choker. It's heavier than what you recall chokers to be, its body is painted in baby blue and when you turn your head the light bounces off its surface to reveal golden outlinings. Three small wings curl around the white tassel hanging from the middle, you find the wings to be unnervingly soft when your fingers brush across them.

The choker looked expensive, despite its somewhat gaudy appearance and it didn't seem like something aligning with Serval's tastes. But most importantly, there's blue and white in it — the two colors you'd been stubbornly avoiding. Your mind spirals, you clearly remember telling Serval that you didn't want to see those two colors today — or, did you? Perhaps it was your mind weaving its own narratives in the flurry of adrenaline? A chill rears its grotesque head, a panic you can't quite push down despite your mind adapting to give her the benefit of the doubt, your breaths lapse unevenly.

“For being such a darling member of Mechanical Fever, a token of our friendship. I didn't know how else to thank you, so I got this instead.” Serval's voice yanks you from the edge of a panic attack, you force yourself to breathe deeply. You turn around when you notice the absence of her shadow, finding her retreating into the shadow of the half ajar door.

You remain seated on the juncture between light and shadow, returning to face the mirror after the rockstar settles on a stool. “I should be the one saying that and… you didn't have to give me this, but I appreciate the gesture nonetheless.” your thumb and index fingers twiddle with the pure white tassel.

Her words seem to make you forget about your earlier paranoia, nostalgia cascades down your soul as you recall the fond memories inherent to Belobog. Destiny's game is truly difficult to comprehend, to think you'd find an actual home so far from your supposed one.

You add without waiting for her reply, “When I first came here, I was so scared and paranoid. I couldn't sleep the first night and I wanted nothing more than to flee the next morning. I really mean it when I say I couldn't make it without your and the others' help.”

Your palm cradles the beat of your existence, the thin fabric of the crop top does little to muffle your heart's clamorous prance.

“Thank you, thank you so much for everything.” your pour as much gratitude from the river coursing through the recesses of your soul in those words. Your chest constricts as you sigh, you remember all the faces that are now known as familiar and random instances buried deep in your memories. Perhaps it's the naturally cold weather of this planet that plays a part, but you furrow your brows as inexplicable sorrow engulfs your heart.

“I, too, hope that you've had a wonderful experience on this planet.”

A much younger you used to judge the victims of stories for choosing to freeze than to flee in the face of candid danger, vowing to not follow in their footsteps should you meet such a predicament one day. Your heart would shatter to incorrigible bits if it hadn't been so viciously twisted, you realize how futile promises are at the thin line separating life and death.

Your body flinches from its hunched position to meet watchful golden eyes, shielded by the door's shadow. You blink a multitude of times, as if that'd make his poised presence disappear, as if that'd affirm that you were simply in the grips of anxiety and Serval would return to reprimand you back to reality.

The warmth drains from your body when he's still there, sitting in front of you with a mocking serenity — you've never hated the vice grip he maintains on his composure more than this moment. Why, how, when and what conjoins his name to frame a myriad of questions, each being answered by none other than you the very next second. Your ears twitch when you catch voices at the end of the hallway, the actual Serval and others must be retreating. You might be a deer inches away from the tiger's jaw, but you'll not go down without a fight, at least.

“If you're planning to scream, I'd advise against that.” Sunday calmly states, your breath catches in your throat. “The choker on your neck has a shock mechanism and it can be activated in various ways. Namely, any time you raise your voice above the coded decibels and the voltage will increase the louder you scream.”

Your hand flies upwards towards the cursed choker and you wrestle a breath in disbelief, you were made a fool of and quite exquisitely. You realize you should've listened to your gut instincts when you still had the choice. Sunday raises a gloved palm when you restlessly tug at the thing, “Don’t bother, it can only be taken off with a password.”

A password only he knows, you conclude. It was not news to you that his sanity is loose from the hinges of his soul, but never would you have expected him to go this far. You glare at your husband, though it looks more like a gazelle's helpless stare as it struggles in the jaws of a predator. The voices from the hallway disappear entirely, you'd told them not to look for you so they'll not return, you feel your eyes moisten as you realize you're stuck alone with Sunday.

“Why—” you choke.

“I understand that you must have a lot of questions,” his words are half resignation and half cheap empathy. “But it is not your turn to speak, for there are more pressing matters at hand.”

Sunday stands up, brows scrunching at the dust floating around the room. “The matter of your possible unfaithfulness is one thing,” his hand grips the handle of the door and you flinch. “But performing in front of so many people without any consideration of how far it'll spread, or choice of attire,” your body erupts in shudders upon feeling his pointed stare, the expanse of your exposure finally registering.

“Truly unbefitting of my spouse.”

But it's not his judging gaze that has your nerves frayed, it's the hints of genuine disappointment that borders on anger leaking through his words that makes you feel parched, makes you want the earth split in half and take you from this situation. Your experience with Sunday has taught you that he has the patience of a saint, but none of those memories reassure you that it's boundless. You realize that you've never actually seen his face contorted in ire, no matter how defiant you'd been. Aeons, you wish it stayed that way forever.

As the shadow of the closing door engulfs your form and leaves the rest to interpretation, the last thing you see are his darkened golden eyes — you're certain that, that was the instance the last spirited part of you died.

rest in peace i guess

[notthesomefather]

Goddess Hel, divine hostess whose arms lovingly embrace all guests, Watch over those who have crossed your gates against their will. Care for those taken from us and bless them with tranquil rest.

Godx Loki, story-teller and guardian of outcasts, Give words to our sorrow so that we may honor their memories. Breathe air into our lungs so we may bellow our love over hatred.

Goddess Hel, cherisher of life and daughter of metamorphosis, Bestow in their loved ones moments of laughter, healing, and peace. May their names echo not just in sorrow but in smiling remembrance.

Godx Loki, change-bringer and waker of revolution, Spark the flames of unrelenting authenticity within us. Stoke the ember of truth until the hateful are blinded by its light.

Under the cut are the siblings, youth, and elders whose lives were taken due to hatred, bigotry, and fear. I understand it is incredibly triggering, but I believe we owe it to them to read their names.

We love you. We are unendingly sorry and we will never stop fighting until the hatred that stole you from this life has been extinguished. We love you so much.

