#i wish i could convey my thoughts into words more eloquently but this all i could do

[lynnerdo]

* The heart is not meant to rule *

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader

Tag list: @wo-ming-bai

Slow burn, knife kink, blood kink, strangers to lovers, softer!Feyd-Rautha, CONSENT, 18+, arranged marriage, assassination, poison, murder, etc

Previous Chapter - The Fall Current Chapter - Blood for Blood

***

All you could do right now is wait it out, you thought to yourself. Your situation more dire than you had imagined, what if nothing ever changed on Giedi Prime, and you’d be stuck here for so long that Feyd would find someone else to fulfil his needs and wants. You frowned at the idea because it sounded so stupid in your head but doubt always likes to settle in at the worst of times.

Your thoughts quickly dispersed as you received a message from one of your staff.

“Another letter, my lady”, they spoke softly as they handed you a handwritten note in a sealed envelope.

The both of you had reverted to using an old-fashioned method of communications even if that meant that it would take a longer while. You both had a trusted servant who would make the trip and deliver them. The Baron had no idea of this, and it could not be traced easily. You had been doing this for weeks now, sending letter back and forth, updating each other on what was happening on your planets, reminding each other what you were fighting for.

*

Feyd sat down in his room, ink at the ready, a blank sheet before him. He stared at the empty page, struggling to find the words to convey his feelings.

“Dear Lady Atreides…”

He paused, feeling the inadequacy of his greeting. You, miles away on Caladan, had written him letters full of warmth and longing. Each word you wrote brought him comfort, yet he found himself unable to reciprocate with the same eloquence.

“I hope this letter finds you well. I miss you terribly. The days here are long and lonely without your presence.”

Feyd frowned, scratching out the last sentence. It sounded too formal, too detached. He wanted to tell you how his heart ached in your absence, how your memory haunted his dreams, but the words felt clumsy.

He tried again.

“Your last letter brought me much joy. Your words are like a balm to my soul. I wish I could express myself as beautifully as you do.”

Again, he hesitated. This wasn’t right either. His frustration grew, and he pushed the parchment aside, covering his hand over his face in shame.

“Why is this so difficult?” he mutters to himself.

It was then that he realised: he was a man of actions, not words. His strength lay in what he did, not what he wrote. You knew this about him, appreciated it even. You had always understood his need to show his feelings through deeds rather than letters.

He took a deep breath, a new resolve forming within him. Picking up the quill once more, he began to write.

“My dearest, I have struggled to find the right words to tell you how much you mean to me. Every attempt feels insufficient. So, instead of words, I send you this token of my affection.”

He reached into a small box on his desk and took out a very intricate looking pendant. He had commissioned this a while back but never found the time and place to give it to you. Bearing the crest of House Atreides intertwined with that of House Harkonnen, a symbol of your forbidden yet unbreakable bond.

As he continued writing, the words flowed more easily.

“This pendant represents my promise to you. No matter the distance, no matter the danger, my heart is with you always. I will come to you as soon as I can, to show you what my words cannot express. He will not stand in our way much longer. Yours always, Feyd.”

Sealing the letter with the pendant inside, Feyd felt a sense of relief. He knew that you would understand. He allowed himself a rare smile, thinking about you wearing the pendant as soon as you read the letter, knowing that his love would feel the depth of his emotions.

*

As you finish reading the letter you’re practically cry-laughing. His letter short and direct, but the pendant gorgeously detailed and intricate. The design of it making your heart flutter in all the right ways.

You glance back at the letter and wonder what he meant by those last words about the Baron. It seemed like a threat, and you just hope he won’t do anything stupid.

*

After giving the letter to the trusted servant Feyd goes into the palace again and challenges the Baron to a duel, fully knowing that the Baron never fights his own battles. You would be telling him how stupid this was, and how he broke his promise to not do anything risky while you were gone. But he simply cannot handle this anymore. His hatred for the Baron is overtaking his every thought, and now he finally found the courage to overthrow his abuser.

To Feyd’s surprise the Baron almost immediately agrees to a duel, choosing one of their best assassins as an opponent. Feyd knew something was up but had no idea who to trust. Luckily, Tula had been loyal as ever to the both of you, so she had been able to get intel before the duel.

She told Feyd about how this was not going to be a fair match, since Feyd was their best fighter, so they had arranged the assassin’s blades, so they were coated with poison. Highly illegal, but necessary if the Baron wanted Feyd dead.

“So, all I have to do is not get struck,” Feyd spoke matter of fact. As if it was that simple.

Tula raised her eyebrows at him. Almost in disbelief at how fast he shrugged this deafening information off him.

“My lord na-baron… If you get hit once…”, she didn’t want to finish her sentence, for the looming doom sounded too dark to utter.

He stared at her face for a while, knowing the implications, agreeing that he had to be careful. He felt a moment of weakness, of himself opening up to her.

“If I ever want to see her again…” he spoke while looking away.

Tula felt his persistence and understood how he felt, her own appreciation and love for you convincing her that this was the only option. She had faith in him, knew he would overcome, but feared the other outcome greatly.

*

Feyd Rautha stood in the dimly lit arena, the sand beneath his feet a stark reminder of the deadly encounter ahead. The Baron's chosen champion stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with a murderous intent. Feyd noticed the subtle exchange between the Baron and his fighter—a set of blades, their edges glinting ominously in the light. Feyd’s heart sank. The poison. Tula had been a respectable associate.

The battle began with a flurry of movements, both fighters clashing with ferocity. Feyd's opponent was relentless, his skill evident in every precise strike and parry. Feyd, though equally skilled, found himself pushed to the brink, barely keeping up with the brutal onslaught. Both men kept doing the deadly dance for what felt like ages, often times coming close to striking each other but never quite.

Feyd got distracted by the crowd, definitely cheering him on, but also reminding him of what he would lose should he die. Then, it happened. A sharp, searing pain in his shoulder as the poisoned blade found its mark. Feyd staggered, feeling the venom course through his veins. His vision blurred, and he could hear the Baron's triumphant laughter echoing through the arena.

But Feyd refused to fall. Summoning the last of his strength, he launched a desperate counterattack, his movements fueled by sheer willpower. In a swift, decisive strike, he brought down the Baron's champion, the man crumpling to the ground in a lifeless heap. The arena fell silent, all eyes on Feyd as he stood over his fallen opponent, panting heavily. The Baron, watching from his perch, smiled coldly, confident in his victory despite his fighter's defeat. Feyd should be collapsing any moment now, succumbing to the deadly poison.

But Feyd remained standing. Minutes passed, and he did not fall. The Baron’s smile faltered, confusion and anger replacing his smug confidence. Why was Feyd still alive? The crowd went from a silence to a roaring mass, scream-shouting Feyd’s name, for a new Baron had risen before their eyes.

Feyd met the Baron's gaze, a defiant glint in his eyes. He understood now. The poison was the same as that from the viper on Caladan, the same venom that had nearly claimed his life once before. It felt almost poetic. If he were to write about it, he could make up 30 different ways of how you indirectly saved his life multiple times without realising it.

Realization dawned on the Baron, his face contorting in rage and disbelief. Feyd straightened, a victorious smile playing on his lips. He had not only survived the duel but had exposed the Baron’s treachery and emerged stronger for it.

As the arena erupted in cheers for Feyd, he silently vowed to himself and the reader who had saved him: this was just the beginning. Together, they would face whatever challenges lay ahead, their bond and their combined strength unbreakable.

[soupcanspecimen]

I wish I was better at conveying my thoughts more eloquently but here's my very late journal of my thoughts on ep12.

After some technical difficulties I finally watched ep12 and I've go to say:

I LOVED IT SO DAMN MUCH YOU GUYS!!!! THIS SEASON FINALE WAS ABSOLUTELY INCREDIBLE!!!!

That opening scene was so tense, you could literally cut the tension with a knife because of how thick it is.

Manaria was being a bitch again, I have a section on that so wait for that. The amulet was shown again but it wasn't used, I'm still crossing my fingers though because they keep focusing on that thing way too much! The scales were used in this episode however and DEAR GOD the that Ceremony had me at the edge of my seat clenchining my ass! I was legit going to die when Rae pulled out that twig!

I went from saying" never let this girl cook again" to laughing with joy when the tree sprouted up! Also can we talk about the tree for a minute? Imagine my fucking shock and hysterical breamdowm as a Lumity fan when I saw that tree for the first time! It was a tree that represented their love! You know what tree also basically does the same thing?

THE FUCKING LUMITREE!!!! THEY HAVE THEIR OWN FUCKING LUMITREE!!?!? WHEN I THOUGHT RAECLAIR DIDNT HAVE ANYMORE SIMILARITIES TO LUMITY IT KEEPS PROVING ME WRONG!!!! THESE TWO SHIPS SHARE SO MUCH DNA WITH EACHOTHER ITS UNREAL!!!! AM I LIKE THE ONLY ONE WHO SEES THIS!?!?

Ahem anyways.

Rae's confession was so raw and emotional to where you can feel the love flowing out of her words and you can see this is different from her other confessions cause she saying what she's wanted to say since the start and without hiding behind a mask this time. And when Clair admitted her feelings by pulling Rae away to protect her it was super sweet and shows that she's truly grown close to Rae. She even starts calling Rae by her name near the end of the episode instead of calling her "Commoner".

Clair was also great this episode, and she actually took my advice from my episode 11 rent post and reflected on her time with Rae. Her Freudian slips and gay panic because she's finally starting to fall for Rae were super cute and gave me a lot of "Ayo pause, run that back" moments!

And also

CLAIRMATO!!!!!

Speaking of Clair starting to fall for Rae

THEY DID IT, Y'ALL THEY'RE FINALLY TOGETHER LETS GOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! CONGRATULATIONS TO THE BOTH OF YOU!!!!

God I love these two so much guys! And I would love to bestow this ship with the highest honor I can give. I've recently mace a rule to myself when it comes to ships to not use this quote lightly for it is only reserved for ships that have truly earned my respect. Ahem (*Deep Inhale)

THEYRE ADORABLE AND DESERVE ALL THE HAPPINESS!!!!

I never thought that I would ever find a ship that would ever hit the same way as Lumity did! Even if they were cut from the same cloth!

GIVE ME A SEASON 2

NOW 🌩👄🌩

The Manaria Section:

I still hate Manaria my reasoning has just changed. Like, bruh, there is actually something wrong with you! Was any of what you said real!? Did you actually violate someone or was that story also just part of your plan!? Did you have like a back up or something if either you or Rae failed!? I legit can't read you, you're actually insane! You really are the single worst wingwoman I've ever seen, cause there were a million other ways to go about it, yet you somehow picked the wrong answer. You even ruined the confession, I mean who does that?!? I am for real about to throw hands! To be honest it would make sense if you were lying since you're a technically a politician after all, that's like your guy's whole thing.

Bitch don't come back.

I think most of my recorded reaction was just me cursing at her and wanting her to die, I need to get better at insults after looking back at the recording

[the-al-chemist]

The Beginning of a Symphony - Chapter 30

A/N: Jim finally takes action, but is it too little, too late?

OCs featured/mentioned: Ivy Anders and Shiv Llewelyn @kc-and-co

Warnings: the idiots in love are back again. This time, there’s a misunderstanding.

February 1897

Dear Héloïse,

I am writing to you today in order to express my feelings of deep affection and endearment towards you, and to put forward an offer of courtship - more specifically, my courtship of yourself.

Jim sighed crossly before scrunching up the sheet of parchment in front of him, throwing it into the fireplace, and placing his head in his hands. This was hopeless. He was hopeless.

Ever since receiving Héloïse’s Christmas gift, Jim had been considering his feelings for her, and had come to the conclusion that he did indeed wish to court her. However, having never courted anyone before, he had not known how to go about it; and with the alarming rate at which rumours tended to spread around the school, he did not feel comfortable seeking advice on the matter from any of his peers. After all, he couldn’t bear to even think what Ethel would do and say if she were to get wind of his ambition, and it would hardly be romantic for Héloïse to hear about his feelings from others rather than from him telling her himself. But how to tell her without his nerves getting the better of him and words failing him entirely?

Finally, and thankfully, an idea came to Jim at the beginning of February. Saint Valentine’s Day was approaching, and therein lay his opportunity. It was traditional to send letters conveying messages of one’s secret affection to one’s sweetheart, and this is what he would do. Not only would it be fittingly romantic, but also, his stammer and nerves could not prevent him from expressing himself in writing. It was perfect.

Or so Jim had thought, until he had finally sat down to write his letter the night before Saint Valentine’s Day, and found himself unable to set his words down on paper. He had suspected that he would be unable to speak them out loud, but now it seemed that he could not even write about his feelings.

He groaned and lifted his head. There was nothing for it but to try again. And so, he picked up his quill and dipped it into his inkpot, before starting over on a fresh piece of parchment.

Dear Héloïse,

Jim shook his head. No. That would not do. If he was to make the effort to write with feeling to Héloïse, he should make the effort to write to her in her own language. A wave of his wand, and the parchment was clean once more.

Cher Héloïse,

Was that right? Jim wasn’t sure. He tried again.

Cherre Héloïse,

That still looked wrong. Jim sighed again, wishing that he had persevered with Brady’s French tuition. He used his wand to vanish the last two letters, then re-conjure them, then vanish them again, before deciding that he was better off leaving the word out altogether. He took a deep breath, took a look at the starry night sky outside the window, and tried again.

