#i know that as a person with depression im happy to see a character like Yukio out there in the media

[ghostofsnails]

so did you guys know theres this character called tristan vik disventure camp and

[torchstelechos]

I do think its really important to remember that SY was suppose to be the villain character but its only because of his kindness and newly gained life that he didn’t end as one. In the very beginning of the story we learn that Peerless Cucumber Bro often left comments on how SJ didn’t get his dues and needed to be punished more, and only after he transmigrated did he acknowledge how awful of a death SJ had. He also made point to explain that he only read the book for LBH, which he noted to enjoy his decisive actions and deft ability to kill. Markedly, he liked his brutality and personality over the erotica that the majority of PIDW fans enjoyed. Peerless Cucumber Bro is someone who loves action and the ability to cut right to the chase, something that he does not do and most likely has difficulty with in his world.

Speaking of, it is something to note that Peerless Cucumber bro is rich. He had head chefs, he could pay for a 6k+ chapter book of erotica in 20 days, he noted that he could not understand SJs envy and ambition for power since he lives well, and he even noted to himself that his family was well off. He is incredibly wealthy, and it shows. Which is important to note because he, not once, showed any guilt or remorse on dying and leaving his family behind. Yes, he sometimes refers to people as being similar to his family but he never showed any pain for losing that life like he did when he lost LBH. This is important because I genuinely think SY was depressed and self destructive to himself, which goes against popular HC that he was chronically/terminally ill (I do like this HC and like how its portrayed in fanfiction). It would explain how he ended up dying all alone by himself, and how blase he was to his own life and death.

SQQ is a self destructive force who ended up dying three times, and didn’t feel anything about death itself. He was worried about others and the effect it had on them, but for himself it was up and on again like it never happened. He does not care for his health, had self isolated as SY to the point he died alone, and has a horrible self esteem to the point that he continuously agrees when other people put him down and often calls himself the villain. Even though we have seen the evidence of someone who is always being thrust into new situations and awful plots, he calls himself lazy and easy going. He hides his thoughts and feelings behind his fan and has a remarkably thin face. At the very base of his actions and his thoughts, he is self destructive, powerful, and smart. This is the set up for a villain.

However, when shown the actual people in front of him and forced to act as SJ did towards LBH and his disciples, he flinches from it. He notes that it happening in front of him was different. His entire self soothing comedy monologue went quiet when he had to enforce the Endless Abyss scene, and grieved for the childish innocence he killed from one of his favourite people. SY was set up to be the villain and obviously thinks of himself as one, but can not act as one. If he had the choice LBH would have been his sticky sweet white lotus disciple for as long as LBH wished to be.

His kindness, as seen in the book, is what turned him from being “the scumbag villain” to the protagonist we see in the novels. Which, yes, he is a protagonist! He even has the protag halo that LBH has and its very funny in the meta way for SQQ not to realize this, but thats for another post. But he loves his disciples, he loves his peak lord siblings, he loves his Binghe, he loves his new life, and he is kind. That is what kept him from being the villain he sees himself as, his kindness and love for others. Whether that be romantic, platonic, or familial, he loves the people he has met and he treats them kindly. That is why it is important to remember that he was set up as the villain by everything in the story we do not see, but what we do see is him continuously changing the story to fit a new genre that lets as many people as he can save live. Sorry sorry, I just think about SY being set up as a villain so much. It changes a lot of views I have on the series when I remember the duality of SYs story and character development.

[todayisafridaynight]

What do you think Mine’s reaction to Masato / Aoki be like?

tbh they'd probably be. amicable. at the very least.

[smorkulon]

I'm sorry but if the only reason Yukio pisses you off is his traits of mental illness and depression then I don't trust you around any human person ever.

Seriously.

What the fuck?

[arolesbianism]

If I was more of a fanfic writer I would totally write like 50 oni timeloop ai fics and Id have to fight myself so hard to not make Olivia a significant part of all of them. Just like yeah Quinn timeloop au. They and Olivia regular at the same bar actually. Don't worry abt it.

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

IT’S YOU, HAPPY ALL THE TIME ─── jonathan breech ✧☾𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I ask Jessica what drowning feels like and she says not everything feels like something else." — ‘Jessica gives me a chill pill’, Angie Sijun Lou.

pairing. jonathan breech x reader

summary. you’ve bared your heart to your bestfriend, jonathan, more times than you can count, whilst knowing practically nothing at all about him. what is friendship if it is not equal… what is love if it is not returned? can your relationship survive such one-sidedness?

warnings. swearing, TW mention & description of suicide/attempts & depression, very introspective/kind of a character study???, alcohol & drug use, pining, ANGST!!!!, crying, fluff, smut with feelings, p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex (f), SMUT UNDER THE CUT! 

word count. 10k (WTF??!?!!??)

a/n. the title is from “she won’t go away” by faye webster:) btw this is… rly angsty (and SO long omg im still in shock) so beware🫡 ALSO IM SO SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IN WHILE!! SCHOOL IS KICKING MY BUTT & THIS FIC WAS AN ABSOLUTE MONSTER TO WRITE LMAO

i. 

There are very few words in your vocabulary you can use to accurately describe Jonathan Breech. 

The boy is an enigma, a matryoshka doll that never ends: he is witty and lighthearted and sarcastic, but you’ll always catch that edge, the air of malaise he carries around himself, the unspoken elephant in the room that screams WHO ARE YOU REALLY?

He had always been more of a figure, a landscape; something to witness, observe-- experience without letting it do the same to you. You don’t know if that’s something you want, either: there’s an imbalance in his hilarity, and he always takes things a step too far. Jonathan lights matches and lets them burn all the way down to his fingertips; he shaves and lets the blade leave stinging little nicks, rivulets of blood running down his neck; he chainsmokes cigarettes in his room and only opens the window when he feels his heart hammering in his chest, desperate for air. 

You meet him — or, first experience him in a similar fashion: he had been in the university library, standing on top of a creaky, old bookshelf, shouting something you couldn’t understand over the music blasting through your headphones. You could certainly see him though, gesturing animatedly, dressed eccentrically in his signature winter trapper hat and a velvet blazer. That thin, effeminate figure of his was making winding, marionette-ish steps along the wood, an action that had everyone readying themselves to catch his inevitable fall. 

Then, seemingly out of nowhere and catching you completely off guard, you caught his eye. He began stepping from one shaky shelf to the next, a complete miracle none of them toppled over, before stopping on one close enough for you to read his lips. 

“Hi,” he mouthed, shifting uneasily on his left foot before regaining a steady balance, “you’re in my class, right?”

You nodded, hesitantly— yes, truthfully, you’d seen him in your Introduction to Literary Studies course a couple of weeks ago, sporting the same outfit as he did now, but you thought nothing of him. He’d been generally well-behaved then, asking slightly odd but in-tune questions that more or less answered all your inquiries, so you didn’t think the guy would have a penchant for, well… book-shelf hopping. 

He grinned, about to say something else, before something — or someone, made him flinch. A professor, probably, considering the unintelligibly muffled, booming voice behind you. However, Jonathan made quick work of the situation, sneakily climbing down and escaping out the door. 

The next time you see him, he’s sidled up beside you in your shared class. “Mind if I sit here?” a familiar voice had asked, to which you murmured a non-committal knock y’self out, before realizing with wide eyes.  His presence had caught you off-guard, as he so often did, and you sensed a pattern blooming. 

Jonathan certainly made for an odd desk-partner; his personality warped the environment around you, and it was suddenly so much easier to tear your eyes away from the lecture and land on Jonathan’s own. It’s something you never thought you’d ever do, because you adore the material being taught. 

At the end of class, he asks you out for a drink: he’s just found the best Irish stout in the entire city, and what better way to make it known than to take anyone and everyone he knows there?

Rejection is written on your face clear as day— you have class tomorrow, an essay that needs to be finished, and honestly, pubs just aren’t really your scene. 

But in the end… you still bite. You can’t help it: he’s disarming and warm and looks like he should smell like a bonfire. Somehow, that just does it for your brain; it’s here you learn of the charm that is Jonathan Breech. 

That night goes everything and nothing like you expected: you expected not to be able to predict his actions, and that’s exactly what happens. When you meet Jonathan at the aforementioned pub, it’s not actually the one he’s meaning to take you to— it’s just the closest public place to the on-campus dorm, which is where he says he’s rooming. 

“‘ve got a neighbor m’pretty sure is trying to sleep with me,” he says absently, ushering you onto the back of his bike, which had been leaning against a NO PARKING sign. “He’s always toget’er wit’ our dorm advisor, so I should l reject him before I get kicked out, if y’get what I mean.”

Now, you honestly should’ve expected this from a guy who jumped from six-foot book shelves, but Jonathan’s biking is all swift turns and jilted stops, mere milliseconds from repeatedly running red lights. You want to ask if he just learned how to ride the thing yesterday, but can’t, not with how utterly reckless and shameless he is about it, his terrible steering making you instinctively wrap your arms around his chest. 

You clutch him tightly, making him hum in approval, and you feel your ears burn flusteredly. You would’ve pulled away, but then he cut from the right lane to the left in one swift move, barely missing several cars, and you practically shrieked instead. “Oh my god!”

“Sorry,” he apologizes quickly. You can’t see his face, having shut your eyes in fear, but after hearing the blatant cheekiness in his tone, you can imagine clear as day how gleefully it contorts. You want to slap him somewhere, anywhere, but that’d defeat the point of being mad at his recklessness, so you squeeze him tighter instead, and he chokes on his breath. “Jesus-- m’sorry, really!”

When the two of you make it to the pub — alive and uninjured! — annoyingly all the way across town, your first few steps off his bike are stuttered, dizzy: “We are-- not going by bike next time,” you gasp, leaning against a random brick wall. 

“Next time, eh?” He grins, and this time you really do slap him— just on the arm, bless your self-control and niceties not to beat this oddly comfortable-to-be-around near-stranger to death. 

The pub, with its forgettable name and dingy stools, has a minimal, lackluster crowd. A kitschy neon sign flickers and dies as you walk in, making you raise a brow, but Jonathan merely drags you by the arm to a cozy corner table, then disappearing deeper within the venue before returning moments later with two pints of black beer in tow.

“Go on, then,” he gestures, setting the tall glass on the table, sitting down in the chair in front of you and taking a hearty sip of his own drink.

You let out a little hesitant sigh at his words, before relenting and taking in a long gulp of the liquid. “…Huh,” you remark, impressed. Jonathan smiled knowingly behind his glass, letting out a smug little ah, you see? 

“Worth the long ride?” he inquired innocently, as if that was the only thing wrong with the night.

“Worth the ride, but not worth almost dying for,” you rolled your eyes goodheartedly, knocking back the rest of the bitter drink and making him whistle. 

The rest of the night goes like this: Jonathan orders two more rounds of the quality Irish stout before the two’ve you are stumbling out of the pub, exploring all the nightlife there is to offer, like the crowd surrounding an out-door live comedy group performing down the street that has you and Jonathan giggling for hours after, or the underground speakeasy you accidentally find yourselves shoved into, a nasally guitarist singing on a smoky stage, several more drinks finding themselves in your system despite how nauseous you already feel.

“You-- d’you fancy him?” Jonathan slurs behind you, steadying himself by pressing his hands to your waist.

“F-fancy who?” you blink blearily, leaning into his warm touch.

“Who else m’I talkin’ about, girl? The singer!”

