#irony in a man who loves so passionately yet

[muutosarchive]

when i write my priest man, it takes 10 years off my life because of how beautifully tragic he is.

[queenofwands89]

The Storm Within Tyler Owens x fem!reader

Summary: What dramatic turn of events unfolds when Y/N storms off after an argument with Tyler, only to face the fury of a tornado that strikes their town and leaves Y/N injured?

Warnings: Tornado (duh lol), angst, arguing, mention of injuries, description of injuries, sad.

Notes: I wrote this because I am a whore for Tyler, and I love angst and pain. Enjoy byeeee

You feel the tension build in the air long before Tyler raises his voice. It's the kind of unease that clings to the back of your mind, an ineffable sense that something is about to go terribly wrong. You stand in the spacious, cluttered garage that serves as the command center for Tyler's storm-chasing crew. The storm models flashing on the multiple screens show bleak promises of another monstrous storm front moving across Oklahoma.

It starts as a simple disagreement. Tyler is passionate—almost recklessly so—about chasing a particular storm cell that evening. You object, voicing your concerns about the jeopardy it poses not only to Tyler but also to the entire crew.

"You never listen, Tyler!" Your voice quavers, your frustration edging too close to the surface. Your heart hammers in your chest. "You treat this like it's some adventure, but it’s dangerous!"

Tyler rakes his fingers through his hair, his expression a mix of determination and exasperation. "It's because it is dangerous," he shoots back. "But we do this because it saves lives, Y/N. If we can predict these storms better, we can give people the time they need to get to safety."

"And what about us? What about the people who love you? Are we just collateral damage in your crusade?"

Boone, who has been editing footage on his laptop nearby, looks up, his usually cheerful face clouded with concern. Lilly and Dexter exchange worried glances, while Dani silently tinkers with a drone, her stoic demeanor betrayed by the slightest furrow of her brow.

"I can’t sit by and do nothing while you risk everything, Tyler!" Your eyes well up with tears that you fiercely try to blink away. "One day, you might not come back."

Tyler sighs heavily. He takes a step towards you, but you instinctively recoil, the hurt in your eyes deepening the chasm between you. "Y/N, you know I love you, but this—this is what I do. It’s who I am."

"Well, I can't do this right now," you say, your voice cracking. "I need to clear my head."

Without another word, you grab your coat and storm out of the garage, slamming the door behind you. The echo of the slam lingers, punctuating the silence that envelops the room.

Tyler turns back to his crew, realizing that the argument has sapped the collective energy and morale. Boone breaks the silence with his usual attempt at lightening the mood.

"She'll cool off, man. Just give her some time," he offers, though his eyes betray the uncertainty he feels.

Lilly nods, her calm demeanor trying to instill a sense of reassurance. "Tyler, she just needs space. She loves you; that much is clear. Just let her process this."

Dexter, wiser and ever the emotional compass, adds softly, "Sometimes the best way to show love is to step back and let them come to terms with their fears on their own."

Tyler nods, although doubt gnaws at him. There is a sort of irony in chasing something as unpredictable as a tornado and yet being completely at a loss when it comes to matters of the heart.

You storm off down the gravel road, away from the storm-chasing headquarters. The expanses of Oklahoma stretch around you, vast and indifferent. You walk quickly, your thoughts a tumultuous whirl that rivals the storm brewing on the horizon.

Before long, a low rumble of thunder echoes in the distance. Your instincts tell you to seek shelter, but you are too consumed by your emotions to heed the warnings. Your phone buzzes, probably Jake checking in with you, but you ignore it.

As minutes turn to an hour, the sky darkens ominously, the oppressive weight of the storm hanging palpably in the air. You look up just as the first sharp gust of wind howls past you, sending a chill down your spine.

Your phone rings again. This time, you pick it up. It is Tyler.

"Y/N, you need to get back here. Now! There's an strom projected to hit our area. It's not safe out there!"

Before you can respond, the roar of the wind drowns out his voice. In the distance, a wall of debris begins to rise—terrifying in its beauty and formidable in its power. You feel a jolt of fear as you realize the windstorm is bearing down on you.

Panic-stricken, you try to find cover, but there is nowhere to go. The winds intensify, whipping your hair across your face and pulling at your clothes. In a desperate attempt to hold onto something, anything, you grab onto a nearby fence post as the monstrous tornado descends upon the town.

Back at the garage, the team is glued to their screens, tracking the terrifying path of the cyclone. Tyler's eyes are wide with dread, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

"We need to go find her!" he shouts, his voice breaking with worry as he lunges toward the door.

Dexter and Boone spring into action, their grips tight on his arms, holding him back with all their strength. "Tyler, we will find her," Dexter insists, his voice steady yet intense. "But rushing headfirst into this will only get us all killed. We need a plan."

Tyler struggles against their hold, desperation etched into every line of his face. "You don't understand! She’s out there, and every second counts!"

Lilly's eyes mirror his fear but she nods in agreement with Dexter. "He's right, Tyler. We have to be smart about this."

Dani is already at the armored storm-chasing vehicle, her fingers flying over the controls as she starts the engine. "Let's go," she commands, her voice a beacon of resolve amidst the chaos.

The ride out is like plunging into a nightmare. The town around them is unrecognizable—a hellscape of uprooted trees, shattered windows, and debris swirling in the violent wind. The roar of the storm is deafening, a monstrous wall of sound that seems intent on swallowing them whole.

Every turn is fraught with danger, every street a potential deathtrap. The armored vehicle groans under the force of the gale, but it presses onward, cutting a determined path through the destruction.

Tyler's eyes scan the devastation, his heart pounding, every fiber of his being focused on one thing: finding you. The storm's fury lashes at them, but their resolve is unbreakable. They are driven by a singular, desperate hope—to bring you back alive.

As the harrowing storm begins to relent, the world around you is a landscape of devastation. The monstrous tornado has passed, leaving behind a chaotic aftermath. The team ventures deeper into the wreckage, eyes scanning anxiously for any sign of you.

Then they see you. Crumpled on the ground, clutching a fence post as though it’s the only thing tethering you to life, you lie unconscious, battered by the storm’s fury. Debris is scattered all around, a haunting testament to the storm's wrath. Tyler's heart wrenches at the sight.

Without a second thought, he leaps out of the vehicle, ignoring the stinging wind and flying debris that tug at his clothes and batter his body. "No, no, no," he mutters under his breath, sprinting towards you with a singular focus.

"Y/N!" he cries out, his voice breaking as he nears you. The sound barely cuts through the howl of the wind. He kneels beside you, wrapping his arms around your frail form, shielding you from the remnants of the storm. "Please, Y/N. Wake up."

Boone, sitting in the driver’s seat, immediately jumps out of the vehicle as well. He turns to Lilly and Dexter, his expression serious and determined. "Lilly, grab the emergency blankets. Dexter, I need you to help get Y/N into the truck, now!"

Boone rushes over to Tyler, his mouth set in a grim line. "Tyler, move aside. We need to get her stabilized." He swiftly yet carefully checks your pulse and breathing. "She's still with us. We have to move quickly."

“Be careful!” Tyler shouts over the wind to the crew, his voice tinged with panic. “She’s hurt!”

They work with meticulous care, gently extricating you from the wreckage. Tyler's hands shake as he helps lift you, his mind a whirlwind of desperate prayers and fear.