Héloïse,

I do not know whether or not the feast of Saint Valentine is celebrated in France, but here, we mark the occasion by sending letters of affection to those we care about, particularly to those who do not know the depth of our affections. Until now, I have never felt the need to write to anyone, for never before have I felt such deep affection that it has inspired such a letter, but this year that has changed, and so I have decided to write a single letter - this.

Perhaps if I had more eloquence and more nerve, if I were bolder and had no impediment, I would be able to tell you about my feelings myself, to look you in the eye and speak them out loud, but alas, I am not. If I were, I should tell you how beautiful you are, how clever, how whenever you are not near, I long to see your face, and when you are silent I long to hear your voice. How whenever you are sad, my heart seems to ache with you, and whenever you smile, it feels like the morning sun rising with the dawn.

I wish I could tell you all this and more, but my character prevents it. Please, let me assure you that my inability to express myself to you directly is due to cowardice, but not insincerity. I may not be bold, but I am true, and truly I am

Ever yours,

Jim.

He placed his quill down and read the letter. It was not perfect, as he had hoped it would be, but it was good enough for him. Hopefully, it would be good enough for Héloïse, too. He sealed the letter, made his way to the dormitory, and placed the letter under his pillow.

After a fitful night of sleep, Jim awoke to a beam of bright sunlight entering the dormitory through the window and shining on his face. He realised now that had been wrong to write that Héloïse’s smile was like the morning sun; he knew which of those two things he would prefer to wake up to.

The shocking impropriety of his own thoughts caused him to sit upright, suddenly awake, and he quickly checked beneath his pillow to ensure that the letter was still safely there. It was, but then, why would it not have been? After all, the dormitory was empty, both Maxwell and Lysander already at Quidditch practice. Jim was alone, which meant that it was now or never.

As quickly as he could with his trembling fingers, Jim dressed himself, checking his reflection in the mirror by the door of the dormitory before he left it. He looked presentable, at least, and so he made his way up to the Great Hall, his handwritten letter tucked into his left breast pocket.

The Great Hall looked as it usually did, the enchanted ceiling a pale lilac with the snowy sunrise, a hundred candles floating beneath it, and four tables stretching the length of the Hall, each one adorned with cloths of either yellow, red, green, or blue. At one end of the blue-decked table, Jim picked out the red-haired head of Siobhan Llewelyn, and as Shiv leant forward to whisper to the person sitting opposite her, she revealed Héloïse sitting on her other side, her black curls falling gracefully over her shoulders and dark eyes sparkling in the morning light. Jim swallowed, his mouth bone dry, and forced his feet to carry himself towards her.

As he did, his heart sank, for as he drew closer to where Héloïse was sitting with the other two girls, he was able to make out several unwrapped boxes, a greetings card, and a few letters, all strewn across the table in front of Héloïse.

Of course, Jim realised. How could he have been so stupid? Héloïse was beautiful, and clever, and wonderful. How could he have presumed that he would be the only one wishing to court her? How could he have thought that she would desire his affection when she could have the affection of anyone she chose?

All of a sudden, the heartfelt letter in his pocket seemed so redundant, so painfully insignificant. Jim could not bear to give it to her, to see it among the other tokens of affection that Héloïse had been given. And so, when Héloïse made eye contact with him and smiled, he did no more than nod in response before turning and walking out of the Great Hall without so much as greeting her.

Miserable, Jim returned to the Hufflepuff Common Room, and placed the letter in the same place as he had thrown all his previous attempts: in the fireplace.

He watched the parchment crumple and blacken and burn, the light of the fire stinging his eyes nearly to the point of watering. He did not know how long he sat at the fireside for, but eventually he was interrupted by the arrival of the Lysander, Maxwell, and the rest of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, along with his cousin Ivy. As soon as Ivy’s eyes met his, her face fell, and she joined him in front of the fire.

“Whatever is the matter, Jimmy?”

“I… Nothing. I am quite well, Ivy. Do not fret about me.”

The look in Ivy’s eyes made it quite clear that she was fretting, but she sighed and smiled at him.

“Very well, Jim. I shall not ask you what is wrong,” she said. “However, I shall propose a way to cheer you up.”

“I’m not… I am in no need of cheering, Ivy.”

“I can see that you are. And even if you were not, I think you would enjoy what I have in mind. A party,”

Jim frowned. “I do not like parties.”

“Not even a birthday party?”

“Whose birthday is it?”

“Really? You don’t know?” Ivy asked, and Jim shook his head. “Why, it’s Héloïse’s birthday.”

“Héloïse Perrault?”

“Who else? I thought that you would have known, Jim, the two of you are friends, are you not?”

“We are, but…” Jim’s voice tailed off, and he looked at the fireplace in horror. He had made a terrible error, he knew that now. “I didn’t know! I… I did not even say good morning to her at breakfast, I left and I came back here and then…”

“Well, that is no matter, Jim. You can say all you want to say to her at the party.”

But Jim couldn’t say all that he wanted to say. He had only just managed to write all that he wanted to say, and now he had burned the letter holding all his words.

But he could not tell Ivy that, of course, so instead he told her: “I have not a present to give her.”

“I am sure that she will not mind.”

“But I did not give her one for Christmas, and she gave me that sketchbook, and now…”

“Then why don’t you sketch something for her?” Ivy suggested. “You have a couple of hours until you need to be there, after all. She is always spending time at the Astronomy tower. Maybe you could draw the view from there, or something like that? Or you could get her something little. She likes chocolate.” Jim said nothing, and Ivy sighed and stood up. “Very well. But believe me, Jim, you will be better showing up empty handed than not going at all.”

With that, Ivy walked away in the direction of the dormitories, leaving Jim alone with the last dying embers of what he had intended to give to Héloïse.

[adhbabey]

here's some autism traits of mine that aren't symptoms, but they're things that are autism and im choosing to unmask n share this with you all.

biting. just i want bite fingers. i crave to put them in my mouth. i want to bite in general. i know its not socially acceptable to bite people, but i want to. i am a creacher and i cannote change that.

when i was like 14 i was really obsessed with random xd humor. I would say "ekop" instead of "poke", because its poke backwards. And I had this one friend I'd constantly do this with. like "rawr" and "cupcakez!1!1!". We were truly scene.

Speaking incredibly eloquently, as one alter put it, "Human language does not account for all the nuances that I wish to share, so I am using the language to its full extent, detailing every complicated sentence that I can muster. I wish to share my full thoughts and experiences, but it unfortunately does not do what I want to convey in justice. So I must settle for the english language for now." Some of our alters can't really speak because of that, and its difficult for them to communicate outside of visuals and vague feelings. It's really either hyperverbal or no verbality for us.

every fucking alter being some brand of autism. Tsuki is ace and hates to put a label on things, the only concrete feeling she has is anger. Rai can barely speak/communicate, they are very observant and quiet, and they feel the most disconnected from others being the host. Kaori is literally the most autistic creature you could ever come across, they are just literally what you think of, they love all the "cringe" culture type stuff and adore being nonbinary. etc etc. Like, how did I not realize when all of us are some brand of autism?

Feeling like an outsider my entire fucking life. Even when I related to others, I always felt separate from the rest of society, and I must sacrifice everything in order to be loved. This has been connected to spiritual beliefs of mine.

Another thing connected to spiritual beliefs of mine, feeling like I truly cannot see the world, as if I have a film over my eyes. The reason for my self entrapment is a "curse" that a "film" over my eyes exists and I never fully can break free from. I realize that the "film" is masking and my truly unique way of seeing the world is my autism, and I've had to move through the world not letting myself "see" truly.

alice in wonderland, coraline, fran bow, all characters I relate to are young and unique girls that move through a world that is crazy and full of madness. Something I find myself deeply relating to.

feeling misunderstood all the fucking time. even if i try to explain my feelings or thoughts, I'm constantly put on a high standard that I have not been able to achieve. I don't know how to change people's minds as I speak with genuine intent besides rather obvious displays of frustration, anger or sarcasm. I was also the person who thought others were always genuine, and rarely questioned one's intention behind what they said. This trait of mine has led me to become gaslit by a few harmful people in my life.

my disorders all linked together, makes for a bad time. this isnt an autism specific trait. i just. if i feel like an outsider (asd), and have trauma with being treated like an outsider (did), and get really upset with other people saying nasty things about me in regards to not being normal (adhd + rsd), im going to have a hard time and constantly blame myself for being an outsider (ocd) and im gonna hate myself (depression). so its just like. hey i found a piece to the puzzle, but i already know most of it. and thats just the egodystonic experience for me.

but hey, lets talk about more lighthearted stuff!! i love kandi!!!!! it jingle jingle and it has super pretty colours!! im afraid to stim but this is the shit for me. this is amazing.

i'd love to use word quirks and kaomojis a lot more!!! but unfortunately thats not the blog for this bc its not plaintext. but in my heart, thats what i want to do and who i want to be.

oh i remember the last one!! I read this somewhere, but apparently since a lot of autistic people struggle to communicate their needs, they'll do things that meet their needs somewhat, even if they don't know why they do it. For example, wearing hoodies and heavy clothes because they're touch starved and want to be hugged! And I really related to that!! I wear hoodies and lots of layers all the time, or like just wearing my day clothes, even if they're uncomfortable. So, I do that, not just because I'm cold, but I need the weight compressing me, and i've always been doing that since I was young. So I felt.

Not really being able to read big books until middle school. I know there's people who havent really talked until they were older, I remember not being able to comprehend big swaths of text until I was a teenager. maybe thats the audhd, but i feel like thats always been my sort of "i think this was my developmental milestones that i hit late". And yes, I was able to read quite a lot for my age, but it always felt like something that I hit late.

share your autism traits that aren't necessarily symptoms, or you can talk about the ones you relate to and I wrote. Sorry if this post is hard to read, I just wanted to talk about it. :0 so ya

[crunchy-nitrogen]

1813 | General Hux x OFC | Regency AU | Chapter 7

Pairing: General Hux x OFC, some Kylo Ren x OFC

Warnings: None

Masterlist

Read it on AO3

Next Chapter ->

______________________________________________________________

Dear Kitty,

You do not mind me calling you that, do you? I shall hope not, for I find the name quite endearing. I write to you as I wished to convey my apologies for leaving the dinner party so early. Due to your being there, I was fully intent on staying until the conclusion of the night, yet I was called away on urgent military business shortly after dinner. 

From what I have heard, you and your sister gave the officers quite the show. Several have since conveyed to me how eloquently you played, and expressed their appreciation for your sister's singing voice and pretty face. (I hope she will not be too encumbered with proposals before the season's end). 

It was also mentioned that the General, of all people, played as your accomplice. You may be able to sense my surprise at such events - and I am all too regretful that I missed it. 

I can picture it now; the steam practically billowing out his ears as he played along. What a sight! I hope that you were not scorched by the flames prickling his head. And I do apologise on his behalf for any rude behaviour, though I think he has been vexed ever since you refused him at the ball. Hux seems to have taken it quite personally -  yet it is entirely the reason you caught my eye. 

I wonder, Kitty, if you would allow me to write to you while I am stationed? I cannot promise a traditional courtship given the volatile nature of my position, though I do hope I have made my intentions towards you clear. I shall hope that given our flirtation the other evening, you are inclined to feel the same way. Though I must encourage discretion; First Order officials have stringent procedures regarding courtships, and I do not wish to expose you to any scrutiny without you being decided upon me. 

I know it is not proper to begin an attachment through writing, yet my feelings towards you could not wait until our next chance meeting to be expressed. Please know that I am thinking of you often and eagerly await the opportunity to kiss your hand and look upon your lovely smile. 

While I am forbidden from revealing our current position, please send any letters you wish to the Army Office and I shall receive them in due time. 

Yours,

Commander Ren. 

Kit re-read the letter for the hundredth time that morning. Clutched tightly in her hands, the words were as valuable to her as spun gold. 

While she had already written out her eager reply within the hour, she could not get his words to leave her mind. 

Things like this did not happen to her. She did not have romances - let alone secretive romantic correspondence with an army commander. And a courtship. She felt giddy at just the thought of it. As though she were some blushing debutante prone to spells of fainting.

Once Dany had married, Kit had quite resigned herself to a life of spinsterhood. So begrudgingly content with such a situation, she had nearly purchased a tabby kitten, yet prevented herself from doing so only on account of Canady's prohibition. That was to be the reality of her life. 

Until today, that is. 

What it was Ren saw in her, she could not say. There were at least a hundred other women younger and more beautiful than her that should have caught his attention. Even her own sister, for a start. Yet he chose her. And not only that, but he openly danced with her in front of all of Arkanis. 

It was clear to her that he was not ashamed to be seen with her. Though they would have to maintain a level of secrecy, he did not try to hide his interactions with her at the ball. And from the moment they met, he spoke to her as if there were no one else in the room except the two of them.

Kit took a deep breath to calm herself, trying her absolute hardest to make no expression. Realistically, this would not last. He would realise that she was just a plain and boring woman with no wifely attributes and move on to the next contender. 

The thought saddened her, yet it brought an odd sense of comfort knowing that she would not have to go through the terrifying ordeal of making her own attachment known to the wider world. Even the mention of intimacy brought a flush to her cheeks, so to have her sisters know that she actually had desires – and was not just a virtuous, pious girl – made her physically ill. 

“Miss? Miss!”

She was ripped away from her spiralling thoughts. “Yes, Vivienne?”

“I asked if we were done with sketching for the morning. I tire of staring at this bowl of fruit,” the young girl whined as she slouched on her stool. 

Kit shoved the letter away into the pockets of her dress, trying to forget about its contents for just a moment. She was supposed to be working. 

“Well, while the apples are well drawn, your light source appears to be coming from more than one direction. The oranges are good, however. But there is always room for improvement, Viv. Let’s do another – really refine your skills.”  

