#i want recognition im desperate for love

[simptasia]

why didn't charlie call claire "luv". why didn't he throw out a casual luv at his friends. he's a northerner what else is he good for

[landmine-doll]

for personal comfort reasons im going to draw my fav character in dark girly clothes

hes gonna look so pretty! 💖

[cloudbends]

New pokemon arc YESSSS

[mononijikayu]

die with a smile — geto suguru.

As you were washing up after dinner, Suguru spoke, his voice hesitant. "You know, I never thought I’d let anyone into this place. It was supposed to be… just for me." You looked at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his tone. "What changed?" He didn’t answer right away, drying the dishes in silence before finally turning to you. "I guess… I got tired of being alone." There was a raw honesty in his words that made your heart ache. "I know the feeling too well, I suppose." you admitted, your voice soft. "I didn’t realize how much I needed this—needed someone—until I found you."

GENRE: alternate universe - modern au!;

WARNING/S: nsfw, fluff, angst, romance, hurt/ comfort, post - apocalyptic world (zombie take over), isolation, hurt, physical touch, illness, loneliness, sadness, pain, pining, getting together, unhappy ending, character death, depictions of apocalyptic world, depiction of mourning, depiction of isolation, depiction of apprehension, depiction of romance, depiction of illness, depiction of chracter death, depiction of taking one's own life, mention of apocalytic world, mention of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of loneliness, mention of pining, mention of character death, mention of taking one's own life.;

WORD COUNT: 7.5k words

NOTE: i wrote this a long long time ago, but i feel like now it's seeing the light of day and im just excited for you to read it. i'll be working on plans for my first ever kinktober and other ideas i have in between. i hope that you're always well and that you enjoy this!!! love you <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip!

┌────── ∘°❉°∘ ──────┐

IT WAS SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST NOW. The world had become a wasteland, overrun by the dead. Every day was a fight for survival, every night a battle against the darkness that crept into the mind as much as the world around.

You had been on the move for what felt like an eternity, traveling alone, scavenging for food, and fighting off the relentless hordes that had once been people. You had become a ghost in your own skin, haunted by memories of a time when the world was alive.

It was by chance that you stumbled upon the compound—a fortress of steel and stone, hidden deep within the woods, far from the crumbling cities and the walking dead. Exhausted and on the verge of collapse, you approached cautiously, knowing that desperation made even the living dangerous. The compound's walls were tall and unyielding, and it seemed impossible to breach. But desperation drives people to do reckless things, and you need safety, if only for a moment.

You had barely stepped into the clearing when you heard the unmistakable click of a rifle being cocked. You froze, heart pounding, every muscle tensing as you slowly raised your hands in surrender.

"Don’t move." The voice was low, firm, and edged with the kind of cold precision that came from years of surviving on instinct alone. You turned your head slightly, just enough to see him—a tall figure, half-hidden in the shadows of the trees, with a rifle trained directly on you. His eyes, dark and unreadable, never wavered as he took you in, calculating, deciding.

"I’m not here to cause trouble." you managed, keeping your voice steady despite the fear tightening your throat.

"That’s what they all say." His words were clipped, distrust lacing every syllable. He took a step closer, still keeping the rifle leveled at your head. "Turn around, slowly."

You did as he ordered, moving slowly, deliberately, until you were facing him fully. He was closer now, close enough that you could see the weariness etched into his features, the hardened lines of someone who had seen too much, lost too much. But there was something else, too—something in his eyes, a flicker of recognition, as if he saw a reflection of himself in you.

"How long have you been out here?" he asked, his voice rougher now, less controlled.

"Long enough." you replied, your gaze locked with his. "Long enough to know when I’ve met someone who’s been through the same hell."

He frowned, his grip on the rifle tightening as he studied you, weighing your words against the danger you might pose. But then, slowly, the suspicion in his eyes gave way to something softer, something that looked almost like… understanding.

"What’s your name?" he asked, the question coming out more gently than you expected.

You hesitated for a moment before answering. "Does it matter?"

"It does if you want to live." His tone was blunt, but there was a trace of something more behind it—a quiet offer, a tentative step toward trust.

You swallowed the weight of the past weeks, months, pressing down on you. "I’m just trying to survive."

He nodded, a slight, almost imperceptible motion. "So am I." He let out a slow breath, lowering the rifle slightly but not entirely. "Suguru. Geto Suguru."

You didn’t dare move, watching him carefully as he took another step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "You’re lucky I found you before the dead did."

"Maybe." you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. "Or maybe you’re the lucky one."

He raised an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "We’ll see about that." Then, after a long pause, he sighed, finally lowering the rifle completely. "Come with me. But if you try anything, I won’t hesitate."

You nodded, relief washing over you despite the lingering tension. "I won’t."

As he turned and motioned for you to follow, you could sense the caution in every step he took, the way he moved with the fluid grace of someone always prepared for the worst. And yet, there was something else—a strange comfort in the fact that, for the first time in a long while, you weren’t alone.

He took you in, but it was clear that trust was not something he gave easily. The compound was his sanctuary, built with his own hands, and he guarded it with an intensity that bordered on obsession. The first few days were tense; you were wary of each other, moving around each other like predators unsure of whether to fight or flee. He was quiet, watchful, and kept his emotions locked away behind a wall of suspicion.

But you were no stranger to walls, and slowly, brick by brick, the two of you began to dismantle them. It started with the small things—shared meals, the exchange of supplies, moments of silence that were less about fear and more about understanding. You discovered that beneath his tough exterior, Suguru had a passion for music. In the evenings, when the world outside grew too dark to bear, he would pull out an old guitar, his fingers strumming out melodies that spoke of a time before the end.

You, too, had your own love for music, and in those quiet moments, the two of you found a connection. The songs you shared became a language of their own, one that spoke of loss, hope, and the fragile bond forming between you. Music was your refuge, a reminder that there was still beauty in the world, even if it was buried beneath layers of fear and grief.

The days began to blur together, a steady rhythm of routine and survival. Each morning, you would wake to the faint light filtering through the thick curtains of the compound, the sounds of the outside world muffled by the walls that separated you from the chaos beyond. The danger was always there, lurking just beyond the gates, but within the safety of Suguru’s compound, life had found a different pace.

At first, your interactions with Suguru were brief and cautious, a necessary coexistence born out of mutual need. But as the days turned into weeks, the initial wariness between you began to fade, replaced by a tentative friendship. The man who had once held a gun to your head now greeted you each morning with a nod and a hint of a smile, a gesture that brought a surprising warmth to your otherwise cold and uncertain world. His presence, once a source of tension, had become something you looked forward to, a strange sense of peace in the midst of madness.

One of the few luxuries you both shared was a love of food—a small pleasure in a world where every meal had become a fight against starvation. In this new reality, the art of cooking had taken on a different meaning. It was no longer about indulging in flavors or crafting elaborate dishes, but rather about survival, about making the most of what little you could find. And yet, even in this, there was comfort.

Together, you would scour the surrounding areas for supplies, salvaging whatever you could from the abandoned homes and overgrown gardens. It was a slow, careful process—one wrong move could attract unwanted attention, and resources were scarce. But the shared task brought a sense of camaraderie, a quiet understanding that neither of you had to face this alone.

In the evenings, when the world outside grew dark and foreboding, you would gather in the small kitchen, working together to prepare your meals. The ingredients were humble—canned goods, dried beans, the occasional fresh vegetable from a patch of land Suguru had managed to cultivate—but it didn’t matter. The act of cooking became a ritual, something that grounded you both, reminding you that life was more than just surviving day to day. 

Suguru was surprisingly skilled in the kitchen, his movements efficient and precise as he chopped vegetables or stirred a pot over the fire. He had a way of turning the simplest ingredients into something comforting, something that made the compound feel more like a home. You would watch him sometimes, marveling at the way he found solace in such a small task, and slowly, you began to join him, contributing your own skills to the process.

"How did you learn to cook like this?" you asked one evening as you worked side by side, your hands busy preparing a stew from the last of the potatoes you had found.

Suguru glanced at you, a small smile playing on his lips. "Necessity, mostly. My parents weren’t around much, so I had to fend for myself. Turns out, I’m pretty good at making something out of nothing."

You nodded, stirring the pot as the aroma of the stew began to fill the room. "It’s a useful skill, especially now."

"Yeah, I suppose." he agreed, his tone softer now. "It’s one of the few things that still feels normal."

The meals you shared became more than just a way to stave off hunger—they were moments of connection, brief respites from the harshness of the world outside. As you ate together, you found yourselves talking more, sharing stories of the lives you had left behind, the people you had lost, and the hopes you still held on to, however fragile they might be. These conversations, once stilted and brief, grew longer, more personal, as the walls between you crumbled bit by bit.

Each meal was a small victory, a reminder that despite everything, you were still alive, still human. The warmth of the food, the sound of your voices filling the silence, and the flicker of the firelight against the walls—all of it made the world outside seem a little less bleak. And in those moments, you realized that within the confines of the compound, you had found something precious: a sense of normalcy, a connection with another person that transcended the mere act of survival.

One evening, as the sun dipped low in the sky, you both sat by the fire in the small living area. Suguru was strumming his guitar, the soft melody filling the space between you. The sound of the music was soothing, a rare comfort in the chaos that surrounded you. You found yourself watching him, the way his fingers moved deftly over the strings, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Where’d you learn to play like that?" you asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

Suguru glanced up, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Picked it up a long time ago. It helped… before all this." He gestured vaguely to the world outside, the unspoken horrors hanging heavy in the air.