Dani, standing nearby, fights back tears, her voice breaking as she says, "Hang in there, Y/N. We’re not losing you."

They rush you back to the relative safety of the vehicle, urgency in every step. The vehicle starts moving, navigating through the storm’s terrible wake with a singular mission: to get you to medical attention.

Tyler sits beside you, cradling your hand in his, his eyes never leaving your face. “Hang in there, Y/N,” he whispers, as though sheer willpower could keep you tethered to life. “We’re almost there. You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

The crew speeds through the chaotic aftermath, dodging fallen branches and uprooted signs. Dexter keeps a vigilant eye on the road, never slowing down. Lilly's hands shake as she dabs at your wounds with a cloth from the medical kit, trying to do whatever she can to help.

All the while, Tyler stays with you, his heart breaking and yet holding onto hope, as the vehicle barrels towards the hospital, each mile bringing you closer to safety. Tyler holds you tightly, his voice trembling and tears mingling with the rain on his cheeks as he whispers, "I'm so sorry. I love you. Please, hold on. Just hold on a little longer, baby."

[lestappenforever]

Lestappen fic - Ice cream shop owner!Charles AU

I don't typically get excited by AU ideas for Lestappen because Lestappen in canonverse is so appealing to me in and of itself. But, while AO3 was down yesterday, @thearchercore received and answered a whole bunch of asks from lovely anons about a Lestappen AU fic where Charles owns an ice cream shop (as inspired by the news that the man is actually going to open an ice cream shop in Milan.) And, well, for the first time ever, I got excited about a Lestappen AU. So, I wrote something.

This is, obviously, dedicated to the incredible @thearchercore, a true pillar of the Lestappen community, and to each and every anon who has sent in asks about this AU. And because this was entirely inspired by people on Tumblr, you can read the whole fic in this post. ❤️

---

Max realizes that he has probably let this whole thing go too far. Way too far. 

What had started as a chance encounter after the Monza Grand Prix, where Max had gone on a drive and ended up in a small, lovely ice cream shop - LEC - in Milan that served the most delicious vanilla ice cream Max had ever tasted, had spiraled and developed into what was now practically a weekly occurrence. Every chance he got, when the race calendar, his PR and training schedule would allow it, Max would fly to Milan, spending ridiculous amounts of money and contributing an unnecessary amount to further pollute the environment, just to go back to that ice cream shop.

And yes, although the vanilla ice cream was divine, that's not the real reason Max kept coming back. 

No, the real cause of his travels was the ridiculously beautiful shop owner, with the fluffy brown hair, the captivating green eyes Max kind of wanted to drown himself in, and dimples that Max saw every single night when he closed his eyes. And what’s more, the shop owner — Charles — didn't even seem to like Max, because the Monégasque was a die-hard Ferrari fan and he seemed to have made it his personal mission to put all the blame of Ferrari’s lack of success for the past fifteen years on Max. Even if Max hadn’t been in F1 for the entirety of those fifteen years.

Not that he was surprised, really. The passion of the Tifosi did, on more than one occasion, seem to seriously impact their sense of logic and capability of rational thinking. 

And apparently, the beauty, sass and stubbornness of the shop owner did the exact same thing to Max's. 

The irony of that is not lost on him.

The fact that the two of them had discovered they were on the same page about the superior ice cream flavor the first time Max had been in that ice cream shop — “vanilla is my favorite” Max had said at exactly the same time Charles had said “vanilla is the only right choice” — had not been enough to endear him to Charles. His allegiance with Ferrari and Max currently on yet another dominating winning spree with Red Bull was too strong. (Even if there had been the flicker of something in those green eyes when Charles had learned that he and Max were on the same page about vanilla ice cream.)

After yet another failed attempt at charming Charles a few weeks ago, Max had gotten so desperate that he had genuinely started considering a move to Ferrari, even starting to subtly ask around about the possibility, Red Bull’s superior car and strategies be damned. But then word had reached GP and his race engineer had told him, in no uncertain terms, that he would not be moving to Ferrari to impress ‘some ice cream guy in Milan’. Which Max had taken offense to, because Charles was not just ‘some ice cream guy in Milan’, thank you very much.

(Max really had to learn how to keep his mouth shut around GP.)

So yes, his obsession with the ice cream shop and its owner has gone way too far. And yet, on a warm August afternoon, Max finds himself walking back into that ice cream shop. 

Summer break has finally arrived, and Max had genuinely considered renting an apartment in Milan for the next three weeks so he wouldn't have to fly back and forth so much. But then he had come to the conclusion that that would be excessive. 

(Because flying back and forth between Monaco and Milan definitely wasn’t excessive. No, sir.)

Charles is there when Max walks in, as he is every single time Max walks in. The guy never seems to leave his beloved ice cream shop, and Max finds himself wondering if the other man gets enough sleep. Or if he even goes home to sleep, or if he has a bed set up in the back somewhere so he never has to waste time going back and forth between the ice cream shop and his home. 

He may not know Charles all that well, despite seeing him regularly for the past few months, but he does know that the man must have an incredible work ethic. 

The little bell above the door announces his arrival, and Charles looks up from behind the counter. For a brief second, Max is sure he sees a flash of excitement cross those gorgeous features, but the Monégasque quickly schools his expression into one of exasperation and indignation, complete with an overly dramatic eye roll. 

“No Red Bull Racing team members allowed,” Charles tells him with a huff, as he puts a brand-new tub of chocolate ice cream in the display freezer. 

Max snorts as he walks towards the counter. He had expected a frosty — pun intended — reception following Ferrari’s double DNF in the last race before the summer break, so Charles’ grumpy demeanor doesn’t deter him.  

“Hello to you too, Charles,” the Dutchman sing-songs, ignoring the way a couple of teenage girls at a table by the window gape at him. “Let me guess, Ferrari’s double DNF in Belgium was somehow my fault?”

Charles meets his gaze and narrows his eyes. He points an ice cream scoop at him. “I am not sure how, but yes.” He waggles the scoop accusingly. 

It’s Max’s turn to roll his eyes. “Right, because the two of them crashing into each other in turn two, while in P8 and P9 respectively, while I was at the very front definitely had something to do with me?”

“Obviously,” Charles confirms with a sniff. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Max laughs, shaking his head in a manner that can only be described as fond. He comes to a halt in front of the cash register at the counter, and waits for Charles to ask him what he wants. 

But Charles never does; instead busies himself with rearranging the different bowls of topping on top of the display freezer, wiping down the counter, and restocking the ice cream cones, all the while completely ignoring Max’s presence. Or general existence, even.

Eventually, Max runs out of patience.

“I’d like three scoops of vanilla ice cream, please.”

Charles doesn’t even stop what he’s doing. Doesn’t even look at him. “We’re all out of vanilla.”

Max stares. At Charles, then at the almost full tub of vanilla, with its little sign labeling it as vanilla sticking out of the fluffy ice cream. 

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, we are.”

“Charles, I can see the vanilla ice cream. It’s right there,” Max insists, pointing at the flavor through the display glass. As if Charles isn’t completely aware of its existence, as if he’s not just being a little shit and punishing Max for something that isn’t even remotely his fault. 

Charles pauses in his bustling to look at Max. Then, he follows the length of Max’s arm to where his finger is pointing directly at the vanilla. His gaze returns to Max’s eyes as he says, deadpan: “That is only a display ice cream.”