The young girl remained unmoving, merely rolling her eyes at the governess. Their lessons usually followed this pattern, rendering it near difficult for Kit to make any progress in her education. She reminded Kit of Jayne, though at least Vivienne was not out in society yet and still had some decency. 

“But I do not care for drawing – I want to visit town! The soldiers are here! Oh, please just let me go. They are so handsome in their coats…” The young girl stared wistfully out the window, almost as if she could see the soldiers now. 

“They still have quite some time before they return to the field, and you will surely see them then. For now, we draw.”

And that was that. Yet not even ten minutes of their silent sketching had passed before Dany came bursting into the room.

“Oh sister! Our cousin has called!” 

Kit would never have peace in this house. 

“Has he now? Did he come looking for Jayne?” She smirked down at her sketch.

“And you. He invites us on a countryside stroll. I would go, yet Vivienne and I have an appointment with the seamstress. He is waiting in the parlour as we speak.”

“Surely we can reschedule it – I was just telling Aunty how I so wished to visit town.” Vivienne was now out of her seat, batting her eyelashes and pouting at Dany in an attempt to persuade her. 

“No, no I will not hear it. I have had this appointment scheduled for over a month and I shall not relinquish it. You require a new gown for your birthday, and I need a new bonnet made up to complement my new gloves. We cannot just put these types of things off.”

Though it sounded to Kit exactly like something that could easily be put off, she did not argue and silently thanked her sister for a break from Vivienne. While she liked the girl, it was exhausting trying to teach someone who so obviously did not wish to learn. 

“Well, if that is the case then I had best ready myself. We will resume our lessons tomorrow, Viv.”

“Ah, there you are. I do hope I was not interrupting?” Her cousin stood at the bottom of the staircase, already with Jayne on his arm. Her light curls brushed his shoulder slightly, though he did not seem to mind one bit. They made a handsome couple.

“Quite the contrary. You are my saviour – I would still be drawing an assortment of old fruit were it not for the interruption.” Kit re-adjusted her bonnet. 

“That poor girl, I cannot imagine anything more ghastly,” added Jayne. Kit just threw her a look and continued down to meet them. 

“Slowly but surely, she is making progress. Slowly being the key word in that statement.” 

Mitaka grinned at her remark, too polite to offer a laugh. 

“Well then, shall we?” He motioned to the door, and the trio left Canady Hall for the town. 

Passing through the moorland, Kit observed as the sedges morphed into white flowers atop grassy hills. It was a gentler landscape the closer they got to the town, though the walk was only short. 

The pair stayed linked at the arm, quite content to talk amongst themselves while Kit trailed behind. She did not mind it, for she had a lot to think on herself. 

Her reply, for one. Though she had written it hours ago, Kit was still second guessing every line she had put to paper. Her bedroom had looked like an author’s study with the amount of discarded paper and spilt ink that littered her desk. It was a wonder she even formed a coherent statement. 

Presently, the small envelope was burning a hole in her pocket, and she could not help but to fidget with it as she strolled along. The thought of Ren receiving her letter brought the pink to her cheeks, wondering if he would react similarly to how she did upon reading his. What if he did not reply?

She shook the thought from her mind and focused on the cobblestones beneath her. They had entered into the town now.

 “So, Kit, how are you finding the men of the First Order?” Mitaka asked over his shoulder.

“Well, cousin, you were certainly a surprise. We had thought you to be old and pompous – yet we come to find that you are young.” She grinned to herself, hoping that the teasing had flown over his head. 

He hesitated a moment, reflecting on the words - then could not contain his chuckle upon the realisation. 

“Cousin, you jest. But what I really meant was, have any of the men taken your fancy?”

Before she could nonchalantly deny attraction towards any of his men, Jayne decided to have her say. “I think I know who has. I saw them speaking at the ball.” She paused for emphasis, wanting to see Kit sweat. 

“Oh, do tell,” replied Mitaka with a hint of mischief.

This was it. Jayne must have overheard their conversation or seen their interaction at dinner. So much for maintaining a level of secrecy. 

“Yes, they were awfully close at the dinner party. Practically sitting on top of each other.” Jayne chuckled devilishly to herself, and Kit could feel her heart beating out of her chest. She must have seen their hand holding under the table. She knew of their impropriety. 

“I-,” began Kit – yet she was unable to say anything more that would not make the situation worse.

“You must have seen it, cousin. They played so passionately together after dinner – both sitting on the same seat. You cannot deny it.”

Wait. She thought that Hux had caught her attention? Jayne could not be further from the truth. The idea made her laugh involuntarily, with all previous fear gone. Her sister was not the brightest. 

“Let me get this straight, you believe that General Hux – who has been nothing but cold to me since his arrival – has caught my attention?” Kit questioned incredulously. 

“Do not say it like that – I know what I saw!” Jayne replied, half offended.

“What you saw, sister, was both of us trying not to kill the other. Even his presence is enough to vex me at this point.”

Her sister seemed dumbfounded at this while her cousin seemed to delight in the exchange. One of the perks of growing up without sisters. 

“So, I shall take that as a no, then?” Mitaka broke the silence. 

“Yes you shall,” Kit stated pointedly while she walked ahead of them into the town square.

Though she pretended to busy herself with looking into store windows, she could not shake the accusations from her mind. Her and Hux? Not even if he were the last man alive. 

In almost every interaction they’d had bar their first unofficial meeting, he had been rude and condescending. In every other, he had been awkward and unwilling to speak. 

She wondered if he had a wife and almost pitied her – though the woman that accepts him would only have herself to blame for having such poor taste. As a father, she imagined he would be absent at best, though she could not deny any offspring of his would likely be gifted with his pleasant hair colour and musical abilities. Such would be little consolation for having the General as a father, however. 

The smell of fresh bread lingered throughout the streets, and she was almost compelled to go into the bakery - until she remembered the post office next door. She had a letter to post. 

Yelling back to her family members - presently engaged in a whispering match - she informed them that she would not be a second. They need not follow her in, lest they see the addressee of her letter. 

The old wooden building was larger on the inside than it appeared from its exterior, with countless pigeonholes filled with letters, parcels and an assortment of other goods. Walking to the counter, Kit took a small coin from her purse and placed it on the tabletop. 

“Will this cover postage?” she inquired.

The gentleman behind the counter stroked his moustache and looked at her. “Depends where you’re posting.”

“Well, I’m not entirely sure where the location is, but I think-,” before Kit could finish, the bell hung above the door rang out, signalling the entrance of another individual. She did not pay them any mind, wishing to post this letter as soon as possible. She resumed, “I think it is somewhere near Coruscant. It is the First Order Army Office.” 

The newcomer walked to stand in line behind her.

“Then that’ll cover it.” The postman took the money from table and held out his hand for her letter. Placing the small envelope into his grasp, she felt a weight lifted from her shoulders. All she had to do now was wait. 

“Thank you, good day.” Keeping her head down, she had just about made her way to the front of the store before she heard the next customer speak.

“Mail for the First Order Army Office, please.” 

She knew that voice. The clipped accent and his direct way of speaking. 

Only when she turned away from the door were her suspicions confirmed. 

His back was to her, yet he still cut a striking figure. While tremendously tall and dressed in all black, it was his fiery hair that gave him away. He must not have noticed her on account of her bonnet, for surely he would have made himself known. 

Kit could not chance him recognising her, yet watched silently as he was handed a small pile of ornate letters and thanked the older man. And from the green wax seal that she so commonly used, Kit could recognise her letter placed neatly on the very top of the pile. She did not wait to see Hux’s reaction – the thought was too much. 

Bursting through the doors, Kit was practically hyperventilating. Even if Hux did not read it, surely someone else would. Or they’d at least see who she was writing to. The gossip would spread like wildfire, and any affection Ren did once hold for her would dissipate almost immediately upon hearing their names tossed about so erroneously. What was she even thinking - agreeing to continue their attachment. 

Nearly running down the length of the Arkanis centre, Kit only stopped to catch her breath when she reached the gates of the church. Her sister and cousin sat within those gardens, unaware of her crisis.  

Looking back the way she came, all Kit could see were the bland figures of the Arkanis inhabitants, going about their boring lives with their boring families in their boring little town. She was finished with Arkanis; Kit needed to escape – permanently this time. 

Today had just been a tipping point. Silently, she prayed for a sign. Anything, to get her out of the place she had come to resent. The wind picked up, fluttering her hair loose from its bun. But then she heard the sound of paper billowing in the wind beside her.

Opening her eyes, she was greeted with a poster nailed to the fencepost of the church. Without care for who saw, she ripped it from its position and read with eager eyes.

ATTENTION

NURSES NEEDED FOR FIRST ORDER ARMY 

JOIN TODAY AND SERVE

MODEST WAGE, LODGINGS AND FOOD PROVIDED

ENQUIRE WITHIN

She grinned and her mind went quiet. No message had ever been clearer, and her thoughts had never been more at ease. Trudging through the entry of the gardens, she made a beeline for the open doors of the church. She passed Jayne and Mitaka on the way.

“Off to say some prayers, Kit?”

“No cousin, I am joining the army.”

[hermit-called-he]

PARALYZED

Why do I feel paralyzed when I talk to you?

Why do you make me feel like I'm in a frozen spot in time?

Like I'm never going to stop being with you?

Talking to you is like letting my mind roam free

Like nothing else matters to me

Like I'll never be happier than I am when I watch you type on the screen

That's all it is

It's just writing on a screen

I can't stop imagining what those little words mean

Do you love me or is that just my dream?

Waiting for you to reply makes me feel paralyzed

I shake and check my phone for minutes on end

Refreshing over and over again just to see if you saw my message or if this should be the last message I send

It's so fucking depressing

I could scream from the aggressive thoughts that plague my mind

Are we forever or are we on our way to dying?

I feel like one day I might get tired of trying

To get your attention

To get you out of your shell casing

To let you know how much love I have

For your antisocial heart

Your words never fail to hit me like a bunch of expertly thrown darts

The way you text fills me with happiness

You weave words like any good seamstress

So eloquent, so charming

I could melt forever into your expert word crafting

You don't know how much I feel for you behind this phone screen

Chatting incessantly, asking friends what those golden words of yours mean,

Blushing like a girl on her sweet sixteen

I scream

Into the void at night

Wondering what you're like behind your screen in my hazy dreams

Is your smile bright?

Is your voice deep like the depths of the ocean?

Will you convey emotion

When you talk to me face to face?

Weave your words to make me forget our time and place?

You already live in my mind

Even if I've only known you for a short period of time

And I'd never go back to find

Anyone else, even if they promised me a million dimes

The way you see yourself makes me sad

That you can't see that you're better than not bad

I want to show you that I'm more than just glad

Glad to be your friend, if you could even call us that

I want to be more than someone who you just chitchat

You, sir, are handsome as any tomcat

Some days I wish my mind didn't prevent me from telling you that

[jenivi]

Top 5 persona moments?? :0

okay, i don’t have a particular order for this so keep that in mind!! oh and there’s gonna be some bias because these mostly revolve around my favorite characters sooo

1) dates with elizabeth - persona 3 (but tbh i dont see them as dates, we’re just hangin out!)

this is where i fell in love with her <333 here, we get to show elizabeth around the in the outside world because she’s spent all her time in the velvet room. she’s so dumb (in an endearing way,, ok she’s not even dumb she’s one of the most intelligent people ever). i love the whole sequence of events that occur during these dates, but to keep it short, one of the more memorable things that happens is when she literally pours a million of yen into a fountain after hearing that it’s a custom to throw some coins in to grant wishes. then she finds another fountain and pours a million more into that one. after that, she finds a THIRD one and pours a million yen in that one as well. and this happens on the first date too lmao

2) consoling yosuke (sl rank 8, aka hug scene) - persona 4

ok this is an obvious one. yeah, ofc it’s because i love them together,,, but even looking past the ship, yosuke in this scene wholeheartedly opens up to yu and is showing his vulnerable side. and that means so much because his whole thing is masking how he feels in front of others and trying to make himself seem unbothered by what people say about him. yu is really the only person he really talks to like this, so i just really felt this idk askjfg

3) mishima’s cheers of support - persona 5

such an underrated moment. while everything was in destruction, everyone was losing faith in the phantom thieves and were forgetting about them in the time the phantom theives needed it most (they literally needed people to believe they existed), but NOT MISHIMA !! he was the only one cheering them on and helped everyone else wake up and realize how much the phantom thieves have done for them. when he raised his hand up and yelled some sense into everyone, i felt it was one of the more powerful moments toward the end of the game (maybe i just really liked mishima too lol). without him there to support them like he always has, things for sure would have turn out for the worst. 

4) makoto/minato(virgin walk)’s last moments - persona 3

i REALLY had to process what just happened after watching this cutscene (and to make matters worse, kimi no kioku played in the background). everything just made me feel so sad: the music; hearing aigis, A ROBOT who’s whole arc was to learn to be more human, break into tears; and all his friends racing to the rooftop they promised to meet up on only to see find him lifeless when they finally reach the top. although i wasn’t too attached to the characters in persona 3, i became attached to the main character for the most stupidest reason. as my sister and i played persona 3 (FES if we wanna be specific), we kinda characterized him through his dumb smug dialogue choices and most importantly his walking animation. from this, we nicknamed him virgin walk. i literally bawled my eyes out crying out, “VIRGIN WALK NOOO” as credits were rolling. 