You shake your head no numbly, practically collapsing into his arms now, your head lulling on his chest. You’re so close you can smell the distinct scent of his skin, that unique musk everyone has, and it’s strangely familiar, like those smells that evoke old, nostalgic memories. It’s like how sunscreen summons the smell of the sun after a childhood beach day, or how vanilla extract takes you back to the smell of your mother’s baked goods on a specific winter evening.

“Reckoned you wouldn’t,” he assumes, hands coming away from your waist to wrap his arms around your shoulders, swaying to the music slightly in the crowded club, “looks like a -- right bleedin’ dope… wit’ that mop of hair.”

You giggle, alcohol riddled beyond belief, unable to formulate a response with the conflicting blurry thoughts in your head: it’s telling you Jonathan Breech isn’t the crowd you want, that you need to go home and work, that you let loose too easily— but it also tells you that you can see yourself becoming friends with him very, very quickly. 

It’s there, in that club, Jonathan Breech moves into your life and fills a gaping hole you didn’t know existed, like a hole in your stockings you only notice when you get home. You have friends, certainly, more than you can count on both hands, but they never get as close as Jonathan does. After that night, an unknown force pulls the two of you together, making you run into him everywhere, and a tight friendship blooms like a lilypad in a raging storm; beauty within the chaos. In the multitude of close friendships you’ve harbored, he is the first to see so many sides of you. The last thing that did was your mother; it had only ever been your mother. 

He is an endearing, amazing friend, both the intent listener and the charismatic speaker all at once; he knows his friends like the back of his hand, can recount their life like he can count the number of moles on his face-- but you, and everyone else, know absolutely nothing about him. 

At least, close to nothing-- you know he likes ice cream and hanging out and going to the pub; you know he likes biking and doing drugs and women; you know he hates the sea and his brother and his father, but you don’t know him. All you’ve ever seen him do is smile or laugh or shout in mock anger; there is a carefully glued mask on his face he takes meticulous caution in preserving-- he is terrified to let go, despite the blasé persona he lets on.

Or maybe the mysterious matter of your bestfriend is tripping you up for no reason; maybe you’re psychoanalyzing something that doesn’t need to be psychoanalyzed, reading between lines that don’t exist. But if you were asked to answer honestly, there’s just something about Jonathan you don’t get. There is a split seam in the tapestry of his life, missing pieces in the story he pretends to tell with utmost accuracy. There are things that he never talks about, that he recoils when asked like you’ve poked a tender wound. 

“So, what were you doing before… all this?” You ask him once, laying on his messy bed in his dorm-room and scanning the water-damage constellations dotted along his popcorn ceiling. By all this you mean going to university, being the resident party boy, aimlessly pursuing a degree you’re 99% sure he picked blindfolded (culinary science) and standing here, with you, snorting a line of something on his creaky wooden desk. 

Jonathan freezes, still hunched over. “What d’you-- what d’you mean?” he says, tone breezy but, uncharacteristically tense… jilted and preoccupied. You could’ve brushed it off as him being seriously focussed on his drugs, but the way he shifts, how his shoulders curl in like he wants to disappear, tells you otherwise. 

“I mean, before going to school here… y’know, what were you like as a dumb teenager?”

You two’re twenty, barely not-teenagers, but it still makes a world of a difference: you’re living away from home, doing what you want, experiencing (a juvenile, naive version of) freedom and adulthood.

“I dunno… kind of a tool, that's f’sure,” he chuckled, rubbing his nose roughly. He’s being funny on purpose, a jester’s distraction: he doesn’t want you to realize his answers’ not really one at all. 

You shifted on his bed, now leaning against his headboard. His answer strikes you as odd and uncharacteristic despite his attempts to evade suspicion: usually, Jonathan pounces at the chance to yap on and on. “What, the great Jonathan Breech doesn’t have any wild stories to tell? No bones broken, girls dumped, houses trashed?” 

He snorted at that, like some inside joke you weren’t privy to was brought up in your words, and he descended back down on a carefully partitioned line of white. “I broke my baby finger once,” he relented vaguely when he finished, dusting off the table and licking the remains off his hand. “I cried and I cried and I cried.”

“Did it hurt that much?” you grinned, mind trailing off to imagine a baby-faced Jonathan Breech, a juvenile highschool boy, doing something silly to break that finger. Maybe he accidentally flung off his bike, broke it because of a dare, or maybe it happened just by slipping and falling. 

“It - uh… didn’t hurt enough,” Jonathan smiled, tight-lipped and paltry. All at once the air in the room had changed, like someone attached a vacuum to the window and sucked everything out. 

Your grin fell, and you watched him carefully: perhaps, had you not been as close to him as you were, he’d have let something show. A twitch in the smile, a break in the facade. But you were, and his face stayed the same, and your thoughts ran circles around themselves. This was… something else, something belonging to the part of his life he didn’t talk about. 

The atmosphere had grown tense, taut, a rubber band twisted ‘round and round, threatening to burst, so you leave the matter of his injury alone; of his life alone. You go back to staring at his ceiling, he goes back to his drugs; Jonathan collapses within himself, and you don’t notice how badly he suffocates… how suffering in silence is also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found.

ii.

Sometimes, despite his self-imposed distance, Jonathan lets someone look inside his head. 

You are both the sometimes and the someone; you don’t know why it’s always you, but you chalk it up to the fact that beneath his unpredictable demeanor, the murky and unreadable feelings he holds for others, is this uncharacteristic constant: he holds a softness for you. It’s what lets you know there’s something haunted lurking beneath his happy-go-lucky surface. 

You don’t know where this softness comes from, either. But you know you see it, in lingering touches, tender duchenne smiles unlike the devilish tilt his lips usually hold, how he clasps his hand around yours after a night at the pub and walks you home because he knows you get paranoid. You see it in how he comes over to your apartment when you don’t answer anyone's calls during exam season, how he remembers what your mother’s name is and what your childhood pet was and what your favorite flowers are. How his lips brush past your cheek when he pulls away from hugs, his hands shuddering around your shoulders, like he’s afraid he’ll crush you.

You only wish you could do the same. You want to sit by his side and mend his heart, lend an ear to his most mundane fears, you want to take his hand into your own and kiss it softly, return all that he has done for you, take the same as you have given to him: what is friendship if it is not equal, what is love if it is not returned? It is something broken, unable; split halves of one heart, an imbalance in the scale, Bonnie without her Clyde, a fish out of water. 

Jonathan pours his heart into your own, filling holes you know you don’t have, and you think he may be overcompensating for something else, seeing things in you that really belong to him. It is maddening, and you just want to beg and plead he lets you in. 

But you settle for the gentle pokes, the prodding, and try to decipher the vague answers he gives you. Most days, you can’t really make sense of it. 

“Sorry,” you apologize, about to leave the outing you planned with Jonathan — studying, or, trying to study, at an intimate coffeebar the two of you frequented — “my dad’s gotten drunk with his lads and my mum needs help dragging him home.”

 “Hey, hey, don’t worry. I get it: my dad used to do that all the time,” he waves your words off casually, but you don’t miss how jilted he says used to and the pain in his tone at all the time.

“Oh, surely she was fit to go to the madhouse?” you laughed once, responding to Jonathan’s complaints about an eccentric classmate in his agricultural studies. He laughs back, he always does, but this one is hollow, forced; barely stopping a grimace from coloring his tone. 

You notice these things like it’s a shadow following someone in the sun. He is lying, hiding; about something you don’t know but it is happening. It is happening, and you are so very curious: you pick up on the littlest tendrils of him, fed wholly on any information you can squeeze out. He is a mystery you want to delve within completely; answer that question of WHO ARE YOU REALLY? and leave no room for error. 

You’d give yourself to him the very same if he merely asked; you’d whisper childhood fears and tell the origin stories of faded scars on your knees and why you check under your bed before sleeping. You’d detail your entire life from sunset birth to starry night end if he even made a passing comment about knowing; you would trust your love, your heart, your entire life in his beautiful, shaky hands. This is the relationship you have built around yourselves, and it is beginning to feel terribly one-sided. 

Alas, your curiosity overwhelms him, and you take it too far, just once. Only once. 

“Where’d this come from?” you murmur, brushing your fingers over a scar above his eyebrow. It’s something you see only now, his hair mussed and wild from the various blankets and pillows on your dinky couch. 

He’s crashing at your apartment tonight, an invited event, because you often miss him like you miss home; the boy is sneaky— he slinks away like a street cat and only comes back for food. It’s only fair he lets you wrangle him back like this, making him stay by your side at least once a week.  

Your words make him freeze, like he often does; it reminds you of hikers, who freeze when they see mountain lions— he thinks if he stops and stares and pretends to disappear you’ll look the other way, drop the question, forget him completely.

But you don’t. You don’t know what’s affecting him -- not that he wants you to -- so you just stare back into his cornflower blue eyes. You stop and stare and see right through him; you hold the question like a knife to his neck, and commit him to memory. 

“The scar?” Jonathan pales, shuddering despite it having long since been healed over. The aftershocks of an earthquake. 

You simply nod, fingers pulling away. You’re still closer than ever though, the two of you being the only things in your cramped concrete apartment, the chosen movie on your telly still running and long forgotten. 

Your attention remains on him, brandished into something dangerous, like you’ll carve the answer out of him if you have to— but the moment passes. He doesn’t say anything and you accept that as the answer. Gone is your razor-sharp focus, and there is nothing more to the matter. 

But Jonathan doesn’t register this, no, he’s thinking, gears in his head turning and creaking. His tongue grazes against the backs of his teeth, jaw chattering like it was as cold as it was when… as cold as it was back then, and he doesn’t want to tell anyone— but it’s you. You’re not just anyone. 

You’re the one he holds a certain softness for. The one he equally bares his heart to and holds the most secrets from. The one he’s most terrified to know. The only one he wants to know. 

So, he decides to tell a partial truth— something digestible. People adore that which can easily slide down the gullet: news headlines don’t detail the goriness of a murder, they give the “insider” scoop of the scared neighbor. To be able to digest information is what makes the world go round, and he does not think you could digest the full truth-- he does not think he wants you to. 

He feels ill at the thought of anything between you changing— oh, how ruined he’d feel if you began treating him like fucking glass.

This abhorrent social pressure is what makes Jonathan grit this sentence through his teeth: “I got into a car accident,” he gulps dry, “when I was nineteen. Was drunk… went fer a spin. I skidded off a -- um, an empty highway. The tall sorts; high up, y’know. Fell.”

His voice makes you look back up at him, and your eyes are beautiful and tense— it breaks his heart. He knows you’re probably thinking it was in-character, how expected that is of Jonathan Breech, how you’ll easily take this partial truth, how you’ll never know the full one until it comes in a letter under your door and he’s long gone. 

“Tell me,” you ask him, lips falling into a near-frown instead of laughing or grinning wider. It’s hushed, whispered like a secret, “What did it feel like? Falling, I mean.”

Jonathan licks his lips, bores his shaking gaze into your own, and tells you not everything feels like something else. That the word connotes all you need to know. Falling meant he was falling; his arms raised and the air took him and that was it. 

It makes your brows twist and your lips press into a thin line: his nonchalance is worrying, no more his signature characteristic— there is something wrong about this apathy toward injury, toward the potential death. 

“Is that how you broke your finger?” You murmur, and it startles him. How you pieced the two things together, how you weaved a web from what little you knew about him; how futile his attempts to hide could be.

“What?” he responds, hoarse. There is a lurking shadow in his bones telling him he’ll taint you, telling him to be ashamed, telling him how badly you will never be his. It is such a damning reality, that no matter how much he may yearn for you, he is too incomplete to meet your needs; he is too hurt not to hurt you too. 