Max blinks repeatedly.

“A display ice cream?” he echoes incredulously. 

“Yes,” Charles confirms, raising his chin. “It’s only for display, it is not to be served.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah, well, it’s like this,” the Monégasque says, lifting one shoulder in a careless shrug. 

Max doesn’t know if he wants to smack him or kiss him. 

(That’s a lie, he knows damn well that he wants to kiss that smug look right off of Charles’ stupidly beautiful face.)

“Fine,” the Dutchman sighs, moving his finger slightly to the right. “Then I would like three scoops of the chocolate.”

“I’m sorry, but that is also only a display ice cream,” Charles tells him with a completely straight face. 

“You’re not serious.”

Charles raises one full eyebrow. “Does it look like I’m joking?” he asks.

And, well, Max has to admit that it absolutely does not. 

He stands there in silence for a while, wondering why the hell this infuriating man has been the object of his deepest desires for the past few months. Wonders why Charles’ face is the only thing he sees when he closes his eyes to sleep at night, and why he is the one person that keeps appearing in the majority of his dreams. Wonders why, when his mind wanders as he has a secure grip around himself in bed, it keeps wandering to the mental images of what Charles would look like, feel like, sound like if he was there with Max, when all Charles seems to want to do is get under Max’s skin and infuriate him in ways and for reasons Max hadn’t even known he could let himself be infuriated. 

Oh, who is he kidding? Those reasons, coupled with Charles’ overall appearance and being, are exactly why his mind never seems to tire of Charles whatever-the-fuck-his-middle-name-is Leclerc, and only him. 

Max has always been a sucker for challenges. And Charles is definitely a challenge. 

Had Charles been an F1 driver instead of the owner of an ice cream shop, Max just knows their on-track battles would have been epic. Their rivalry would have been one for the ages; their names and lives so intertwined that people could not have mentioned one without also mentioning the other. Because Max is sure that Charles’ passion, his stubbornness and his outright refusal to give in to anything or anyone would have translated into a fierce, unyielding, unapologetic driver. 

Forcing himself out of his reverie, Max gives a quick shake of his head to clear is racing mind. Then, he fixes Charles with a hard stare. 

“Let me guess, these are all ‘display ice creams’?” he asks, gesturing with a hand at the numerous tubs of flavors in the display freezer. 

“Of course not,” Charles scoffs, as if that’s the most ridiculous statement that has been made in the ice cream shop in the past few minutes. “That would be a horrible way to run a business. We have one flavor that is not only for display.”

Max is almost afraid to ask, but he does anyway. “Which is?”

Charles doesn’t answer the question with words, just points to the bottom tub at the far left. The little sign reads ‘Mint chip’.

“Who the fuck eats mint chip ice cream?” Max asks, scrunching up his nose in disgust. “That’s like eating toothpaste.”

For the first time since Max stepped through the door, Charles smiles. A beautiful, self-satisfied, mischievous smile that does things to Max’s body, mind and soul. It makes his heart rate pick up and his skin tingle with an excitement he has no business feeling. 

Pathetic. He’s absolutely pathetic. 

“I don’t know what to tell you, Max. That's all I have to offer today.”

And Max, proving just how completely gone he is on this ridiculous man, lets out a long, tired sigh. 

“Three scoops of mint chip, please,” he requests in a voice that is completely resigned. 

Charles’ face lights up like a fucking Christmas tree, and he scurries to get one of the small glass bowls reserved for customers who want to eat their ice cream in the shop, not even needing to ask if that’s what Max is planning to do, or if he wants his ice cream in a cone. And although Charles is doing his damnedest to make Max believe that his general existence on this earth is causing Charles physical pain and emotional turmoil, the fact that Charles remembers his preference doesn’t go unnoticed by Max. 

He won’t even entertain the idea that Charles might just be adamant on making Max sit in his shop and eat his mint chip ice cream so Charles can watch him suffer with every spoonful. 

Charles is generous with the scoops — incredibly so — and Max is sure those three scoops he requested actually equal the size of at least six regular-sized scoops. He realizes that he probably should have asked for one scoop instead of three. He watches as Charles sticks a spoon in the ice cream and places the bowl on the counter in front of Max with the biggest grin on his face.

“It’s on the house,” Charles tells him, probably just to further add to Max’s suffering. 

The Dutchman eyes the bowl of ice cream warily, quietly cursing it and himself, before picking it up with a hesitating hand. Charles watches him expectantly the entire time as Max makes his way to a small table in one corner of the shop. Behind him, a small child, probably around five or six, had entered the shop with his mother while Max was waiting for Charles to finish scooping, and Max hears the boy ask for two scoops of strawberry ice cream. And Charles — the fucking asshole — makes a point out of saying ‘coming right up’ in both Italian and English just to fuck with Max some more.

Max takes a seat with his back to the window so he can face Charles. Because if nothing else, he’s not going to let Charles win.

The first spoonful really does taste like toothpaste with a hint of chocolate, and it’s an awful combination. It takes every ounce of willpower Max has not to let the disgust he’s feeling show on his face. He lets the ice cream melt in his mouth for a long moment, before swallowing the disgusting liquidized ice cream, all the while maintaining a completely unaffected expression. 

Charles watches him eat the entire bowl of ice cream, and Max never breaks eye contact. With every expressionless swallow, Max can see the thinly veiled disappointment on Charles’ face and the satisfaction he gets from that is enough to motivate him to finish every single bite. He even makes a point out of scraping the melted remains of the ice cream from the sides of the bowl, scooping it up into a mint green coloured soup in his spoon, and eating it. He even briefly considers licking the bowl clean just to get a rise out of Charles, but the Monégasque turns away from him with a huff before he can put his plan into action.

Which, thank fuck, because Max is starting to feel a bit sick from the ridiculous amount of toothpaste-flavored ice cream he has just consumed out of spite and spite alone. He pushes the bowl forward and away from himself on the table with a frown.

Charles goes back to ignoring his presence for the next fifteen minutes, and Max waits. Just because he can — just because he knows this wasn’t the outcome Charles had expected and he wants to revel in the satisfaction of finally getting under Charles’ skin for once for a little while longer. 

Eventually, Charles comes to collect his empty bowl and gives Max a disapproving glare. 

“Well? How was it?”

And Max, unable to resist, gives Charles his biggest, brightest smile. “It was delicious, thank you.”

If looks could kill, Max would have been dead. Then, Charles turns on his heels and walks away with Max’s empty bowl and spoon. 

Taking the win, Max gets to his feet and waits for Charles to look over at him from behind the counter. When he does, he gives the other man a wave. “See you tomorrow, Charles.”

“You’re not coming back tomorrow!” Charles shoots back.

“Oh, but I am,” Max counters. It sounds like a promise, and it is. 

As he walks out of the ice cream shop, feeling Charles’ gaze boring into the back of his head as he does, Max pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts looking up hotels in the area with available rooms.

***

Max stays in Milan for two weeks, and he goes to Charles’ ice cream shop every single day. 

Every day, Charles tells him the only flavor he can serve him is mint chip. By day three, Max has stopped trying to argue with him. By day five, Max orders vanilla and Charles responds with ‘three scoops of mint chip coming up’. And every day, Max sits at his little table by the window to eat his ice cream while Charles stands behind the counter, watching him eat the entire time. 