(December 2023 - November 2024) Savannah Williams Bernardo Panteleon Pepper Mychel Peterson Mariah Ruby Rachel Williams F. L. “Bubba” Copeland Lola Laperla Ebony McDaniels Shandon Floyd Tiesha McFarland Kejuan Richardson Amiri Jean Reid Mya Finch Travis Stimeling Demita Jo Armstrong Onteris Owens-Campbell Jesse Viviano White Star Possum Jermaine Golden Meghan Riley Lewis Zoey Flye Madison Montana Care Hansen Amber Minor Ashlei Jasmine Colgate-Edwards Fleetwood Mars Mozee Shelby “Lexus” Riddick-Walker Kimbella Blackshear Easley Jeffcoat Tripp Schultz Lady Fabian Sanchez James Moen Dana Randolph “Desiree A. DeMornay” Quin Joy Sasha Williams Jennell Jaquays Sarina Mihailoff Sasha Washington-Cohen “Sasha Fierce” Guelila “Gigi” Iyob Videl Lombardo Savannah Rose Rivers Amore Kathy “Otter” Ottersten Robin Valentina Forrest Douglas Buckley Giselle Stone Tristan Michael Bustos “Tristyn St. Clair” Kitty Monroe Natalia Skye Teddy Reese Curran Erick Krouse Noah Jackson Chase Ellie Walsh Nex Benedict Emma “África” Parrilla García Blakely Hanson Righteous TK “Chevy” Hill Ashton Myles Clatterbuck Madison Nicole Spann “Madison St. Claire” Cecilia Gentili Diamond Cherish Brigman Elliot Ganiel Fae Morganna Barbone Aurelia A. Legassey Alex Franco Meraxes Medina Ty Geissinger “Ty Holiday” Andrea Doria Dos Passos “Maggie” Yella Clark Allister Matthews Tiffany Azalea Monceaux Tara Fable Randy Dudley River Neveah Goddard Tee “Ace” Arnold George A. Schappell Starr Brown Robbi Mecus Basil Brown Tayy Dior Thomas Kita Bee Kamryn “Cantrell” Smith Jazlynn Johnson Daelicious O’hare Mizani Darri C. Moore Niomi Jenkins Michelle Henry Saanti Bonét Valentino Pauly Likens M. Tapia Lynn Conway Liara Kaylee Tsai Dylan Gurley Griffin Shaun Sivret Kenji Zemonta Spurgeon Ev Smith Shannon Boswell Levi Castillo Lily Autumn Rose Monique Brooks Noelle Woolley Indiana Grayson Vanity Williams Tai’Vion Lathan Jhzara “Femmie” Williams Baxter Zachary Hawk Kassim Omar Liam Johns Mahdia Lynn Cass Trystero Chilli Pepper Barbie Iceland “Redd China” Honee Daniels Serenity Birdsong Adela Vázquez San Coleman Zeta Muirgen Seraph Haber

[coolseabird]

Every Literary Reference Gale Makes When Selected in BG3 (That I Could Find)

"Oh, what a tangled Weave we web!" -

A play on words referencing the famous quote, "Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive," from Sir Walter Scott's poem "Marmion."

"What fools these mortals be." -

A quote from William Shakespeare's play "A Midsummer Night's Dream," spoken by the character Puck.

"All the world's my stage and you're just a player in it." -

A reference to the famous Shakespearean line, "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players," from "As You Like It."

"No rest for the wicked" -

A phrase that originates from the Bible Isaiah 48:22 There is no peace, saith the Lord, unto the wicked.

"To hold the world in the palm of one's hand" -

I believe this is a reference to this part of the poem Auguries of Innocence by William Blake: To see a World in a Grain of Sand And a Heaven in a Wild Flower, Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand And Eternity in an hour.

"'Doth thy mirror crack?' Apparently not." -

I was so sure this was a quote from some Shakespearean play but nope lol. This is a Waterdhavian phrase that was mentioned in a DnD companion book at some point.

"Seek and you shall find me." -

From the bible. Specifically Matthew 7:7–8 Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you: for every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.

The path less travelled. -

A reference to Robert Frost's poem "The Road Not Taken," which includes the line, "Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by."

"Creator. Destroyer." -

This is a reference to the Lord Krishna's words in the Bhagavad Gita. O Arjuna, I am the creator, maintainer and destroyer of all created objects, such as the sky. Of all knowledge I am knowledge of the self, and in logical debate I am vāda, the philosophical principle that asserts the conclusive truth.

"A rough tempest I will raise" -

I found the explanation behind this quote from a reddit post: "Shakespeare - Tempest, - this is a mash-up of two quotes: In Act V, Scene 1, Prospero uses the phrasing "when first I raised the Tempest". In the same scene, he recites a soliloquy about the great works of magic he has accomplished, before finally renouncing magic altogether: " … But this rough magic I here abjure" https://www.reddit.com/r/BaldursGate3/comments/17uher2/literary_references_in_gales_selection_remarks/ (this person came to the same conclusions as me for many of the prior quotes but I only used their post for this one haha)

I almost certainly missed a few! If there are any others please feel free to reblog and add them!

[borninwinter81]

No Nightingales and The Revolt of the Angels

Following seeing this post the other day regarding the existence of a book called "No Nightingales" about a pair of ghosts living in a house at Berkeley Square, as well as a revelation in the reblogs which says Neil Gaiman is a fan of the authors, I had to get myself a copy.

Unfortunately (no doubt due to a number of people having the same reaction!) there are no longer any copies on ebay, but I wanted to share these pictures of mine. It's clearly ex library, it has beautiful endpapers and I love it without even having started to read it!

I will make another post once I have read it regarding any plot points which may have significance for S3 😁

If you also want to read it I believe there are online library copies, and I think someone may have even posted scanned pages into one of the reblogs on the post I've linked above.

EDIT: @fuckyeahgoodomens just shared a link to read this book here

Also this one, which I posted about the other day. No direct impact upon GO that I know of, other than being about the Angelic war between Heaven and Hell. The William Blake painting on the cover of this edition is a bonus, its The Angel of Revelation.

Again, I'll make another post when I've finished it if there is anything of significance!

20 pages in, and I can tell you it also involves a library, and a librarian who hates people borrowing books. Sounds familiar...

[thebadgerclan]

Pining

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Requested by Anonymous

Summary: Benedict is happy to pine from afar, until...

Benedict had never held such affections for a woman, not before he met you.  It had been an ordinary night that Benedict had decided to spend at Granvil’s place downtown.  Said place happened to be a brothel, but he never partook in the more carnal activities.  Instead, he spoke to like minded individuals about the art world, the pieces they were working on, or busied himself painting whatever model was posing that evening.

Then, he’d met you, and the world tipped on its axis.  You were singularly beautiful, but Benedict’s attraction went far beyond that.  You were well-read, witty, sharp, and talented.  Your still lifes rivaled those of William Blake, and you managed to capture your subject in such a way they appeared they could leap off of the canvas.  He’d approached, and the pair of you hit it off instantly.

You also hailed from a large family, though you were the eldest while Benedict was the second eldest.  “Though I am a daughter, so I do not know if it counts.”  Benedict had merely laughed.  “Do not sell yourself short, Y/N.  You are most certainly a credit to your family.”  Before he knew it, Benedict was spending nearly every evening at the brothel, though he brought no artwork home to show for it.  Instead, his nights consisted of conversing with you, learning every little thing about you, and, as Benedict soon realized, falling in love with you.