5) yu leaving on the train - persona 4

ok complete big bias here because persona 4 is my favorite of the 3 games i’ve played. oh and for extra background too, i played vanilla persona 4, so that’s the persona 4 i’m talking about. anyway, although the ending is a happy one, i found it so bittersweet that yu had to leave all the friends he made behind. persona 4 is such a character driven story. so much time is spent understanding and knowing the characters, so you, the player, kinda get close to all the characters as well. in a way, it feels like you, yourself, are saying goodbye to them too. it’s even sadder when all of them start running after the train as you leave and yell their final goodbyes. while this happens, corner of memories begins to play and straight afterward, when the cutscene ends, nevermore plays for the credits. man, it REALLY hits because that’s the motif that’s been playing throughout the whole entire game. i feel so many things from this ending (and tbh the way persona 4 golden ends kind of messes with the mood the original tried to convey but thats a different rant).

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can you write headcanons for morpheus with a violinist reader? Please ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Absolutely! ❤️❤️❤️

fun fact: when I was away on holiday with my mates family, I learnt that her dad was not only a guitarist but also a violinist. (beginner obviously)

A/n: this went on for quite a bit that it kinda became a slight Drabble and got a tad of a brain fart on how to finish it at the end…oops 🦦

It’s no real secret that Morpheus held his artists, writers and musicians to the highest degree. After all they inspire and ignite dreams within others whilst actively achieving their own along the way.

They are what kept the dreaming alive in Morpheus’s opinion for without it them, where would he, the dreaming and it’s populace be if not lost to the stars.

So when the lord of the realm of dreams started indulging in romantic relations with you, a violinist, after a coincidental interaction at a recent recital of yours down at your towns local theatre. It was bound to become an inside joke that only the two of you would understand. Much like all relationships did when reminiscing on the first meet cute.

Morpheus knew of the works you have, will and never get the chance to perform within your lifetime. They were his personal favourites as he could feel the amount of effort, love and respect you had as a violinist. Each piece was a either a love letter to the people who started and ignited the dreams of yours and others to per-sue a familiar path. Wether they be family, friends or historical figureheads who paved the way for future generations.

He even found a love for the pieces that sang of a lost love, a bygone friendship or that of a unfortunate tragedy. Without the use of the voice of a singer, the music was gifted the ability to tell the story instead through the vast compositions.

Throughout the story’s highest of highs and lowest of lows, the music flowed from one pivotal moment to the next like that of a flowing river, transitioning with seamless ease. These were the moments that morpheus loved the most about music and to have you possessing such an ability made him feel all the more blessed.

When you weren’t playing the violin however, morpheus would take your hands in his and runs his fingertips against the callouses of your hands with such a tenderness.

Even going so far as to press kisses against them as a sign of his worship of you; Which left you with a sense of pride swelling with your chest alongside an abundance of love towards the endless. For even without the use of words Morpheus manages to recapture your heart each and every time that it sparked a plethora of ideas for future pieces.

Yet it was proven a difficult to somehow convey your every thought, from the first to last, you’ve ever convinced about morpheus never less the emotions he made you feel. For no amount of time and effort put into the creation of something befitting of someone of your lovers status was no easy feet to accomplish.

For you to encapsulate what Morpheus meant to you was to re-enact your emotions, your thought process, to even your physical stance of when you first met him during the recital. How he seemed to stand out in the crowd despite it not being his intention as he could easily blend in amongst the human populace, if he so wished.

You remembered the entranced state he put you under when he seeked you out personally for your music had -as he had so eloquently said- ensnared him mind, body and soul. And said it with the straightest face you have ever seen on another person.

You had even kept yourself up at night trying to perfect it until it met your standards but failed to realise that without your presence within the dreaming, morpheus has became worried that something had befell you and made haste to the waking realm at once to where he now stood in the doorway of your room.

“My beloved.” You looked up to be greeted with starry eyes that glowed their silver light into your own, glimmering with worry much like his voice did. “What ales you from sleeping?” He speaks softly as he gets you to lower the violin back into it’s casing, placing the bow next to it as he began massaging the tense muscles that held the instrument by the neck.

“I’m trying to make something for you but nothing seems perfect enough or gift you for our upcoming anniversary.” You told him whilst fighting back a yawn. Sudden drowsiness seemed to be the major effect that Morpheus had on you whenever you were within his presence; Something of which that wasn’t uncommon on sleepless nights like these.

“Perfect or not I’d still encase them within the finest frames in my palace walls for all to see.” Anything thing about dating Morpheus was that of his tendency to display everything you did to the people of the dreaming. Whilst it was pleasing and all you did create them with your lover and loved alone in mind.

Your apprehension must’ve been clear enough to be seen within the dimly light room as Morpheus’s face softens as he rested his forehead against yours so he could stare deeper into your eyes. “What is it my love? Does that not please you?”

“Everything I make, I make with you in mind Morpheus,” you tell him, “whilst I’m honoured that you wish to share my creations with the dreaming folk…I just wish you’d act on your selfishness and horde them for only your eyes to see.”

Morpheus’s face held no emotion for a brief moment before a soft smile blessed his plush, pouty lips. “If that is what my muse wishes then so be it. I wasn’t fond of sharing what I now know was intended for my eyes alone in the first place.” He replied, pressing a kiss against your lips before adding on, “though I’m not ashamed in showing how extraordinarily talented you are, for it sends a reminder that you are no one else’s but mine and I’m yours.”

[komoreangel]

𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬

pairing: kazuha x reader

scenario: kazuha takes you to the lake for a romantic getaway, and he finds himself reminiscing of days long gone…ah, but you’re here with him, and that’s the only blessing he really needs, isn’t it?

genre: fluff, kazuha misses his friend but he loves u a lot !! + kazuha with messy hair hdbnd

request: KAZUHA AND HIS S/O SWIMMIGN TOGTHER IN A LAKE <\\3 SO ROMANTIC

a/n: SO TRUE ANON!! man,,,no ones doing it like kazuha,,,sexy and romantic? 🏃‍♀️

he woke you up that morning with a soft grin, telling you he had great plans for the day ahead. you had only just woken up, and already the words that fell upon your ears were nothing short of adoration, along with him trying his best to convince you to agree.

his efforts were in vain, because you would’ve followed him anywhere without hesitation. after getting dressed and grabbing your things, he took you by the hand and the two of you made your way out of the harbor. the crux was temporarily docked there while beidou visited ningguang (which the crew knew could take days, as it was painfully obvious they were more than just business partners).

“kazuha, where are you taking me?” you asked him after a while. you had thought he was planning on going to guyun stone forest again, as the shores of his homeland, inazuma, we’re faintly visible from there. he loved telling you stories about the land of his birth, and always said he’d take you there someday.

“don’t fret, y/n, it’s just a different route this time,” he assured you. however, the farther you got from the coast, the more you realized he had a different location in mind. before you could joke about how he’d tricked you, the two of you stood on a cliff overlooking luhua pool.

he offered to carry your bag and set it down in the sand. “darling, come here,” he called. you went over to him, leaning your head on his shoulder as you gazed at the crystal blue waters in front of you. the weather was rather nice that day, and he was ecstatic to have you here with him.

after enjoying the scenery for a while, he once more took you by the hand, with his eyes only on you and nowhere else. “you want to go in?” you have to admit, the water was gorgeous, and it had been getting a bit hot, as if the sun itself would concede to his wishes. “but i’m just in my clothes, i don’t..” he pulled you closer to the water, slightly chuckling at your protests.

“relax, dearest. there’s no harm in getting your clothes wet, is there? it’s hot enough outside that just setting them on the deck will dry them by tomorrow.” you can’t help but agree with him, especially when he looks at you like that. “alright, but if my clothes get ruined, it’s on you.” you tell him. his eyes light up at your words, and the two of you head closer to the water.

“of course, i’ll take full responsibility.” he replies, and as he steps further into the lake, you follow after him. you move your foot forwards, not realizing how deep the water is, and before you can stop yourself, are falling headfirst into the lake. your hair, along with all of your clothes, are now soaked. to your surprise (and slight annoyance), kazuha lifts you up with one hand, his hands steadying you.

“be careful, y/n. we don’t want you drowning, now do we?” you are slightly miffed that he didn’t help you earlier (because from past experience you know he was fully capable of stopping you from falling) and in retaliation you lean down into the water, as if to look for something. he notices, and turns towards you. “is something the matter?”

“yeah, i’m looking for my bracelet, it fell off in the water.” at this, he also leans down beside you, unaware that the bracelet you speak of is actually in your bag, which he was carrying earlier. as soon as his face nears the water, you push him down, his surprise evident as he lets out a yelp of surprise. you laugh at his struggle, as for once, the man who is always ever so eloquent and full of nothing but the most elegant of words is startled.

his head rises above the water with a tired smile on his face. “i suppose i should’ve expected that, hm?” his hair is wet, and has gotten messy from the sudden submersion into the lake. despite it being a prank of yours, you can’t help but think he looks even prettier this way. you help him up, continuing to laugh as you do so.

"sorry," you say between giggles. he continues to grin, pausing to add, "you didn't actually lose the bracelet, did you?" the bracelet was a gift from him to you for one of your anniversaries. "of course not, kaz. i'd never lose it."

he smiles at you and turns his gaze to the water. it wasn't long ago he was standing here with tomo... hoping to himself that things would forever stay that way. moments like these are when he truly understands the shogun's desire for 'eternity'. for the time we spend with our loved ones to last forever, and for the emotions and feelings we hold dearly to never end.

"kazuha, are you okay?" you've moved towards him, your hand on his shoulder. he falters a bit. "ah...yes, darling, don't worry. just lost in a thought, that's all." the smile you give at his words is everything to him, even if you don't know it. "thank you for bringing me here, kazuha. i know it's an important place to you."

so you'd known what he was feeling the whole time? he'd always said you understood him like no one else did, but apparently even he didn't know to what extent. he feels so comforted in your presence, like he doesn't have to say anything to convey his feelings. you just know, and vice versa.

he's never felt more grateful to have someone like you by his side. maybe, even though tomo is long gone, his friend had done him one final favor and pushed you in his direction. because to be in love with a person as amazing as you, kazuha believes there's got to be some other force of nature at work.

a/n: IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG ANON </3 I MEANT TO RELEASE IT EARLIER I SWEAR. there goes kit again with her wack post schedule. BUT 2.1 IS OUT!! AND SCARAMOUCHE APPEARED!! FOR FIVE MINUTES!!!! all jokes aside IM SO HAPPY HE FINALLY SHOWED UP. LIKE....GENUINELY WHEN I WAS PLAYING THE UPDATE AND I SAW HIM I WAS VERY VERY SATISFIED 10/10 !! i also learned the way i portray him might be completely ooc...which is fine its fine im fine- but i think i will be posting more scara content (whos surprised) just to celebrate plus i also wanted to get this one out before another day goes by where i forget, thank u for reading !! <33

[kodzumie-archived]

Hello! I was wondering if I can request Nagito comforting his s/o who’s insecure of their acne scars? Thanks for taking your time to read this :)

❝I LOVE YOU THERE, TOO❞

Synopsis; If his words weren’t enough to clear the fog of misery, he’d find another way to prove to you that his admiration is sincere.

Featuring; Nagito Komaeda x GN! Reader

Warning(s); Established relationship, self-degrading thoughts, low self-esteem, breakdown, and hurt comfort.

Kodzumie’s Note; Absolutely, love! Thank you for your request. I hope you’ve had a wonderful day, and I also hope you know you’re absolutely precious. Take care, my dear! Muah! <3

➤ NAGITO KOMAEDA

⤷ Nagito Komaeda is a devoted lover. He hails you—his lover—for your every action and word, following you to the ends of the Earth as he babbles praise, restlessly.

⤷ He admires you entirely, and values every inch of you. He values your lips as they curl into the smile he oh-so adores; your hands that seem to fit within his like puzzle pieces; your eyes that glimmer as though they were brushed upon with a sheen of stardust, a glow that not even the constellations could rival.

⤷ His heart pulsated with a fondness that he harbored only for you. Intricate conveyance of his love for you muddled within his words; his ramblings that seemed to be phrases crammed together along with the conception of hope.

⤷ Though he tried his utmost best to display to you that he thought of you as perfection personified; what you deemed as flaws he had claimed to be his favorite parts (though he truly loved every part of you equally).

⤷ So he finds it hard to believe that someone as faultless as you would doubt themselves. Every sign seems almost overlooked as he begins to notice the subtle inklings of fragility within your gaze; a gaze that was not directed towards him, but to yourself.

⤷ The idea of you being unable to see the grace within yourself was estranged to him. How could you not see your own magnificence?

⤷ But it’s a truth and one that he struggles to accept. Every undeniable sign that you—his beloved constellation of hope—were truly rendered blind to your allure. Unable to perceive the eloquence of yourself; of the one Nagito swore to himself he devoted himself to, wholely.

⤷ His heart encapsulated a lifetime’s worth of admiration for you; a strung sonnet of affection through his riddling of words, amongst his typical rambles. Though it seemed that his words were interpreted as void; a travesty believed to be induced by your denial. If his words couldn’t convince you of what he finds faultless of your self-proclaimed faults, he’d find a conveyance that’ll help you understand.

⤷ Time and time again, he’s professed to you that his heart is sealed amongst your clutches; devoting himself entirely to you, and to—albeit scum like him is unworthy of such—your love.

⤷ Nagito, though a clutter of questionable motivations and stability, is an honest man. His words a sliver lining brushing upon the canvas of truth with the saturation of hope.

⤷ Yet his hopes of portraying his idealizations of your divinity were fragmented upon the nullification of ontological realization; words can only express so much.