You nodded, understanding what he meant without needing more words. "I used to play too, back when things were different." The memories were bittersweet, but they didn’t hurt as much as they used to, not here, not with him.

Suguru looked at you with a hint of curiosity. "What did you play?"

"Mostly piano. But I messed around with the guitar a bit too." You shrugged, trying to sound casual, but there was a lingering sadness in your voice that you couldn’t quite hide.

"Maybe you should give it a try again." he said, holding out the guitar to you.

You hesitated, your fingers itching to touch the instrument but also afraid of what it might bring up. Suguru noticed your hesitation and added softly. "It’s okay if you don’t want to. I just thought… maybe it would help."

His words, spoken with such gentle understanding, made something inside you soften. You took the guitar from him, your fingers awkwardly finding the chords, the muscle memory slowly returning. The notes came out shaky at first, but as you continued, the music began to flow more naturally, filling the space with a warmth you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Suguru watched you, his expression unreadable but his eyes soft. "You’re good." he said quietly, and for a moment, the world outside seemed distant and unreal, like a bad dream you could wake up from.

You smiled, a real, genuine smile that felt strange on your face after so long. "Thanks. It’s been a while."

He nodded, leaning back against the wall, his gaze still on you. "It’s nice, having someone to share this with." His voice was low, almost as if he was speaking more to himself than to you.

You met his eyes, something unspoken passing between you. "Yeah, it is."

With each passing day, the bond between you and Suguru grew stronger, weaving a tapestry of shared moments and growing intimacy. The days, once filled with routine and duty, now held a deeper meaning. You found yourself eagerly anticipating his presence, whether it was during the long, often monotonous hours patrolling the perimeter or in the quieter, more serene moments spent together in the kitchen.

During these patrols, the silence between you was no longer uncomfortable but rather a comfortable companion. You’d exchange glances and smiles, the unspoken understanding adding warmth to the cool, night air. These simple interactions became a cherished part of your day, a reminder that even in a world fraught with danger and uncertainty, there were small, precious joys to be found.

Cooking together was a ritual that both of you cherished. Every meal you prepared was more than just sustenance; it was a shared experience, a small victory over the harsh realities of the world outside. Suguru, with his surprisingly deft culinary skills, brought an element of surprise and delight to these moments. His laughter would fill the kitchen, mingling with the aroma of whatever you were preparing, creating an atmosphere of warmth and camaraderie.

These cooking sessions were more than just about the food. They were about the small, tender moments that punctuated your days—Suguru's playful teasing as you fumbled with ingredients, the quiet, shared satisfaction of a well-made meal, and the deep conversations that flowed as easily as the spices you mixed. Each meal was a testament to the connection you were nurturing, a symbol of your growing closeness.

In these shared moments, whether in the midst of patrols or while cooking, you found solace and joy. The simple act of preparing food together became a grounding ritual, reminding you both of the warmth and safety you had found in each other’s company. Through the laughter, the shared tasks, and the quiet companionship, your relationship deepened, finding strength in the everyday moments that brought you closer together.

As you were washing up after dinner, Suguru spoke, his voice hesitant. "You know, I never thought I’d let anyone into this place. It was supposed to be… just for me."

You looked at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his tone. "What changed?"

He didn’t answer right away, drying the dishes in silence before finally turning to you. "I guess… I got tired of being alone."

There was a raw honesty in his words that made your heart ache. "I know the feeling too well, I suppose." you admitted, your voice soft. "I didn’t realize how much I needed this—needed someone—until I found you."

He stepped closer, the distance between you shrinking until you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. "We’ve both lost so much, you know?" he said quietly. "But maybe… maybe we can find something here. Something worth holding on to."

You looked up at him, your breath catching as you saw the way he was looking at you—like you were something precious, something worth protecting. "Suguru…" you began, but the words caught in your throat, the intensity of the moment overwhelming.

He reached out, his hand gently brushing against your cheek, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. "You don’t have to say anything." he whispered, his voice filled with a tenderness that took you by surprise. "Just… stay with me."

You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes as the world outside seemed to fade away. "I’m not going anywhere, Suguru." you promised, your voice barely more than a whisper.

And in that moment, as Suguru’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, you knew that despite everything you had lost, you had found something here—something real, something worth fighting for. The world outside was still a nightmare, but in his embrace, you felt safe. You felt… home.

The fire crackled softly and the scent of a simple stew filled the air, you sat together in the small kitchen. Suguru’s hand brushed against yours as he handed you a bowl, the brief contact sending a jolt through you. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. There was no fear, no death—only the warmth of his gaze, the unspoken understanding that had grown between you.

You reached out, your fingers gently grazing him, and this time, he didn’t pull away. The kiss that followed was soft, tentative, as if testing the waters of a new reality. It wasn’t born out of desperation or fear but something genuine, something that had been building between you since the day you met. In that moment, you realized that amidst the ruins of the world, you had found something worth fighting for—each other.

Suguru was still the survivalist, still cautious, still guarded. But with you, he was different. He let you in, allowed you to see the man behind the walls, the one who had survived not just the apocalypse, but the loneliness that came with it. And in return, you gave him the one thing he had lost faith in—hope.

In the silence of survival, you and Suguru found a new life, not just as survivors, but as something more. The world outside was still a nightmare, but within the walls of the compound, there was music, there was food, and there was love. And that was enough.

┌────── ∘°❉°∘ ──────┐

THE WORLD CHANGED IN A BLINK OF AN EYE. The years passed, and in the midst of the crumbling world, you and Suguru had found a fragile but undeniable happiness together.

Despite the constant fight for survival, the fear, and the uncertainty, you had managed to carve out a life within the walls of his compound—a life filled with small moments of peace, warmth, and a deep bond that had grown stronger with each passing day.

The two of you had become each other's anchor, weathering the storms of the world outside and the storms within yourselves. There were still fights, of course—heated arguments born out of the stress and the pain that never quite left—but they always ended the same way: with apologies, with understanding, with the reassurance that no matter how much the world tried to tear you apart, you would find your way back to each other.

You wanted to stay together, no matter what. The future was uncertain, but you had each other, and that was enough.

Or at least, it had been. Until the day you found out.

The sickness began as a dull ache, a persistent discomfort that you initially attributed to the everyday strains of fatigue or stress. You tried to dismiss it, telling yourself it was just a part of the routine hardships you faced. But the pain didn’t relent. Instead, it began to spread, a creeping malice that invaded your very bones, draining your energy and will.

As the days turned into weeks, the ache evolved into a relentless torment. Tasks that once seemed trivial became monumental efforts, and the weight of the pain became increasingly unbearable.

It was as if every step you took, every breath you drew, was a reminder of the encroaching shadow that threatened to envelop you. Eventually, the denial you clung to was no longer tenable. The truth, harsh and unyielding, crashed down upon you with the force of a relentless storm.

The diagnosis was a devastating blow—terminal, with no hope for a cure. It felt as if your world had crumbled, leaving you in a hollow space where hope once resided. The words of the doctor reverberated in your mind, each syllable a brutal reminder of your fate.

You struggled to process the enormity of what was unfolding before you, your mind overwhelmed by the realization that the future you had envisioned with Suguru was slipping through your grasp.

The dreams you had nurtured—of a shared life, of enduring together through the hardships of this cruel world—were now tainted by the bitter reality of your diagnosis. The vision of growing old side by side, of finding solace in each other amidst the chaos, seemed like nothing more than fragile, shattered illusions. The life you had carefully built, the hope you had cherished, were being torn away by a fate you could not escape.

Each day became a battle, not just against the encroaching illness but against the crushing weight of despair. The future that had once seemed so vibrant and full of promise now appeared as a distant, unreachable horizon. Your heart ached with the knowledge that the time you had left was no longer measured in hopes and dreams, but in the stark reality of counting down to an inevitable end.

In this bleak landscape, the love you had with Suguru became both a source of immense comfort and profound sorrow. It was a bittersweet reminder of what you were losing and what you still cherished.

And as you faced the unbearable truth, you clung to the moments of shared love and companionship, knowing that while the future was uncertain and fleeting, the bond you had forged with Suguru was a source of strength in your darkest hours.

Telling Suguru was the hardest thing you had ever done. When the moment came to share the news, you felt a heavy weight pressing on your chest. Each word felt like it was tearing apart the fragile fabric of hope that had been woven between you. You struggled to find the right words, but the gravity of the situation rendered you almost speechless. Finally, with a deep, shuddering breath, you uttered the truth.

As you spoke, you could see the light in Suguru's eyes dim, his once-vibrant gaze becoming clouded with an overwhelming sense of despair. It was as if your words were a heavy fog rolling in, obscuring the clarity and warmth that had once defined his expression. The impact was immediate and devastating. The hope and dreams you had shared seemed to drain from him, leaving a hollow, heart-wrenching emptiness in their wake.

Suguru’s reaction was one of stunned silence. He didn’t say anything at first. His gaze was fixed on you, but it was distant, almost as if he were looking through you rather than at you. His expression was frozen, a complex mix of disbelief, shock, and profound sadness. It was as though the words you had spoken were so unfathomable that he struggled to process their meaning, as if accepting them was too great a burden for his heart to bear.