Every. Single. Day. 

And every single day, Max can see Charles’ resolve crumbling, little by little, convincing him that his tragic efforts are not in complete vain. They might be mostly in vain, but Max is in far too deep at this point to care.

On the eighth day, Max stays until closing and Charles spends the majority of his free moments actually hanging around Max’s table and engaging him in conversation. It's a step in the right direction, even if Charles does end up kicking the Dutchman out when he has to count the register.

And on the eleventh day, as Max is about to leave after finishing yet another disgusting, massive portion of mint chip ice cream, Charles finds himself looking at the blond from behind the counter, watching as Max smiles down at his phone. Those piercing blue eyes are crinkling in delight, causing adorable smile lines to appear at their corners, his full, inviting lips stretching to expose his straight, white teeth. A wave of something — jealousy, Charles would define it as if he wasn’t a pigheaded dick when it comes to four-time F1 World Champion Max Emilian Verstappen — washes over him at the thought of whatever or whoever it is that puts that smile on Max's face. 

It makes the Monégasque realize that all of his attempts over the past few months to convince himself that he doesn’t find Max attractive or charming as hell, and that he definitely doesn’t want to find out whether Max likes vanilla in bed, too, have been for naught. 

And so, with an overwhelming feeling that he's losing a battle he's been fighting for months, Charles throws away the paper towel he had been using to dry his hands and resigns himself to his fate. Because sometimes, perseverence needs to be rewarded.

And he's not just referring to Max's.

“You can take me out to dinner tonight,” he tells Max, and it sounds like the statement pains him. Which it kind of does.

Max stops dead, one hand on the door handle, half-turned to face Charles. The look on his face is one of utter surprise.

“Really?” he asks, and he sounds so fucking hopeful that it should probably make Charles change his mind. But instead, it makes him want to close up the shop immediately and let Max take him out to dinner right fucking now.

Which is pathetic, really. But then again, so is the way Charles has been waking up every day hoping Max Verstappen would walk through the door of his ice cream shop for the past few months.

But, having no intention of showing his hand, Charles maintains a stoic expression as he nods. 

“Pick me up here at nine.”

Max's smile is so wide that Charles wonders if it makes his cheeks hurt. He also wonders if said cheeks will feel as warm to the touch as they look.

“Okay,” Max says, still smiling. “Then I'll see you again at nine.”

And with that, Max turns, pulls the door open, and walks out of the shop. 

When Charles can only just see the back of the Dutchman through the window, he sees Max stopping briefly on the sidewalk and pumping his fist in the air in the same celebratory manner Charles has seen after so many victorious races over the years.

He looks ridiculous, and Charles might just be falling a little bit in love with him.

Charles doesn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.

***

It turns out that Max's preferences in bed are far more adventurous than his taste in ice cream.

Which turns out to be yet another thing they're on the same page about.

[bubbleddisasters]

Bored SO

What Genshin Vision and Weapon I think Each TWST Character would have!

(I’m going solely off Vision Requirements/Traits (Ex: Anemo = Desire for Freedom) so some may seem different then expected)

Reminders:

Anemo= Desire for Freedom, often but not always accompanied with the loss of a loved one.

Geo = Strong and Unwavering in pursuing their ideals, beliefs and goals.

Electro : Eternal Determination/ Those who may be seen as strange, but will not change themselves for others.

Dendro: The Desire for Knowledge, (Plus Human Connections.)

Hydro: A strong sense of Justice and Protection/Care of others.

Pyro : Dedicating their life to their Passion.

Cryo : Resolution in moment of conflict.

—————

Riddle: Pyro or Anemo, Sword: I believe that as his mom wanted him to be a healer, which is usually Dendro or Hydro, and Riddles Passion for Order and/or Desire for Freedom and loosing his friends granting him the opposite, could be very good additional angst material. Also Swords are elegant, and the Original Beheading weapon.. Hehe.

Ace : Geo, Hydro or Electro, Bow: I think Ace fits both Unwavering Beliefs and Not changing themselves for others very well, but also Justice and Care extremely well in Book 1.

I think it would be also amazing for him to get his vision right as he gave his speech after punching Riddle. Hydro could also be very interesting and seeing Riddle be Jealous of it, as it Represents Justice and Care, and its what his mother wanted him to get, adding another layer of rage to it all, plus aiding in dowsing Riddles Flames.

Bow wise, I think the term an “Ace Shooter” was fun irony, as well as “Trick shot”

Deuce: Cryo, Claymore: You all should have seen this coming. Got it when he decided to better himself for his mother’s sake. Geo also works I suppose. Claymore because duh. Plus it would be a fun comparison to Ace having the most lightweight physical weapon.

(Chongyun 🤝 Deuce

Cryo Claymores with Hydro Boyfriends who like to prank them)

Cater: Anemo, Spear: I won’t go into full detail, but if you know Caters backstory, you know damn well why I chose Desire for Freedom. Spear doubles as a Selfie stick, would have atleast one attack similar to Charlotte’s.

Trey: Dendro, Cataylst: Trey mentions wanting to learn all kinds of desserts, and as the mediator, fits the human connections piece well. Catalyst either paints the enemy or throws baking materials / Bakes the Enemy/Decorates them.

Leona: Dendro, Spear: I can’t explain it, but Dendro just fits him very well, specifically the knowledge piece. Also Spear because its lighter weight and has range + if you’re especially good at it could probably be used while lying down. Lazy ass Lion.

Ruggie: Geo, Bow : When I tell you he was extremely pissed upon receiving his—Anyway, this man perfectly embodies unwavering determination for their goals.

Like pre-mentioned, was extremely pissed because he originally thought it was useless compared to Hydro or Dendro, but that changed when he realized he could make shelter for the people on his street and also get alot of high paying construction jobs easier.

Bow is lightweight, and easier to use while running away aslong as you have good aim.

Jack : Hydro, Claymore: Justice and Care is literally half or more of his Savanaclaw ark. It fits Jack so insanely well (or Geo but shhh). I think Hydro would be sweet because everyone expects him to have Geo because it’s tough and strong, but sike. He uses it to water his cactuses and to cool off / Hydrate during workouts. Claymore because the guy is a walking gunshow he can lift that thing with one hand.

Floyd : Electro, Catalyst: So far the hardest to choose, but also being considered strange yet refusing to change for others is very Floyd. Physical DMG Catalyst like Wrio or Heizou, I pray for the enemy. Like:

Floyd : “I’m as cold as a lion with no hair: If you ever see me fighting in the forest with a Mitichurl, HELP THE CHURL. Cause that b*tch gon need it-“

Jade: Dendro, Sword: Knowledge and Jade go hand in hand. Also his plant obsession makes this funnier. Sword is very elegant but deadly, that also fits Jade. Electro is also an option, but considering the OG Flotsam and Jetsam died via Electrocution—Oh the Irony if both of them were Electro

Azul : Anemo, Geo or Cryo, Catalyst: Desired freedom from bulling and torment? , Unwavering Determination to reach goals? Conflict and Resolution? Yea. I would go with Dendro cause knowledge, but didn’t feel as fitting. Catalyst because obviously.