⤷ He’s forced to bare this fact as he’s painfully aware of the falter of relief at each attempt of consolation. For every expression of dissatisfaction, he contorts your words into how he views you; an ethereal blessing of hope amongst a personified, societial of rubble. But, after spending so long in denial of your own repudation, he’s come to discover that the shake of your head is equivalent to the brush of his confession. You don’t believe it.

⤷ You don’t believe his relentless confessions of how astounding he views you; how he truly percieves you as a goddess amongst the pitiful bounts of humanity. You don’t believe it. But of course you wouldn’t. It’s difficult to believe something that he utters as though it was rehearsed.

⤷ Nagito is known for his rambles. It’s a common occurence for the male to mutter on and on about the beauty of hope and its paradoxical conquering of despair. He’s known for his excessive rants, and yet, it fuels your doubts about his insincerity all the same.

⤷ And after long last, he’s aware of this; finally knowledgeable of the way your eyes gloss upon his fervent compliments. He assumed it was spurred in accordance to the swelling of your heart, having satisfied you with his rebuttal to your claims: But he couldn’t have been farther from the verity of the sheen of tears.

⤷ You were suffering; caged within the abyss of the subsequential torment you were forced to bare. Every word, every whisper, it’s as though they mauled at your heart; tearing into the delicate chassis with agonizing malice.

⤷ Nagito was painfully aware of the effect of words, or rather lack of. The vocalized confessions a mere spec of dust amongst the gust of genuinity. But there was a beauty in silence; and a tidal of sincere conveyance through action.

⤷ The lingering notion fixated within the back of his mind as he’s seated beside you once more. He feels as though he’s encapsulated within a trace, his mind fogged with a searing remembrance; deja vu.

⤷ You’re glaring at your lap as your hands brush upon your face, doused in vulnerability as you attempt to conceal yourself from his view. He could hear it; the pluck of pitch as you shakily began to spill your innermost worries; your underlying insecurities.

⤷ “I hate them. I hate them so much, they just... they won’t go, no matter what I do.” His heart ached as with each word that pooled from between your lips, you struggled to maintain your composure. Sinking within the seas of wishfulness; yearning for relief from this grief of being unable to accept yourself as you are.

⤷ Yet you perk your head at the silence in response to your venting; a dreadful silence. Why has your boyfriend—a man who seems to never cease fervent rebuttal—not talking?

⤷ And instantaneously, the tendrils of your doubts engulf you. It hurts, it’s tauntingly painful. Has he finally accepted that there’s no use in persuading the veracity? Has he given up on attempting to convince you—and, per your instilled panic, himself—that you aren’t what you see yourself as?

⤷ The silence is thick; a tense atmosphere in which air has condensed into a fog that neutralizes air. Your lungs burn with the suppression of your sobs as you bite your bottom lip.

⤷ They’ve won, they’ve won, they’ve won; the thoughts and beliefs of your self-loathing have won. and you’re unable to breathe through the weight upon your heart. It hurts; it’s suffering you’ve endured for so long and after such desperation, he seemed to have been subdued as we—

⤷ “...ere.” You falter. The final syllables falling upon your ears as they escaped him, yet you hadn’t caught them. Turning to face him with a visage of poorly veiled pain interlaced with confusion, you ask him to repeat himself.

⤷ Yet you weren’t met with the reptition of mere words. Instead, the sensation of his cold hands cradles the sides of your face, ever-so-gently pulling you closer until you were separated by the proximity of a few centimeters; his breath fanning over your face.

⤷ You feel a gentle weight press against your forehead; his lips. He kisses against the skin with such delicate ministations, savoring the contortion of your expression as he pulls away. “I love you there.” He mutters, a gentle smile upon his lips before he moves onto his next destination.

⤷ A kiss to your left cheek. He lingers for a moment before pulling away, exhaling ever-so slowly. “I love you there.” Once again, he confesses. Repeating the same to your right cheek as he utters the words once more, “And I love you there.”

⤷ His lips glide along your skin as he proceeds to peck your chin, tilting your head slightly to provide ease in accessing such. “I also love you there.” He chuckles, swallowing your anticipation before moving on.

⤷ Upon puckering his lips, he pressed a rather firm kiss against the tip of your nose. You’re able to feel the smile on his lips as he cradles you closer, the urge to embrace you admist the heat of sensuality. “And, guess what? I love you there too.”

⤷ Finally, he hovered above your lips, your breaths melting into one as he gazed into your glossed orbs; the quivering of your lips prominent as he envelops your lips within his own, closing the space between the two of you.

⤷ This time, he loiters against you, parting only to return and engulf your gasps, suckling on your bottom lip ever-so gently. He savors every millisecond; every ounce of your taste. And he savors the salty taste that faintly douses his tongue as tears cascade from your fluttering eyes; crying into the kiss.

⤷ His words unable to convey the sincerity of his admirations due to the plague of repetition, and the ringing of his muddled sonnet of devotion; his expressions perplexing and unable to provide you with the consolation you needed; the security you yearned for.

⤷ Thus, as he pulled away with heavy pants, his eyes softening as you begin to sob; relieving yourself of the pent-up inklings of fogged eyes, unable to detect the flickers of light within the shadows of your self-proclaimed faults.

⤷ The lingering sensation of his lips atop where all you couldn’t stand about yourself induced your heart to swell with a sense of joy; a sense of being able to understand the way he sees you one day. His lasting kisses having filled the air with comfort more than verbal consolation ever could as he finally says, “And I love you there, too.”

[project-ohagi]

Atsuhiro Sako ღ Mr Compress x Reader:

[A/N]: This is a female reader, but I'm not sure how explicit my reasoning is in the story.

-----

Upon the desk lay flowers pressed and kept, accessories to the letters from which you couldn't escape. Surrendering them to earth or flame had been an endeavour of herculean proportion, and each time, your heart had wavered. How could such things be destined for destruction? In them, were written verses so impassioned by romance, that all who read them would surely swoon. And each flower had a meaning, for he understood their language like a scholar understands his discipline. Heliotrope was a declaration of eternal love and devotion, whilst a Red Camellia stood for love and passion. He gave you a Yarrow for lasting love, and a Honeysuckle for your bond. But, the final flower...you loathed to dwell on its meaning.

A Purple Hyacinth. It conveyed an apology, a mind fraught with regret...it asked for forgiveness, but how could you forgive a man of such iniquity? His reign over your heart had been plagued by deceit. But you yourself had been plagued by a graver poison, an ailment most foul, though the layman might stoop to call it love. It was love, but it was also pain and sorrow. Such desperate pain and sorrow.

Your tear-clouded gaze fell forthwith upon a letter.

My darling, your beauty could never be dulled by moonlight, and is only made more desirable by daylight. It yields to no force, natural or otherwise. It remains, and will forever. I will never tire of looking upon it, though for this, I admit I may be admonished. It is such a worthy distraction, but in my field, distractions are rarely tolerated. Know that I apologise with a sincerity that cannot be measured.

- A.S

He wrote with the grace and eloquence of a thousand poets, and at every word, you wept. You couldn't linger on them, although you wished to, or love's splendid doctrine would burden you with hope. But there was no hope, neither of reunion nor of replication with another. You were bound, loyal only to the memories of your lost love. He wasn't dead, but simply...gone. He walked out of your life so easily, as though the plot had, for aye, been beyond a hatchling. You understood nothing. You still felt so lost. Why couldn't love be straightforward? The despair, the dependency...

You clung to those letters, and the heartache they incurred.

Your lips seem a most desirable perch, and I would rest there for eternity, if you allowed.

- A.S

Beside that letter, decorated with the splashes of manifest sorrow, lay another, written by your hand. In the advent of your courtship, you had exchanged many, though of a much merrier tone. This one...he had never received it, for you had never sent it. By the hour of its conception, he was long gone.

I wanted to believe in you. But I was scared. I was so scared! What would they have done to you, if I was captured? How else had you deceived me? Had anything been true, or had I merely been victim to the folly of romance, of an ideal that could never touch reality? Why had you kept from me everything of importance? Why had you hidden your truth? I blame you, wholeheartedly, for my pain. But it was so hard not to apologise, when I'm sorry for everything. The day I lost you, I lost my world...I lost the part of me that made me whole.

- (Y/n)

His was a cowardly departure, unequivocally driven by fear - he had always taken such careful steps to ensure that home and work remained separate, never intertwining. But when all was revealed, he feared retribution, feared the consequence of his own duplicity. So rather than facing you, he fled. He understood the cravenness of the act, but it wasn't something he could help. Not when you finally knew the real him. His most authentic self, although a source of pride, could never be loved. You weren't of equal conviction. You had no dormant streak of villainy. You were so pure of heart, and so gentle of practice. You couldn't be tied to a liesmith, or force-fed a dogma of drivel. Atsuhiro had some morals, even if you were the only beneficiary. He couldn't have predicated your descent into this melancholy longing. Or, perhaps he hadn't wished to consider it. Had the thought chased away the mistress of somnolence, he never would've have been able to stave off his return.

But oh, he wished to return to you, to relive every shiver of romance...to not feel quite so alone. He couldn't, of course. Not given current circumstances, and with the near-decimation of an entire populace.

Deika City played host to his body, but his heart had never left yours. He missed everything - the eyes that devoted themselves to him, that giddy, love-struck smile when he first called your name, and the night you had thanked him for never forgetting it. He heard your name in every love song, and your voice on the wind. He saw your face on every woman, and on every lover, he saw the happiness that he had sacrificed.

May I compare thee to a Dahlia in full bloom? I assume you are familiar with this flower, as a perfect reflection of your grace and strength. Of the latter, that required to grant me access to your most genuine self...it is incomparable. You are incomparable. You are beautiful, and so unequivocally you. I will forever be thankful that you chose to share with me such delicate insight. I swell with pride at the thought of you, and I pray that one day, your mind will allow you that same feeling. You are more than deserving of pride, and of love for yourself. Until then, I promise to love and to cherish you, as if with the hearts of a thousand men.

- A.S

If a single hope, or a dream, could ever reach the stars, then the spirits of love would hasten to reconcile your union. But you were closed to astral influence, and knew nothing of prayers. His alone were inadequate. And although you beheld the same sky, although you gazed at the same heavens...you never found your missing pieces. The stars offered nothing but a torturous truth: that you would never find each other, no matter the breadth of your search.

Oh, curse the wretchedness of love!

[Word Count: 1063]

[frogtanii]

Wind anon’s reaction to “xxiii. exiled” in PF! Two days late; but here! Okay, I’m just gonna dive right into it

Iwaizumi starting off strong with a “anyone mind telling me what the (fudge) just happened” (yes, wind anon tries not to curse. It’s a thing). The irony is that he was there the entire time. So he may have saw YN barge into Meiko’s room. He may have heard YN call Meiko a female dog. But he also heard and saw Meiko slap YN first. So it’s honestly amusing that he’s the one asking what happened. I guess he’s in disbelief sure... but is it rude for wind anon to like him not knowing what’s going on? Because this means he has to know what happened before YN got slapped. What caused her to be so angry at Meiko? What did she whisper to Meiko? Iwaizumi is in the best place to get on YN squad right now and that is the most ironic thing I’ve seen so far. But moving on...

Meiko... you made it physical first... YN’s been carrying the entire house so hard that there is no way she isn’t strong as heck. Suga’s POV was indeed simping for YN but I might write another poem just on YN’s eyes. Every day we are reminded of YN Supremacy. But back on track, Meiko’s text really does match the fact she had mascara running down her face and she is a mess. I’m impressed by her usage of the emoji actually, because I didn’t think she would be able to see well enough to type up messages in her state. Oh wait, is that too mean? Wind anon always has underlying salt...

YN!! Our queen, angel, love of our lives, you make us so so happy— her messages...from “funny you would bring up that word” to “it’s a promise”—YN is so hot. So cool. As a villain, she would steal the show. YN as a villain would be millions of times more attractive than Meiko— YN with smoky eyeshadow, sleek eyeliner, and mascara, with reddened lips—please, she would be too dangerous for our hearts I cannot—

Okay, I could go in forever with YN appreciation but I already wrote... what is this, 3 paragraphs on just the first image so wind anon has to move forward haha. Osamu telling Atsumu to “put yer girl on a leash” and I’m like, eyebrow raise and scoff, because Meiko has leashes on all of you and you shouldn’t have leashes in a mutual healthy relationship because you should have equal power, agency, and rights— cough cough, but Osamu did say YN was Atsumu’s girl so that’s amusing to me. I think it would be interesting to see his reaction when the whole truth comes out. He will feel inadequate compared to Atsumu surely. How...heartbreaking it would be...

Atsumu is number 1 YN supporter and it really shows. First, defending her autonomy and ability to do what she wishes, while also mentioning he is behind her, supporting her, and defending her. The back is an important place because if someone is behind you, it’s hard to see and defend. Atsumu being at YN’s back shows trust and reliability. YN believes that Atsumu will protect her and have her back.

Kenma’s snark with “u have eyes don’t you”. This connects back to the beginning with Kenma telling Sakusa about how he thought he was cool that way—really shows how they have grown from interacting with each other, you’re absolutely brilliant fr0ggy, imagine being able to convey this much character development from 5 words—you’re so cool!

Okay, Meiko being suspicious part... 21 or something. She is so obvious I cannot. She bring up calling the cops first, and now she is like “nope, no can do, let’s just keep it all quiet, nothing, no cops” I am baffled. She is...not slick. Not smooth. But I give her the benefit of doubt and just say that she was too beat up after YN because I cannot believe her idiocy and I need this for my own sanity.