The silence that followed was heavy, laden with unspoken words and emotions. You could see him grappling with the reality of what you had just revealed, his mind racing to comprehend the magnitude of your situation. The anguish etched on his face was a mirror to your own, reflecting the profound sense of loss and heartbreak that had suddenly become your shared reality.

"No." he finally whispered, his voice cracking. "No, this can’t be happening."

You reached out, your hand trembling as you took his, squeezing it tightly. "I’m so sorry, Suguru. I wish there was something we could do, but—"

"But there has to be." he interrupted, his grip on your hand tightening almost to the point of pain. "There has to be something. We’ve survived so much… we can find a way through this too."

You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. "I wish that were true. But this… this is different. There’s no fighting this."

He pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly that it almost hurt, as if he could keep you with him through sheer force of will. His breath was ragged against your hair, and you felt the way his body trembled with the effort to hold back his tears.

"We were supposed to be together, baby." he choked out, his voice thick with grief. "We were supposed to make it."

"I know, I know." you whispered, your own tears spilling over. "I wanted that too. I still do. But…"

"But what?" he demanded, pulling back just enough to look at you, his eyes desperate. "We can’t just give up."

"I’m not giving up, Suguru." you said, your voice trembling with the effort to stay strong. "But we have to face the truth. This is happening, and we can’t stop it."

The devastation in his eyes was almost too much to bear, and you saw the way he struggled to keep himself together, to be strong for you even as his world fell apart. "What do we do now?" he asked, his voice small, almost childlike.

"We keep going." you said, trying to sound more certain than you felt. "We make the most of the time we have left. We keep fighting, but… we don’t fight each other. We spend every moment we can together, and we make them count."

He nodded, though the movement was slow, reluctant, as if he still couldn’t quite accept what you were saying. "I don’t want to lose you, baby." he whispered, his voice breaking. "I can’t lose you."

You cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing away the tears that had started to fall. "You won’t lose me, Suguru. Not really. I’ll always be with you, even if… even if I’m not here."

His eyes squeezed shut, and he pulled you close again, his grip almost desperate. "I love you. I love you more than anything in this world." he whispered, the words heavy with all the emotion he had been holding back. "I love you so much."

"I love you too, my love. My Suguru." you replied, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you wanted to say but couldn’t find the words for. "I always will."

And so, in the midst of the overwhelming sorrow, you held each other, finding solace in the warmth of each other’s embrace. The world outside still raged on, but in that moment, you had each other, and that was all that mattered. You would face the darkness together, hand in hand, and whatever time you had left, you would make it count.

┌────── ∘°❉°∘ ──────┐

BY THE TIME SPRING CAME, EVERYTHING UNRAVELED. The sickness had steadily worsened, each day stealing more of your strength and vitality, chipping away at the life you had fought so hard to hold onto. The once-manageable discomfort had evolved into a constant, gnawing ache, a relentless companion that shadowed your every move.

The pain was unyielding, a dull throb that seemed to seep into every corner of your existence. Alongside it came a profound exhaustion, a weariness so deep it felt as if you were weighed down by a leaden blanket, sapping your energy and spirit.

As the days passed, you became acutely aware that your time was running out. The inevitable reality of your condition loomed ever closer, and the thought of leaving Suguru behind was almost unbearable.

The idea of him witnessing your slow decline, of watching you waste away, was a source of deep, unrelenting sorrow. It was a burden that neither of you should have to endure, and the thought of him bearing witness to such suffering made the situation all the more poignant.

One evening, as you sat together in the small, dimly lit living room, the fire crackling softly in the hearth provided a stark contrast to the heaviness of the moment. The flickering light danced across the room, casting warm, gentle shadows, but it did little to ease the weight of the decision that loomed over you. You glanced at Suguru, his presence both a source of comfort and a reminder of the pain you were about to inflict.

The warmth of the fire seemed to mock the cold reality you faced. Each crackle of the flames was a stark reminder of the life that was slipping away from you, a life that you had shared so intimately with Suguru. The room, once a sanctuary of shared joy and quiet moments, now felt suffused with a profound sadness. You could see the concern and love etched into Suguru’s face, and it made your heart ache even more.

You knew that making this decision was necessary, even though it would hurt him deeply. The thought of continuing in your current state—becoming a burden rather than a partner, an encumbrance rather than a companion—was untenable. The inevitable end was approaching, and you could no longer ignore the fact that your suffering was taking a toll on both of you.

As you faced Suguru, your heart felt like it was shattering with the weight of your decision. You had chosen to speak the truth, to acknowledge the unbearable reality of your situation. It was a choice made out of love and respect, even though it meant confronting the deep, painful truth of your own mortality and the heartache it would cause Suguru.

In those quiet moments by the fire, the decision was clear, but the pain of it was profound. The love you had for Suguru and the desire to protect him from further suffering guided your choice, even as it tore at your own heart. The warmth of the fire contrasted sharply with the chill of the reality you faced, a reminder of the fleeting nature of the life and love you both had cherished.

"Suguru, my love." you began, your voice weak but steady, "I need to ask you something."

He turned to you, concern etched in his features. "What is it? Do you need something? More water? Some painkillers?" He was always trying to do something, anything, to ease your suffering, even when there was little that could be done.

You shook your head, reaching out to take his hand. "No, it’s not that. It’s… I want you to help me end it. When the time comes, I don’t want to… I don’t want to linger."

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. For a moment, Suguru just stared at you, his eyes wide with shock. Then, he pulled his hand away, his expression hardening as he shook his head violently.

"No, baby." he said, his voice firm and almost angry. "No, I’m not doing that. I’m not giving up on you. We’ll find something—there’s got to be something out there that can help. We’ll go out tomorrow, search the surrounding towns. There has to be something… anything…"

"Suguru, my love. Please. Understand me." you interrupted gently, your heart breaking at the desperation in his voice. "We’ve tried. We’ve been searching for months, and nothing has changed. You know it as well as I do—there’s nothing left to find."

"I can’t!" he snapped, his voice rising. "I can’t lose you like this! We’ve survived so much together. We can get through this too. I’ll find a way, I swear."

You reached out again, this time cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. "Suguru, my love." you whispered, tears filling your eyes. "I’m dying. We both know it. Please… don’t make this harder than it already is."

He broke then, his shoulders shaking as he crumbled before you. "I can’t live without you, baby." he choked out, tears streaming down his face. "You’re all I have left. If you go… if you leave me… I don’t know what I’ll do."

"You’ll keep going. You must." you said softly, your own tears spilling over. "You’re strong, Suguru. You’ve always been strong. You’ll find a way to survive, even without me."

He shook his head, his hands gripping yours tightly, as if he could anchor you to the world through sheer force of will. "I don’t want to survive without you, baby." he whispered, his voice breaking. "I don’t want to live in a world where you’re not there."

You pulled him into your arms, holding him close as he cried against your shoulder, his grief tearing through him like a storm. "I know. I know that." you whispered, your own heart shattering with every sob that wracked his body. "I know it’s hard. But you have to promise me you’ll try. Promise me you’ll keep going, for both of us."

He clung to you, his breath ragged as he tried to pull himself together. "I don’t know if I can." he admitted, his voice small and broken. "I don’t know how to do this without you."

"You can, my love." you insisted, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. "You’re stronger than you think, Suguru. You’ve already done so much. But before I go… There's something I want to do. Something that will give meaning to all of this."

He frowned, confusion flickering in his tear-filled eyes. "What do you mean?"

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest as you gathered the courage to say the words. "I want to marry you, my love." you said, your voice trembling. "I want to be your wife, even if it’s just for a little while. I want to give meaning to this life, to what we’ve been through together. Please… let’s do this, Suguru. Let’s make it real."

He stared at you, his eyes widening in surprise and disbelief as if trying to process the gravity of what you had just said. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken fears and raw emotions. You held your breath, the weight of his potential rejection pressing down on you. The thought that he might find the idea too painful to accept was almost unbearable, adding to the already intense sorrow that filled the room.

But then, as if struggling to come to terms with the inevitable, he began to nod slowly. The initial shock in his eyes gave way to a profound sadness, and his expression softened, becoming a mixture of resignation and tender understanding. The lines of his face, once tense with disbelief, relaxed as he reached out to you.

With gentle, deliberate movements, he cupped your face in his hands. The warmth of his touch was a stark contrast to the cold reality of the situation, a soothing balm against the sharp edges of your sorrow. His hands, though trembling slightly, were steady in their tenderness, conveying a depth of love and acceptance that words alone could not express. 

As he held you, his gaze locked onto yours, searching for reassurance and finding it in the depths of your shared experiences and unspoken bond. The moment was both heart-wrenching and profoundly intimate, a testament to the strength of your connection and the pain of facing such a difficult decision together.

"Okay, baby." he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Okay. We’ll do it. I’ll marry you. We’ll do it right here, right now."

Tears filled your eyes as you nodded, a small, trembling smile breaking through the sorrow. "Thank you, my love." you whispered, your voice cracking. "Thank you, Suguru."

He pulled you into his arms again, holding you close as you both cried, the weight of what was to come hanging heavy over you. But in that moment, you were together, and that was all that mattered. You would marry him, give meaning to your lives, and in the time you had left, you would make every moment count.

Even as the darkness closed in, you knew that you had found something beautiful in the midst of the horror—a love that would last beyond the end, a bond that would never truly be broken.