Anemo could help him in the water to swim faster, and blow away Jade and Floyd as kids, but they kept coming back so he gave up. Cryo or Geo to make a octopus pot but they blew it open.

Kalim: Pyro, Dendro or Hydro, Catalyst or Spear: Passion suits Kalim incredibly, but so does Human Connections and the desire for knowledge to help others. Hydro fits in the care department, but not as much in justice.

Alot of his attacks would be similar to Yun Jin or Nilou, (based in Traditional dance from the Middle East obviously) and adding some jumpiness to it, but I imagine his skill or run is just running people over with the magic carpet and you get to fly without stamina issues (5 star type perks lmao)

Jamil : Anemo, Spear or Sword: Desire for Freedom?!?! Thats Jamils Ark in a nutshell. Friend loss? Kalim when they were kids. (Because his parents made him stop being friends with Kalim and focus on his duties as a servant to him). I think Jamil having a Scimitar like the ones in the original Aladdin movie or a spear similar to Jafars staff would be a fun reference.

Epel : Anemo or Dendro, Claymore: Desire for Freedom coming from his own insecurities on his appearance or Desiring the Knowledge to Change it. Literally hated his vision for a long time, thought wind/nature powers were kinda stupid, useless in a fight and girly until Vil rocked his shit with Dendro in the OB fight.

Can barely lift the Claymore but by god will he try. (Similar to Razors attacks like the guy is trying his best but the claymore literally almost sends him flying)

(A bow is also a fun option and he would definitely pull a Childe and just hit the enemy with the bow itself.

Catalyst he just throws rotten / poison apples at the enemy. )

Rook: Electro, or Pyro, Bow: Strange but would never change for someone else? Rook. Passion? Also kinda Rook. I could see him receiving his vision at his first play, and using his hat to dim the light so it didn’t affect the actors and other watchers. Bow was also an obvious choice.

Has a skill that reveals all hidden quests available and how to access them.

Vil : Dendro, Catalyst : The Desire for Knowledge to attain Beauty. Saw Epel hating on Dendro Visions and took it personally. Catalyst because he can’t bother to get his hands dirty.

Idia: Anemo, Catalyst or Claymore: Desire for Freedom and Dead person you cared for? Check. Found it on his bedside when he woke up after Orthos death and called it “a Pity Prize” for him surviving. Completely pulling a Silver Wolf with the Digital / Glitch like attacks and if he has a Claymore, a Kaveh, although his little skull thing would be his Merhak.

Ortho: Non Specific (until after book 6, then Dendro), Catalyst or Bow: Kinda Similar to the Traveler, but you’d have to get into Ignihyde and use a disc drive to change his. If after Ignihyde chaps, Dendro. Similar to Nahida, Desiring Knowledge of Humans. Shoots literal laser beams at enemies.

Malleus: Dendro, Catalyst: Like Ortho, Desiring Knowledge of Humans, and from Human (I guess in this case just emotional) Connections. Specifically one day after building up the courage to hug Lilia after he helped him find Gargoyles around a town. (Accidentally called him Father in that moment, and then the Vision Appeared)

Catalyst….duh. I can see the attacks either being fireflies or mini Dragons (like how Baizhus is snakes)

Lilia: Cryo or Anemo, Bow, Claymore, Sword or Catalyst (I don’t have a bias to Catalysts I swear) : Got his after Melanors Death (F) or Malleus Hatching, and like how its mentioned Venti was once a Catalyst user in lore, and puts his bow away like one, Lilia does pretty much the same, but puts it away like a Sword.

Catalyst wise, definitely physical, bro is bouncing off the enemy and teleporting around them, same if sword. Claymore would be fucking hilarious because this tiny man having a fast attack speed while using a weapon almost the size of him is just generally hilarious. Has an attack similar to Fischls Oz , except it is instead a Bat, and yes you can fly / teleport with him.

Also like Raiden, the game prevents you from cooking as him / all the meals you make will be suspicious ones.

Silver: Hydro, Sword: Justice and Care? Silver. Definitely. Sword also seems pretty obvious, and definitely has an ability that not only has wild animals not running from you, but will come closer to you if in the area.

Sebek: Electro or Geo , Sword or Claymore: Eternal Determination and not changing for others is very Sebek, but so is Unwavering Determination to reach goals, and I think Sword and Claymore are both Obvious.

Che’nya : Electro, Catalyst: Not Changing for Others fits this wacko so well. Catalyst because obviously. His E skill makes you invisible to the enemy and wild creatures. Enemy wise, scares the shit out of them and does 80% extra damage if you hit them from behind with it.

———-

OK BYEEEE

[mikareo]

⌗ ROMANTICISM ₊ ˖ ་. rin itoshi x fem reader (4k)

⊹ ⠀⠀ there are so many words he wishes he could take back, and he realizes now that he loves you. he loves your colorful laugh, beauty, and passion - all he needs now, is to tell you...and say those three little words. (part two of rationalism - must must read first!!!)

contains; colorblind!rin, painter!reader, rin’s mom is reader’s art mentor, rin hates art, strangers to friends to lovers, swearing, immense fluff, , kissing, extremely inaccurate depictions of colorblindness, happy ending!!! author's note; this was originally supposed to end with reader getting into a car accident and d-wording the day of her art gallery...but i changed my mind :D

He misses you. He can’t help it, but he does. 

The memories he has with you are a cassette tape on autoplay - constantly running through his mind on repeat, and always ending with the awful confrontation that you’d left each other with. Rin wishes he hadn’t raised his voice. He wishes that he would’ve been honest with you from the very beginning, but he hadn’t, and there’s no changing the past. All he has now are two empty hands that would much rather be interlaced with your paint-covered fingers. 

“How much longer do you think you’re going to be moping?” Sae’s call is distant from the turning gears within Rin’s brain. He’s sure that his brother has grown tired of his constant state of melancholy - having been forced to be his support system after you walked out the door - and Rin feels awful about it. If he could, he’d rip his heart from his chest and allow you to step on it. To stomp and tear through the organs just as you’d done to those poor bystanding cherry blossoms on the sidewalk. 

“As long as she’s still upset with me.” He groans as his forehead hits the marble of the island counter. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Yeah, well we already knew that.” The dim-eyed boy beside him scoffs while taking yet another drink of his apple juice - which he has unfortunately had to drink for the past hour and a half since Rin had somehow consumed his small supply of alcohol within the past few weeks that the two of you hadn’t been speaking. “I was really rooting for you, man. I thought she was the one to break your cycle.”

“Cycle?”

What the hell does he mean by ‘cycle’?

“Oh, you know,” Sae continues without even taking a breath, “The cycle of life you’ve got going on with your inability to actually attract girls.”

Rin hates him.

“You’re an asshole.” He grumbles, taking his own swig of the pint of orange juice he found in the back of his fridge. Is it expired? Likely yes. Does Rin care, at all? Definitely not. Is he even more pissed off that he doesn’t understand the irony of why it’s called orange juice? He doesn’t want to answer that question. “An unhelpful asshole who should definitely stay over and cook dinner for me since he wants to make up for being said ‘unhelpful asshole’.”

Sae scoffs, shaking his head whilst the thin, soft strands of his hair flit back and forth. His right eyebrow raises in a mocking expression, “You need to get yourself back out there, man. You’ll be old and grey if you keep waiting for the perfect girl to come knocking on your door, so just talk to her. Just fucking talk to her and put me out of my misery.”