He would have been content to pine from afar had it not been for a newcomer: Mister Alexander Smithwell.  He was fresh off a tour of the Continent, and was boasting the masterpieces he had seen.  You, it seemed, had struck a friendship with Mr. Smithwell, but the so-called gentleman quickly became far too close to you for Benedict’s liking.  He stood too close, touched too casually, things that lit the flames of rage in Benedict.

You were a lady, for heaven’s sake, you deserved to be treated like one.  Such was the case now.  You were speaking to Mr. Smithwell about the museums in Rome, laughing at some joke he told, while Benedict sat on a nearby chair, clutching his glass of whiskey so hard, he feared it might shatter.  You looked over Smithwell’s shoulder at him, your face crinkling into a soft smile when you saw him, something that eased the tension in Benedict’s chest.  “Excuse me,” you said, ducking out of the conversation and making your way over to Benedict.

“You ought to get that looked at,” you said, and Benedict frowned.  “Whatever are you talking about?”  “That scowl,” you responded.  “Surely it is not healthy for one to scowl so much for so long.  What has you so verklempt, Benedict?”  You had forgone formalities, at least here, as your friendship was strong enough.  “He is too bold,” Benedict answered.  “Too casual with you.  Smithwell forgets himself.”

“No more than you,” you said, and Benedict whirled to look at you.  “You cannot be in earnest,” he said, brows raised.  “He speaks to you as he would a shop maid I speak to you as–”  “As what?”  “As an equal, as one I respect.”  You saw it then, the way his jaw clenched when he looked at Smithwell, the way he was quick to defend you.  “Wait a minute,” you said.  “You’re jealous.”  “I am not,” Benedict replied, all too quickly, and you laughed.  “You are!  Benedict Bridgerton, you are jealous!”

He flushed scarlet, and you laughed again.  “Perhaps I am,” he hedged, and you smiled.  “My word, I do not think I have ever had a gentleman be jealous over me.”  “Haven’t you?  I find that quite hard to believe.”  You cocked your head.  “How so?”  “Well,” Benedict answered.  “You are quite beautiful, and your intellect rivals that of many gentlemen I have spoken to.  I would think men would be throwing themselves at you.”

You shook your head.  “They aren’t.  None I care for, anyway…”  A heavy silence descended between you, and Benedict picked up on the slightest hint.  “Would you…mind if I called upon you, Y/N?”  You sighed, a smile on your face.  “I was wondering how long it would take you to ask, Benedict.  I would be delighted.”  To his shock, you pressed a fleeting kiss to his cheek before you rose and departed, leaving Benedict stunned.  He brought a hand to his cheek, swearing he could still feel the impression your lips left there.  Tomorrow morning, then, he would call on you.  And hopefully, soon after, he could call you his.

[apricitae-world]

NERO DEFENCE TIME:

One of the things that saddens me in this fandom is the taking of things that happened in the games in a too literal way.

Nero gets called deadweight once, and that is his nickname until today. Many DMC fans believe he doesn't contribute to the team because of that one line.

It's important to remember Dante messes up. He also has lapses of judgement. Despite not knowing the full story, V believed the boy would defeat Urizen.

At the end of the game, Nero stops the fight between Dante and Vergil by making them see common ground and his habilities as a demon hunter. If he hadnt, the brothers would have killed eachother.

When Dante asks Nero to stay put while he goes to hell, Nero retorts with: "For you to call me deadweight again?" and Dante tries to explain himself. It shows how he didn't meant that to sting as much as it did.

Vergil trusts him so much he gives him the William Blake book, A LITERAL REPRESENTATION OF HIS HEART.

NERO IS PERFECT EXACTLY THE WAY HE IS, IN THIS ESSAY I WILL-

[sheep-songs]

a joy with silken twine [Alfonse/Summoner]

[Fire Emblem Heroes; post-Book III]

Summary: Alfonse refuses to classify his concerns as ‘silly’, because they’re definitely not; not if it involves you, and not if Líf is doing this on purpose, which he knows he is.

Part I | Part II

Under every grief & pine Runs a joy with silken twine William Blake, “Auguries of Innocence”

Part I:

It starts with a deceptively simple question.

You’re making your usual rounds, checking on the heroes you find along the way, making sure the newly summoned are doing well, when you bump into Líf. You are always happy to see Líf. You are always sad to see Líf. It’s complicated.

He’s very... kind. Distant, aloof, keeps himself apart. But so gentle with you and Sharena whenever he doesn’t manage to escape one of you.

Definitely not with Alfonse. It’s a good thing they avoid each other more often than not, unfortunately.

This time, Líf doesn’t run away from you after his customary greeting. He stares for a moment.

He reaches out and takes hold of a bit of your hair.

Oh. It’s been getting longer, hasn’t it? You forgot you were planning on cutting it—when was it? You’ve been so busy.

Líf’s voice is grave but soft when he calls out your name, and then he asks: “How old are you, now?”

Your eyes widen a bit in realization. You’re probably older than you were when you died in Líf’s world.

You have no idea how to feel about that; what you should feel. What Líf must be feeling, seeing you (but not you, not the you from his world) going on about your day. You wonder how this other you was buried; you know well enough how you were mourned, so best to not think about that.

You answer his question with the tone of someone coaxing a stray cat from under a car.

His hand moves to your cheek, then your neck, feeling the pulse there.

“I see,” he says, and doesn’t move, even when Alfonse rounds the corner and does a very weird thing with his face before striding towards the two of you.

Which he doesn’t quite manage to do, because Líf hugs you.

It’s brief. One moment he almost squeezes the air out of you and the next he’s standing a perfectly acceptable distance away from you.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and you know he means it they way you know whenever Alfonse means something. “It must be terrible having to indulge my whims when I was your enemy not all that long ago.”

He’s wrong, of course. Because, yeah, he sure does look scary, and yeah, he was very much the enemy of the Order of Heroes ‘not all that long ago’, but now that you know what made him, now that you know him, it’s impossible to not see Alfonse still there.

“I don’t mind,” you tell him truthfully, maybe because it’s true, and maybe because he needs to actually hear it.

The person who summoned you was Commander Anna. The bond that keeps you in this place is the one you share with Alfonse and Sharena. And now Líf is one your summoned heroes. There’s no escaping that kind of entanglement.

You reach out, wondering if it’s the first time you do, not only with Líf but with Alfonse, with Sharena, with Anna—and you take his hand.

It’s cold. You don’t mind, even as you give it a squeeze, briefly giddy and full of wonder that you can.

“I don’t mind,” you repeat, and smile at him.

And you don’t.

You said you didn’t mind and you meant it. You don’t.

Líf seems to believe you wholeheartedly, since he takes your words as blanket permission to touch whenever from there on. It’s such an un-Alfonse thing to do, completely against the whole ‘let’s be civil and keep a professional distance’ thing Alfonse had going on at first (although, to be fair, he seems to have forgotten all about that, too) that, as much as it astonishes you, you don’t mind either.