┌────── ∘°❉°∘ ──────┐

IT WAS SUCH A NICE DAY FOR A WEDDING. The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm, golden glow over the room as you and Suguru prepared for the day that would be both your wedding and your farewell. It was a day you had both dreaded and longed for, a day that would bring a bittersweet end to the journey you had shared together.

Suguru had spent the early hours of the morning in the kitchen, determined to make this day as special as he could. He cooked you the best meals he could manage with the limited supplies you had, pouring his heart into every dish.

The aroma of roasted vegetables, tender meat, and freshly baked bread filled the small compound, a testament to the love and care he had poured into every bite. He even brought out the best wine he had been saving in the cellar—a bottle that had survived the apocalypse, waiting for a moment just like this.

When he returned to the bedroom, he found you dressed in your best—an old dress you had found while scavenging, simple but elegant, its soft fabric hugging your frail form. Suguru had dressed in his finest as well, his dark shirt and trousers clean and pressed, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The sight of him took your breath away, and you smiled, despite the sorrow that weighed on your heart.

"You look beautiful, baby." he whispered as he approached, his voice thick with emotion.

"And you look handsome, my love." you replied, your voice trembling as you reached out to straighten his collar.

The two of you stood there for a moment, taking in the sight of each other, committing it to memory. Then, with a deep breath, you took his hand, and together you made your way to the small living room, where the morning light streamed through the windows, bathing the space in a soft, golden glow. There were no guests, no officiant, no flowers or rings. It was just the two of you, standing together in the light, your hands clasped tightly as you exchange your vows.

"I, Suguru, take you, my love, to be my wife." he said, his voice steady but full of emotion. "In this life, and whatever comes after, I promise to love you, to hold you close, to cherish every moment we have together. No matter what happens, you will always be my heart."

Tears welled in your eyes as you repeated the words, your voice trembling. "I, take you, Suguru, to be my husband. I promise to love you, to be by your side, to find joy in the little things, even in this broken world. You’ve given me a reason to keep going, and I will carry that with me, always."

With that, you both leaned in, sealing your vows with a gentle kiss, a promise made under the watchful eye of the morning sun. When you pulled back, there were tears in both your eyes, but there were also smiles—small, fragile smiles that spoke of a love that had endured the darkest of times.

The day passed in a blur of quiet joy and melancholy. Suguru insisted on dancing, and you found yourselves swaying together to the soft, nostalgic notes of Vera Lynn’s "We’ll Meet Again," playing from an old record player Suguru had somehow managed to keep running.

The song filled the room with its haunting melody, a promise of reunion in a world beyond this one. You held each other close, moving slowly, savoring every second, every touch, as if by doing so, you could make time stop.

As night fell, the reality of what was to come settled over you both. There was no turning back now, no more delaying the inevitable. You returned to the bedroom, where the bed had been carefully made, its soft blankets a welcome comfort against the cold that had settled into your bones. You climbed into bed, and Suguru followed, sitting beside you, his hand resting gently on yours.

You turned to look at him, your heart aching with the knowledge that these were your final moments together. "Suguru, my love." you began, your voice barely a whisper. "I want you to live. Even after I’m gone, I want you to find a way to keep going. Please… promise me you’ll try."

His grip on your hand tightened, and he shook his head, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "What sort of life is that without you?" he whispered, his voice breaking. "You’re everything to me. I don’t know how to keep going if you’re not here."

"You’re stronger than you think, my love." you whispered, reaching up to cup his face, your thumb brushing away the tears that had begun to fall. "You’ve always been strong, Suguru. You’ve saved me so many times… now, you need to save yourself. Please… for me."

He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch, his breath shuddering as he tried to hold himself together. "I don’t want to let you go, baby." he admitted, his voice barely audible. "I don’t know how."

"You don’t have to let me go, my love." you replied, your own tears slipping down your cheeks. "I’ll always be with you. In every memory, every moment we shared. You’ll carry me with you, no matter what."

He nodded, though it was clear the idea of life without you was unbearable. "I love you, baby." he whispered, his voice filled with a depth of emotion that words could barely contain. "I love you so much."

"I love you too." you whispered back, your voice trembling. "Now… let’s make this last moment count."

With that, he leaned in, kissing you gently, as if trying to pour all the love he had for you into that one moment. You kissed him back, holding him close, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, the steady beat of his heart—a rhythm you had come to know and love, a sound you would carry with you into the dark.

When the kiss ended, you settled back against the pillows, the familiar softness providing a modicum of comfort in the midst of your pain. Suguru lay beside you, his arms wrapped around you with a tenderness that spoke of his deep, abiding love. Together, you both faced the uncertain future, finding solace in each other's presence as the night stretched on.

The silence of the room was broken only by the soft sound of your breathing, a gentle rhythm that seemed to anchor you both in the present moment. Despite the gravity of what lay ahead, you felt an unexpected sense of peace settle over you. In those final moments, the relentless tide of fear and pain receded, leaving only the pure, unadulterated essence of love.

There was no longer any room for fear or anguish—only the profound understanding that you had found something truly beautiful amidst the horror. You had loved deeply, and you had been loved in return. That realization, though bittersweet, provided a profound sense of fulfillment. It was a reminder that, even in the face of the inevitable, the love you shared had given meaning to your time together.

As the night deepened, you clung to each other, savoring the last precious moments of closeness. Suguru’s presence was a comforting embrace, a final refuge before you slipped away. The world outside seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the cocoon of your shared love.

When the end finally came, Suguru was left with a heartache so profound it felt almost unbearable. He gazed at your lifeless body, the weight of your absence crashing over him like a tidal wave. Tears streamed down his face, each drop an echo to the depth of his grief. He struggled with the harsh reality of living without you, the very thought of continuing without you seemed inconceivable.

In a final, tender gesture, he brushed the hair away from your face, his fingers lingering in a gentle caress. A faint smile touched his lips, though it was laced with sorrow.

“I’m following you soon, my love. Forgive me.” he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion. He lets out a smile against the tears.

He takes a look at the drink you drank, laced with laudenum and whiskey. A last hurrah took you away. And he wants that too. He wants to be with you. He stands up to take it and tells himself that it would be okay. Soon, you'll be together again. He gives himself visions of paradise, where you aren't sick anymore. A paradise where you could enjoy life together.

He smiles again, wiping his tears with his free hand and drank the same drink. He puts away the glass and lays down beside you. Everything was going to handle itself somehow, he knew that well enough.

His left hand lingers against the tips of your hair, brushing them as he would have when you were alive. He would be doing that for eternity in the afterlife. Like he always wanted.

For the last moments of Geto Suguru's life, he catches a glimpse of the shine of his wedding ring and yours. As though the light leading him to the other side. He closes his purple eyes slowly for the final time and feels everything be in its place for the first time in a long time.

Years later, when survivors find your bodies lingering in the eternal warmth only both you could provide, they read words on a small card on a coffee table.

"Leave us be on the graveyards we chose. Let us live eternity like this together."

And they do. They leave you be. Because the smile on your faces was enough to know this was where you belonged. Together.

[grimeerie]

If Enigma of Fear comes this month,i am praying for this game to be absolulety marketed fucking EVERYWHERE online,cause not only Ordem is such a amazing project that deserves so much recognition,but being a fully brazilian/latino-made TTRPG,the idea of this series becoming worldwide-known means so much personally as a brazilian artist.

I've mentioned this on a post before,but the experience of growing up as a latine being constantly fed white american-centric pop culture,be it comics,TV series,movies,art in general,to such a extreme point it made me develop such high insecurity in my country's art and culture as a whole,is so deeply harmful that even after leaving that toxic mindset,that insecurity still lingers on.

And it's why Ordem as a project is just so beautiful as an rpg to me,like the campaign main setting? All brazilian cities! The characters? Brazilians from different parts of the country all speaking in the accent and slang of their state or city! The players? Brazilians! The promotional art,the music,the boards,the tokens? ALL BRAZILIAN MADE. Like this project in so unashamedly Brazil and that makes me love every bit of bit.

Even though the gringo side of the Ordem fandom may still be somewhat small,the ammount of love i've seen you all have for this project is so big; all of the fanart,fics,headcanons,every single form of appreciation has just been so good. Know that regardless of what you may think about the quality of your contribution to this fandom know that to me and so many other brazilian,your love for this series means a lot to us. The hype for Enigma of Fear has been wonderful to see,and DESERVED CAUSE THE GOD THE GAME LOOKS FANTASTICAL AND DUMATIVA PUT THEIR WHOLE DUMATUSSY FOR 4 YEARS INTO THAT GAME AND THEY DESERVE THE RESPECT FOR IT-

BUT ALSO i want to shoutout the QSMP fandom as well,cause y'all are insane fr,seeing people love the same CCs i've watched and loved since my childhood,the fandom interacting with us Brazilian ??? Learning about our culture???? LEARNING TO SPEAK PORTUGUESE???

Sorry for the ramble but like- the whole learning portuguese part still makes me so happily feral cause as someone who grew up on Internet fandom spaces,having to learn english on my own to be able to interact with others,especially english being the main language in most internet spaces,THE FACT THE INVERSE IS HAPPENING LIKE WHAT?? Serioulsly,the dedication man! That is awesome!!