“The car accident. Is that how you broke your pinkie?” you repeat, and you gripped his hand resting at your side, bringing it up to present the finger to him like he forgot where his pinkie was. 

Jonathan’s gaze darts from you to the finger, and he feels his insides quiver; so badly does he want to spill his entire soul to you. But that internal reminder -- hurt people hurt people hurt people -- makes him settle for nodding, parted lips locking closed. 

Nothing special happens that night, no shocking revelation or bombarded confession; Jonathan nods, keeps his lips sealed, and gets up from the couch, figure dreary and fatigued. He murmurs an incomplete excuse, something half-baked and blatantly unconvincing that he has to leave, and you let him go. You think you’re imagining the shudder in his shoulders, the shake in his voice as he says goodbye, and you let him go. 

It’s there, like that club so long ago, you discover another thing about Jonathan Breech: push too far and he shuts down, closes shop and puts up his guard forever. It’s the mere fact of how attentive you are to his words; you remember how he broke his finger, and he realizes he cannot hide from you any longer. 

You’re reaching a point in your friendship -- your relationship, no matter platonic or romantic for all lines have been crossed; nobody is so raw to one another with love not involved -- where you’ll bare your hearts on your sleeves, share your every thought and dream and fear. But Jonathan won’t be able to reciprocate, and the very thought of rejecting you, betraying you, makes his stomach twist in knots. That crestfallen face of yours would haunt him for all time, your every melancholy feature burning into his memory like the scars left by cigarettes on skin.

So he leaves, hurt people hurt people hurt people echoes in his ears all the way home; he turns into an alleyway shortcut and prays death swoops down and takes him right there. He leaves his consciousness curled lovingly in your arms; his shell walks home and prays you’re none the wiser. But you’ve already reached that point in your relationship; you already know. 

When people die, or friendships do, sometimes they end with just a goodbye, a mild, casual goodbye because you think there’ll be dozens, hundreds more-- but there won’t be. Suddenly, alone in that cramped apartment, the buzzing from the tv filling your ears, your couch still warm from someone long gone, you know.

You know you startled him, that he’s left your apartment and he’ll never come back. Your heart cools, and she whispers that you took it too far, that you crossed a line you were never made aware of, that when you see him in class tomorrow he might not sit next to you, he might not talk to you, that you might lose him forever because he is too stubborn to open up and you are too stubborn to let him go. 

Well, you were too stubborn to let him go. 

It’s three weeks before you speak to Jonathan again. Three long, dragging weeks, moments in time where he avoided your gaze, evaded your presence, slipped past you before you got too close. You certainly try, of course— you seek him out every chance you get, trying to get an I’m sorry, please talk to me out before he runs off, but it’s virtually impossible.

Once, after class, you’d caught him in the middle of a flurry of exiting students by the velvet blazer, your hands curled around the lapel. “Jonathan,” you panted, trying to drag him off to the side to escape the bustling activity around you, “please, we need to talk--“

But then Jonathan had faced you, eyes widened and spooked like he’d seen a ghost, a never-before-seen-by-you fear covering his gracefully cut features, before he tugged off the black blazer and escaped into the crowd. He had seen you, widened his eyes, left. Such a simple action tore your heart in two; it had confirmed your suspicions— you’d gone too far, he was never coming back, and you were all alone. There you stood, fingers wrapped around one of his favorite articles of clothing starkly without its beloved owner, completely alone. 

In three measly weeks, he has put up a biting winter of distance between you two. 

Your feelings are unable to comprehend themselves— they fight and sob and run circles around your mind, they make you doubt, crumble, devour yourself from the inside out; they make you ask yourself what you can do to salvage this, what can you do to fix this? What is there to make of him, of his behavior; what do you do with yourself and this guilt?

If you could imagine time was a construct, you were certain you could convince yourself this stretch of time was nothing… propel yourself into a present where Jonathan does not afflict your mind, take over your every thought— does not ruin you like so. If only you could do that, you could close your eyes and reopen them when you’ve let go. But you were always too stubborn to let him go, weren’t you?

It’s three weeks to the day before you speak to Jonathan again, and it happens through the crack of his dorm door, your arm wedged through it because you know he is not cruel; he will let you in without a doubt.  

“Please,” you plead to Jonathan, “just— I just want to talk. Please?”

He stares at you straight, expression cold and reserved, before he breaks and pulls away; bites his lip, lets you in his room, doesn’t look you in the eye. Looking around, you sense something in his dorm has changed; it had gained a bereft quality, like it was attuned to Jonathan’s state of mind and felt depressed beyond your comprehension. There was a cold air to the place, an utmost frigid demeanor to a room incredibly warm just weeks prior. In your absence, the dorm had been neglected, gutted, abandoned. 

“I’m sorry,” are the first words that tumble out of your mouth. “I- I know you don’t like… talking about -- about your life before here, and I’m sorry. But please, Jonathan, just talk to me. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you.”

He sits down on the edge of his weak bedframe, pulling his knees up and pressing his face into them. “You don’t need to-- don’t… don’t apologize. You don’t need t’make it better, either. All’s grand.” he promises, words muffled and shaky. It’s a weeping kind of tone; you could just as easily imagine him sobbing with that voice. 

Your brows knit. Your emotions are wavering, treading brutally between disbelief, despair and rancor. “Then -- then why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you avoid me? Why did you - why did we spend these last three weeks playing cat and mouse, if you weren’t mad at me? Is this your sick idea of a joke?”

“No! I-- jesus christ,” Jonathan looked up from his hands before immediately pressing two fingers between his eyes, “I wasn’t … avoiding you.”

“I haven’t seen you in weeks!” you point out painfully, exasperated. “You know, you’ve been avoiding me for longer than this. You— you push me away any chance you get. You’re afraid. I don’t know of what, but you’re- so fucking secretive, and it’s tearing me apart.”

“I’m not - afraid of anything. I’m just a private person— you know this. Would you, if I ‘pushed you away?!’” 

At his denying deflection, something within you snaps: “Why won’t you - fucking let me in? I’ve — I’ve bared my soul to you; you know me from the inside out. I trust you with my life— why, why can’t you do the same?”

“I didn’t ask you to do that! And I didn’t — I didn’t mean t’get so close to you, okay?!” He bursts, and you flinch. His hands shakily come up to his face once more; he wipes roughly but it’s no use— you’ve already seen his delicate tears threatening to spill, and it burns more holes in your heart than you thought his suffering would.

“What are you talking about?” you pry, now without any cautious reservations about his demeanor.

“I didn’t mean to get so fucking attached, because - ‘cause I…” Jonathan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, “fuck.”

“What?” you repeat, but it’s softer, concerned; how quickly his body language shifted from irritated to terrified has you scrambling to support him. “Talk to me,” you ask, taking nervous steps closer, like you were approaching a wounded animal.

He sucks in a sharp breath, and holds it, like he did cigarette smoke, before exhaling heavily. “Okay- okay. When I was - nineteen, I drove a car… I drove off a cliff and tried t’kill myself. I was-- admitted to a psychiatric hospital for a year, and when I got out I moved here f’school. I- I… promised m’self I wouldn’t let anyone get too close.”

The confession hangs in the air, a lonely little thing; it’s a bleeding piece of his own heart he’s plucked and placed in your palms. He shudders, and you want to nurture it like nothing else. This is a culmination of a year’s worth of evasion coming to a close; you’re seeing him completely, rawly, for the first time.

“But- but why? You don’t have to— Jonathan, you don’t need to do that just because you - you… y’know.”

“I’m- I know that,” he starts brashly, defensively. “It’s b’cause I am very, very aware of my - of m’own self destructiveness…” His words taper off into something of grief; the Sisyphean struggle of wanting to live, while that depressive boulder pushes him back, colors him completely. “I just… I didn’t want to - t’hurt anyone in case I -- in case next time I succeeded.”

“Next time?” you repeat, and your voice broke in a way you wish was less vulnerable, less blatantly miserable.

“This is why I didn’t want to—“ Jonathan sighs, deflates, “I’m not telling you this because I want you to - t’fucking save me, okay? I’m telling you this because you wanted to know, and I couldn’t hide from you anymore. Because you asked.”

“You didn’t need t’hide it in the first place!” you exclaimed, coming closer to him. “You’ve never had to hide a fucking ‘ting from me.”

“You wouldn’t have understood!” He said back, volume nearing a shout. “You’ll treat me differently now, you see, you’ll look at me fuckin’ different—“

It made your heart sink-- how sure his words were, how certain he was of your rejection. How little trust did he have in you? 

(You remember he wanted to sink, too-- lose himself in the baby blue sea; let it swallow him whole and never be seen again.)

“You - you really think I’ll treat y’differently because of this? You know my every crevice, my every thought-- I have never once doubted that you’ll accept me.”

“I-I… why should I - expect any of this to stay the same?”

Suddenly, you took his face into your hands. “Because I-- I fucking love you, okay? And it’s not just friendly, or romantic, even if it’s both— I’m… I love you like nothing I’ve ever loved before. I accept and adore your every skill and flaw and antic; you wormed your way into my heart and I want to worm my way into yours.”

“That doesn’t mean—“ Jonathan tried to interject, a noise all utter disbelief. You cut him off, though, continuing your sudden confession; you hadn’t been privy to these own romantic feelings of yours till moments prior, but everything being said just felt right. 

“Jonathan, I don’t care if you drove a car off a cliff or cyanide-poisoned our professor or blew something up, because I love you. You, with all your problems and great, big, beautiful life. All I want is for you to want that life; I want you to want me in it. I feel it in my bones that I’m meant to love you; you are meant to be my home, you are everything I am supposed to know. It won’t fix you or fix anything at all but I just need you to know-- I need you to know the why to my every action. It’s because I love you.”

He looked up at you, wide-eyed, head resting in your gentle hold. “I - don’t know what to say… are you - for real?”

“As real as can be,” you smiled back at him, tracing circles along his smooth skin; you could’ve drank in that attentive stare of his for hours upon hours. “I love you, and nothing and no-one, not even you, can change that.” An aching grip had clenched around your heart at his words, that blatant disbelief: are you for real? God, had you ever been-- had you ever fucking been. 

Jonathan’s mouth opened to speak, but instead, he let out an agonizing sort of cry; an exclamation of utter surprise at the loving acceptance. Then, he hesitantly leaned into your touch, as if he’d never hugged before, wrapping his arms around your waist to snatch you as close to him as possible. He held you tighter and tighter as the seconds went by, like this was all a mocking dream his yearning mind had made up; that if he closed his eyes now he’d wake up desolate, alone, without you for eternity. His worst nightmare. 

“…God, I’m so - fucking stupid,” he grumbled, sounding angry, but you could feel vulnerable, hot tears soaking into the fabric of your shirt. “To assume you, of all people, would act that way… you of all people.” He said that tenderly; you of all people certainly meant miles more things you weren’t explicitly aware of, but you still felt the sentiment. “I’m not -- poetic or anything like that… but I love you, too.”

You chuckled a beautiful, wet laugh. “You don’t hafta’ say anything sweet or special. You’re everything to me.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, before wrapping his fingers around your wrist and pulling you onto the mattress with him. He flipped you beneath him, and held himself up by the forearms laying on either side of your head. “Fuck, I love you. I love you.” Jonathan repeated the words several more times, strange and foreign but right at home being said to you. Like his mouth was made to only ever say I love you to you. 