“Are you trying to make this about you, right now?” Rin stares at his best friend in utter disbelief, but he’s not truly upset. He knows that Sae holds good wishes for him in all manners of life - this being no exception - and takes his words to heart. He’s right. Of course, he’s going to lose you if he doesn’t even try to get you back. “The sun must be falling out of the sky because I’m actually considering following your advice.”

“That’s a pretty picture to imagine,” his older brother chuckles, causing Rin to roll his eyes. What’s the sensation that everyone has with mentioning imagery every five seconds? “Just talk to her, man.” Sae continues, “Please, I’m all out of advice.”

Rin takes his brother’s pleas to heart. It is quite ridiculous that he’s spending his time depressed and lonesome when he could be reconciling with you. Perhaps it’s his fragile masculinity acting out and refusing to take blame for the situation, although he’s fully aware it’s completely his fault that you’re upset with him. 

It’s difficult for the gears to begin turning in Rin’s head. They’re covered in brittle rust that’s been creeping deep into the crevices of his mind for his entire life - slithering down his spine towards his blackened heart that you had only just begun to breathe life into. He misses the feeling of spring that came when you called. The freshwater rain of your laughter and budding blossoms of your smile that washed away his loneliness and replaced the awful emotion with an overgrown garden of bliss. He still doesn’t understand how he managed to mow that garden down with one sentence. He might as well have taken a chainsaw and brutally hacked into every connection that he’d managed to make with you in your time of knowing each other. 

Now he’s going to be on his knees begging for forgiveness with his hands stained by the minced grass. Does grass stain green or yellow? Hopefully not brown, dear lord. He’ll be buried deep into apologies that should definitely be rehearsed, but he knows he’s not an artist with words and he won’t bother to waste your time with crumpled-up ‘I’m sorry’ notes and improvised tears. 

You deserve nothing but the best - so much more than he’s been giving you and he needs you to hear those words come straight from his mouth. 

When did you begin to mean so much to him? Rin doesn’t even know. 

It could’ve been when you showed up to his game unannounced, with first row seats and a booming cheer that he never knew he desired. ‘C’mon number ten! I know you can do better than that! Beat their asses, Rin!’ He nearly tripped at the sound of your voice, and falling on his face was the last thing he wanted to do in front of Isagi - but to be completely honest, he doesn’t remember much of his qualms with his rival from that day. Rin was solely focused on playing well for you. The world stopped and he was given all the time needed to impress you. You give him a reason to be better, a selfless reason to do good. 

Perhaps it was when you’d shown him around your homey apartment, with maple art easels and splattered canvases lining the walls, and watched with glee as he made his best attempt at a finger painting (which may or may not have ended up looking like two worms kissing). ‘It’s abstract’, you’d say every time he found something new that was wrong with the art piece, ‘All it needs is a home. See?’ You hung his shitty little sketchbook paper on your living room wall, right next to your TV for the whole world to see. The way you stood there staring in awe still rattles his brain. You’ve always been able to find beauty in even the smallest things. 

Or maybe his heart had begun to beat a little faster that Saturday night on the way out of the theater. The romance of the film the two of you just witnessed was still on Rin’s mind, provoking his alcohol-induced body to make a pathetic attempt at holding your hand - which resulted in him accidentally knocking you over into a street puddle that swallowed the heel of your shoe. ‘I needed to take a shower anyway, Rin, it’s fine!’ Your smile continued to be bright despite the low temperature and sprinkling rain, and he can recall wondering how you managed to stay so positive in such a dreary situation. As you discarded your soggy heels into a nearby trashcan and skipped barefoot on the pavement, you called, ‘Come on! Dance with me!’ The shared laughter between the two of you echoed through the seemingly empty streets that surrounded you - hands connected as you swung in circles around each other and fell over one too many times, until he carried your sleeping body home. He doesn’t think anyone’s ever been able to make him laugh as hard. 

The way the corners of your eyes crinkle amidst fits of giggles is his favorite image to replay. He doesn’t need to know the color to be able to see how beautiful they are - to appreciate the blinding sparkle that overwhelms your irises when he accidentally trips over the uneven sidewalk or knocks over your painting station - or even when he unintentionally makes a sexual innuendo that you just so happen to pick up on. ‘That’s a love hotel, Rin! Why would I have stayed there before?’ It was almost as if you were conducting a symphony of glorious laughter that night. The violins played the tune of your voice in a higher octave and the cellos added a punch everytime you’d bite your lip in an attempt to calm down. He hadn’t known what a love hotel was intended for before that night, but he’d also made the mistake to say, ‘I wouldn’t mind going to my first one with you, it could be a first for both of us.’ and you still haven’t let him live it down. Rin’s honest with himself for the most part. He’s awkward, insufferable, and a bore to be around - yet, for some odd and unknown reason, those are your favorite things about him. Why?

Why is it that he can’t function like a normal person when your eyes meet his?

Why do his words rearrange themselves and become complete gibberish when he attempts to woo you with his charm?

What is it that keeps him coming back to you, despite holding such deep hatred for the things that you love most?

“I need to text her.” Rin feels his chest vibrate as he finally makes a decision, the words pouring from his mouth in a short word vomit - forcing Sae to piece together the jumbled mess and attempt to comprehend whatever it was that his big brother was trying to say, to which he jumps up from his seat at the island and aggressively pats Rin on the back. 

“That’s what I’ve been saying, dumbass! Get those fingers movin’!” 

His phone falls into his hands in a millisecond, with Sae eagerly awaiting to hear his poetry. He’s grateful to have such a supportive friend. Rin knows that there aren’t many people who would be willing to put up with him for so long - having been moping around and complaining day-and-night of relationship problems that were solely caused by him - and he can’t imagine not having his support. Hopefully he’ll be able to introduce you, one day. You’ll both give him so much shit for his attitude. Oh well. It’ll all be worth it having two people he loves get along. 

…

Did he just…

What did—

There’s no way.

Did he really just use that word? That godforsaken word?

He’s trembling. Rin’s phone is shaking in his hands as he finally comes to the realization that he does, with his entire heart and being, love you. In an instant, his entire world scrambles together with rapid dashes and line art that he can’t even comprehend. There’s no rules to follow with these types of feelings - this insistent need to see you. Hold you. Kiss you.

Fuck, he wants to kiss you. He can’t think of anything else he’d rather be doing. 

Like tapping raindrops that never cease their fall, his fingertips move against the keypad in a rhythmic motion - singing a song of love that can’t be contained into a simple lullaby. His heart pours out into the message, apology after apology being pasted in paragraphs, and hopes with his whole soul that you’ll find it in yourself to at least see him in person. There’s no way you won’t. Rin knows you well enough now that he’s certain he’ll be seeing you again. All he needed to do was take the first step towards forgiveness, and he’s finally willing to be vulnerable and own up to his inability to be honest about his feelings, because he loves you. He loves you and he wants to tell you a hundred times, a thousand times, and a million times until you beg him to shut the hell up and kiss you. 

‘I’ll be at the studio tonight. I miss you, ______, and I’m sorry.’

He ends the message with a final apology, begging fate that you’ll read it in time to meet him while he still has courage - and with that, he’s on his way to the place he hates most, awaiting the person whom he loves most.