Legitimately i don't think there's enough words to describe the appreciation i have for yall,so basically: thank you all,so much,for giving us so much love this past year,and i hope if Ordem does become big enough out there,that more brazilian art to come gains as much love as this one,we are such a diverse country with so much to offer,and im am so glad to be born to such a colorful and crazy country <3

In general i hope this will be an encouragment for all to support non-white american centric art in general,there's so much art from other countries to love and appreciate,that desperately need it.

So basically: Watch Ordem Paranormal,and play Enigma of Fear when it comes out. It's RPG,it's story,characters,worldbuilding are fantastic,its horror,found family,comedy and deliciously SOUL-CRUSHING angst. Trust me,you won't regret it.

É ORDO REALITAS CARALHO!

[skyenish]

Have you played Jamils ceremonial robes vignette? What did you think about him getting seemingly flustered/shy when Kalim praised him?

I think it’s cute! I always love it when Jamil acts all embarrassed. If you want to know my thoughts on a deeper level, I think that it says a lot about Jamil. Obviously we can see that even though he’s desperate for praise, he still gets flustered when he gets it and tends to shy away from attention. This could be a deeply ingrained habit he has from always having to redirect any attention and praise towards Kalim, or it could be a sign that he doesn’t truly want praise and attention as much as we think.

Now, I believe it’s a mix of both. Most of us already understand why this would be an ingrained habit, so I want to instead explore the other possibility now!

Jamil doesn’t really want to be the best or be worshipped, we know that what he truly wants is to be free, to travel the world. What makes Jamil truly happy, what he truly wants, is that, traveling the world and being free. What he thinks he wants is attention and praise and recognition, because that’s what’s always been taken from him.

We know Jamil is very aware of how he’s perceived, and I’m sure he doesn’t like being perceived as weak or dumb or incapable, so letting Kalim always be better at him stings. But Jamil, who is only 17 and increasingly emotionally constipated (like half the twst characters), immediately swung the other way, overcorrecting. I think Jamil in some cases tends to see really black and white, and since he doesn’t like dumbing himself down for Kalim and Kalim getting all the praise that he doesn’t deserve, that must surely mean that what he wants is that exact praise, right?

I’m not saying he doesn’t want praise, we’ve seen how he shines in the VDC and how he loves being appreciated, but my theory is that he doesn’t want it as much as we’re lead to believe due to his overblot acting the way it did. Being praised like that brings attention to yourself, it puts the spotlights on you, and Jamil doesn’t like being out on the spot (he’s more of a planning ahead guy). I think when his overblot demanded praise and worship, it was more for the powertrip and not as much just for the praise, if you get what I mean? Jamil loves controlling things and being in control and tends to be pretty paranoid when he isn’t in control, and having his hypnotized servants praise him and worship him must feel like the ultimate sign of control. Plus, them saying all these nice things is a fun little ego boost I’d imagine.

Also add in the fact that Jamil himself tends to use flattery and stuff quite often when he wants something from other characters (he’s even been called out on it), so Jamil might sometimes be distrustful when people praise him (projecting much)

I think Jamil doesn’t just want praise for praise’s sake, I think Jamil wants also praise as a way to feel control. This doesn’t mean that he doesn’t want praise for praise’s sake at all of course, he’s still got quite the ego he needs to feed, and he still likes praise and recognition quite a bit I think, just not as much as you’d think at first glance. Im sorry if I’m not explaining it well, but my thoughts are hard to put into words!

——

I’m sorry if this ramble is all over the place, but I love sharing my thoughts on Jamil! Remember, my interpretations are just my interpretations, and it’s just my thoughts! If you disagree with me, that’s completely fine! Thank you for the question anon, and sorry for making the answer so long <3

[jammiesjars]

First time doing this , but would love Price or koing with a plus fem reader 😩🙏

OH absolutely 😋😋😋

How about a little bit of both?? Its more of a ramble but i hope these suffice 💗💗💗

I did some comfort and fluff for konigs and I did smut for price’s :)

Warnings: fluff and smut, dirty talk, talk of insecurity in königs, grinding

Price

“My pretty fuckin’ birdie…” John mutters, pawing at your thick hips and love handles. He’s got you sat on his lap in front of the mirror, blissed out beyond recognition with his cock seated inside of you.

Its your fault, honestly. John has had a hard day at work, so to see his wife wearing the nightgown she wore on their wedding night made all that frustration channel into something more… primal.

“Look at ya… how gorgeous..” He’d growl, reaching up to squeeze the fat of your tits as he lets you desperately grind down onto him. Your cunt aches, desperate for the release you’ve been denied so many times as Price plays with your body. You desperately try to lift your hips up for more friction, only to be slammed back down; the fat on your thighs rippling as it connects with his muscular ones.

“No, love. I didn’t say you could lift your hips, did I? I said you could grind.” He’d tut, rocking your hips back and forth.

“N-not enough- its not enough John-“ you’d slur, babbling incoherently as he makes you grind back on him.

“You’ll take what I give you.”

You let out pitiful moans and pleas, just for ‘a little more, john’, and promising you’ll ‘be a good girl, love.’

But it doesnt matter. Price doesnt want this to end just yet, so it wont.

He’ll keep you like this until he cant take it any longer, finally gripping the fat of your hips and fucking you into oblivion.

Konig

“You ready to go, Meine Liebe?” König would call out, his large frame standing in the doorway. Even in his own house he manages to radiate something ominous, like hes out of place.

What he didnt expect, though, was to be met with tears running down your pretty face as you stood in front of the mirror. He watched as you tugged at the dress you wore, silently sobbing as it doesnt fit exactly how you imagined. (So real)

“Schatz?” König frowns. “What’s wrong?”

König trots over, kneeling in front of you. “Whats got my wife so upset?” His large hands engulf your chubby hips that he rubs in soothing circles. It doesnt matter how plump you got, wether naturally or from königs sneaky ways of making you eat more, (poor boy was afraid you were going to wither away and he wasnt going to let that happen.) , he still somehow managed to remain larger.

Bleary eyes meet his as you babble incoherently, trying to explain that you cant go out looking like this.

“Looking like what, Meine Liebe? You look pretty.” He states, his tone straightforward. He says it like its a fact, not an opinion.

“Like- like this! Im huge-“ you blubber, more tears falling down your swollen cheeks. You attempt to step out of Königs grip, with the intentions of changing.

“Ah ah. You’re not leaving yet, maus. Let me look at my wife” He tuts, large hands roaming your body.

“So pretty and soft..” He grunts, squeezing your midsection and arms.

“König don’t touch me like that, you know how i get-“ You’d sniffle, wiping your tears.

“Hush. Ill touch my wife how I want.” Is all you get in return as he peppers soft kisses on any skin for purchase. Its almost ironic to see such a large man kneeling before you to kiss you so sweetly.

Hes content here, to kiss your skin so sweetly as wordless affirmation for his love for your body until those tears stop. And once they finally do, he’ll peer up from kissing the soft pudge of your stomach.

“My pretty maus… dont cry, Ja? You’re so beautiful.”

Is he the best with words? No. But damn will he try if it means your more comfortable in your own skin.

[hehe-69]

Solavellan haunts my every waking moment, I can’t stop thinking about them, thinking about Solas.

Veilgaurd Spoilers

Imagine knowing you cannot give someone all of you because you are still bounded to the will of someone you called “friend”. Bounded and enslaved to a purpose and wanting so desperately to leave that purpose behind so that you could have them and give them all of you.

But you can’t, they have your heart, they consume you completely but you cannot. You are ruined and twisted.

Thats a different level of pain, wanting, yearning, waiting, for 10 STINKING YEARSSSS but knowing you can’t give them what they deserve, what you so desperately want to give them, that you cannot HAVE THEM.

And believing you are too far gone for them to love you, that you are to twisted and rustiness to be loved but they still do, they FORGIVE you after you lied and betrayed them and all you have to do is stop but you can’t.

You’re bounded to this purpose because of the enslavement to someone who stole you from the fade you loved and twisted your purpose in ways that no other spirit has been twisted.

And finally you are free, but you wouldn’t dare ask them to go with you not after all you’ve done. But they choose you again forever and always. They choose to love you and they love you willingly and unconditionally in such a mind bogglingly beautiful way. It makes me SICK and the most wonderful of ways.

I wish we got to see more of Solas and Inky, they are so complex and beautiful and pure in their love for each other.

Inky’s love makes Solas pure again, it makes him whole again, it makes him him again. It makes him something more than he was in the beginning, it gives him hope.😭😭

The fact that his fist decisions that aren’t influenced by Mythal is him seeking atonement and choosing to be with Inky and letting himself BE LOVED FOR ONCE.

They make me want to write again

I will never not choose them to have their happy ending I physically cannot do it not after everything they’ve both suffered.

Varric died trying to save Solas I feel like not redeeming Solas goes against what Varric sacrificed himself for. He loved his friends so deeply he risked his life trying to save him from himself. Varric always wanted happy endings to his stories and for his friends, the least I can do is honor him by giving this one the one he wanted. The one that Solavellan DESERVES.

This game is, at its core, about many different shades of love and devotion and the many ways that it can be twisted to distorted beyond the point of recognition.