Alfonse does, tho.

Oh boy, oh boy, does he mind.

[gunraekae]

Newton's Law of Universal Gravitation

Newton by William Blake

>ikemen vampire

>isaac newton x thicc reader

>a/n: suggestive short based on this meme I saw on ig. minors dni or I'll tell your mom!!

Isaac likes them thicc

 Isaac Newton’s most well-known law of gravity: the greater the mass, the greater the force of attraction. It was about gravity but with the way Isaac’s eyes raked over your body, you could apply it to your situation now. 

“Isaac, is something the matter?” The timid scientist’s eyes snapped up to yours, its sinful trip down your soaked body interrupted. The both of you had fallen into the fountain earlier, and to your delight, you believed that Isaac had finally stepped out of his shell and grew comfortable with you. With some laughter at your rotten luck and an irritated carriage driver later, the two of you sat inside the bumbling vehicle back to the mansion. Isaac gave you his coat to cover up, but you caught his lingering gaze on your body. Your own face wasn’t spared from warmth with the knowledge that your loose clothes now stuck tight, your every roll accentuated and presented to the world. Or at the moment, to your dear Isaac. He’s probably shocked at how big I am. He’s used to petite French girls with tiny waists, or delicate English ladies. He probably thinks I look so dis—

“Forgive me, MC! I was just—oh dear—this is most improper of me—” Isaac stumbled over his words, his face hot with shame and his eyes dark with an emotion you can’t quite place. He would avert his eyes around the carriage but an unexplainable urge kept pulling his eyes back to your body. It was such enigmatic behaviour, but if you could describe it he looked almost… hungry. 

“It’s alright. I apologize for looking so… uncouth. It’s not a pretty sight.” You hugged Isaac’s coat tighter, praying you could take up less space. Not only did you embarrass yourself in front of your favourite resident, his poor eyes had to witness such a horrid sight. Isaac’s face melted from its shameful expression into one of confusion. The problem he was facing certainly had to do with your appearance; not with its unattractiveness—the very opposite, in fact. Isaac, as a true gentleman, couldn’t very well tell you of the depraved thoughts circling his mind…burning through his veins…and alighting his manhood. You were too precious for him to outright confess his yearning for your body; you were too important and he cared for you beyond the sinful attraction he harboured at the moment. He vowed he would never act like Arthur, rakish, immoral, and unable to resist pleasure. With how desperately Isaac wished to worship every curve under that soaked shirt, he’s reminded again of how badly he desired you. Those damn buttons. He could almost picture how he would claw at each one… or would he gently undo them to tease you? No, he knew that if you allowed him, all sense of composure would leave his mind. He was far more likely to just rip that godforsaken shirt apart to expose your beautiful breasts. The thought was far too enticing: your pretty little face tinged with shyness but your eyes with a touch of eagerness. His greedy hands wouldn’t hesitate, relishing in the softness of your breasts while he trailed his sharp teeth down to your nipples—

You cleared your throat. Isaac had been staring at you again, his eyes even darker with that same hunger as before. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. In a battle for self-restraint, he tilted his head, licking his dry lips. It wouldn’t be safe for him to lose control. His aberration would fuel that desperate urge for you even more than it had before. The sight of Isaac’s irritation was far too attractive. His sharp jawline was clenched, his Adam’s apple bobbed as his fingers loosened his tie with surprising strength. His now-behaved gaze lay on your feet. He looks so uncomfortable… While wishing for the carriage driver to make haste, Isaac finally cast his eyes to yours, tinged with barely contained self-restraint. 

“It’s nothing that you’re doing, MC… I’m afraid I just—“ his breath shifted as he allowed his gaze to fall to your chest again, “can’t hold myself back anymore.” 

A bump on the road violently rocked the carriage but Isaac’s strong hands steadied your hips down on your seat. His warm body, now far closer than before, inched even more. Isaac dared to inch his face closer to where the sweet scent of your body was the strongest. In a way, burying his face in your neck would prevent you from witnessing his unravelling restraint, but selfishly, Isaac was just tempted to sink his teeth into your soft skin. His voice was right next to your ear. “You look far too delectable right now.” Isaac’s words only made your blood course faster through your body. It was too hot with Isaac right there. What’s gotten into him? He must be feeling sick because why else would he be saying all this? 

“Où est-ce que je tourne?” The carriage driver yelled out. 

Isaac’s breath warmed your ear. “Tournez à droite au coin, s'il vous plaît,” he replied, not taking his eyes away from yours. Knowing you were almost at the mansion brought both relief and disappointment. Seeing Isaac’s normally stiff composure fall apart because he saw a glimpse of your body was… riveting, to say the least. When else would you get to see his handsome face all warm and needy? For someone like you, who normally never caught the attention of others being worshipped with a single gaze… could you really blame yourself for wanting to revel in the pleasure a bit longer? 

Whatever sinful spell Isaac was under faded the closer the carriage was to the mansion. Isaac, with newfound boldness, kissed your neck once… twice… and when the carriage driver announced the arrival, he left one last lingering kiss on your collarbone. When the doors opened, he helped you down like a proper gentleman. As he held your hand, he squeezed your fingers longingly before leaving to pay the driver.

[actuallysaiyan]

hiiii,

May I request the valentines day request with vergil sparda x f!reader (dmc5 version) with this prompt [Reader/Character writes their loved one a Secret Admirer’s note and tries to deliver it discreetly. They are caught by their loved one!]

Where reader writes vergil a love poem or a confession and tries to tuck it like under his room door but he happens to be heading towards it and catches her off guard? They are not in a relationship but reader has feelings for vergil and considered the idea of confessing through the letter because she is shy :^ anyways so they encounter and reader quickly retreats shyly to her room where vergil then comes up to her to confess after reading the letter? Could be SFW or NSFW after the last part.

Totally love your writing, feel free to ignore it a shorten it if it's too much.

Love ya, xo.

(Also if u don't mind I want to be anonymous because I'm shy and anxious sorry for that :">)

warnings: smut, love confessions, mentions of crying, Nero's mother is slightly mentioned, cunnilingus/oral sex(fem receiving) word count: 1.1k pairings: Vergil x Fem!Reader summary: you write a sweet love letter to Vergil and are so nervous about him finding it. when he does find it, he's so touched...he shows you his true feelings through actions.

You keep rereading those words on the page. Your hands are shaking. Though you know that you won’t be getting a response right away, even just the thought of sliding this love poem/confession under Vergil’s door was making you so nervous. You had thought about doing it this way for weeks. The eldest Sparda twin had very much caught your attention, and the only way to confess to him perfectly would be to write him a love poem. Sure, you were no William Blake, but you knew he’d appreciate the sentiment regardless. That was…if he felt the same way. If he didn’t feel that way about you, you’d have to quit your job as Dante’s secretary and run very far away from Devil May Cry.