An hour has passed - well technically it’s been fifty-seven minutes, but who’s counting?

He’s counting.

The sun went into hiding ages ago and the moon now stalks him as he sits in his chair, lonely with two vacant eyes that wish they were gazing at yours. Rin can’t even tell if you’ve read the text or not - the grey speech bubbles look the same as they always have, and the delivered sign is posted at the bottom with no response. He wants to send a follow-up message, just a little ‘hey, you there?’ but he knows that’s a little bit much. If you want to see him, you’ll see him and he’ll confess his feelings once-and-for-all - though, he’s feeling much less confident than he was an hour ago. Ahem, sorry. Fifty-nine minutes ago. 

Rin has a plan of what he’s going to say to you, and hopefully it makes sense when the words begin to fall from his lips. He’s said it many times before, but he’ll say it again, he’s never been good with words or feelings or anything of the sort. He wants to get better, though - to become more emotionally aware for your sake, because he knows that’s a priority for you. You have an image of your dream guy that’s been in your wishes since primary school - tall, handsome, daring, dashing, yada, yada, yada - and he’s trying to be that guy. He needs to be that guy. He’ll be anything for you. 

Anything and everything…even the desperate guy who can’t get a text back. 

Y’know, for a moment - a brief and fleeting moment - the world seemed a little more beautiful in his self-realization of love. The stars glistened brighter and the street lights sparkled in their reflections. Before tonight, Rin hasn’t ever been able to appreciate the natural beauty of what surrounded him. He never understood your fascination with replicating real life into paintings and sketches, but he seems to have digested the concept - at least a little bit. The only thing that could undoubtedly make his world more dazzling would be the sight of you, and holy shit there you are. There you are opening the front door - and your gorgeous, perfect reflection in the glass is looking straight at him. 

He doesn’t need the ability to see color to know that you’re the most fascinating and jaw-dropping sight in the entire universe - and that the rainbow should be rearranged in the letters of your name in honor of your ability to captivate attention and inflict a multitude of emotions on him that he’s never felt before. 

“Rin?” Your melodious voice is the remedy that his ears have been yearning for. “Rin, is that you? Why’re you in the dark?” 

This means you haven’t read his text, right? Otherwise, why would you be confused as to why he’s here? Wait, why’re you even here?

You begin to explain yourself without him needing to ask, “I left my phone in here earlier like an idiot and I’ve been looking for it all day. Isn’t that so dumb?” You let out a little laugh, amused at your inability to keep track of your personal belongings. Why aren’t you acting like you’re upset with him? The last time you talked, you could barely look him in the eye - yet now, you’re so casual, almost as if nothing happened. “Here I am looking for my lost phone, but instead I find a lost Rin Itoshi.”

“What are you doing here? Sitting in the dark?”

The repeated question is met with a pregnant silence as Rin fails to piece together the rehearsed words he had come up with earlier, settling on a bear hug that nearly suffocates you. 

He’s so overwhelmed by the feeling of touching you again that he barely notices how stiff your posture is. You’re practically a piece of rock in the midst of being carved by its maker, frozen and unable to formulate an action in response - which, in this case, means that he’s your artist. Rin relaxes his hold, urging you to reciprocate his warmth by nestling his face in your neck. Your right arm finds its place wrapped around his waist and your left around his neck, allowing him to engulf you further into his hold. You smell so nice. He notices the lavender perfume that he bought you is still rubbed into your skin, and he’s glad that you’re finally using it. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

Rin’s fingers run through your hair in smooth waves, gently kneading out the small knots and helping you relax - and he can tell that your full attention is on him. For the first time in knowing you, there aren’t any distractions or excuses to avoid this conversation. It’s just you, him, and the bare truth. He just hopes he can execute this right. 

“There aren’t enough words to explain how sorry I am, genuinely. I shouldn’t have ever belittled you like that, ______.” He takes a deep breath, one of many, and closes his eyes. The scene of you stomping away from him has no end in his mind. It constantly plays at every hour of the day, re-run after re-run, to torment him and remind him how horribly he screwed up with you. Please, please forgive him. “You’re not just my mom’s student. You’re not just a friend that I get coffee with. You’re so much more than that and I’ve been such a fucking chicken and haven’t been able to be honest with you.”

“You couldn’t have possibly known about my condition and it was wrong of me to take my frustration out on you.” Rin can feel himself begin to cry, his tears raining down his cheeks in cascades of pent up anger and hatred for how he made you feel that day. You didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve to be treated like shit by him. “Your work is important to you and I know it should be appreciated. What’s important to you is important to me, okay?”

“You love your art, and I love you.”

He says it over and over again. Those three special words rapidly become six words, nine words, eighteen, forty-two, and onwards as you look at him with an empty expression. Please, please say something. For every second of no response, he confesses his love to you. He confesses as if it’s his source of air - the only way that he’ll be able to survive this encounter is if he bares his emotions with no regrets. If this were a movie, he’d be the desperate protagonist in the climax of the story who fucked up his love life and is begging for a second chance - hell, this is real life and that’s exactly what he’s doing. Just, please, have a happy ending.

You open your mouth, yet nothing comes out. No words. No statements. No confessions. You’re simply staring at him like he’s just told you the most absurd news in the existence of the universe…

…and then a tear falls. 

One tear slips from your eyes, followed by another, and another…until your face is drenched in salty rain with black mascara creasing your eyes. You look like a raccoon. Rin almost starts laughing. No. He is laughing; laughing because your false lashes have fallen into your hands as the glue refused to be waterproof - and now you’re standing before him in a puddled mess of makeup and disheveled hair. You’ve never looked more beautiful. 

Rin brushes his fingers across your cheek, attempting to wipe away your tears like an artist covering up a beautiful mistake. If he were a painter, he’d paint you a million times and more - hanging every portrait on every single wall of his apartment, until there was literally no space left for a scrap of paper. You’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever laid his eyes on, and the smile that suddenly bursts from your sobs confirms it. 

“What’s going on? I’m so confused, are you happy or are you sad?” He’s so concerned and his inability to read emotions correctly only makes him more helpless. “Talk to me, beautiful. C’mon.”

You lean into his touch and he instantly knows that everything is going to be okay. 

“I just never thought I’d hear you say that.” Your smile is directed at him now, and he feels a warmth that is so familiar yet unfamiliar and he can’t get enough of it. It’s similar to the feeling of being showered in sunlight or snuggling beneath a comforter in the winter - an overwhelming comfort that’s a gift from you to him. “I feel like I’ve been waiting forever. Fuck you for that.”

Now you’re both laughing, giggling, and beaming at each other. His heart feels so at peace. The civil war between his divided emotions, love and loneliness, has finally ceased. 

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

Neither of you can stop the flow of confessions that slip from your tongues and in an instant your lips are on his - clashing and colliding in a furious kiss that rivals the strength of a hurricane. It’s almost as if he can physically feel your love pouring into him and warming his heart into a heated flame, stoked by the embers of your touch. God, he missed your touch. The feeling of it is addicting. It’s his personal heroin and he’ll never get enough of it. 

Your lips are just as soft as he imagined them to be, perhaps they're a rosy pink color with the slightest touch of strawberry lip balm that he keeps getting a fleeting hint of taste from. Never in his wildest dreams did he think you’d love him too. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. He silently repeats over and over - grateful that he’s been so blessed to know you…feel you…and love you in the awful world that he hated living on his own  - the world void of color that you’ve somehow brightened by simply breathing beside him. 