But I see Oikawa...I see him looking for logic. That’s good, very good, I’m excited. And Meiko’s response... how brash.

YN’s crew being all chill. Feeling myself be quenched. YN chooses violence and walks away beautiful. I bask in her glory. And Meiko trying to defend herself but YN really did hit her a lot so I don’t know how she can say that when there is evidence (her face) of her getting hit multiple times.

Daichi being “I’d love to see if YN’s reasoning for attacking you has merit” and I am like, tilting my shades down to be like “do you even see this?” I am... okay, moving on—

Sakusa! Omi! Sakkun—I love him so so much. I wanna trace all his moles and see if they can make constellations. Just imagine him tenderly holding your fingers in his hand while he dabs at your bruised knuckles.

Okay, I don’t want to get into the BS that is them deciding to exile YN to her room. There are ways to schedule for them not interact. Just give them different blocks for kitchen/living room or whatever. Meiko has a consistent schedule for her YouTube. YN has a decently flexible schedule. Iwaizumi is a hecking manager, there is no way he cannot plan this, and if needed Meiko or YN could get someone else to get them food or something so they don’t interact with each other. Oh well.

Meiko is like TNT...she blows everything up...kaboom. Her existence causes her own destruction... I am almost...awed? I also might make a poem involving YN’s past with Meiko and the psychology of Meiko because it is fascinating how she operates.

Blowing up at Iwaizumi and Oikawa who are part of your greatest supporters...she amuses me. Like a clown. A fool. But even jesters and fools require brains for jokes. I like seeing her get kicked off her thrown by YN.

Okay, this is it for my reaction to exiled, moving on to the next one rn!

wowie!! i gotta say, i now ship wind nonnie x yn, ur so v eloquent when u talk abt her it makes me so happy hehe <333

[iamanartichoke]

I completely agree with your post about Tom. People’s entitlement over their favourite celebrities goes to far. And tbh I really hate when fans act like they know for sure how he feels and what he’s thinking based on very ambiguous “evidence”. This is usually done so people can align Tom’s views with their own which requires most of the time someone else to be villanised. What I mean is that fans have no actual proof that the writers, producers and director of Loki are bad people and that Tom is unhappy with the directions the show took. There is usually nothing to be inferred about who these people are beyond their merits as professionals. But fans present their assumptions as facts anyway and that has evolved into actual harassment of the production team. All the while piggybacking on this idea that Tom thinks exactly what like them. And I am saying this as someone who hated TR and thinks Loki was deliberately made weaker/less important so Thor could shine more. And someone who hates pretty much all of Mike Waldron’s previous work on Rick and Morty. But is still feels very presumptuous to act like these people deliberate compromised the their own work because they hate Loki and his fans. And that they are filled with every prejudice know to man. And it’s also very demeaning to victimise Tom in the process. Of course some of the people involved suck but most of the time these assumptions have no basis whatsoever. And there is also an over-identification going on between some fans and Tom which isn’t healthy for anybody.

Sorry it took me several days to get to this, anon. It took me a minute to get my thoughts in order. But in a nutshell, yeah, I agree with a lot of the things you pointed out here - especially with fans acting like they know for a fact what he's thinking or feeling.

Under the cut for length and a bit of wank and disagreement w/ the "Marvel hates Loki" discourse so please skip if you don't want to see it.

A lot of the Loki series wank is rooted in whether or not Tom actually likes the series and significantly contributed to it, or if he's just saying what he has to say for publicity and his ideas and contributions were largely ignored. None of us will ever know for sure, bc none of us are Tom and none of us were directly involved in the series, so it's moot speculation, really. But it seems to basically come down to people trying to reconcile their feelings about the show with their feelings about Tom.

I don't necessarily think there's anything wrong with believing that Tom's hands were tied to an extent and/or he just says things that he has to for promotion, but I also don't think that it should be treated as fact and then used as, like, ammunition against other people working on the show. I personally have not seen anyone I know or am friendly with taking their complaints to the level of harassment of actual people irl (that seems to be more of a twitter thing, as far as I can tell, and imo comes from an entirely different place than just hating the show [I think there's an inherent meanness in people whose instincts are to harass and bully bc they want to actively make others feel like shit]) but I do see it posted as fact, time and time again, that the showrunners had a personal vendetta against Loki and were intent on making the series as bad as possible, and that Tom was helpless to do anything about it.

Which I get, in a way, bc I personally believe that the Russos had, if not a vendetta, an active dislike of Loki and a vested interest in getting him "out of the way" in a manner that would make him look pathetic in IW - but, I certainly can't say that's the case for sure, and I also think it's a little different bc Tom's contractual obligations for his film appearances were likely very different than what he (and/or his people) negotiated for the show.

That's neither here nor there but my point is, I can understand where the theories come from but I just don't think that's the case here, and seeing it so often makes me feel kinda uncomfortable (for a lot of reasons but also) bc, imo, it undermines Tom's autonomy for fans to act as if he's little more than a puppet on a string, just saying whatever he has to say to please the powers that be. Like, yes, there are legally binding contracts that probably limit how candid he can be, and we all know that he sugarcoats things and never says anything bad about anyone, which can make him seem like a bit of an "unreliable narrator" when he gushes about the show -

- but, he's also a big name celeb (I mean, the studio has always banked on his name being attached to the project bc he's the one who would draw in the most viewers). He's got clout (is that the right word?) to back him up - they wanted him, specifically, to play Loki in this series. Without Tom, there's no show. So why would they want to alienate him, silence him, or dismiss him when he comes to the table and says "here are my ideas"?

My point is, it's unfair and, yes, demeaning to act as if Tom is this voiceless, powerless victim who has no choice but to act in a series he hated that was purposefully trying to destroy his character, and then to turn around and mindlessly sing its praises while promoting it.

I think that the truth is somewhere in the middle - Tom's creative control was likely limited bc he wasn't the director and wasn't the showrunner or head writer, and no one person is ever completely in control when it comes to the end result that we, the audience, end up seeing on the screen anyway. He may not have been entirely happy with every writing or directing choice that was made. But it's also very unlikely that he had no say at all or that any input he had was dismissed (or 95% of it, as it were); again, the series is banking on his name being the draw and he has the advantage of being an authority on Loki while also being intelligent and eloquent enough to convey his perspective on the character. I think that the real issue is that Tom's current perspective and/or interpretation of Loki no longer aligns with his interpretation of OG Loki from 2011-13. Which is, admittedly, a very hard pill to swallow.

Anyway, this may have veered off in another direction and idek if you wanted this answered or to have a conversation or maybe you were just venting - but, here we are.

To make it less about Loki specifically and more about Tom in general, though, yeah, ultimately I just wish his fans wouldn't feel so entitled toward him and his opinions, or his career choices, or his love life, or his clothes. I was browsing one of the Tom ask blogs (or maybe it was a Zawe one, I don't remember now) the other day and I find it really creepy, for lack of a better word, at how invested people are in Tom's, like, day-to-day whereabouts. Someone saw him at a restaurant in NYC - I wonder if he's still there today? Where's he staying? Is he there as a tourist or for work reasons? Who could he be meeting with in New York? A producer? Another play? Will he host SNL? Is Zawe still with him or did she go back to London? etc etc like, it really goes back to my original point in my original post which is, basically, who caaaaaaaares, why are you investing so much of your day trying to figure out what Tom is doing with his?

Now I'm just venting, but yeah ... shit's weird.

[my-faves-said-gay-rights]

Favourite Sunmi Lyrics

As it's sunmis birthday I thought I would list 5 of my favourite lyrics from sunmi because I don't think she gets as much love as she deserves for her writing. Like with my iu lyrics list these are in no particular order, these aren't my definite top 5 and my interpretations may be different from yours. Let's fucking go:

1. Black Pearl

"I’m dirty and in pain, I’m wrapping around myself

So this ugly, black light, won’t come seeping out

I may seem like a brand new, white gem

But you don’t even know what’s inside"

I am starting with my favourite sunmi song ever. It is just so perfect and so her, and a big part of that is the lyrics. I believe this song is about fame and how the public view her. Sunmi and her idol life can look very appealing and fans and the gp want to know about it, but in reality fame can be hard and sunmi has her problems. I don't think I'm explaining this every eloquently, but the lyrics do and they're beautifully written, and that's what we're here to appreciate.

2. Lalalay

"Everyone is coming in flocks

Is there anything fun?

Like a swarm of bees wing wing

The more they do win win

I’m a small pied piper captain

On a sharp knife"

There is so much to say about lalalay. Even the title has many layers, it's one of the songs that made me realise just how smart sunmi is. Lalalay is a romanised version of the word 날라리, which is a negative word meaning someone who tries to be cool by being rebellious and drinking and partying. It is also the name of the instrument in the chorus and 날라 means to fly. With this song sunmi is reclaiming the word and saying that she doesn't care what people say about her. The public criticise her and pick her apart but they also follow and copy her. She's a cool trendsetter and she fucking knows it. This is such a good song for confidence building and I love it so much.

3. Borderline

"Feels like a bird is living in my head

Please don't piss me off, Oh no no

I shouldn't have said that

Because I'm a good girl yeah"

We have known for a while know that sunmi has struggled with mental illness, and she said last year that she has borderline personality disorder, and that made this song even more special. It hurts me everyday that this is still technically unreleased and not on spotify, but back to the lyrics. These lyrics feel so real and I know I can relate to them, the way she's struggling but still trying to be good and have people like her. We have seen that sometimes the pressure from the public gets to her and this song is her way of expressing that. It's good to see an artist, especially a kpop artist, who can be so vulnerable and real with their music.

4. pporappippam

"He’s asking what I want

He’s saying just say the word

He said he could even pick the stars for me

I don’t want anything else

I just want this night"

I may not be the biggest fan of love songs, but this is just really sweet. We love to see a man being respectful of a woman's wishes and wanting to be good to her, but she likes him so much that all she wants to be with him. That's just so pure. I also really like the repetition of he's asking he's saying he said. It shows how much he cares for her and how memorable this night is for sunmi.

5. Gashina

"You’ll see me all sharp

And you’ll bow your head low

My thorns will

dig deeper in you, yeah

You already bent and twisted me

So don’t act like you’re sorry"

How could I do a post about sunmis music and not include the iconic gashina? Empowering breakup songs are always great, but the layers to these lyrics add a lot to it. Like lalalay, gashina has multiple meanings. It means the thorn of a flower and it's a farewell (it also means bitch but apparently that isn't a part of it), and we see flowers used a lot in the lyrics. Sunmi is very good as finding words and concepts that can be used in different ways and then using them to convey her message, and I admire it a lot. I know these lyrics are written with other people too, but sunmi still had a big part in making the song and concept so think it's okay to say it shows her skills.

If you got to the end thank you for reading and please give sunmi lots of love for her birthday!!

[nadiasatrinava]

🥺 May I please have some headcannons about how Nadia shows her love for the mc

I’m back! Thank you for all the well wishes regarding my brother. I’m a little rusty but I’ll try my best for you, my dear anon. This turned out longer than expected but can you blame me?

Requests are open again🥰 

Nadia’s love language hcs

We all know Nadia loves to spoil MC with the finest clothing and jewellery, everything and anything that reflects their value in her eyes. It is as much as her showing off MC to the whole world as hers/how dear she holds them as it is about spoiling them

But let’s focus in the ways she shows her love without shelling out a small fortune (or was it closer to GDP of a sizable country?).

She was stuck in a 6-year long loveless marriage but now… now she had MC. The love she feels for MC is bursting at the seams. It scares and thrills her in equal measure.

At the beginning of the relationship, she can’t quite put the love she holds for MC in an eloquent manner as she’d like.

So she turns to music to express what words could not. It starts as a short bright melody she mindlessly plays on her harpsichord when thoughts of MC cross her mind. Then it becomes a full-blown composition with notes resonating of hope, love, adoration and her newly found light-heartedness.

The first time she plays it for MC, she’s positively nervous. She has never been one for vulnerability and yet here she was, her heart bursting with love. For now, this is the only way she knows she can adequately convey all those feelings she’s yet to find the words for. Her skilled fingers elucidate her feelings of love, enchantment, and gratefulness for the MC.

Bathed in the soft embers of the dying sunset, Nadia looks beautiful and divine. Her eyes hopeful and reverent, hoping this is enough to get the message across.

Give her a little more and she’ll write a symphony. She takes MC unaware during one of their date nights in the community theatre when they’re the only ones in attendance when Nadia dropped hints that this show was highly anticipated. The curtains are pulled back as the stage lights come on when Nadia softly whispers, she wrote this just for you. MC can barely see the red tint of her cheeks when the first chord is struck.

The symphony tells the story of their journey, tells Nadia’s feelings and perspective. The beginning is in low dark tones that chronicles the feeling of hopelessness and the sense of impending doom then the build-up slowly shifts into lighter notes that makes MC nostalgic of the night they met and the night on the bridge. 

During the climax, notes the fills the room with the sense of rising hope, excitement, a tint of fear, conflict and then… victory. MC supposes this was inspired when they fought against the Devil. Then the grand finale makes MC feel the sheer magnitude of Nadia’s love, passion, and adoration for them. Then the last notes ring out and all MC can think of is this what happily ever after sounds like.

Nadia never lets her eyes stray away from MC’s face even when the curtains fall and the room is flushed with light.

Nadia doesn’t know when it exactly started but she started to write little anecdotes and lines from the books she reads that reminds her of MC in her bookmark (heaven knows she’s won’t write them in the book margins. She’s not barbaric).