I mean LOOK AT HIS FACE WHEN HE LOOKS INTO HER EYES IM GONNA PUNCH A TREE

[artdcnaldson]

ararararararar uuuggghhhh shes so terrible, anything to torture him back. i luv luv luv!!!!

will gladly elaborate on this, but im convinced that after this pats sister is doing everything within her power to recreate that night. every party she gets just that little bit drunker, grinds just a bit more scandalously, flirts just a bit more obviously. anything to get a rise out of him, because as much as she pretends not to with her fake tears, she loves it when he gets mean

i think one night shes had a bit too much to drink and has been flirting way too much with matt from the swim team (who btw looks an awful lot like art... but hes to caught up in his jealousy to bother with that rn). this time art isnt dealing with her shit, he just walks over and puts her over his shoulder, telling her its bedtime. right in the middle of matts sentence, talking about the upcoming swim meet or something, she really wasnt listening. shes making more of a fuss about it than usual, complaining about him being controlling, and really shouldnt he just be happy that youre trying to fuck someone other than him!!!! isnt this what he wanted!!!! (they both know its not lol)

i think she lets it slip, she forgets that she was supposed to have been blackout drunk and clueless, but she begs him to let her see his pretty cock again. youll show him yours if he shows you his :))) drunkenly slurring it out when shes sitting on his bed. i think he would get so pissed at her for making him feel so guilty for so long. hes felt like a huge creep, a perv, felt like he had taken advantage of her. when in reality she really is just a spoiled brat and a desperate slut.

i need him to like slap me in the heat of the moment, not super hard of anything but just right across my cheek. i need him to feel so bad right away, ready to get on his knees and beg for forgiveness. he doesnt know what came over him, hes never done anything like that before. and then i need his eyes to darken when he realized my only reaction is a loud moan and telling him to pls do it again, harder. :))))

-🐞

GODDDDDD I actually like had a physical reaction to this it’s so serious.

You know you fucked up the second you say it, when you’re sitting on his bed looking up at him and you see the recognition in his eyes. Sobers you up real fucking quick. And there’s nothing to say, so you’re just quiet, practically holding your breath.

It stings when his hand slaps across your cheek, and your eyes fill with water and you’re holding onto the hot stinging skin like, oh!

And in an instant he’s literally on his knees in front of you, big hands wrapped around your knees as he apologizes again and again and again.

“I’m so sorry, that was— there’s no fucking excuse,” he’s stammering, mumbling, feels like he might puke over it. Because he hit you. And he’s never felt so awful in his life. He’s the worst kind of person— he let his anger take over into pure basal instincts.

But then your legs are parting, you moan softly when his grip on your knees tightens. “‘S okay, Art,” you assure. “Do it again. Punish me for lying, for being a slut and letting you feel guilty about it. Hit me harder.”

It only makes him angrier, makes all of the guilt wash away. He grabs your jaw tight, makes you whimper. “You’re fucking disgusting.” You nod, agreeing. You’d agree with whatever he’d say, honestly. He pops your cheek again, makes a soft moan escape your lips.

He shouldn’t like it as much as he does. But god, you make him feel insane. He squeezes your jaw in his grip, makes your eyes widen at the pressure and sting, then drops you completely. You collapse back onto his bed, still holding your cheek.

“I’m serious, this is the last fucking time I put up with you,” he says, but even he doesn’t believe it. He’s still seething as he turns out the lights, as he sleeps on the pile of blankets he had laid out on the floor anticipating you coming back to his dorm anyway.

You stay awake, pretend not to hear him fisting his cock beneath the blankets, pretending he doesn’t groan your name muffled into the pillows when he cums.

[strwberri-milk]

LDS Characters (specifically asking for Zayne but any are okay 🤭) X Reader. Pirate AU. Specifically thinking that the reader is a princess and LDS characters are pirates (you can choose roles; ex: Captain, first mate, or whatever 😖)

HMm im seeing what you're giving me but my warning is im not very good at pirate aus so i hope this is good for you!!

You had a penance for getting yourself into trouble despite how many guards or staff had their eye on you. You couldn't help the way you got curious whenever new ships would dock, wondering about what sorts of goods are being brought into the city.

Recently, you've heard that there's been a rise in the appearance of pirates in the area. That didn't scare you at all - honestly it just made you even more curious. You're seasoned at evading your guards at this point, making your way down to the docks for your monthly exploration.

You're immediately struck by the man standing in front of you. He looks like a stereotypical pirate, sword on his hip and a calm demeanour on his face. His cold eyes purview the area in front of him, seeming to focus only on the ship in front of him. Despite your rational thoughts, you can't help staying near him, simply admiring him when his green eyes slide over to meet your gaze.

He doesn't say anything to you, simply looking over at you with that seemingly cold affection. Others begin to disembark the boat, walking past him with a slight air of respect and you begin to recognise that he's someone to respect.

The next time the two of you meet you've snuck out again just a few days later, hoping to catch him in some tavern that you heard was frequented by pirates. You catch him by the bar, nursing a drink you don't recognise. Slowly, you approach him from behind but he seems to detect your presence, turning with a glimmer of recognition in them.

The two of you begin to meet a little more frequently and you learn his name and adventures. He speaks in a reserved manner, answering your questions in a humble manner. You're almost inspired by the almost Robin Hood like tales he tells you, wondering what it would be like to stand by his side as he travels the world.

The time for him to depart comes far too quickly. You don't know what to say when he tells you that he'll be leaving soon, unknowing that the feeling that was growing in your chest was love for the Captain. All you know is that the thought of not being with him tears your soul in half and you're desperate to follow him. When you tell him as much he tries to convince you not to go with him, knowing that while he is somewhat more of a noble pirate the life he leads is still far from safe for someone like you.

He promises you that no matter where he is, you have his heart, kissing you softly on the docks before he leaves. You're upset that somehow he's managed to convince you to stay but you know that he really wants nothing but the best for you. You count down the days until his next return to the port, pleasantly surprised when you hear news of his boat arriving earlier than anticipated.

His departures become fewer and fewer, using the knowledge he's gathered to start making money on land. You don't know that the reason is because he's planning to ask to court you formally, wanting to give you the life he knows you deserve.

[frozen-planet]

HOLY HECK I WOULD LOVE TO HEAR YOU ELABORATE ON NOVA’S PAST!!!!! (And their head turning into a space one, or her parents…)

I HAVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS SINCE IT WAS SENT... AND I FEAR ITS GOING TO MAKE NO SENSE SO BEAR WITH ME HAHAH, its going to be majorly dumbed down and tbh butchered because we'll be here all day otherwise. Google docs in the works though!

If its wanted I will also go into their family biz as mentioned here but I feel like I yapped so much already HELPP maybe another time but for now just the helmet stuff

The head/helmet situation was messy, done so by the time they moved to vinyl city and wasnt immediately rewarded with recognition and praise (real) but before auditioning to become a mega artist.

Struggling between passions of studying astronomy and making music (which was still, at the time, a newly recovered hobby from their teenage years) they were still messing with tech and whateva, even while NOT in the right headspace (and for family lore had just cut contact with their entire family, will elaborate at another time), and as a desperate attempt at gaining what they thought was attainable control they pretty much tried making a mini black hole in their own mini apartment complex.

Aaaahhh big bad thing happened, freak accident. all the scientist things... leading their head to be reconstructed as one with said black hole since, technically as of now it would be impossible to actually create a black hole at that level without it either burning out within a few minutes or not having the same properties as the real phenomenon (its both, plus its manmade so what were we expecting). IT PRETTY MUCH SUCKED UP HIS HEAD ACCIDENTALLY AND CONTAINED IT WITHIN ITSELF??? I DUNNO.

The properties of his brains in my mind is that all of what made their head well, their head, is still contained within the helmet (floating around in there resembling space), and since technically there is no realistic singularity within the black hole that is their head, and its at a much smaller scale than possible, it doesnt really count as one? just shares some stuff that you would associate with black holes otherwise. im not entirely sure how to explain it but it leads to major misunderstandings about their head from others and honestly themself, further causing them to lose themself to the knowledge and understanding they so desperately need.

This of course also leads to things like that memory HC I have in my last post and things like the helmet breaking under pressure or the fact that I think his head is suuuper hot compared to his body which is now cold to the touch. thangs like that.

Basically do NOT ask them what their head is, they get SO defensive about it HAHA solely because they dont really know themself.

+ Complimentary doodle I made months ago to go with it

[bunchofdoodlesinspace]

Im kinda shocked I’m not seeing more about the parallels between what Laudna did and what Ashton did last night bc currently that’s what I can’t stop thinking about. This theme of self-sacrifice that just keeps coming back over and over. And it makes so, so much sense to me given who this party is made out of.

Ages ago they really fully grasped that they’re all just powder kegs waiting to blow, that at any moment any of them could cause serious harm to the others, whether it be because of the powers they wield of the unfortunate circumstances of their existence- They’re all dangers to each other in some way.

And now, we’re seeing that theme sort of twist into this concept of “fuck it. I have this power, and I could destroy the world and my friends and myself using it, but I might as well try to use it for something good on the way down” and there’s just. There’s something so tragic and beautiful about that. To finally have people you care about so much that you would destroy yourself to see them survive.

In my head, that’s why Laudna is accepting the help of her own murderer. It’s not to walk down this path of darkness, but to give herself the strength she feels she needs to take down the threats in front of them. If that comes at the cost of her sanity, her relationships with the others, her life? So be it. She’s died before, and she’ll do it again if everyone she loves, who have loved her in spite of everything (esp Imogen), can survive and live happy lives.