With a deep breath, you get up from your bed. Vergil had been on a mission all morning and well into the afternoon. Coincidentally, that was the time it took you to really get the nerve to even begin writing this letter. It was beginning to eat at you too, especially as you continue to reread it and desperately want to make corrections. But you know it also comes from the heart and that means everything.

So you tiptoe across the floor and open your room door. You peer outside into the hallway, looking for signs of anyone. When you don’t see any flashes of white hair nor do you spot Lady, that’s when you make your move. You grasp the letter and you walk a little further down the hallway, finding Vergil’s room door.

It’s silent save for the beating of your heart and the rushing of blood in your ears. It’s so frightening because you have this sinking suspicion that he’s going to find your letter and he’s going to toss it away. He’ll probably laugh at your sad attempt to write the literary man some kind of pathetic poetry. He won’t even look at you anymore after this, prompting him to ask Dante to kick you out.

You almost lose your nerve again when you crouch down to slide the letter under the door. Just as you’re getting back up, you notice someone is in the hallway with you. As you turn around, you come face-to-face with the man in question. Vergil cocks an eyebrow when his gaze meets yours. Your heart nearly stops as you try to come up with the right thing to say.

“Can I help you with something?” He asks, a ghost of a smirk on his face.

You shake your head, “N-no…”

You scurry away; you feel like you could faint. This was all so intense and you couldn’t believe you actually slid the letter under the door. He was seconds away from reading your confession. Seconds away from reading the contents of your heart. You couldn’t even think straight as you managed to hide yourself in your room.

For a few moments, you dive right under the covers and hide from the world. You try to convince yourself that your blankets will shield you from the rejection that is sure to come from this. And it keeps you safe and hides your tears as you feel them sliding down your cheeks. You were almost certain that Vergil wouldn’t even be the slightest bit interested in you.

Oh but you were so wrong about that. Through time and perseverance, you managed to capture the heart of the eldest Sparda twin. Even the first time he met you, he thought you were the sweetest thing in this world. A ray of sunshine in the darkness that loomed in his heart. He had his eyes on you from the very beginning, something that made his brother tease him to no end. Yet, Dante had swore not to meddle in the love affairs of his twin.

Vergil found your letter immediately as he stepped into his bedroom. He opens it up and reads it, leaning against his now closed door. Tears well up in his eyes as he reads the beautiful poem. You had reached into his chest and stolen his heart. It was almost too much. He wasn't even sure if plain old words could even be considered good enough to tell you how he felt.

After a little while, he decided to just go talk to you. He was beginning to think maybe just being able to be open with one another could help. Vergil knocks on your door, and you’re startled. Was he coming to reject you? You take a deep breath once more and open the door for him. His eyes widen when he takes in the sight of you.

“I…I…” he starts, but can’t even continue.

You gasp as he pushes you into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. His large hands cup your face and he pulls you in for the most passionate kiss you’ve ever felt in your life. It’s soft and sweet, but there’s a lingering hunger in it. 

“My love,” he says between heated kisses. “Your words have ignited a fire in my heart.”

You gasp when you feel his large hand enveloping yours and placing it over his heart. You feel the way it races just for you. Then you two meet in another sweet kiss, but the hunger lingers in this one as well. He guides you towards the bed, and within too much fuss, he begins to undress you. It’s slow and passionate, and you don’t feel pressured at all.

He tenderly spreads your legs, watching you through hooded eyes. You’re so beautiful like this. The soft lighting of your room makes you look almost like a painting. He then leans in to kiss your lips once more, making you feel lightheaded and breathless. Your eyes meet his gaze and he smirks as he begins removing his gloves. Then you let out a soft moan as his bare hands massage your thighs.

“May I taste you, beloved?”

Your heart skips a beat, but you manage to squeak out a “yes”. Vergil smirks at you, but it’s a genuine smirk. Then he spreads your legs, lowering himself onto his stomach between them. The smell of you makes him a little dizzy as he leans in to taste you. The moment his tongue touches your folds, he knows he’s done for.

He’s not ready to let you go.

Long languid laps of his tongue from your hole to your clit have you squirming beneath him. His name falls from your lips in soft pants and desperate little mewls. Vergil has never felt more hard in his entire life. This was all new, and yet there was a familiarity to it all. He wonders how he could have ever pulled himself from Nero’s mother if this is what it was to pleasure her.

He manages to push those thoughts away and focus solely on you. Just the sight of you being pleasured was enough to make him grunt against your wet skin. Your whole body feels warm, your eyes are rolled back in your head and your chest heaves as you pant to catch your breath.

“You are mine, my darling. All mine.”

[yourmoonie]

Heyy I love your content!! I wanted to ask that how can I have 20/20 vision/eyesight? My eyesight is weak and I have to wear glasses all the time. I can't get myself to assume that my vision is perfect. Please help!

MANIFESTING GOOD VISION

Hey, my moonlight, thank you for loving my content ♡

I have eyesight problems myself, too, but with manifestation It has gotten better.

TMI: There was a time I forgot that I even had myopia, and without contact lenses and glasses, I could see, but the moment I "remembered," I had vision problems. My eyes became blurry again.

I also have manifested the cyst which I had in my brain away, so that's why I believe health issues are possible and even easy to manifest away with the power of the mind/imagination.

I will give you a few solutions:

🌙 FORGET

Yes, completely forget about the "problem" as if it were never there in the 1st place (you become indifferent towards it) even if you are with your contacts say "yeah this is how I see" "I can see, my vision is perfect"

✨️ Make your glasses or eyedrops your PLACEBOs

Placebos are very powerful tools to work with your own brain/body system.

Take the sugar cub placebo as an example - link

🌙 ASSUME

Tell yourself that you have a perfect vision. (You are also sending a command to your brain, and then your brain sends the signals to your body to work in your favor. Then the next thing you know is that you are throwing your contact lenses away.)

Even if you wear glasses, you are going to assume / tell yourself that it's you that can see and not that you can see because of your glasses.

We rise above this level through the act of assumption; for an assumption, though false, if persisted in will harden into fact. As William Blake said: “If the fool will persist in his folly he will become wise.”

[lotusmi]

No one or nothing to change but Self

📚PART 1: No one or nothing to change but Self

read more of my summaries | full post on reddit

revision changes the past which then changes the future?

"It's not about changing the past or the future. There is no one or nothing to change but self. And self is simply your mind."

It is all happening within your Mind, "self." Past/future only exist in the mind. And you have the luxury to change what you wish in your mind.

Remember:

"No one or nothing to change but self."

The way you change self is to imagine with feeling anything you want. (...) Remove consequences from the mind. Remove all punishments and pardon yourself from guilt. Remove having to get things. Remove that stress. You do this by simply imagining what you want with the feeling of actual freedom to do so.