Suddenly, you pressed your lips to his, shutting him up momentarily. You could still feel the vibrations of I love you rumbling in his throat as you kissed him. Your tongues danced along one another, an all consuming waltz; you wanted to know everything about him, down to the taste of his tongue, memorize how sweet his mouth felt on yours. Oh, how you longed for this moment; how could you ever think about love again, and yearn for it, without thinking of Jonathan?

You reckoned that’s what this had been the whole time; your love started as a little flame, something under the guise of friendship, but the two of you had fanned it, nurtured it-- all of a sudden the miniature warmth of platonic love burst into a raging, adoring fire. You’d fed this flame with tenderness, and it responded in kind; you could never again look at Jonathan without a certain intimate reverie. Perhaps that’d been why Jonathan found it so hard to cut off this relationship as he had dozens others: something primal and unconscious within him had begged him not to let you go— some higher being knew his home was only ever in your arms. 

Jonathan deepened the kiss hungrily, pressing his weight onto you and pushing you into the mattress. Your head was spinning from the lack of air, and one of your hands had to sneak beneath his hat and tug at his hair to get him to stop. “Hey,” you panted, looking worriedly into his eyes, “what’s up?”

“Sorry,” he apologized sheepishly, hanging his head lowly for a moment before meeting your gaze once more, batting his long lashes. “Jus’ missed you. Thas’ all.”

“Missed y’too,” you murmured, pulling him back down to kiss you again. Your hands left the crown of his head and trailed down his backside, tracing over the curves and bumps of his frumpy yellow v-neck sweater. 

That touch of yours seemed to spur him on even more, and his kisses began to travel; along your jaw, to your pulse, down the long ravine of your neck, tongue darting out to lick the hollow of your collarbone, making you squeal. He chuckled against your skin, a genuine amusement rather than the mocking one you two so frequently practiced, and it all went downhill from there. His hands skillfully tugged off your tank top, knee between your clenched thighs, more teasing kisses being planted along your now bare -- save for your bra -- chest.

You didn’t mean to come over, profess your love and suddenly jump into a steamy, yearning makeout session (which, you were pretty sure was venturing off into sex…) but you supposed that apologizing— arguing, whatever —meant your relationship went back on track to wherever it was heading… which may have been set to end with an ardor romance anyway. This love of yours would’ve bursted at the seams of friendship; it could not be confined by such mere things as labels. 

“Fuck,” you groaned, arching into his teasing kisses along the peaks of your breasts, his hands ghosting around your clothed chest but never touching. “Please, Jon.”

You could feel his cheeky grin on your skin, “Tell me what you want, love.”

“…Take this off,” you demanded gently, referring to Jonathan’s sweater.

“Your wish is my command.” he snickered, obliging and removing the yellow knit-- as well as his white undershirt and pajama bottoms. He was left in a pair of boxer-shorts and that silly, silly winter-trapper hat, his fingers sneaking up to your supple thighs and tickling the edges of your jean-shorts; a silent plea. 

“Eager,” you mumbled, noticing his over-compliance in completely stripping, smiling and guiding his hands to the waistband of your shorts to tug the tight article off. 

When he did so, you shivered, both at the feeling of being only in your underwear, as well as Jonathan’s sharp, attentive gaze. “You’re so beautiful,” he panted, eyes exploring your every sweet feature. 

He was enamored with your bare body, not in a sexual way despite the blatantly sexual situation, but rather in a worshiping, religiously devoted way. It may’ve been blasphemous to think so, but Jonathan’s sudden chaste kisses along the curve of waist only seemed to prove you right; his mouth on you was gentle, like he’d held you before, except now without any guilt or hesitation. It was a holy way of loving you; something all-consuming, becoming the epicenter of a life, becoming the purpose, motivation, and belief all at once. 

That familiar broiling in your gut occurred as he made his way closer to the pulsing, lace-covered place between your legs; your hands were gripping the sheets tightly in pure anticipation, his hot breath on your sensitive skin. “Don’t be such a tease,” you pouted, legs fumbling for purchase along his body, trying to pull him closer to you.

“We’ve got all the time in the world,” he hummed, but his fingers still curled into the band of your baby-blue panties and dragged them down in one desperate go, “but I do wanna taste you….”

Jonathan’s veiny hands pried your quivering thighs apart, murmuring an offhand already stole y’panties, don’t get all shy on me now when you whimpered flusteredly, before he descended on your dripping lips, licking a flat-tongued stripe up to your clit. 

You gasped at the sudden action, but it quickly morphed into a choked moan when he pressed himself further and parted your lips, nose to your pelvic bone; he made quick work of you, artfully curling his long tongue into your hole and slurping your slick. 

“So sweet,” he praised, the vibrations of his voice making your thighs clench around his head. He hummed in amusement at your reaction, lapping you up quicker; he kitten-licked and slobbered, feeding on your sticky cunt, tongue darting in every direction, feeling your walls and prying deeper into your hot hole, which ached for the cock straining against the mattress now. The bottom half of Jonathan’s face was now positively soaked, glistening with his own drool and your needy wetness, all of it mixing dirtily and sliding down the length of his neck. 

“Jon!” you mewled, hands tearing off his trapper hat and flinging it elsewhere before curling your hands into his mousy brown hair and pushing his face deeper into your pussy, desperate to come. You were riding his face now — or, attempting to, more accurately bucking up into him — adoring his unceasing ministrations. He was basically fucking you with his tongue, overstimulating your clit with teasing licks then pulling away, feeling along the ridges of your walls.

“Pick m’hat up later, love,” he tutted, pulling away slightly to see where you’d haphazardly thrown it, and your desperate whine neared a sob. He breathed in sharply, taking in how quickly he’d undone you: in a matter of minutes, your expression had grown wanton, eyes blown out, drooling, hair askew, bra riding up your tits and revealing your sweet, puffy nipples. 

Jonathan quickly forgot about the state of his beloved hat, and went back down on you, mouth devouring in full force once again. You rolled your hips forward, and when he pulled his tongue out of your wet hole to suckle softly on your fleshy nub, your eyes rolled back into your head and your legs shook around his face, toes curling tightly. A choked moan left you alongside the sudden climax, sounding a hundred percent pornographic and all for him. 

You panted, silent and unmoving for a moment, and Jonathan began moving to get up and let you take a breather before continuing, absolutely terrified to push you too far or do anything you didn’t want to do— he was the spontaneous one, and you were the responsible one, but that didn’t mean he ever wanted to force anything upon you. His simultaneous decisions were made mostly in part with your interests in mind; he made the decisions you were too nervous and over-thinking to choose quicker. 

However, you took a long breath, then trailed your hand over the painfully noticeable bulge within his soft boxers. “Wan’… make you feel good,” you murmured, flattening your hand against his erection. 

Jonathan inhaled sharply, pitifully affected by the minor touch but holding back with an incredible amount of self restraint. “I can wait,” he offered sweetly, one of his hands coming up to your flattened hand’s forearm to rub the skin. 

You shook your head foggily, cupping him through the fabric, slowly adding friction by sliding your hand up and down. 

“S-shit,” he bit his lip, “you want this now, baby?”

You nodded vehemently with a whimper, and to make more of a point, you reached behind and unclasped your bra, tossing it elsewhere on his dirty dorm floor, before beginning to slip off his underwear. 

The hand on your arm stopped you, though, in favor of doing it himself and pressing his weight further onto you, your chests flush with one another. You were only able to take in thin breaths, making your head spin, but it also amplified the  arousal blooming in your cunt when Jonathan slotted himself at your soaking entrance, collecting his saliva and your slick on his tip. 

Before he pushed in, however, his head dipped into the hollow of your neck, plush lips brushing past the shell of your ear. “Is this okay?” he murmured, pressing a wet kiss to your temple. 

“Please,” you whined, hands pushing flat on his back to bring him closer to you.

With that, Jonathan slowly buried his length within your cunt, making your breath hitch. “I love you,” he groaned, entering you inch by inch, relishing how your warmth swallowed him whole. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

Your hole was stuffed beyond belief, but Jonathan was gentle with you, caressing your waist with the rough pads of his fingers and massaging you, trying to ease his entrance into something painless. Obviously, with that length and thickness it couldn’t be painless at all, but his attempts helped your mind drift off elsewhere and take some of the attention off the stinging stretch. 

After a long moment of ragged breathing, Jonathan cooing words of praise into your neck as he kissed you without moving, you dug your fingers into the skin of his back: “More,” you choked out, the fullness in your cunt now feeling delicious rather than cringeworthy. 

He smirked against your skin, “Looks like you’re t’eager one now.”

“Oh, get on with it,” you rasped and he let out a low chuckle, sliding out of your hole before thrusting back in. That first movement already made your hips jerk up into him, back arching. It was like all the warmth in your body had collected in your cunt, leaving you freezing from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, but still with a needy, burning fire in your insides. 

Jonathan’s pace was affectionate and rhythmic: you could feel the tenderness in his each and every gentle roll of the hips. It made you feel like the sun, how attentive he was, but he was also so fucking slow. If anything, that had your walls clenching onto him harder than if he hammered into you— that slow build-up of friction was dizzying. You squirmed, cunt clenching and contracting around his smooth thrusts— you wanted to take him within you completely, cause more friction for you were going stir-crazy with this lazy speed. 

“F-fuck! Faster, please,” you cried out, unable to take his sensual movements any longer. Your legs were twitching with his patient movements, and you could’ve sworn you saw a cheeky grin on his lips. The bastard— even in sex was he teasing you, wanting to torture you until you gave in to the pleasure and begged him to ruin you.  

Sure, this was your first time together, and was going extremely pleasantly and sweetly, but you were actually pretty fond of the idea of letting him pound into you like there was no tomorrow… 

At the lewd thought, your walls pulsed around his cock, making him buck up unintentionally, hitting that sweet spot within you. He grunted at the feeling of your tightened cunt, while you cried out his name, pleasure running like a current through your body. Your face was on fire, reminiscent of a raging fever, and your insides were coiling— god, how did his cock just feel so perfect within you?

“Oh,” he grinned in a pant, “found y’spot, didn’t I?”

Jonathan didn’t give you a chance to speak before he pulled out so far his tip was the only thing in your hole, before slamming back in and making your eyes roll to the back of your head. Props to him-- he hit your g-spot with utmost accuracy, and you let out a long, stuttered mewl, scratching at his freckled back, legs twitching. Your wail was almost catatonic, loud and cock-drunk, dripping unabashed, filthy pleasure. 

“Makin’ such sweet noises f’me,” he praised huskily, hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead, “fuck, ‘ve gotta hear that again.”

He must’ve noticed your neediness earlier, when he was slow and languid, for the new speed he set was double- no, triple that: his hips were snapping against yours, balls smacking filthily against your lips, left hand pinning your hips down and letting him sink into you faster. Shocks of pleasure tore through you at the sudden increase in speed- he’d inured you so well to the torturously slow pace from earlier that this new frenzied one felt like getting hit by a bullet train. You were overstimulated and needing more of him all at once, practically vibrating with need under his touch. 

“I’ve- hnngh- wanted this…” you gasped between moans, “f-for so long…”

“Wanted m’cock?” Jonathan questioned in a hiss, feeling with his every inch how your walls absolutely soaked him. His tone was, obviously, sarcastic, but it still made you feel incredibly lewd. 

You shook your head numbly, “Wanted you… I love you, Jon!”

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he purred, fucking you faster and making you writhe beneath him, “love you s’much.”

Jonathan targeted the spongy, swollen spot deep within your cunt, suddenly filled with a renewed vigor and motivation to make you come as quickly as possible, and he pounded into that one, specific spot, watching how you twitched and squirmed, heavy moans exiting you. He was relentless, hands reaching to hook under your knees and spread you wider. 