Same thing with Ashton. No, two shards were not meant be handled by one person. But Fearne didn’t seem to want it, no one else was going to take it, and but they still need the power. Because what they’re facing isn’t anything like anyone has ever seen, they need everything they can possibly get. And if the risk of taking on that power was his own life? Fine. He’s died before too. And for the rest of his friends? The people who have loved him despite everything? For Fearne? He’d do it. Even if it was just to give them a chance.

These aren’t selfish decisions made to try and gain power. This is selflessness to the most dangerous degree. It’s a demonstration of how much they love and how little love they think they deserve in return. It’s a recognition of how big this threat is, how desperate they are for a chance to succeed even if it means they won’t all come back.

I said it in the tags of another post I reblogged and I will say it over and over again.

This shit doesn’t come out of a place of hate.

It only ever comes out of a place of love.

And it is absolutely heartbreaking.

[dilfhos]

sooo this is gonna be a messy rant on the observations ive made between different writer communities, blog interactions and overall “status”. just silly little things I’ve noticed in my 4+ years being on tumblr btwn 2 diff blogs. and this is about no one specific, a very generalized post so if you find urself offended i honestly dont know what to tell you?? :o do better ig. & if you relate, i feel for you. TLDR @/end.

i dont like interacting/ building connections with people but not for the reasons ppl think. im not stuck up or pretentious or weird or anything. just another anime-enjoyer who loves to write in her free time. nobody special by a longshot!! i enjoy writing, always have since before i was a teen. (wasn’t always ff tho!).

but over the years ive just noticed fandom writing has its gritty sides that no one talks about often and its no mystery why so many prolific/ popular writers deactivated, me included. i had some shitty experiences and have seen friends go bc of it.

firstly, I’ve noticed, once you start interacting and building friendships with people, it’s easier to see the bigger perspective of where ppl stand and the blatant hierarchy of friendships and groups. same applies to that outside. like its literally just me n’ my bsf then my acquaintances bc mfs be weirddd omg its like cults or something. like thats why initially I didn’t interact w/anyone starting on my new blog. that n’ fear of drama following from my last blog ugh. ‘Cept the few i’ve met on my old blog (like my wifey)

not to mention i have bad anxiety. and sometimes im cue-deaf. i dont always pick up what people put down and vice versa and it makes me conscious in a lot of my interactions. so a part of me doesn’t want to interact at all to avoid all awkwardness and possible miscommunications. that’s not to say i don’t notice subtle changes in interactions after one situation / conversation or so forth, that in myself or witnessed between other ppl. (im perceptive, just not that good conversationalist lol. like i really have to try.)

but then…if you don’t interact with people on here, your chances of building an audience or a reader base is slim to none. the likelihood of developing relationships is zip. because you’re already perceived and pegged as just another tumblr writer. pause. to clarify, a writer who doesn’t want any recognition or interactions from mutuals or new friends. or just a lonely writer? a introverted, lonely writer. which leads to little to none interactions (anons, reblogs, moots —exposure.)

so then its like you’re kinda placed btwn a rock n a hard place. and there’s absolutely no problem with that! in fact this is the best part—meeting friends and like-minded people! people that make being online all the more worth it right? thirsting over fictional characters and sharing in each other’s works!

but you have to be in specific circles it seems. but then you can’t imply that you want to be in those circles bc then you’re desperate.

but well, then you cant purposefully want to be independent or be on your own or else you’re a hater, hypocrite or stuck up. not to mention, no one will reblog your stuff lol. no one will interact fr, and you’re friendless essentially. and god forbid if you disagree on something as if opinions don’t exist btw! then you’re being ganged up on. (like omg grow up!)

but then if you reach out you’re seen as trying to wedge in or kiss ass? you interact and follow and you’re ignored or left hanging? (bc im gonna touch your hand when i say this—it never gave fan, your majesty of horny nerds) and this is about ALL the writing communities and fandoms—spicy content, black content and dark content. ALL.

yet no one wants to talk about the pregnant elephant in the room—bias. and favoritism. also people seem to have a hard time being direct with how they’re feeling toward/about someone ( in a good or bad way) which in turn leads to a lot of miscommunication and subliminal attacks. (not to mention hate anons? one of my moots just had her inbox flooded w/them recently, ew.)

you can lead a horse to water AND you can write a 500-word essay on the observations made on tumblr writers as a whole. (a long ass post on the truth on behalf of those feeling this too)

also, slapping a HEY LOOK AT ME! IM A WRITER WHO WANTS INTERACTION AND FRIENDS! on a blog is frankly embarrassing. it shouldn’t even take all that seeing how easy it is for others wanting the same thing.

or doing less to achieve the same result.

not to mention, yall shit on ppl who essentially feel this way altogether bc you peg them as sb who doesn’t “try” or just jealous when their own works are phenomenally written themselves. ive seen it. and ive lived it. never gave jealousy baby.

at the end of the day, we’re all writers— either longterm or hobbyists. (personally, im longterm) self-indulgent or not! and its absolutely amazing when people are being fair in how they spread love and feedback to their writers.

Secondly, its not news that people have to want to reblog your fics so that their followers can reblog, so they can reblog, and their followers can reblog and so forth. but ppl honestly dont care atp bc once they’ve already read it, they owe you nothing. and apparently asking for reblogs is crass and bold. (imma do it anyway) but putting your very all into a story just to turn and see a half-thought out hc soaring 3k in 2hrs and 5k in a day — you have to stfu, open your ass and take it. keep it cute!

you’re getting fucked after all!!

because if you complain—you’re just jealous and lazy and uncreative!! and i hate that to seem like a writer worth a damn, you have to change up your writing style every two weeks to fit in with trending waves.

“no more poetic long fics, nobody’s into that! short, snappy slutty shots are all the rage!” “ppl are only into these specific tropes but you can’t exceed 2k words!” “only add trending characters to these hcs! ppl love them only!” “don’t write too much about a specific character or else ill unfollow you!” its exhausting.

i am well within my right as a literary artist to desire more feedback and interaction on anything i put out. period. and you are too! 🫵

God, im tired of that stupid, ‘you have to enjoy your writing for yourself and not worry about notes’ line. i do love my writing! don’t get me wrong there’s nobody id rather write like if not myself fr. not to mention the inspiration i draw from famous literary authors. however, i would love feedback and the same energy that i see with others in my same caliber.

and when i see others that didn’t even try fr—its a slap in the face to put it bluntly.

i can want silly little comments and notes about something i cherish and put out for that reason and yall aren’t gonna make me feel bad about it. sorry! like yall really be making people feel shitty for wanting the same type of interactions you get! especially when its harmless, bye asf. nb want to recipe to ur peach cobbler b!

the only one giving push back are those appointed popular /top blogs n’ cliques tho. now personally, i honestly dgaf if you have 20 followers or 25k, writing is writing and if its good you should want to support it regardless of following count/interaction right?

unfortunately, and quite unsurprisingly its not the case for the rest of this hellhole lol. there’s always gonna be some “big blog” in any part of tumblr or any social media for that matter.

but when the sole purpose being on a site like tumblr to write is mainly exposure, then it just makes it ten times worse especially if it seems that these blogs are steady at the top of every. single. tag. and listen, i know how initially stupid that sounds but when you’ve picked up on patterns for as long as i have, well iykyk.

so imma be real bc no one else will, half of the posts that yall see with 25k notes have alr been done. just different characters, different words, different dialogue. And 8/10 its been done by sb who only received 100 notes. Thats the evil part. whats more is that it lacks the creativity the one post with 100-300 notes is filled with completely.

POP QUIZ! what post would readers be more inclined to read? — one that says 10k (ohhh that must be popular!) or the one with only 150 (oh i guess nb really liked that one) that no one is even willing to reblog for MORE. and BOOM. now yall wonder why so many great writers LEAVE, its a fucking joke.

so unfortunately its no longer only about or only on readers anymore. its about who you know and who you know is willing to support your fr. who is willing to REBLOG your fics for their friends and followers, so that their friends and followers can reblog. to fit in you actually have to get in these days and it makes it all less enjoyable. makes it a chore and if you aren’t ‘doing it right’ ultimately it makes you feel shitty about your writing. (Please don’t, you are doing amazing. its the platform.)

it makes people not want to jump into writing. it pushes away those who actually want to join writing communities and meet people without feeling like they have to jump thru hoops to thrive or worse—live in other ppls shadows. and then it deters those from speaking up in fear of being shut down by bigger groups. ive seen it happen time and time again.

lastly, and this is the juiciest part! you absolutely cannot say anything about any of this bc you’re complaining and a fisher just looking for attention and not someone who just want things to be fair all over. play the game, right? ( wrong. and if this is your logic, you suck! )

its no longer about making flashy banners and pretty themes. its no longer about how many clever directory links you add or how many games you initiate on your blog or whether or not you’ve reblogged your fic three times already. its about your “friends”, other mutuals, and blogs willing to support you too. not just the audience. audience gonna do what they want regardless. reblog, don’t reblog, whatever. “at least ive read it right?” but everyone knows this. duh! but it’s obvious who doesn’t care as long as they’re on top of that tag! its admirable in a way but it sucks for those wanting to break out and build some kind of readerbase and/or make friends.