Once I reassure myself that it is all within me, from here I can change it. (...) Can I imagine what I wish? Yes." Then I do it. I do not wait to do it. Even if it is nagging at me. I learn to not fight but change to what I want. Once I go to precisely what I want, I am always given a surge of feelings of ecstasy. It is automatic. I do not force, no need to. (...)

Creating my own heaven in my mind is my goal.

Neville tells us to not live in desire. The Bible tells to stop sinning. William Blake tells us not to suppress our desire. If you have tiny bit of desire, no matter how small, Neville tells us to fulfill it mentally. Remove rules. Remove consequences. Remove the outer-world when you imagine. Remove all ideas of what you "should do" or "have to do." Do what you want.

Whenever I am not feeling and imagining well, the answer is this: "I am not imagining what I want." This is always my answer. The moment I actually go towards exactly what I want, I become fulfilled.

I do not care what the world thinks about it. I do not care what my circumstances are. I do not care whether or not it will even happen. I do not care what fears pop up. None of that matters to me. All that matters is that I fulfill it within me.

I make consciousness my only reality.

I want to feel that, I want to experience that. I want to imagine that and believe that. That is what I want. Why reject myself from that experience? "What if NOTHING could embarrass you?"  What if your world always worked toward the fulfillment of your desires instead of having opposition?

When I assume it, I do not care about how it will happen or when, or even if it is possible. All I care about is changing my entire feeling to exactly what I want. Then it's own strange way, it grows in my world.

This is what I mean by giving yourself what you truly want. Find something that you want, and dare to assume it. This is what truly changes the "self" and that "self" will be expressed.

dictionary: assume: to accept as real or yours. feeling: the wish fulfilled feeling, knowing it is done. relief, happiness, bliss etc.

[go to PART 2, "Let Go Of Control, And Control Self" ] ⇢

[tiny-wooden-robot-fics]

Magnolia - Chapter Four

Rating: Explicit Media: Jujutsu Kaisen Pairing(s): Geto Suguru x Original Female Character, Geto Suguru x Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru x Gojo Satoru x Original Female Character Additional Tags: Vampire AU, Dark Themes, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Depression, Loneliness, Eventual Smut, Polyamory, bit of a slow burn here

A/N: More tags will be added as chapters are updated. Please be mindful of the tags and warnings at the beginning of each chapter, as they will tell you what you need to know about the content within.

Minors, DNI.

Summary:

She shifts, turning to face him. "With me, I mean," she clarifies. "I thought you would've given me up for a lost cause by now."

It's supposed to sound like a joke, but he knows she means it. "Would you, if you were me?"

"I don't know. Maybe you have a soft spot for pathetic women."

Chapter Navigation 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

Read on AO3

Chapter Warnings: Depression

Chapter Four: The Sick Rose

The sun has risen and set three times, and still she lies in bed, listless with her face buried in her pillow. 

Suguru brings her trays of food. They sit untouched until he comes to retrieve them. 

She cries quietly, but he still hears her. 

He doesn’t know what to do.

--

“Maybe I was wrong to bring her here,” he murmurs. “Maybe I should have left her there.” He isn’t convinced, and the words sound hollow to him. 

“With your soft spot for humans? You and I both know you never would have been able to leave her there anyway,” Satoru points out. “Do you honestly want me to believe you could have walked away once you saw her?”

Satoru is right, and he knows it. “She was lonely,” he sighs. “And she didn’t want to die.”

“But she doesn’t know how to live either, and you’ve made it your responsibility to change that… So change it.”

“How?”

“Get involved,” Satoru suggests. “If she’s lonely, keep her company. If she’s unhappy, find out what makes her happy - or help her figure it out if she doesn’t already know. If she feels like she doesn’t have anything to live for, give her something.” 

“You don’t have to be right all the time, you know.” He grumbles the words, though for once his irritation isn’t actually with Gojo Satoru. His irritation is with himself - as always, he is overthinking something that the other man can see with perfect clarity and simplicity. 

“Of course I do. I wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t right all the time,” the other man says casually. Suguru can hear muffled voices in the background, addressing Satoru. “Look, I’m sure you’ll figure something out - you always do,” Satoru says. “I’m hopping off - got plans.” 

He’s only just taken a breath when the connection goes dead. “Bye, I love you too,” he mutters to the phone. 

--

O Rose, thou art sick: The invisible worm, That flies in the night In the howling storm, Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy; And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy. -William Blake, The Sick Rose

--

“You’re still here.”

Her words are muffled into the pillow she has her face buried in, but he hears them anyway. 

“Well, I kind of live here,” he says warmly. “It would be hard for me to leave.”

She shifts, turning her head to face him. “With me, I mean,” she clarifies. “I thought you would’ve given me up for a lost cause by now.”

It’s supposed to sound like a joke, but he knows she means it. “Would you, if you were me?” He asks quietly. 

“I don’t know. Maybe you have a soft spot for pathetic women.”

“Maybe,” Suguru smiles. “Here,” he goes on, handing her a mug. “Drink this.”

“What is it?”

“It’s miso broth. You haven’t been eating, so it wouldn’t sit well on your stomach if I tried to give you anything heavy.”

She wants to protest, but she simply doesn’t have the energy. “Thank you,” she says quietly instead, taking the mug from him and lifting it to her lips. He watches her take a sip, seemingly satisfied when she doesn’t immediately spit it out or set the mug back down. 

“You’re still here,” he says. “Are you unhappy about that?”

She knows that by ‘here’ he means alive. She considers his question for a moment. “I don’t think I’m unhappy about being alive,” she says finally. “I think I’m unhappy that I’m just as unhappy as I was before.”

He nods in understanding - he really does know exactly what she’s feeling. 

“Why did you save me?”

She’s asked a variation of this question before, he knows. Back then, she’d apologized for asking and seemed to retract the question. This time, she doesn’t take it back. She looks at him with tired, sad eyes and waits for him to answer her. 

“Because I wanted you to have a fair shot,” he tells her. “I knew you didn’t want to die that way, and I didn’t want you to die without ever knowing your worth.”

“I don’t have any worth,” she mutters, her gaze dropping back to the mug in her hand.

“Do you really believe that?”

She doesn’t answer him, but the way she has curled into herself, her shoulders hunched up around her ears, tells him everything he needs to know. 

“A long, long time ago,” he starts, “I was having a bad time of it. Something happened---” He cuts himself off to take a breath. “A big thing. I had a hard time dealing with it. I started… I guess you could call it spiraling,” he admits. “I was angry, and I was sad, disenchanted and disillusioned, and I didn’t really want to stare down the barrel of forever feeling the way I was.

“To make matters worse, just about everyone in my--” He hesitates, reluctant to use the word family. “Everyone around me, everyone that I thought I was close to… nearly all of them sort of turned a blind eye to what had happened, and how it affected me.”