At the new angle, his cock penetrated you even deeper, fuller, which you thought wasn’t possible with how goddamn full you already felt, but when his thick cockhead brushed up against your cervix you thought you were going to burst. Then, one of his hands came up to your tits to knead the flesh, and you squeaked when he tweaked your soft nipples. He was pawing at your sweet tits, fondling you in a needy, boyish way, like yours were the first pair of boobs he’d ever felt. 

“M’close!” you gasped, mind going fuzzy with pure ecstacy. Your skin prickled with goosebumps, cold  sweat running down your spine, a terribly stark in contrast feeling to the warmth buzzing under your skin. 

“C-can’t last much longer either,” he choked, still pumping in and out of your sticky hole and savoring the feeling of your tight warmness on his long length. He looked absolutely exquisite above you, and you lost yourself in the ethereal picture. Maybe you were in love, or maybe he really was just an empyrean beauty; you took in the sight of his focussed iceberg blue eyes, the cute flush spreading along his pale cheeks and bare chest, how he bit his pink lips to muffle his needy grunts and moans. 

Then, you mewled and convulsed around him, your walls spasming and contracting as you came undone, reaching the precipice of your pleasure. That made him fall off the edge— you had tensed all over- all over, and Jonathan couldn’t help how his hips stuttered, knees buckled, cock twitched; he only gave one last, powerful thrust into you before spilling himself inside of you. He painted your soft walls white, and you felt that familiar heat spreading within you; you welcomed it completely, and wanted such warmth to be there forever. 

You milked him for every last drop, cunt like a vice grip, and Jonathan gave you another wet kiss, this time on your lips, and your hands wrapped around his neck, allowing you to kiss him back. Your brows knitted at the sour taste of yourself on his lips, but it just made everything feel so real— Jonathan and you had “made love”. It was a phrase you always wrinkled your nose at, feeling uncomfortable and juvenile at the intimacy it entailed, but now you understood it completely. 

“I love you,” you repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, unable to say anything else that conveyed what you felt for him. 

Honestly, you weren’t sure anything could accurately do so— you felt infinitely about him, your love touching all edges of your mind, heart and soul, filling you completely. You supposed you felt about Jonathan how the sun felt about the moon— without one, there could not be the other. 

“I love you-- too,” he responded, pausing in the middle at the aftershocks of your orgasm, which had caused you to tighten around his softening, sensitive cock for a second. 

You peered deep into his baby-blue eyes, watching the utter love that coloured them; it was like submerging yourself in a great blue ocean, except you didn’t want to come out, because you knew you wouldn’t drown in those eyes. No, you knew Jonathan would always be there to pull you out. 

Speaking of pulling out… Jonathan slipped himself out of you softly, careful not to agitate that first stretch any more than necessary, before collapsing back into your arms. The two of you tangled yourselves in a messy flurry of limbs on his cushy mattress, sweaty and breathy, something that should’ve been terribly uncomfortable but just wasn’t— you swore you could fall asleep anywhere, no matter your own state or the circumstance, as long as you were with him. 

Blearily, both your eyes began to droop, until you gave into the familiar presence of deep, dark sleep. It was a dreamless sleep for you, but you had an ever present comfort at his weight on yours, something you could feel even in unconsciousness. 

Hours later, in a brisk, shuddering early-morning that you felt all over due to Jonathan’s unruly habit of opening his window at the peak of the day’s hottest weather and forgetting to close it before cold nightfall fell, you awoke to Jonathan watching you carefully, so close you could feel his warm exhales of breath on your cheek. 

There was no goodmorning or anything like that, just pure, uninhibited being, reveling in the space you two occupied together. Like you two were the only things left in the world. 

When Jonathan noticed you woke up, he shifted, presumably to extract himself from your grip. You stopped him, though, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and bringing him closer to you.

“What did it feel like?” you asked instead, for the last time. You brushed your fingers over his scar, and, knowing exactly what you were asking, this time Jonathan doesn’t flinch away. This time, he leans into your touch: it doesn’t burn, not anymore, and he wants your tenderness to swallow him whole. 

You didn’t mean what it actually felt like, of course. You meant, what were you thinking? What have you done, and what will you do to yourself? You meant, I love you.

“It felt like,” falling; not everything feels like something else; I raised my arms and the air took me and that was it-- “it felt like… giving in. Letting my desperation find its purpose. It felt like I’d reached a point of peace… gained clarity after a long stretching, wounded moment came to an end. It felt like becoming something only meant to be talked about in past tense.”

You don’t say anything to that; you know he doesn’t want you to. There’s no need for you to hush or plead or make better, you just need to listen, and love him. He knows you accept him for everything he is, all his flaws and his strengths; he knows your love is all accepting- it veers on saintly. 

At your silence, he melts into your arms and you can finally relax; there is an admission in the action, a release, an acknowledgement -- is suffering in silence not also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found? -- you have found him, at last, and you will never, ever let go.

You take it too far, just once. Only once. And you let him go just once, only once; never again. 

[animeshotsh]

Never your first | Various x Reader | ANGST |

Summary: You may love them, and they may love you too, but not in the same way.

Warnings: ANGST - Sad - Mentions of sex (no explicit) -

Lucifer

When he fell you were quick to follow. History knows about him, the beautiful first angel who fell and his beloved wife Lilith. No one knows you, the second angel who fell. Why did you ? Because you loved Lucifer and believed in his words. You two were best friend and inseparable, soulmate some have said.

But he choose Lilith, had a daughter with her. And you saw all of it by the side, smiling and supporting but being broken inside.

And when she left him and Charlie, you saw him how sad he was, depress and the worse? He still loved her. You were there for him during his best moments and there to hold him at worse.

"Oh (Y/N)...im so lucky to have you as my best friend"

Charlie

Falling for Charlie was easy, like how could you not ? She was kind, sweet, everything no one was in hell. You believed in her dreams, long before she met Vaggie...

But you saw it unfold in front of your eyes, the love story between them was one from a fairy tale, and you were the side character. You liked seeing her happy and Vaggie was a good person but you wanted to be her.

"Oh (Y/N), I love her so much! Do you think she would agree to even marry me?"

Vaggie

Being the older sister/brother of Charlie mean following her around hell and supporting her. No one would date hurt her, but she being naive was something that could hurt her no less.

The night you met Vaggie your heart fell, it started to beat fast and hard as you saw her poor form being so hurt.

But her eyes were not on you, they were on Charlie, looking at her and Charlie looked at her back with love. Something your parents once had.

Vaggie did love you, as the relative of her girlfriend, and knew you were the protector of her. She knew she could be used easily by others so she was thankful that you were there for her.

"(Y/N) thanks for protecting Charlie all these years, I could never ask for a better in law"

Alastor

Being Alastor's friend had his ups and downs. You knew he was not captable of loving you the way you loved him, you were happy being his best friend.

But saddly you were not that. His best friend, the one he truly would never betray or use was Rosie who was in fact your friend as well.

"(Y/N) dont make me laught, and put a smile on your face. You are never fully dressed without one"

Vox

You saw Vox being used and abused by Valentino all the time. You loved him and wanted nothing more than to have a company together with him and only him. But Vox was addicted to Valentino and to the fame. No matter how many times he got beated up or had to watch him fuck others, he still loved him and not you.

"A show together? Well (Y/N) I believe you doing your show on your own are fine, the rating is good, besides what would the public say if they saw us alone and together?"

Stolas

Stolas and you, friends as old as stars. You two would watch the born and death of them. Would share your dreams together. You never supported his marriage with Stella and knew he was getting worse and worse, keeping the family together because of his daughter.

Saddly finally, once he had broke things off with her someone else did appear.

Blitzo or Blitz who had been his lover and turned out he loved him.

You never tought of imps as less but why? Why did he pick him and not you ? What did he had ? Specially when at the end he was still not happy.

You were back there, holding him in your arms as he cried again but this time because of someone who was not you.

And it would never be you.

[spaloonbabooguuscooties]

You could drink your whole life away and still never get that taste out of your mouth.

half commission for @salempie half completely self indulgent dreck pieced together from our insane conversations abt franke and elka. told myself id finally write a big explanation for all of the dum shit between these two for context so Thats Under The Cut.

so I already wrote some stuff about elka and franke's relationship back in whispering rock so feel free to look at that too . it goes over elkas blindness/‘seeing’ with clairvoyance and how her and franke started talking & all that good stuff

SO FOR STARTERS. a lot of thsi wont make sense without a big breakdown of elka herself. because elkas potential as a character is like insane to me. like just the idea of her in the long run of her life reads as something so potentially tragic; a young girl whos plagued with visions of doom and destined to be an outcast even in her own home for things she cant control and clings to the One vision of her wedding that she thinks is 'happy' even despite the fact she doesnt really love the person in it. im choosing to take the li-po doc as canon here because its funny shes the only one with backstory-

but my fucking god even the smallest look into what her parents are like is soo fucked up to me. and i do think elka especially gets a lot of influence from her mother; its funny how easily you can fit mabel doom into a box just from what elka says about her. knees deep in an avon-esque pyramid scheme and leaning into her daughters depressing ass visions & taking her to therapy at age 11 (which would be good if not for the kind of person you can already assume she is & so i doubt the therapist she has really does her any good. i think they share one). she reads as a very I Am My Daughters Best Friend type of mom to me and i can see elka being a centerpiece of the conversation when she has her Amway Girls over for drinks. wine-mom that lets her kid sip from the glass so she can feel like a big girl type deal.

and you can tell that elka is trying to hard to be too mature for her age even in her campster posts. how she writes letters to nils' mom and exchanges baking recipes with her and that feels like she really only interacts with middle aged women and not really many people her own age outside of camp (like her moms friends). which makes sense shed feel the need to ‘grow up’ early when shes probably had to process so many hard things at a young age bc of her visions.

theres a lot of filling the blanks here of course.

elka obsesses over nils to an overbearing degree even despite the fact he treats her like shit ('you promised no talking' and so on) and she treats him bad right back. she leans onto stereotypical heterosexual ideals like taking care of him and overblowing how Manly and Protective JT is and she admires romance stories like pride and prejudice and it feels like she Projects Soooooooo much of what she wants onto boys she barely feels anything for without knowing what its actually supposed to feel like. and clearly she WANTS that ideal future, a happy marriage, an actual romance- but according to nils even when they were dating she ignored him most of the time, which just seems Very Telling

like shes filling a role, overcompensating for emotions and lacktherof she cant digest quite yet, and it only makes more sense when you know shes had visions of their future together. how could that be bad for her? shouldnt it be like the books and movies? but she doesnt really connect the fact that her visions are only for Doomed futures, and if she does she certainly doesnt show it. Doomed relationships. it's been a part of her family for generations and she isn't turning out much different, is she? i dont think she even realizes thats all she ever sees yet, just that its Going to happen. that it's Her future, and it always will be

and like, her only reference for a real marriage so far has been her own parents, and she already Knows they have an affair, and theyre doomed to split, (and i actually like to think they were in rough waters anyway and elka was a child meant to mend a crumbling marriage but thats a whole other thing) and so without a framework for what an actual healthy relationship is supposed to be like she cant really grasp that her relationship with nils Isnt that and isnt ever going to be. she can only cling to this one happy idea of the future, and thats why she keeps chasing him, self fulfilling the actuality of her situation and creating and fostering the unhappy life they will inevitably live together.

and that bleeds into everything else in her life, of course, because as the years go on, as the visions grow in number it just makes sense for her to fall into the predictability of her life. she always knows whats going to happen, her visions are Never wrong- so why try to change things? shes had time to process tragedies days, weeks, months, years before they happen, shes had time to settle into every crack of her life. her parents divorce, her various break ups, her future with the psychonauts.