TLDR; people need to stop being bias and be fair and open lol. stop picking favorites and share the love all around. you see another person writing your favorite character or trope, give them a fucking chance and reblog, regardless if they’re in your ‘circle’ / radar or not. regardless if you know them or not. hell, let them put you on to a new fandom. bc writing is writing and making new moots and finding new fics seem to be what everyone loves to showcase until its time to actually do it. no wonder people get discouraged to make friends and write, yall treat it like some kind of secret society when its supposed to be fun💀 not a competition. (yall need to dead this clique-y shit. )

[hawkeye221b]

Hi, im going to ramble about my oldest, most special of interests and its going to be long so i'll be hiding it under a cut but just know i have been enabled by internet strangers and the fact that tumblr (to my knowledge) does not have a word limit. and if it does, i will be finding it.

So i'll try to organize the ramblings?? maybe?? we'll see how organized it is but honestly i just want to talk about Phantom of the Opera.

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

So to start my ramblings i will be talking about the musical and book; mostly because i think about the differences almost all the time (it is my roman empire)

For example; to my understanding there are those who don't like the book because they think it says she's 15 which.. isn't true. it came from the line of 'she was as pure as that of a 15 yr old' but if she was that old during the events of the book, then the childhood friendship with Raoul would be impossible since he'd be 5 yrs older than her- an 10yr old and a 5 yr old basically if the 15 thing was right.

Another example is the shifting roles.. if memory serves me right, Madame Giry didn't have much of an impactful or big role in the book, but the musical pretty much just cut out the Daroga and split his roles between her and the music box. and even then it changes- in the 2005 movie version, there;s the flashback to show madame Giry as a little girl, helping the Phantom (my mans Erik) escape- but in the 25th anniversary recording, she says that he vanished (presumably without her help)

(Complete side note but why did we even have Daroga erasure in the musical?? justice for the man who put up with Erik's shit for so long..)

------------------- Another thing i wanna kinda ramble on is how Erik is almost always being exploited or used and its fascinating to analyze cause like.. i mean:

he was born with a deformity; he was shunned for it and cast aside and mocked openly

but he was a prodigy. mastermind in many different ways

and yet people took advantage of him- of his desperation as he grew cause no one wanted to be near or associated with what they considered a freak

they benefited and he was used because what else was there for him?

in the 2005 edition he kills because he was pushed to it!! to protect himself!! he was a child then!! a child shown as a freak and abused for people to laugh at!! ofc he was gonna snap! and since no one taught him right and wrong ofc he'd fall back on that defense mechanism whenever he wanted or needed something. its the safest thing he has!!

and in the other variations, its still similar. iirc he was highly under paid and unaccredited for his work. cause no one wanted to admit he was behind the success they benefited from.

and then he finds an orphan girl, come to live in the opera house. a soul broken as he was. and she longs for guidance, and he longs to teach someone. so they find solace in one another.

in my mind they both have delusions and dissonance with one another. he mistakes her friendship for love because no one told him the difference. and she mistakes him as the ghost of her father. its unhealthy yeah but they're both unhealthy people.

and then Raoul comes into her life once more. a reminder of the good in her childhood and the phantom panics cause hes about to lose something he hasn't had before. so he begins to lash out because he doesn't know better

and then.. and then!! because she goes to Raoul, its a betrayal all over again

even if she doesn't mean it the way he sees, she's still benefiting from his work. benefiting from his time in teaching her without credit. without praise or recognition.

in leaving him behind, she's become like the rest of them in his eyes- exploiting him for his talents while rejecting him for how he looks

Honestly i have more thoughts but i think this is really long already and the brain is wanting to over brain so like.. yeah. i love this story and i want to blorb about it all the damn time this is my roman empire

[sunshines-child]

*spins dramatically in chair* god im so tired. sunny ur children have taken over my prefrontal cortex its not funny anymore.

partner in crime - madilyn mei: screams luc to me thinking of his little dove, but also from theos angsty teen perspective. the song fits them both almost like a back and forth conversation (i might make a post actually this is genius lmao). actually now that i think of it it fits u too lol (it has that vintage circus vibe if u will)

why good people become monsters: video essay of sorts exploring the lucifer effect (nuff said lol), but i recommend reading the comments for more insight and perspective. the art and presentation is slightly unsettling and i love it.

random quotes i from the top of my desktop notes: (long read sorry)

"he had all his mother's vivid imagination and passionate love of beauty. Frost of winter, invitation of spring, dream of summer and glamour of autumn, all meant much to Walter." - rainbow valley, l.m montgomery

-> luc and mercy change my mind (u cant hehe)

He said: “Only God can Judge a monster like that… I just set up the appointment”

-> my boi armund snaps (and snaps someones neck oop-)

“hell is empty, all the devils are here” - the tempest, shakespeare

-> this is definately written somewhere on altis lol

… as John [Lennon] told Rolling Stone magazine in 1970, “When it gets down to it, when you’re drowning, you don’t say, ‘I would be incredibly pleased if someone would have the foresight to notice me drowning and come and help me,’ you just scream.”

-> theo fighting his demons and losing :') eventually leading to some fall out with daddy dearest.

"It brings me so much joy to watch someone else get staggered by the full range of human degeneracy. We really do be wildin." - a yt comment lol

->i like to think that while both luc and altis kill in cold blood, for titi its another day job or whatever but for luc he thinks a lot about life and death and morality and corruption and thats what leads him to insanity later on.

classic case of living long enough to see urself as the villain but also a favourite trope of mine where people join the dark side for the cookies out of deep empathy for the wronged victims as opposed to say the violence and injustices they themselves may have experienced.

but also post armunds death luc lets all hell loose because how *dare* anyone lay a finger on his beloved boy?! the angst potential my dear is frankly off the charts and i love them all so much it hurts

anyhows this is for fun & i wanted to share some pebbles with ya

i couldnt resist >:D

I have not a single regret taking over your prefrontal cortex. ITS MINE NOW MWAHAHHAHAHAHA Partners in Crime by Madilyn Mei recognition YAYYYYYYY it’s so fit for their characters I’m in tears RAAAAAAAAAAAA Im not changing your mind you’re cooking. “he had all his mother's vivid imagination and passionate love of beauty. Frost of winter, invitation of spring, dream of summer and glamour of autumn, all meant much to Walter." You’re hurting me it’s so fucking beautiful oh my poor heart and soul he is the very bring of his mother, those calloused hands still flying, desperate to cling onto Mercy’s hands, still desperate to cling upon the hands of his mother who rested his head upon her breast. Armund doesn’t exactly ever…snap. His rage is there, and everyone knows it’s there. He’s the only one getting rid of his rage instead of bottling it down. He’s constantly shrouded by rage. “hell is empty the devils are here” is my knew favorite quote. I’m one of the devils LMAO also yes it is very much inked on Altis (probably his hip) Luc and Altis kill like all hell. And you’re very right on what they feel. Altis feels nothing. It’s just another thing he has to do. No rush, no nothing. He’s just… doing it. Luc in the other hand feels everything. Even when it’s someone he is killing more as a task, he’ll feel a rush of everything, all the thoughts, everything. He knows, oh he knows the mortality of everything, including his own soul. (Also he’s constantly bringing the edge of “what if I just died”. It’s. It’s worrying.) Luc. Luc BREAKS when Armund dies. He loves his son, but in the end there’s no tru nurture still left in it. His son turns away from him, and he draws back his hand and cries. And his little angel, his Armind is there, to give him a true taste of joy despite the life all of them live. And what happens to man without joy?

[nobody-is-here01]

I lied, im not done putting Marine! Luffy things in your inbox… (if my spamming your inbox with Marine Luffy things bothers you at all please do tell me.)

Either a bit after Marineford or much later Jinbei hugs Marine! Luffy, like a full cradling-your-head-against-my-chest hug, and Jinbei tells him the most honest “thank you” Luffy has heard from an adult in forever.

and Luffy absolutely breaks.

Like full-on sobbing and shaking and clinging on like Jinbei’s his lifeline. Because when was the last time someone actually noticed how much work Luffy has done? And how many sacrifices he's made? And how literally all he wants anymore is for his loved ones to live?

Meanwhile, Jinbei is awkwardly patting Luffy’s back and making soft shushing noises like one would with a very small child. While Jinbei is having a whole crisis on the inside. He's panicking so hard, he's like “Did I do something wrong??? Why is he crying?? What do I do???”. Poor Jinbei is trying so hard to calm this highly traumatized, now ex-marine child down.

Funny part? Jinbei has no clue how tf humans work emotionally so he's using every piece of advice he's ever heard about how to calm human children down. Except this advice is very much meant for like “when your six-year-old falls and scrapes their knee and won't stop crying” type of advice. So Jinbei is trying everything he knows (which honestly isn't much saying how he didn't think he would need to know how one calms a child down). He's running his hand through Luffy’s hair, gently rocking him back and forth, asking if he needs anything.

And Luffy’s just crying even harder because this is literally all he wanted from literally ANY parental figure in his life after being taken (forced) into the Marines. Hell, he especially had a lot of nights after harsh training as a kid where he desperately wished Garp would have at least done the decency of hugging him.

So we have on one end Luffy who has been bottling up emotions for year's having a full-blown mental breakdown because finally there's actually an adult in his life who realizes he in fact is a child and is NOT okay. And on the other end, we have Jinbei who is progressively getting more panicked because honestly how does he deal with this ball of traumatized child???

(just went to re-read what I wrote and holy crap am I sorry, this is a long ask 💀)

I just woke up and you are choosing violence

But you are right, Marine Luffy is so emotionally constipated, that even the slightest bit of comfort or recognition makes him break