She looks intently at him over the rim of her mug. “How did you cope with it? With that feeling you mentioned - ‘not wanting to stare down the barrel of forever feeling the way you were’?”

“Not well,” he admits. “I did some pretty heinous shit. Not just to cope, but to try and right the wrong that I felt had been done.”

“Did you ever try to kill yourself?”

“No… But not because I never thought about it.” After a pause, he goes on. He isn’t sure what compels him to, but it doesn’t feel wrong to do so. “And that heinous shit I mentioned? It involved killing other people.”

He’s looking closely at her, gauging her reaction. He thinks what he’s revealed to her will elicit a negative response - fear, or perhaps even revulsion. To his surprise, there are none of those emotions radiating off of her. All he feels is mild curiosity. 

Lia holds the warm mug in her hand, cradling it close to her chest while she absorbs his words. “People always have reasons for doing the things they do,” she starts quietly after a moment, looking up at him. “Even if they say they don’t, or even when they don’t realize what those reasons are. When you found me in the woods that day, you had every opportunity to take advantage of the situation. You could have satisfied your need for blood without ever having to feel guilty about it. I was dying anyway - no one would have blamed you for capitalizing on that.

“But you went out of your way to save me, to bring me here and give me a chance to live. You’ve been bending over backwards just to make sure I don’t feel frightened here, or unsafe, or even the slightest bit uncomfortable,” she goes on. “I know you’re not putting on an act. I’ve been around enough phony kindness to know yours feels genuine. So I think… I think that for someone as kind as you to end up killing other people… you probably were pushed to a point where you felt like you had to.”

For one of the few times in his very, very long life, Geto Suguru is shocked into silence.

“You never tried to kill yourself, but you said that doesn’t mean you didn’t think about it,” Lia goes on quietly, when it’s clear he can’t find any words in response to what she’s said. “What kept you from doing it?”

“Satoru,” he says after a moment. “Even if things between the two of us aren’t the way I’d like them to be - the way they used to be - I love him, and I’d never want to do anything that would hurt him. He’d probably call me sappy and tease me for it if I ever openly admitted that to him,” he adds with a chuckle, “because it does sound kinda cheesy to say something like ‘he’s my reason for living,’ doesn’t it?”

“I don’t think it sounds cheesy at all.” 

He’s about to tell her that she doesn’t have to lie to make him feel better, but one look at her face makes him realize that she isn’t lying. She believes what she’s saying. “I’m not saying that has to be you,” he tells her. “I know you’ve spent a long time alone, dealing with your pain and your sadness and your loneliness all by yourself.”

Her lower lip trembles. She puts the mug up to her mouth again to stop it, letting the warmth of the miso soothe her. 

“But I do want you to know that there would be at least one person alive right now who would be sad if you weren’t here anymore.” He pauses, grinning down at her. “Me, in case you hadn’t picked up on that.”

She swallows hard around the lump in her throat. “But why? You barely even know me.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” he agrees. “But I like you enough to know I’d be sad if what I know now was all I ever got to learn about you.” He shakes his head. “I’d like you to be more than just a… a footnote in my life, if that makes sense.”

It does, and she wants to tell him so, but she’s found it impossible to speak now without bursting into tears again. She manages to nod her head. 

“You should get some rest,” Suguru tells her, sensing that she’d like to be alone once more. “I’ll come back in a few hours and bring you something else light to eat. Okay?”

This time, she manages to squeeze one word around the lump in her throat. “Okay.”

Chapter Navigation 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

Chapter Five: Coming Soon

[razorblade180]

Jealous Knight Shade

For context, some of yall might remember this story. It’s really old and I just found out a tumblr update completely ruined the format and wouldn’t let me fix the og post. So I had to completely re structure, add, and edit it as a new post.

[Jaune’s Dorm]

Radio:Good morning Ladies and Gentlemen! It’s a beautiful sunny day completely with a slight breeze and temperatures in the mid seventies. Perfect for the Vale concert!!! *clicked off*

Jaune:*jean shorts and a muscle shirt* I am sooooo pumped for this concert. The lights, the food, but most importantly….

Blake:*in the bathroom getting ready* The one….the only…….Jaune and

Blake: Casey Lee Williams!!!

Jaune:Gods I can’t wait any longer! Blake, how much longer are you gonna take? We’re gonna end up looking wasted anyways.

Blake:I at least want to start the day off looking somewhat presentable. I never been to a concert before; honestly never expected to go to one.

Jaune:Really? I guess it’s a good thing you met someone who always gets tickets with the best view possible!

Blake:I still can’t believe you’ve met her before! I hope I get the chance to as well.

Jaune:That won’t happen as long as you’re in the bathroom. We still gotta catch the flight! (Actually we’re ahead of schedule, but Yang and Sun don’t need to know I’m hanging with Blake alone. A blonde war is the last thing I need.)

Blake:I’m ready! *walking out* how do I look?

Jaune:It’s about ti-*Blake in a purple crop top and black high waisted ripped shorts. Black ankle high converse and some wristbands*

Blake:*nervous* Well..? I knew it was gonna be a little hot out all day; plus I never get the chance just to dress casual.

Jaune:*red* You look good! Like really good; wait that sounded weird. I mean you know…you……it’s nice.

Blake:*giggles* Thanks. I’m guessing you’re ready?

Jaune:Uhh Yeah! *hands her a water bottle* concerts can get exhausting for her. *puts on a string bag* I got a few other things in here since it’s an all day thing.

Blake:Well isn’t someone prepared?

Jaune:I’m a veteran at these sorts of things.

Blake:Then I guess I’m in your hands then; let’s go. *starts walking away*

Jaune:*watching her walk away* …….. *sips water* I am not ready for today…

[Airship]

Jaune:*leaning forward* If I die right now Blake, tell my ghost about the concert.

Blake:Why would you get Airship tickets if you get air sick?

Jaune:It’s the fastest way. Too much traffic on the road and I’m sure you want to get there as soon as possible.

Blake:You don’t have to go that far for me. *leans in a bit* you look like you’re turning green.

Jaune:You say that and get closer to me?

Blake:*leans back* that could’ve been bad. Last thing I need is vomit on me; especially my hair.

Jaune:About that…*points to her bow* you can take that off since we’re off campus. Honestly I doubt anyone at our school is even gonna show up.

Blake:Yeah but….I just want to have a normal day.

Jaune:You’re more normal with it off to me.

Blake:*red* That’s nice to know. Besides my team you’re the first to say that. Thanks…

Jaune:That’s what friends are for. *leaning back* Phew, I think the worst has passed.

Blake:That’s good… *takes off bow and leans on him* glad you’re feeling normal too.

Jaune:*redish* Yep, things are just…. normal between us. Completely…..normal.

[A long airship ride later]

Jaune:*stretching legs* I’ll never get used to how long this trip is. My legs still feel *Blake runs passed him* asleep…..