“and she's already seen so much of a future with [nils] she feels trapped almost. Like she has to be happy in it or else it just means her life is miserable. And it's a mixture of pride and fear of the unknown that keeps her clinging to the One thing she knows. BUT LIKE!!! She knows what's gonna happen! It's easier to grieve when she's been grieving for years... She wants so badly to be happy, But to do that she has to step into the unfamiliar. And that's more terrifying than staying the same miserable person she's always been.”

and thats where franke comes in— and yeah you Do have to take a lot of liberties for frankes character since it’s basically, like, all the info for her is just that shes a Supreme Baby Dyke but thats enough for me. i think she has protective butch itch in her . on campster shes defensive over other women evidenced in the way she keeps watch over the girls cabins for lili when elton is pursuing her . but shes also eager to please and constantly trying to make kitty laugh and also Very naive. but she tries! and i think it only solidifies more as she gets Older and really gets a hold of her feelings & her powers. this is incredibly franke to me

and i think as they grow older together— because i think franke and elka Do stay friends, both because elka is just pathetic and needs that positive connection even if she doesnt realize it and because i think franke is a very Loyal person & annoyingly persistent if you let her be . and i am also a kitty/franke truther. because kittys also important in this web we weave

because i think franke and kitty stay together after camp, to a point— theres a falling out facilitated on kittys end and they break up, but reconnect, and franke kind of... saves kitty from herself a little, from her strict military father whos love only extends thru finances , from her own stifling future , she drives all the way to bakersville in her shitty van handmedowned from her dad and they move in together eventually . they get jobs at the motherlobe , because it’s a pipeline to a decent job, because it’s whats easy, because franke doesn’t really have a future, because she’s never really been good at much, because shes never had much sense, because franke doesnt really care as long as she can live and help, sometimes, if she can, and because kitty’s there, and because elka’s there, and shes so used to being elkas eyes now and shes good at it. shes good at being the muscle of the missions when her colleagues lack it, when hypnosis and predictions arent enough. she likes it that way.

and elka appreciates frankes company. she listens, shes sweet, she does little things for her that no ones ever really put the effort for before; she likes her. franke is strong and bold and makes her laugh and shes always there but god elka cant let go of that future, of that box shes put herself in, that her mothers put her in, of being a Good Wife to a Loving Husband, of getting married normally and falling into unfailing familiarity. thats all shes ever wanted and shes not going to jeopardize that . not for franke, who may not be a boy but is handsome like one, whos always held her after every break up with nils and the men that filled empty days inbetween.

and elka is too stubborn to recognize those feelings anyway. too prideful to accept a way out. too set in her cycle no matter how much she hates it, her little self fulfilling tragedy of her own making, wallowing in her own doom. she struggles for control of her own life when she feels like every choice has been made for her anyway, she puts up her walls and carefully constructs what people see. but franke was always harder to trick, because while empathy isnt a particularly useful psychic power it’s certainly an inconvenient one. all franke has to do is get too close and all those carefully crafted walls fall apart, and elkas control is gone, and thats all she really has. and she tries to distance herself, really she does, but franke is also too persistent. and elka wears gloves, keeps contact that would make her walls crumble from happening as best as she can, but she cant really keep herself from the brief moments where she feels like someone actually fucking cares about her.

and that slightest lack of control, the need to wrestle it back is why she proposes to nils the next time theres a falling out— she knows how it happens, she plans every detail. and he accepts, despite everything. gets her a cheap ring and it feels like lead on her finger and its nothing at all like how shed thought it to be when she was a kid, theres no feather light feeling in her chest, only that dreadful reality that she cant turn this back. BUT WHAT CAN U DO LMAO

elka doesnt tell franke about this engagement until later, on their way back from a mission. late at night when neither of them can sleep, and franke invites elka to smoke in her van, because its been so long since theyve been alone like that, because elkas been so strangely absent lately. and because of everything, because frankes always so damn nice, because elka hates the feel of the ring on her finger, because she let herself get high alone with franke fucking athens whos always been so good at pulling her apart— the truth of it all spills out and its messy and emotional and she hates it, she hates the life shes made for herself, but franke makes it easier to bare and now shes here and shes so close and god she wishes she could see her smile again, she wishes she could see franke, thats all she needs right now and she cant but she can touch her and she can hold her and for tonight, she can be known, she can let those walls crumble, she can be something else just for once here with franke . she can kiss her here in this van, touch that happiness for just a moment, and forget the future that waits for her outside of it. franke begs her to forget the wedding, to just let herself be happy— and god, she wants to, but it means turning her back on everything shes known and everything shes saw to be inevitable, and franke has never been in her future, so if it were supposed to work out why hadnt she seen it and she cant, she cant take that risk but she can have this, even if its temporary, she can have it.

and just as soon as she gets a taste of it, its gone. after that night, after the missions over and theyre back at the motherlobe and have to pretend like nothing happened (franke doesnt, of course she tells kitty about it, she tells kitty about everything.) but that brief moment together haunts elka every time she sees franke, sees herself through frankes eyes, sees herself in her wedding dress because god its all franke can think about! of course it is! she knows how much elkas destroying herself she knows how much misery shes wallowing in that kiss in the van felt like an emotional punch to the teeth and she hasnt ever forgotten it and all she can do is sit and watch while elka throws herself into a loveless marriage. she can come to her wedding and see the way the bride and groom kiss with the emotional weight of a wet towel no matter how hard elka tries to hide it under a pretty dress and bouquets of flowers and meticulous planning.

and elka resents nils but she cant really hate him, its not his fault, not really. he feels trapped just like she does and his feelings of misery only cycle back into hers . they fight and gnash and wear away at each other and its a relationship thats crashed and burned a million times before elka even said i do. and its inevitable that she falls into her mothers habits, a sip of wine here and there to loosen up, until it turns to a glass, until it falls into a bottle on nights when whatever work nils does runs late.

but franke’s still there. shes always been there, hasn’t she? always trying to play knight, always trying to save her, dragging her home when shes stumbling over herself because god who else is going to do it but her? who else is left to care? certainly not nils. never nils. because franke knows her. because franke pities her. shes always pitied her. shes always known. and elka hates it, she resents it, but god in the same breath she’s desperate for it, she envies it to her very bones. elka is a mess but after frankes done with her she has someone to go back to that loves her. and god what elka wouldnt do to have that. to take it and keep it for herself because shes never ever got to have that movie romance shes always wanted.

so now comes this.

because elkas particularly miserable and particularly spiteful and she needs to get franke to understand, just for a moment, drink with her and get on her level and she needs her there with her no matter how her pity makes her feel. no matter how much it makes her shake with anger and envy and desperation, but god the way franke looks at her, the way she still tries to salvage what they have, the soft, slurred way she tells her that it’s okay but its not okay, none of this is okay, it never has been and she just wants franke to shut up and see that, and if she cant then she’ll show her, she’ll show her all the raw angry desperation, with too much teeth and hands that claw and grab and she’ll know why everyones always said she’s too much.

and she knows this puts her on nils’ level too. that this makes her a cheater, that shes no better than he is now. no better than her father and his affair. but god, she wants to be selfish. she wants to be in control. just for once. she wants to feel right and she wants to feel happy and she wants to feel loved. thats all shes ever wanted. and franke will let her have that, just for a little while, at the very least.

anyway. sorry. sorry for being crazy . this isnt even getting into the shit after the comic takes place . elkas stupid brainworld thag she has to overcome in order to finally be allowed in the polycule and live happily ever as worlds first lesbian divorceman

sorry for all the shit i make up instead of caring about actual characters with screentime . bye !

[lucy-the-demon]

The one thing i hate about the Stardew valley fandom is how a lot of people demonize mental health issues. Like, Being somebody with clinical depression, PTSD and autism it really upsets me when people are mean about Shane and Kent.

They treat Hailey like she's the perfect woman because she's mean then Treat Shane like the scum of the earth for being mean as well.

I have a caffine addiction, and while it's not as horrible as having an alcohol addiction it's still an addiction that im trying to overcome and i have depression as well. So seeing people treat Shane like that, plus calling him a liar when he's not 100% happy and sober all the time it really upsets me to see how he's treated, and i don't like him because I want to fix him, its just nice to see depression portrayed so realistically and to feel represented in media and i just want to be there for him. I can relate to him, and when people insult him and treat him like the bad guy for being mean and depressed and not 100% sober i feel like im doing something wrong and I'm a bad person for having depression and anxiety

And i have PTSD over very different things then kent, but I understand things that trigger memories to events, if I see the person who mistreated me in life or if somebody mentions middle school I get really upset and will go on a rant about it, when I get so upset I get angry im brought back to those horrible memories, and I understand why hes stressed over something that seems minimal to others And people are mean about him too, hes not a bad person he's just got PTSD and he doesn't know how to handle it. I feel bad for him when the community is mean to him over that cutscene.

and these are fictional characters it makes me scared how they would treat a real human being with similar issues, like me. I joke about if you hate these characters you should hate me too but like, it really pisses me off how this community treats mental illnesses And being somebody with these issues i really just want to spread awareness on how i personally feel when people say horrible things about these clearly mentally ill characters that have issues that real people have

Mental illness isn't black and white y'know, and if you think it is i think you might wanna get your eyes checked because you might just be completely colorblind, or blind in general. the actual mental toll it puts on real people to be represented by characters who's mental illnesses are portrayed very realistically only to be treated poorly by uneducated fans of the series/game/movie/ etc. It's very heartbreaking to me personally..

I just want fans of Stardew to be more mindful of characters like shane and Kent because there are real people like them that have the same issues as them. You don't have to like them just understand that real people have been through the same things they have and be respectful of that. i mean I don't like Harvey but I am respectful of people with anxiety, I have anxiety too. I think everyone does at this point.. but i would never undermine his anxiety or say he's a horrible person Because he's anxious that's a disgusting thing to imply and it should be the same way with characters like shane and Kent but it's not that way

The double standard with shane and hailey is an argument that may just involve sexism but that's an entirely different argument that i don't wanna get into rn, but just know, you don't necessarily have to be a nice person to be a good person, and vise versa.