MC happens across the bookmarks when they pick up a book that Nadia is reading. The neat cursive of Nadia’s handwriting piques their attention enough and asks her about it. There’s a creeping blush in her neck and cheeks when she confesses what they were as most of them were depicting romantic notions of love.

This stems her habit of sending each book she’s finished along with the scribbled bookmark to MC just so they could see each line that reminded Nadia of her beloved. If MC returns the gesture, Nadia chokes down her reflex to squeal like a schoolgirl receiving a love note (she’s a Countess, she has an image to uphold) and tenderly clutches the bookmark to her chest. Though she’ll walk around the whole week with a lovesick grin.    

She’ll write letters, poems and the rare postcard when MC is unable to travel with her. MC is constantly in her mind and no distance will ever change that or hinder her from telling them she loves them.

She likes to use Chandra as her messenger when she’s stuck in a meeting to give MC little love notes asking if they’re having a good day and that she can’t wait till they’re in her arms again. She also uses the notes to gossip about the officials and that particular courtier she loathes. (medieval texting in its finest).

Nadia loves to craft handmade gifts for MC. It has that truly personal touch, a labour of love and these are the ones MC treasures most.

She lavishes MC in kisses and hugs before they part ways for the day or when they see each other walking down the hallways, it keeps her calm and recharges her for whatever duty has to carry out next.

Last but certainly not the least, footsies under and handholding across the dinner table as she asks MC about their day. She has that intense gaze going as she intently listens to MC. (MC is a blushy mess👀)

[thiswasinevitableid]

A New Era of Gods and Monsters (Indruck)

Prompt for the 21st was: Monster Movie. Behold my old hollywood AU, featuring a title from the Bride of Frankenstein and a universe in which Transphobia doesn’t exist by the Hayes Code does. It is NSFW

February 20th, 1935.

Tinsel Town is abuzz with news that promising young director Joseph Stern is starting work on a new horror picture. The latest announcements from Kepler Studios state that it will rival the director's previous smash monster chiller “Nightmare Woods.” No news as of yet as to who will star, and who may be donning greasepaint and false fangs to play the creature. Only time will tell, but we look forward to whatever terrifying delights he has in store. Assuming, of course, that he does not run afoul of the censors. 

“Homoeroticism!” Stern tosses the warning from the Hayes office onto his desk, “that's what they sent me a warning about Ned! There wasn't even any in the picture.” 

“You know how these modesty police are, dear boy; they see depravity where there is none yet are so out of touch they do not recognize the very things they're afraid of when they are present. Now that you’ve been scolded, how do you wish to proceed?”

“In whatever way won’t get me fired. There's a fine line between the kind of censor uproar that drives publicity and the kind that the studio heads think is too risky.”

“As your producer, I support you entirely in whatever you choose. And I'm happy to apply my considerable eloquence to soothing the concerns of those who sign our paychecks.”

Stern flops down in his desk chair, staring at the almost complete script in a tidy stack. 

“If we’re going to gamble, the more big names I can get the better. I think it’s time to call in my favor from Amnesty Pictures. After that, well; if they’re going to complain about homoeroticism, we may as well give them something to really complain about.” 

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

A month later, Stern sits at a large table in the studio meeting room, the bulk of his cast already thumbing through their scripts and chatting quietly to one another. Some of them, such as Aubrey Little and Moira Redfeld, are contract players to Kepler, ones he snatched up for this picture before anyone could interfere. There are also two on loan from Amnesty,  a trade off for the time he and Ned worked their Hollywood contacts to help Mama, the studio head, raise money to fund the film that put the studio on the map. 

His own relationship with Mama’s right hand man, Barclay, who acted as their go-between in those early days, may have helped his case. 

The first player on loan is Dani Coulice, who’ll play Aubrey's dear friend and confidant who accompanies her to the house of her mysterious uncle. Dani has an understated charm on screen and, judging by the eyes she’s making at Aubrey, the two women will be able to pull off the romantic subtext he needs them to with ease.

And then there’s Indrid Cold. His first appearance in The Smiling Man drew quick comparisons to Claude Raines, Bella Lugosi and, more importantly, to the great Lon Chaney. Not only does the actor design and apply his own character make-up, he embodies his monsters and murderers in a way that leaves the audience hiding beneath their covers for days.

Stern knew the moment he and Kirby began working on the script that no one but Indrid Cold could play the titular Dr. Nacht. Now all that's missing from the table is…

“Sorry I’m late Joe. We ran long shootin the sword fight.” A southern drawl and apologetic smile announce the entrance of his other leading man. A man who's trained for years under two mentors to follow in their footsteps as swashbucklers, knights, soldiers. The man who is often described as destined to save the day, regardless of the picture. 

When you wanted a monster, you got Indrid Cold. When you wanted a hero, you hired Duck Newton. 

Which is why Stern remains surprised that Duck took this role so readily. He wants him for it, thinks he’s just the man to balance Indrid's aloof, otherworldly demeanor. But this time, his character won’t emerge triumphant. 

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

Duck cannot fuck this up. It’s a goddamn miracle Joe offered it to him at all, given that he’s never done horror before, the studio not wanting to waste him on something so strange. There was a time when Duck would have steered clear of it too, but he trusts Joe, and the rest of the cast is strong. And the leading men in these pictures are never the heroes Duck is used to; they’re scientists, good men in over their heads, soldiers carrying the mental wounds of the war. They’re something new. 

The only thing that worries him is Indrid Cold. Amnesty Pictures is known for darker, more daring fare than most studios, and Indrid always seems to be in the mix. His reputation is one of eccentric artistry, something Duck has little patience for. 

It’s been alright so far, the first weeks mainly getting costume tests and memorizing lines, and Indrid is polite but aloof. When Duck mentions this to Dani, she takes her eyes of Aubrey long enough to shrug, “He’s up in his own head a lot, he doesn’t mean anything by it.”

Today they’re shooting the arrival of his character, Henry Harper, at the lonely country estate of Dr. Edward Nacht. The doctor is Eliza’s (played by Aubrey) uncle, and she’s traveling to stay with him along with her dearest friend, Lucy (played by Dani). Henry and Eliza are ostensibly betrothed, but the script makes only the barest mention of it, putting Duck opposite Indrid and Aubrey opposite Dani in most scenes. 

Joe’s instructions are to play Harper as a classic, bland, heroic lead for the first third of the film, and he gets himself into that headspace as they take their positions.

“Now remember, Aubrey, you’re the only one who’s even little used to your uncle's mannerisms, so you should be genuinely happy to see him. Right, here we go, action!”

The trio pretends to startle at the massive mansion door shutting on its own, turning in sync to look behind themselves. 

“That’s the trouble with these old houses; they have a mind of their own.”

Indrid stands at the top of the staircase, eyes uncovered for the first time since they met. Head held high, dark suit contrasting with his pale hair and sharp features, he grins at them as he descends the steps. It’s commanding and unnerving, the actor managing to convey something odd lurking beneath his veneer of gentility.

Aubrey runs to greet him, saying her lines as Dani and Duck trail behind her. He only ends up at the right mark thanks to watching Dani  from the corner of his eye; the rest of his attention is locked on Indrid. 

“This is my dear friend, Lucy Price.”

“Wonderful to meet you, any friend of my niece is welcome in these halls.” Indrid takes Dani’s and, kissing it with a friendly smile. 

“And this is Mr. Harper, my finance.” 

The smile widens as Indrid offers his hand, Duck taking it as the blocking dictates. There’s a beat where Indrid guides it upwards, as if intending to kiss it. Then he stops, shaking it instead. 

“A pleasure to have you here, Mr. Harper. It seems my niece shares her mother's fine taste in men.”

It takes him a moment to remember he’s not supposed to stand transfixed.

“I look forward to gettin to know you, doctor.”

Indrid steps back, still grinning, “if you three will follow me, I will show you to your rooms.”

“Cut!”

Christ, that was awful, he should have played that more confident, more in control-

“That was perfect Duck, just the right approach.”

“Oh, uh, thanks Joe.”

“I must admit I am pleasantly surprised.” Indrid adds. 

“How so?” Duck looks up at him.

“Simply that quipping whilst swinging a sword about does not always result in someone who can convey complex emotions on screen.”

“Now wait just a fuckin second-”

“I, ah, I was trying to be complimentary.” Indrid almost sounds like he means it. 

Duck crosses his arms, “Oh yeah? Then I guess I oughta say I’m impressed a fella who runs around covered in monster make-up most of the time can actually emote.”

“That was uncalled for.”

“You started it.”

“I did not mean to start anything!”

“Gentlemen, if we could continue with our shooting” Ned’s voice cuts in and Duck turns to see half the soundstage string to them. 

“Uh, right, sorry. Always get  little, uh, tense on the first day. Right, Indrid?”

Indrid rises n unimpressed eyebrow, “Where shall we take it from?”

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

It doesn't get better after that first day. 

Duck tries, he really does, and he can tell Indrid is doing the same. But the longer they work together, the more often they snap at one another in between scenes. 

“What were you two arguing bout now?” Aubrey says as they walk to the parking lot one evening. 

“We, uh, well he, uh, huh. I can't remember.”

She shakes her head, “Yep, that's what I thought.”

They’re  third of the way through the shoot, and it's going on ten at night, Joe trying to get as much done as he can before another picture borrows the set for two days.

Duck and Indrid are the only actors remaining, working on the scene where Henry, having agreed to help the doctor in his work, confronts him over the nature of the experiments. Once they finish this scene, they’re done, but Indrid keeps tripping over the word “indomitable.”  

When he fucks it up for the fourth time, Duck drops his head into his hands, “fuck’s sake, it ain’t that hard.”

“That’s rather rich coming from someone whose accent ought to have rendered him obsolete at the advent of talking pictures.” Indrid replies dryly. 

“Fuck you.” 

Indrid straightens up, ready with a retort, when Joe shouts for them to retake their places and try again. 

“You are meddlin with forces you don’t understand, doctor. Forces that are a mystery for a reason.”

“Do not underestimate me, Mr. Harper. Man is far more powerful, far more capable than scholars or priests would have you believe.” Indrid steps towards him, voice cool and smile detached, “we are no better than beasts if we cower in the shadows of ignorance, never daring to dream of what may be within our reach. Man was meant to question, Mr. Harper, meant to search and create. Man is indomitable.” His grin brightens not only from correctly pronouncing the word, but as part of the scene; because Duck is hesitating, won over for an instant by his speech. 

Duck shakes his head, “Dreams and questions are all well and good, but they all come to nothin if you barrel forward without a thought for the harm you might do. No, doctor, while we're here, I forbid you from such experiments. I won’t have Eliza in such danger, nor will I risk her losing her remaining family.”

Indrid cocks his head, amused, “You forbid it?” 

Duck tilts his head up to meet his eyes, “I do.”

His back slams into the laboratory counter, Indrids hands gripping it on either side of him.

“Perhaps I have been unclear, Henry. I am the master here, not you.” Slender fingers grip Duck’s lapels, tugging him nose to nose with Indrid, “you would do well to remember that.”

“Cut! Perfect, thank the lord, so we can finally get out of here.” Joe’s voice snaps Duck back into the soundstage, but Indrid hasn’t let go, is instead eyeing Duck’s face, tongue coming out to wet his lips. 

How long has Duck been breathing this hard? 

Indrid release his hold, smoothing down the front of Ducks jacket. He frowns, “You’re shaking. Are you ill?”

“N-nope.”

Unconvinced, Indrid touches his forehead, “You feel rather warm. Please tell me you are going home rather than out to paint the town?”

Duck wants to tell him to mind his own damn business. All that comes out is, “Yeah, might just straight sleep through til Sunday. You rest up too, y’hear?”

Indrid smiles, “I will do my best.”

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

“Catching up on some correspondence?”

Duck sets down his pen as Indrid sits at the lunch table across from him, “My sister moved back out to West Virginia not that long ago, and I promised I’d keep her up to date on everythin goin on out here.”

“Is she younger or older than you?”

“Younger by four years. You, uh, you got any siblin’s?”

“No. I was raised by my aunt and uncle, so I have a cousin instead. Here, I think I might have a picture.” The taller man pulls out a notebook, flipping through it, “ah, there he is.”

“Christ, if I couldn’t see the smudge up there, I’d think that was a fuckin photo.”

“Thank you.” Indrid dips his head, tucking the notebook back into his jacket pocket, “I mostly keep that on me in case I am struck by a new creature design, but it has other uses.”

“Where’s your family from?”

“Germany, originally, then the Salinas valley.”

“Told it’s real beautiful up there.”

“It has its moments, fewer now that they’ve found oil.”

“What’s your favorite?”

Indrid tells him, talks about the nearby mountains and traveling down to the coast, about hitchhiking his way to Los Angeles because he felt foolish asking for the money for a bus ticket when most of the family thought his journey was pointless.

“Sure proved them wrong.” Duck nudges his ankle playfully under the table. 

“I suppose.”

After that conversation, Duck likes his days on set even better. The chair reading “Indrid Cold'' is now next to his more often than not, the two of them running lines or talking about gardens and art between takes. They bring in a black cat--meant to be the doctor’s pet-- for several days of shooting, and Indrid laughs whenever Duck picks it up and coos over it, smile fading to a gentle, shy expression when he catches Duck looking. 

And when Joe instructs them to brush hands, or let their gaze linger too long on each other during scenes, Duck hopes they’ll have to do take after take. 

Today the set is full of excitement, as it’s the first time Indrid will appear in his full monster make-up; he’s shot two scenes in shadows, hinting at the horror of it as he takes innocent life on the moors. Now, Duck will enter the laboratory and see first hand the results of the doctor’s experiments. 