Blake:*Looking at the venue* Wow….*it's basically like Coachella*

Blake:There’s so much of it, we'll do everything! It’s almost a little overwhelming. *ears wiggling*

Jaune:*Smiles don’t take it all in at once; you’ll go mad. First things first *pats her stomach* food.

Blake:I had half a mind to claw you just now. *stomach rumbles* but you’re right…

Jaune:Let’s go then, pizza is always a safe bet. *starts walking* I’m pretty sure it’s to our right.

Blake:Uhhh you might want to try left.

Jaune:Huh, really?

Blake:*points to her ears* I can hear essentially everything around here. I here grills to our right, and oven timers to the left.

Jaune:Blake….you’re amazing. Do you know how much of a maze this place can be!?

Blake:It’s no big deal. Still, there’s a lot of people here. I bet there’s a line for food.

Jaune:I can deal with that as long as I know where I am going.*grabs her hand* Let’s go!

Blake:Wait just a- *gets pulled onlookers staring at them*

Blake:Uh, I think people are staring at us.

Jaune:*looking around* I…think you’re right.

Blake:*folds her ears* I thought you said people wouldn’t care about my ears?

Jaune:*pulls out his hoodie and puts it on Blake. It goes down to her hips* Believe me, it’s not your ears. *starts walking behind her.

Blake:? *realization* Ohhhhh *red*

Jaune:Just ignore them and you’ll be fine.

Blake:I’ll try.

Stranger:*whistles* I think this is the first time I cat called a pretty kitty. What do you say about being with a dog?

Blake:Sorry, I’m not a fan of mutts.

Everyone:Ooooooohhhhh!

Stranger:What was that you little-

Jaune:*wraps arm around her waist* Walk away while you can dude. She may be the Faunus but I’m the one who bites.

Blake:*red* (That’s hot; why did it sound so hot!?)

Stranger:…..*stomps off embarrassed*

Jaune:I swear this place is awesome. Some people are just hot heads.

Blake:It’s alright! (He smells nice) Uhh maybe you should keep your arm around me. Just to be safe.

Jaune:Sure *starts walking happily*

Blake:(How did he do that!? Intense one second and happy the next!?)

Jaune:Wanna get some drinks?

Blake:We can’t buy any.

Jaune:*pulls out two fake IDs* I mean....Blake:......Have you always been this much of a rebel?

Jaune:I like to have fun when I can and I want to show you a good time.

Blake:*pondering* You know this is illegal.

Jaune:So is terrorism

Blake:Can’t argue with that; let’s get wasted!

Jaune:Yeah!!!!!*12 hours later*

Blake:*wakes up in a random bed* Ugh my head. Where am I? *sees she’s not wearing a shirt* What did I do!? Who did I do!?

Jaune:*laying on a couch* Look whose awake. *throws her aspirin* btw you slept with no one and this is Casey’s tour RV.

Blake:I met Casey!?

Jaune:You don’t remember?

Blake:.....No!

Jaune:We drank, the show started and we started singing your favorite song…

Blake:From Shadows is underrated.

Jaune:Yes it is. After that some more people started flirting with you and one grabbed your butt. After that I hit him and Casey had her roadies kick him out. She then proceeded to buy everyone drinks....

Blake:God she is a national treasure.

Jaune:After that we got to go back stage where I introduced you two and you turned into a total fangirl. You wanted an autograph but then you passed out and now we’re here.

Blake:That’s it?Jaune......[Last night backstage]

Jaune:*slightly buzzed* Blake, this is my good friend Casey.

Casey:Hello! Nice to meet a fan; also an old friend. *goes to hug Jaune*

Blake:*thoroughly drunk* Excuse me miss Williams! *grabs his arm* But he is taken!

Jaune:Uhhh what?

Casey:*snorts* What?

Blake:This man *hic* right here....is mine! He spent the whole day showing me an absolute great time! *rubs his chest* I intend on repaying the favor tonight.

Jaune:*bright red* You’re drunk Blake....

Blake:Drunk off of your love hehehe *almost falls over*

Jaune:*lifts her over his shoulder* I’m sorry for her. She’s usually super chill.

Casey:I believe it. Maybe I’ll get to meet her with less fireball in her system.

Blake:.....You have a cute butt Jaune. Not as cute as mine but still pretty nice.

Casey:*laughing*

Jaune:Oh boy....do you mind if we crash in your RV? I don’t think she’s quite travel ready.

Casey:No problem, *autographs an album and puts it in his bag* I figure she would want a souvenir.

Jaune:Thanks *turns around and walks away*

Casey:*waves* Bye Blake!Blake:I will fight you for him. You may be amazing but I call dibs! He’s getting laid tonight!

Jaune:You are going to bed!

Casey:*hysterical laughter*

Jaune:*puts Blake on the bed* Sleep!

Blake:Awww but I’m not tired. *takes off her shirt* Maybe you can fix that for me.

Jaune:(Why can’t this happen when we’re sober?) Blake go to sl- *pulled into her arms*

Blake:Come oooooon! I promise it’ll be fun.

Jaune:You’re drunk Blake, that makes it wrong.

Blake:Terrorism and Fake ID’s are wrong.

Jaune:I mean you’re not wr- no! *pulks himself free* Bed, now!

Blake:Fine, we’ll just do it in the morning. *passes out immediately*

Jaune:*flops onto the couch* Sigh, it’s always the quiet ones.

[later]

Jaune:....That’s it. *you got an album by the way.

Blake:Sweet! Thanks for the good time Jaune. Even if it’s a bit hazy *hugs him*

Jaune:Uhhh Blake *red* your shirt.

Blake:Eh, I don’t care. You probably saw them last night.

Jaune:Don’t worry, that’s the only thing I saw.

Blake:Too bad, you could’ve had an amazing night. *whispers in his ear* By the way, Faunus have high alcohol tolerance.

Jaune:*red* Huh!?

Blake:*walking towards the restroom* Well what do you know, this place has its own shower. Can you think of a more perfect way to start a morning?

Jaune:Depends, you remember what you said last night.

Blake:*playfully* Who knows? Maybe you should join me in here and jog my memory Mr. Cute Butt

Jaune:Now that is the best cat calling I’ve heard this entire trip.

[nahalism]

do you belive In the God of the bible?

this is from william blake's marriage of heaven and hell & i find a lot of truth in it. — i believe in god or whatever name you give to such a force/entity, but i have my own relationship with god that is independent of religious/spiritual doctrine (even though both have contributed greatly to informing how i think and feel). imo, every religion & spiritual practice uses the language of its time to reveal truths (natural law), and to point to a description of god. yet words are veils, so its only ever a depiction — all that aside, the bible (and biblical texts including the apocrypha & book of enoch, etc) are very interesting and informative reads. i enjoy and value them a lot