Tldr: you guys need to stop saying Shane and kent are bad people for having mental illnesses, it's really gross and insulting to those with mental illnesses

[kinki-cami]

Nah because i would FLORISH being an independent in affini society

Like first off, im not isolated immediately that brings me up by like 45% like i can go see that forest, hang out with the (hopefully not going to bite me or give me rabies) animals pet some squirrels say hi to the hummingbirds, i can go into public and walk around, id honestly probably start skipping bc thats what ive imagined so far considering i wouldnt be as depressed as i am now

Secondly, FULL customization of what i wear just be able to look how i want without fear, probably wear my denim look but with some extra like, an ACTUAL denim skirt that looks nice, maybe makeup if i was feeling up to it

Thirdly, just exploration. This is pretty much the miscellaneous second of this post. Because theres probably no money (i assume i need to do more research) before i get to that i fuckin love research i would know every fuckin affini custom by year 5, anyway because of presumeably no money, fake shop at the mall bc hell yeah fuckin love the mall its like a mini city, youd go in like you were going to the mall and like fake "check out" with like a fake credit card or something and yahh fun but also id just like go get coffee, possibly some matcha, skip around town wearing heels WITH my denim outfit, looking all fuckin cute, go see the plants (not affini like houseplants like mint) fuck id grow some bleeding hearts, some mint, make sure to pick up plant food, bc even tho i CAN do it in the hab unit, its more fun leaving to pick stuff up, it gives you a sense of accomplishment like "yahhhh i did something today 🥰 (its a crime theres no 'fist pump' emoji, i swear there are more useless emojis than practical ones)" and because i wouldnt be in one location for 6+ hours a day (excluding sleep) i would have time to do things that i WANNA do, like finish that pokemon book that im only on kakuna out of pecharunt. And i could drink my coffee/tea and go to the game store and play magic with peoples or pokemon, i could go play some dnd, write my damn books, skip around in heels bc skipping is happy but i wanna wear heels soo yahhhh

Yeah i may occassionally get harrassed but like if im polite and express boundries im sure theyll leave me alone or at least relatively along

By the way im going based off of the two stories ive read so far aight, so if this is very biased aight. Too bad i need to read more. But also like, i can express myself two 2 stories ok? Like a girl can fantasize anyway back my fantasy

Eventually id want an affini to adopt me but like, god id be pretty happy without drugs theyd need to actively make my life miserable to make me want the drugs, like, damn. Also with the number of times im cursing in this post any and all affini rp blogs are gonna be like "stop fucking cursing little indie" and to be fair i dont like cursing at people the only time i do is when im expressing myself or am pissed off i never call anyone curse words because its mean and i dont like being mean 🥺

Uhh and i think thats all my thoughts god i had Sadistic glee read the bonus chapters of hdg a bit ago anyway gotta gp finish those, then go finish the other one that im halfway through then go read more, if anyone has any not emotionally wrecking stories feel free to send them via asks or something like i dont wanna see characters despairing but i dont mind seeing their personality erased, as long as the struggle isnt super visible or is minimal

[hoodedjelly]

Pardon the double ask, I’d also love to hear your thoughts on some Inanimate Insanity questions if you wouldn’t mind!

Thoughts on the Shimmers? [I personally find them super fascinating but there’s so little lore to chew on!]

The MePad tragedy… Do you think they could fix him, seeing as they have two very capable people who already built a whole person?? [You can probably guess my thoughts on this XD]

Favourite charcter(s)/character dynamics? I myself have a soft spot for the begrudging-turned-close friendships we see, like with Nickel and Balloon, MePhone and Floory, and Lightbulb and Paintbrush!

I'll do this ask first cause i wanna spice things up and talk about ii now.

Thoughts on the Shimmers? If i'm being honest i don't have any strong feelings about them. when i was watching ii i did get spoiled on bots new look and the whole time i was just like "oh they must come from that egg!" and then the egg became an egg creature from an egg species. So i was just like "OK I GUESS WE DOING CIRCLES NOW????". I was hoping for a really cool looking alien design, but i accepted that they are just eggs. I'm crossing my fingers for the next season to talk about their lore more, and just other alien species maybe since now it is confirmed there are more then just cobs and ii. How did cobs know about the shimmer? was he a fucking space war criminal??? there must be more objects out there that's not made by mephone. it honestly makes me really excited!!! i know they're not going to go straight onto the lore stuff for season 4, but i'm just so excited on who would even be the HOST next season, is there even gonna be a host???? SO MANY QUESTIONS AND IM EATING THEM UP!!!

Thoughts on MePads Death: mepads death was very much a shock for me, i'm in the ballpark where there's no way they're just going to leave him dead, cobs is dead, they can raid his place for parts. there's test tube that can save him. like there's so many variables that CAN save him it just makes sense that he would come back. But they can also be fucked up and evil, keep on going on the theme with "death is forever now" and that starts with mepad. I fear mepad is just another one of those burning questions i can't wait to see get answered on season 4

Favorite character(s)/character dynamics: OH JOY HOW I LOVE THESE CHARACTERS! i do love the bright lights group a lot, fan, test tube, paint brush and lightbulb. Have a soft spot for the final 2, suitcase and knife, but i think that's just because I've been around them the most the whole season. LOVE bot, floor, mepad and mephone4. I'm also very smitten on mephone3gs, i love his whole "space adventuring super hero from the 50s" voice, it's the right amount of cheese for me and i eat it up. My favorite dynamics are just the same fav characters i listed. fan and test tube are just two autistic nerds in love. paint brush and light bulb is a dynamic i constantly eat up "the hot head and they happy one". when i saw them i knew ii got me and there was no escape from my predictable self. i do actually like knife and pickle a lot! mephone4 and 3gs is a dynamic i can't wait to see in the next season. mephone got a new older brother thats a badass space adventuring super hero LIKE COME ON THATS SO CUTE. the last scene with them hugging literally makes me tear up every time. I can only just imagine, depressed mephone just like eating his life away on the couch and sg3 is just trying to help him with his space captain attitude.

anyway here's this little doodle of my fav group that i forgot to post

[2facedweirdo]

Hey weirdo hope your trip and camp went well!!

My question is, what blogs/vns/creators do you like?

with tags so we know who ur talking to ofcourse!! have a good day!

hello!! My trips went well thank you!! hmmm….ok let’s see!

@campwillowpeak silly little vn with a pyromaniac,Gavin,Gavin’s friend and depressed dad <33 I love this game so much ngl

@mama- -sloth (I hope I wrote that right) AAAAAAA ILY SOO MUCH<33 HER HUMOR?!?! HELLO?!

@restartheartvn Ezra and Chris Ezra and Chris Ezra and Chri- I love this game, it has good storyline, good music and amazing characters!! Fun fact!! I headcanon kenneth as societyboy from blooming panic

@queenlilithprime SO SILLY PT2!! Amazing person in general tbh. They are honest, respectful, pretty just amazing friend ngl!! (Also happy restart heart anniversary!!)

@stnaf-vn. AHHHHH- again one of my very very favorites 🤭 it so fun and has amazing lore and art! Also Carter <3 (and friend of course but you know, Carter)

@itsya-boi never really talked much with yaboi ngl. But from what I’ve saw, they are also the best human alive! Would love to be friends with them, 10/10 human being right there

@you-and-him-vn Enemies to lovers with Chloe and Adam!! I love this game, THE LORE AND STORY HELLO??

@— unknown hermit as we all know hermit left so I’m not tagging her here, but I actually really liked hermit and think the didn’t deserve all the hate she got.</3

@thekrows-nest Krow!!!!!!1!1!1!1! Best boy right there!! Mwuah!! @winndycakes amazing person who has amazing art! They also helped me out when I got a hate anon along with @queenlilithprime which makes me value them even more. <3

@lavender-teardroplettes I.LOVE.SI ILY ILY ILY SOOOOOOO MUCH <33 my very first friend on this platform and I respect him for wanting to me friends with me!! I love him as a person again, genuinely 100/10 person right there 💗💗

@clownboymcchucklefuck Nothing can describe how much I love this person. THE SILLIENES??? SILLY!!

@fantasia-kitt 🤭🤭🤭 Now THIS is an amazing game who has a amazing future! Funfact2: I headcanon that my oc and hyugo are childhood friends!. As the creator however is also an amazing person you means well for their community. I hope the hiatus means well for them

@darqx AHHHHHHHHH. Every time I see a demon man that’s tall I.just.scream!! I love rire <3 as for darqx however I’m surprised that both of the other creators of btd got in scandals while draqx is still standing, impressive!

@robobarbie although I sti haven’t played seekL yet, I immediately know it’s gonna be a good game because robo made it. For blooming panic however, *deep breath* AAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. IT HITS THAT ONE PART OF MY BRAIN AND SCRATCHES IN A WAY THATS ADDICVE. I also like their humor!

ANYWAYS LITTLE MUSHROOMS BE SURE TO CHECK OUT THESE BLOGS I WILL BE MAKING A PART 2 IF THIS CAUSE ITS TOOOO LONG AND IM TIRED!! SEE U LATERSSSS

Btw all games and blogs mentioned are amazing people and games check them out pls <3

[dearweirdme]

https://www.tumblr.com/dearweirdme/764510712239407104/httpswwwtumblrcomdearweirdme7644300029095772?source=share

Okay, this is gonna be a long one because I got a HELL of a lot to say on this matter;

It's a shame because nobody who has actually interacted with him has a bad word to say about him. The negative portrayal of him being peddled by 'notajikookers' here is a shipper/anti invention and doesn't line up with what people who actually know him or have met him say.

I know he's not flawless and people close to him will see him at his worst because none of us are perfect but everyone from his close social circle to his peers to random fan reports and encounters not only speak well of him but are VISIBLY and obviously fond of him, proud of him and endeared by him. (The proof is in the pudding even in official content but I guess we're supposed to believe that every single person he surrounds himself with is an Oscar worthy actor giving Oscar worthy performance 24/7 🙄)

And this has been the takeaway from people who met the group before they were even famous. One notorious story is of him meeting a granny before BTS even released their first song and she found him so polite and endearing that she supported the group long afterwards and even tried to get her grandsons into their music.

And those who have met him talk about him the same way she did. The takeaway from most people is that Taehyung is polite, funny and charming but we're supposed to entertain the opinions of people with UNs like jic_oo_k666 because they conveniently have a bad feeling about him while watching a BTS Run episode and these morons expect us to ignore the fact that this also conveniently validates and soothes their own ship insecurity and anxiety? 🙄

This is a guy who, as a kid and while experiencing the overwhelming pressure of global fame, praise, criticism and the stresses of overworking---suffered through a rally of traumatic losses, grief and experiences and the resulting impact on his mental health and STILL turned into a man that is perceived so positively and warmly by those who know him. That speaks volumes about his character.

Because at one point, it felt like every time we clicked a button we were hearing about another loss in Tae's life. Like he was going THROUGH it and still getting up and doing his job only to have certain 'fans' reward him with death threats, insults and taunts about his departed grandmother

Between shitty life circumstances, a shitty company and shitty 'fans'---there's enough there that could have broke him and turned him bitter but it speaks volumes about his personality that when the shit hit the fan, the people closest to him WANTED to gather around him, wanted to support him, wanted to comfort him, wanted to put a smile on his face, wanted to reinforce how much he was loved and how proud of him they were, they wanted to see him come out the other side. Why would they be so damn concerned and so clearly invested in him feeling better and trying to lift him up and build up his confidence if he was such a negative presence in their lives? Answer is; they wouldn't, dumbasses. Like the group litter the ground with context clues and these fools are too dumb, lazy or envious to bend to pick ONE up.

There was one episode (I think it was a Run episode but I might be wrong) where Taehyung really enjoys a rich, flavored meal so much he cant stop eating it and Hobi is inexplicably happy about it and excitedly lets the others know how much Tae likes it and Jin jumps on a promise to recreate it for him whenever he wants and this is just a throwaway part of the episode but it's significant because it was coming off the end of Tae's period of depression (that he has revealed himself so that's the only reason Im talking about it) and if you've ever had or known someone going through that shit, you know that physical and sensory numbness is a symptom of depression that can fuck with your appetite and enjoyment of things and it's usually a good sign of healing when you start enjoying simple stuff like flavors, scents etc again.

(Looking back at that moment after Tae had spoken openly about depression, it made a lot more sense why Hobi and Jin would react that way over something so simple as Taehyung enjoying a meal)

Like I just have no patience with people who question the bond between any of the guys because you can find so many of these 'side' moments, where it's clearly not scripted or intended to be part of the content, that show that these 7 men genuinely care about each other. They were so damn happy and excited to see him enjoying the taste of his meal and people STILL want to question whether the group relationship dynamic is real or not.