“Action!”

Duck steps into the darkened room, equipment flashing and test-tubes billowing smoke. 

“Doctor, there’s been another death in the village, and you’re the police are asking for your help. They say it’s like nothin they ever seen before.”

Heavy footfalls and the scrape of nails on metal signal Indrid’s approach, but he’s not to turn until the actor speaks. 

“Doctor, can you hear me?” He looks around, worried, then calls hesitantly, “Edward?”

“Hello, Henry.”

He turns and yells in fright, hand flying to cover his mouth. Where there once was an elegant, odd figure, now a massive nightmare looms out of the darkness. Indrid’s mouth stretches wide, curve fangs protruding from either corner, face coated in bloodied, feathered scales, and claws reaching for Duck. 

“Edward what” he staggers backward,s “what in god's name have you done?”

“What I set out to do, my dear Henry. Can you not see that?” Indrid giggles with the hysteria of a man consumed by bitter disappointment, “perhaps you should come closer.”

“Stay back, I’m warnin you-”

Indrid lunges, snarling, and Duck throws himself out of the way, hitting first the edge of something sharp and then the ground

“Fuck!” 

“Cut!”

“Oh dear, are you hurt? Here, let me help-”

Duck holds up a hand, gritting his teeth, “You stay right where you are. Fuck, christ,” the hand gripping his leg comes away spotted with blood, “what the fuck, that wasn’t in the blockin!”

“Joseph said he trusted me to improvise my movements, to maximize the tension.”

“You gotta fuckin warn me about shit like that, all my movement is backwards, meanin I can’t see where I’m goin.”

“I assumed a man who made his living fighting knew how to use his peripheral vision.”

“How bad is it?” Dewey, one of the camera men, helps Duck up as Stern approaches them. 

“Give there’s  a bloodstain on our set, enough to send him over to the medical office. I'm calling it for the night . I’ll see you both tomorrow.” Joe runs a hand through his hair, levels them both with a warning look before turning back to dismiss the crew. 

It’s not all that bad once he’s out of the torn pants and gets it cleaned off. When he gets back to the dressing room to retrieve his coat and hat, there’s a large black case, like  fisherman's tackle box. It’s what Indrid calls his toolkit, full of the tools and tricks he uses to turn himself into a monster. He once called it his most prized possession. 

Duck switches off the light, has the door halfway shut before he stops. Groaning in frustration at his own decency, he turns and grabs the box from the floor. 

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

“This had better be important” Indrid calls through the apartment door, “I must go back out for something and do not have time to waste.”

“Wouldn’t happen to be goin out for your toolkit?” Duck says dryly. 

The door flies open, revealing Indrid in a black dressing gown, face a bit pink, no doubt from scrubbing off all his monster make-up. 

“Yes.” He snatches the box away by it’s handle, hurrying over to the table and leaving Duck in the doorway, “you didn’t touch anything did you? Or show it to anyone else?” His head whips over his shoulder, red glasses slipping down his nose to reveal a hard, suspicious glare. 

“No, I didn’t touch a damn thing.” Duck steps over the threshold, shutting the door and tossing his hat onto the couch, “and you're welcome.”

Indrid inhales deeply, “I, I apologize. The tricks I developed, my techniques, my materials, practically all of it is in this box. If someone else were to get  hold of it, replicate my effects, my career would be over.”

“What are you talkin about?”

The taller man sighs, turning his back and heading into his bedroom, “I do not expect you to understand.”

Duck is ready to tear his hair out, stalks into the bedroom after him, “Fuck’s sake Indrid, do you think you’re the only fella here with the brains to understand shit?”

“That is not what I meant and you know it.”

“No, I really don’t. What do you want from me, Indrid? Most days you’re palin’ round with me, then you act like you think I’m some sheltered idiot who’s had everything handed to him.”

“Because you have” Indrids hands could be conducting  symphony for how much they move s he continues, “you had mentors, people who told you from a young age that you had a place in this business, who carved out roles for you and handed down their skills, their legacies. I had nothing, I had to make my way based on skill and luck alone.”

“Were the fuck do you get off assumin that sort thing bout me? At lest you got some fuckin say in the way your career went. Minerva had it all planned out for me, hell, at the start I fought hard to do somethin other than those hero parts.”

The anger on Indrid’s face flickers, “Why did you stop?”

 “Because I didn’t wanna end up with nothin! As you keep pointin out” he steps towards Indrid, jabbing a finger into his chest, “my kind are a dime a dozen in this town.”

“Which means you can get any part you choose! You are the kind of man everyone loves. God help me if horror ever falls from favor, I will be back in dust of the farmland in an instant.” 

Duck growls at the sorry ploy for sympathy, “Bullshit, you’re better on camera than anyone in this town.”

“That doesn’t matter! For goodness sake, Duck look at me!” He gestures wildly at his face, “without my monsters, without horror, I'm nothing. Amnesty might try to help me, but they’d soon find that unless they can be terrified of me, audiences have no use for Indrid Cold.” Resignation tinges his voice, and it kicks Duck’s anger out from under him. 

“Indrid, that ain’t true-”

“-No, it is very true”

“-will you let me fuckin finish?” Duck reaches for him, not certain what he means to do.

“I have no desire to-” Indrid moves his arm to push Duck’s away, and puts too much force behind it, losing his footing on the hardwood floor and falling backwards onto the bed. In attempting to recover his balance, one leg kicks out, knocking Duck forward. He catches himself with one knee on the mattress and his hands on either side of Indrid, pulling abruptly down on the dressing gown. When it opens, they both go still. 

“You, uh, why ain't you wearin anythin under this?”

“I was not aware I need to follow a dress code in my own blasted house.” Indrid manages through grit teeth, face turned resolutely away from Duck. He follows the angle of his jaw down the line of his neck, the noticeable points of collarbone, ribs, and hips beneath tan, sun-hungry skin making him think of fine china or rare plants, the kind you cultivate for years in hopes of seeing something no one else could ever dream of. 

“Would you kindly stop staring?” Indrid murmurs.

“Why?” Duck drags his gaze away from his body just as Indrid levels him with an exhausted frown.

“Fine, go ahead and get your fill so you can--in excruciating detail--tell anyone who is interested that I look just as strange without clothes as I do in them.”

“Is that really what you think I’m doin?”

“I have a hard time believing there could be...another..” He trails off s Duck leans down, cupping his cheek and bringing his other leg up to straddle him. 

“You sure about that belief?” He bumps their noses together. 

“I'm starting to have my doubts.” 

Duck snickers, carefully bringing their lips together. Indrid hums, wrapping his arms round Duck and running his hands along his back up into his hair. He’s kissed plenty of times, on and off screen, but Indrid is earnest and hesitant all at once, as if Duck is giving him a gift he’s not sure he deserves. He’s also wonderfully responsive, twitching and arching whenever Duck touches him, licking and nipping at his lips, begging to be let inside. Duck opens them, sighs when Indrid teases their tongues together. 

When he sits up, Indrids hands draw across his bare chest, concerned. 

“Don’t worry, darlin , I ain’t goin far.” He slides off the bed, sinking to his knees between Indrid’s legs s he pulls off his jacket, “Just seems to me you need someone to show just how fuckin handsome you are.”

“Are you oh-so-graciously volunteering?” Indrid’s smile is plain in his voice. 

He pushes up his sleeves, “Yep.”

Indrid’s cock is soft when he wraps his fingers around it, stroking up gradually to rub the head with his thumb. Licking along the underside turns Indrid’s so “ohs” into a full-throated moan. 

“That’s more like it, darlin.” Duck kisses up and down the shaft , slipping a hand lower to gently toy with his balls, “get hard for me.”

“Wh-what” Indrid gulps down a breath, “what makes you think you are in charge here?”

In lieu of an answer, he takes the head of is cock into his mouth, sucking hard, not letting up until pre-cum seeps along his tongue. Indrid’s hands cling to the edge of the bed, the room filling with high gasps and the odd squeak when Duck zig-zags his nails along his inner thigh. 

He pulls off, wiping away the string of spit trailing from his lips. Laps intermittently at his slit as he speaks, hoping his voice is coming across husky rather than desperate, “Well, sugar, what do you say? Gonna let me call the shots?”

“I s-say” One hand wavers in the air, about to stroke his hair, and Duck dips to the side, bumping his head into his palm in tacit permission. 

“I say a man on his, his knees giving orders is presumptuous.”

“Ah!Fuck” Duck groans as Indrid tugs his hair, forcing him to sit up straight.

“And I’d say his mouth could be put to an even better use.”

Duck scrambles onto the bed, kissing Indrid furiously as soon as he reaches him, the pale-haired man rolling them over and tangling them both in the top blanket with their feet still hanging off the bed. 

“Did I say you could stop paying attention to my cock? OOhhnnnn, yes, yes” he hooks a leg over Ducks thigh, pumping into the shorter man’s fist, “perfect, god, everything about you is, is just right.”

“I ain’t the only one.” Duck aims for his lips, ends up kissing his cheek, when he buries his face into his neck with a whine.

“It’s true. You think I go to my knees for any old fella?”

“Mphhm” Indrid’s glasses dig into his shoulder.

“You think I’d be doin this” he speeds up his hand, “if that face of yours didn’t make me wanna do things in front of those cameras that’d make the devil blush.”

“Mmhpmm”  Indrid clings to him like lichen yet refuses to look up. 

Duck stills his hand, “I ain’t startin up again unless you answer me, sugar.”

Indrid raises his head halfway, five o’clock shadow pricking Duck’s cheek.

“Duck Newton, I do believe you are telling the truth. You think I am handsome.” Shyness lurks just beneath the teasing, so Duck tenderly brushes his fingers along Indrid’s face.

“That I do.”

He raises up enough to bring them nose to nose, “And I think you put all other matinee idols to shame with only your smile.”

“Indrid.” It’s his turn to blush, and he only grows redder when Indrid guides his hand off his cock and to his lips to kiss it. 

“I have an idea. As much as these” he releases his hand to snap his suspenders, “flatter that broad chest of yours, they and your pants need to come off.”

As Duck exiles his clothes and shoes to the floor, Indrid lays with his head on a pillow, steadily stroking his cock. Staring at that sight adds a good minute to his undressing, but Duck doesn’t give a damn. 

When he goes to straddle Indrid’s hips, the other man shakes his head, “Nono, up here.” He pats the pillow on either side of his head. 

“Shit yeah, been wanting to fuck that stunnin face for weeks.”

Indrid’s face is beet-colored by the time Duck brackets it with his knees. 

“S-so have eye”

“Aw, sugar, you gettin tongue tiIIIIedfuck.” His palms thwack into the wall as Indrid circles it along his folds. 

“What was that about tongues?” His smirk is just visible between Duck’s thighs. 

“That if you don’t keep usin yours like that, you’re gonna see a grown man cry with need.”

“We cannot have that.’

“FUuuuuck, fuck.” He wiggles his hips to help Indrid get the right angle, unsure if he can ask for more pressure.

“You, you can put more weight down if you need.” 

He grinds down, moaning when Indrid’s lips part further to give his tongue more room to work. The moan is echoed below him, muffled though it may be, as one of Indrid’s hands disappears from view. A moment later, he bucks, gasping and laving his tongue along Duck’s dick. 

“Shit, right there, keep goin right there.”

Indrid curves and flicks his tongue along the sensitive skin, hums of pleasure mingling with the messy sound of his hand flying up and down his cock. When he closes his lips around his dick Duck yelps, hunches forward to rest his head on the wall as he sucks him off, pressure spiking deliciously whenever he moans or strokes himself harder. Indrid cums with a whimper, sticky hands landing on Duck’s ass to urge him on as he ruts into his mouth.

“That’s it sugar, fuck, you’re amazin, feels so fuckin good oh fuck, fuck, Indrid, fuckin christ.” He rolls his hips harder and faster until the friction makes the orgasm burst through him. He just manages to lift himself off and collapse on the bed rather than Indrid's neck. 

“Did, do you hear a, uh, a crack?”

Red glasses, a split across the right lens, appear in front of him. 

“Aw fuck” he giggles, “didn’t know I was goin that hard. Lemme buy you a new pair?”

“I have several spares, on account of my own occasionally absent mindedness” Indrid is up on his side, grinning down at him, face still shiny with slick, “and I am taking that as a testament to my skill. Perhaps I should wear them with pride to the set tomorrow.”

“Please don’t” Duck laughs harder, “fuck, can you imagine the look on Joe’s face”

Indrid is laughing too now, “They are not part of my costume, it would not affect the shoot. Save the part where the reminder of how you looked just now, flushed and ecstatic above me, would make it rather hard to focus.”

Duck shifts onto his side, nestling up against him, “you’re a real sweet talker, you know that?”

“You have that effect on me.” He feels him inhale more deeply, fingers toying with Duck’s hair, “would, ah, would you like to spend the night? I believe you are not needed tomorrow, and I am only needed in the evening.”

“I’d love to” Duck nudges him onto his back to better cuddle across his chest, “got no interest in sleepin alone any time soon.”

“Do, ah, do you mean you wish to, ah, to-”

“Yeah, I do. I wanna see what it’s like to have the finest man in the city on my arm. Assumin he wants the same thing.”

“You do not think I am snobbish and strange?”

“Not anymore than you think I’m spoiled and had it easy.”

Indrid kisses the top of his head, “Then I think this could be the start of something wonderful.”

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

Stern looks up from the script as his two leading men walk onto the set, arms linked and whispering to one another, each smiling wider than Laurel Canyon. He turns back to his notes. 

“About fucking time.”