Another example is when they're rating themselves and their achievements for the year and Tae rates himself super low and Namjoon makes a point of boosting his confidence and cuddling him (for all you morons who want to talk shit about Joon disliking Tae like Joon hasn't done more than enough over the years to preemptively shut your asses up on that point)

Like you insecure ship heads really think it's cameramen giving Joon a countdown to fucking cuddle in that moment? 🤡 And that he's not just doing it because Tae is someone that he loves and doesn't want to see beating up on himself and thinks he's worthy of feeling better about himself?

People don't respond like that if the person in question is all of the negative things 'fans' accuse Tae of being---or any other member of being.

These haters and antis need to use their damn brain matter for once in a while.

The people who meet Taehyung like him and love him for a reason. The people on the damn street who meet him root for him for a reason. People who are at the top of their own professions and have their own stardom like him and love him for a reason. His group members want to protect him, defend him, care for him, comfort him, heal him etc for a reason and it's not because he's the horrible person that shippers and antis make him out to be.

Taehyung isn't your problem. The fact that you're parasocially invested in a ship that you don't genuinely feel is validated enough for you to believe in wholeheartedly is why you haters need to create a false personality for Taehyung to excuse all the things in your ship that YOU can't make sense of. You need someone to blame because your asses can't ship right ---because if you really believed in your ship you wouldn't have a problem with any of the other members 'getting in the way' by just being there and doing shit the group has done since day one

Learn to ship correctly and leave Taehyung TF alone, losers.

Hi anon!

Now this is the kind of essay I love to find in my asks!

[todayisafridaynight]

would it be okay if u told me why u like aoki😭/gen😭😭😭😭BEEN TRYNA LIKE HIM FOR SO LONG I JUST CANTT but i love ur art so much so i still consume it otherwise lol

i liked tohru adachi in high school and tbh i think that alone is enough of an explanation for why i ended up liking aoki

[mrradmccoolman]

hello everynyan!! it's baby's second (?) tumblr post. i present to you:

ELLIOTT'S ANDERPERRY SONG ANALYSIS

okay, so, here's the gist of it: i have an ever-growing playlist on spotify of songs i feel fit neil, todd, or their relationship as a whole. each song is not only one i like, but also has lyrics that represent something specific about them. this sort of thing is something ive done for multiple characters for a long time, and ive always had carefully curated reasons behind my choices. i just recently got back into the dps fandom, and thought this would be a good way to not only show how i see the characters, but also become a part of the community on Tumblr myself :)

i will not be doing every song simply because i do not have the time and the playlist is way too long for that, but i'll definitely be choosing some favorites. i'll most likely just post whenever i feel like it, so i can't promise any sort of a timeline. this is just a little project i thought would be fun, especially considering the fics im working on take me ages lol 😅

sooo without further ado: song number one is....

Habanero by Rosie Tucker

i've been listening to a lot of rosie tucker's music lately, and this song really stood out to me as a todd/neil song from neil's perspective. one of the reasons i connect so much to neil as a character is because i see myself in him, and subsequently how he handles what i see as a very real depressive disorder throughout the movie. this song makes me think of his feelings and relationship with todd in canon, how he sees himself and todd, and the bittersweet-ness of loving someone in the "wrong" way.

"...you said "this never happens to me, this never happens" but you smile while you suffer so you're lying or wrong" this lyric encapsulates a big part of neil's perception of todd, especially towards the beginning of the movie. it specifically reminds me of the "what do you mean no?" scene and the argument they have leading up to it. it also alludes to todd's poem scene in front of the class and neil's reaction to it. he sees todd as saying this sort of bewildered, in awe, "this never happens to me," because, well, for todd, that's how it feels. he doesn't speak in front of people, he doesn't share parts of himself like that. i actually believe he didn't even really write poetry on his own before keating's class, either, so even writing at all is a big step for him- never mind showing others. we know todd hates public speaking and being perceived (although it's a lot more complicated than that, but i won't get into it here) so he "smiles while (he) suffers" because even though this is something he hates and feels so much shame about, a part of him is amazed and happy he did it at all. thus the "you're lying or wrong" from neil- i see this as neil recognizing that actually, knowing todd, this isn't the first time he's done something like this like he might think. in truth, todd says and does beautiful things like this all the time. though todd sees himself as dull and embarassing, neil sees the truth. we often think of neil as recognizing todd as a diamond in the rough, but people are more complicated than that. really, todd has always had this beauty inside him- this is just the first time he (and everyone else) has gotten the opportunity to really see it. neil feels vindicated in a sense, because he knew it was there.

"i'm never happy, but i've never been better" i feel this lyric is pretty straightforward when it comes to neil. he has depression, which makes it so so hard to feel happy, even when you think you should- and most of the time, neil doesn't even have those moments. todd isn't some cure-all for his problems, and certainly doesn't make his depression go away, but he's a huge aid to neil. he's the one person who really sees him. even if neil still isn't happy in the traditional way, he still feels better around todd. another thing i could get into buttt this post is already gonna be long enough as is lol.

"i need to see you sweat" i feel this one is also pretty self explanatory. it's sexuality and desire, something neil has likely not felt to this level before. especially when you're depressed, it's hard to feel any sort of desire. i feel that any thoughts neil would have would already be pretty vague because of his internalized homophobia, but this would be similar to the way he would allow himself to verbalize his feelings. there are a lot of great fics out there that i feel really encapsulate this well.

"wouldn't we be perfect together if we wanted exactly the same thing?" i would argue that the majority of the fandom kind of accepts neil's feelings for todd as pretty obviously requited, even though interestingly enough, from an outside perspective i would actually argue neil's feelings are the most obviously canon. not that i don't definitely believe todd feels the same, nor do i think this is a bad thing- it's just that the entire movie revolves around identity, and neil's passion for acting serves as a metaphor for queerness pretty obviously, and beyond that acting is associated with queer identity as a whole, another reason behind mr. perry's aversion to it. neil doesn't know if todd feels the same as he does. even if things may seem obvious to us, this isn't "normal" for the time period and so i believe wholeheartedly that neil didn't know todd had any feelings for him. was this more his own self hatred, him protecting himself, or that anything he saw that may have alluded to reciprocation he convinced himself was his own mind playing tricks on him? probably a mixture of all three.

"but i smile while i suffer like a sucker supreme" even though neil knows this won't end well, that his feelings are "wrong" and this is hurting him in the long run, he can't help himself when it comes to todd. he's a sucker for him and the feelings he gets being around him.

"all at once i'm a child trapping tadpoles in a cup, and i know they'll never make it (...) but i smile while they suffer 'cause i want it so much" neil knows being in the play, being with todd, and defying his father is a losing game. he knows, on a distant level, that he'll never get away with it. maybe during the play he finally, for one gorgeous moment, truly believed things would change- but then his father shows up and proves he was right all along. he knows he's doomed, that todd was right to doubt his plan to lie to his father in the first place, but he wants it so badly he doesn't care (or, more than that, he feels so incredibly trapped that he's given up and has resigned himself to the consequences). not only this, but his depression has made his latching onto the one thing that gives him hope even more intense. to be ripped away from this, the only thing he's ever wanted- the only person he's ever wanted- is the end. he knows that. even so, even though he can see the futility of it all crumbling beneath him, he sees the fall through.

"i can't believe i'll die before becoming a frog" there's a sort of disbelief in his resignation to death in his final moments, a darkly humorous "i can't believe it's come to this, that this is really happening" despite not really being surprised. neil is cutting everything short and throwing away his potential before his father gets the chance to do it for him. he'll never "become a frog" in so many ways- never get to live for himself, never get to become an adult, never get to act again, etc.

well...that was very long! if you've made it to the end of this post, i hope this was as fun for you as it was for me :)) i'll definitely be doing more of these as time goes on!! let me know your thoughts!!

(the playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3Fh97W8EItmoJHjQvjsBl4?si=WoH7J5GHTfmt3v7OuqbHnQ&pi=6x2g03n8Q1Knc )

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[thecartoonrambler]

Why Wander is such an important character

Very long post below!

Ill be rambling about Wander over Yonder, specifically, WANDER!!

The show in itself is already amazing, the episodes are short and fun, each character is oozing with personality and fun interactions and there are always ways in which it is all connected. Further on the animation of the show and overall look is absolutely adorable!

For me personally, Wander is simply such an important character and not for few reasons.

I love that Wander's silly happy go lucky personality is so addictive. He's a happy person, who gets happy by helping others in need, even to points where he gets himself in trouble (every episode LOL) But regardless i think they are such an important character traits to have (Happiness, altruism, Optimism).

In today's depressing and violent world, where everyone just fights with each other, a character like Wander can be a sense of hope or inspiration!

Of course, many main characters have these traits as well, but i think a key difference between Wander and many other optimist protagonists lies in their EXPERIENCE IN LIFE!

These other protags are innocent, naive optimists, because they haven't experienced "the real world" yet. And while it makes sense to have characters like these (as an allegory to growing up), they get really tiring and repetitive really quickly. They also commonly showcase optimism and naivety to go hand in hand. And its why a lot if people commonly believe that "realsim" is inherently "pessimistic" (it isn't btw. Theres good and bad in life, denying theres good, is denying reality)

Its extremely refreshing to have a main character like Wander, actually be hinted at being millennias old, repeatedly converting villains to good throughout the eons, out of a sense of duty (and perhaps also Pacifist revenge for his childhood, where its hinted that his entire planet was destroyed and he was the only survivor.)

not only is this also something that one learns, the more one watches (keeping the viewer intrigued) but the fact that so much about Wander's life and past is a mystery is what makes him a fascinating character. At first glance hes just some helpful guy, and the more you learn about him, the more you more you think "who is this guy?" Not in a negative way, but in a complete curiosity. Is it possible he's as old as the universe himself? If so does he know it? Who is he? What actually happened in his past? How did he live before his hat? Was there a time he wasn't as helpful? What caused him to change? Who is he? But at the same time, the viewer doesn't NEED to know. Theres no stress to, no hurry to uncover a mystery. Its like "mystery but it's actually completely low-key". I like that. (Im the kind to get into conspiracy theories or get crazy over plot holes, so the show managing this is insane)

Traits like these, especially in contrast to their personality being so so happy, child-like, goofy, charitable, it makes for an extremely interesting and fascinating character, that one doesn't commonly see in media! Which is really awesome! Someone that's seen so much horrors, lived through civil wars, yet tries to help a skeleton get together with a butch lesbian??

Its awesome!

Other that just that alone, he's helped me out personally! He in many ways reminds me of myself as a kid, i too was altruistic, always trying to help, struggled to say no, was positive and happy go-lucky and adventurous (well, as all kids i suppose), recently rediscovering the show made me realise how much i missed those personality traits in myself. That i had hidden them away, due to people making fun of me of being "too naive" and "too childish". Eventually Making me not talk to people really, and develop really bad self esteem. Rediscovering this show, and specifically how these "childish" traits can be seen in a very positive charming light, helped me realise that being scared of "coming off wierd", "coming off as toxic positivity" will always be worse than not being positive.... At all.

Ive heard from other people too that this show has helped them through tough times, and allowed them to reconnect with more positive thought patterns. Which is why i think characters like Wander are insanely important for media!!

Too much is too depressing all the time! We can create media (ESPECIALLY ADULT MEDIA) that isnt depressed. Positivity and happiness are not a crime! And im so glad a character like Wander exists to exhibit that!