His hands are everywhere. Your hips. Your waist. Your breasts. Your neck. He can’t get enough of the feeling of you. With every passing second he’s falling deeper and deeper in love. You’re utterly perfect, he would kiss you for years if that was an option—

Aw shit, he knocked over an easel. 

“Goddammit,” he mumbles while briefly pulling away from you. Of course he had to interrupt the moment he’s been waiting months for with his clumsiness. He’s such a dumbass. If he could punch himself in the gut, he would - but that would be way too embarrassing in front of you - hold up, this painting is familiar!

“Well I'll be damned.” He chuckles and turns the canvas towards you, to which you burst out laughing. “I thought you’d have thrown this out.”

“No,” you gaze at the painting with love in your eyes. “I could never, that’s how we met.”

The painted streak he accidentally inflicted upon your artwork remains in the same position. It seems that you never even bothered covering it up and embraced the imperfection. While Rin cannot decipher the magnitude of colors on the canvas, he’s sure that the various strokes look gorgeous and masterful. You’ve always been so talented. He’s so lucky.

As he places the painting upon a now-standing easel, you rest your forehead against his. He loves you. He loves you so much. So much so that he can’t help but take a step closer, not just one but many, and embrace the overwhelming love and passion he holds for you. There are so many words he wants to say, confessions that can carry on for an infinite number of lines, but there’s no need for that now. You have forever - and he decides to start that forever with his favorite thing…

…a kiss. 

“I love you.” You whisper.

“I love you more.” He replies.

read the final part here. THANK UUUU

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⊹₊｡ reblogs are greatly appreciated! ˚₊⊹

[doormatty3]

Veiled Passions - Josh POV (Josh Lambert x Reader)

Masterlist Ao3

Summary:

[Josh Lambert x Female Reader] [Josh Lambert x You]  I know I should stay away from her - to commit the sex we had to memory and move on with life. But my heart, stubborn and unyielding, refuses to comply, drawn to her like a moth to a flame, so it happens again and again until we decide to enter a committed relationship. Each stolen moment with her feels like a fleeting escape from reality’s constraints, and I know I’m head over heels in love with her. But when my own son, Dalton, develops feelings for her, the guilt and shame that gnaw at my conscience threaten to consume me whole. It’s as if fate has orchestrated a cruel irony, dangling love before me, only to reveal the painful consequences of my actions.  Yet, despite the turmoil and self-doubt that plague my mind, I find myself unable to let her go. But there lies a flicker of hope - a belief that perhaps, against all odds, love will conquer all. OR: I show her who she belongs to.

Wordcount: 9,570

Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding, vaginal sex, smut, dirty talk, older man/ younger woman, daddy issues, face fucking, blowjob

A/N: This is the second part of the story from Josh's perspective - click here for the first part.

It’s curious how a simple spark can ignite into a consuming flame.

I had sex with her in my son’s dorm room, and while I know it was never supposed to happen in the first place - it did happen again and again. Like starved, we just fell over each other in her room at the first chance we got. After that, we decided that it seemed impossible to stay away, so we started meeting up at my house.

I should harbour guilt - after all, she’s considerably younger and not as burdened as I am. Yet, inexplicably, I find myself devoid of remorse. There’s a natural ease, an undeniable chemistry between us. 

I’m drawn to her like a moth to the flame, unable to resist the magnetic pull that defies reason despite the potential consequences.

But it’s more than mere physical attraction. 

I crave a deeper, more profound connection with her, a connection that encompasses everything - mind, body, and soul. 

I believe she feels the same. Our relationship has evolved beyond the sexual; we eat together, share conversations, and have intimate moments that bind us in ways I never thought possible.

All that’s missing is a definitive label for what we share, a recognition of the depth of our connection and the gravity of our feelings. 

And as she prepares to visit me today, I am consumed with anticipation. I can hardly wait to hold her in my arms again, to lose myself in the warmth of her embrace.

_____

The gentle rap on my door pulls me from my thoughts, and without hesitation, I stride to it and grasp the handle and pull it open to reveal her standing on the threshold.

A smile naturally spreads across my face as I take in her beauty. The soft glow of the morning light bathes her features, enhancing her radiance even further. She’s illuminated with a gentle warmth, casting a halo around her head and accentuating the soft blush that graces her cheeks. 

Her presence is like a breath of fresh air, a welcome reprieve from the mundane routines of everyday life.  There’s an ethereal quality to her as if she’s stepped straight out of a dream and into my reality.

“Hey,” I whisper, my voice barely above a breath, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. “I’m glad you’re here.”

A soft smile graces her lips. “Me too,” she responds, her voice carrying a hint of excitement. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

With a subtle gesture, I step aside, inviting her in. As she crosses the threshold, I can’t help but let my gaze linger on her figure, appreciating the way her jeans hugs her ass. 

I close the door behind her with a soft click, and without hesitation, I wrap her in a tight embrace, my arms encircling her.

Her scent washes over me, a perfect combination of something sweet and uniquely her. I inhale deeply, committing it to memory as her warmth seeps into my bones. It’s as if she was made to fit perfectly against me, her body moulding to mine with effortless ease.

As she reciprocates the hug, her arms wrapping around me, I can’t help but smile. 

With a gentle tug, I pull back slightly, just enough to gaze into her beautiful face. Cupping her chin in my hand, I tilt her head upwards and capture her lips in a tender kiss. She tastes like coffee and just her.

I can feel the curve of her smile against my mouth, sending shivers down my spine and butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

Reluctantly breaking the kiss, I take her hand in mine and lead her into the living room. 

We settle onto the couch, her body pressed close to mine, and I revel in the sensation of her warmth against my skin. As she lets out a contented sigh, I can’t help but feel a sense of peace wash over me, knowing that in her arms, I’ve found my sanctuary.

But when her gaze meets mine, I notice a subtle change in her expression, a hint of nervousness flickering across her features like a passing shadow.

“Josh,” she begins, her voice barely more than a whisper, “there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

A chill runs down my spine at the solemnity in her tone, my heart skipping a beat with apprehension. Instinctively, I reach out to gently squeeze her hand in a gesture of reassurance.

“Of course, sweetheart,” I murmur, trying to keep my voice steady despite the rising tide of fear and concern. “What’s on your mind?”

As she takes a deep breath, her eyes flutter closed, and I can sense the weight of her words before she even speaks them. “It’s about us,” she confesses, and instantly, my blood runs cold, my heart pounding in my chest as I furrow my brow in concern.

My worst fears seem to materialise as she continues, her words hanging heavy in the air. “About where we stand, what we mean to each other.”

I swallow heavily, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. The thought that she might be ending whatever fragile connection we’ve built fills me with paralysing dread.

“Go on,” I urge softly, my voice trembling with fear, betraying the turmoil raging within me.

“It’s just...” She pauses, her words hesitant as if treading on fragile ground. “I care about you, Josh, more than I can put into words. But there are so many obstacles in our way.”

For a moment, time seems to stand still as her words sink in, the weight of her confession settling like a heavy stone in the pit of my stomach. She’s ending it, I think - a surge of panic coursing through me like an electric shock. But before I can interject, she presses on.

“The age difference, the fact that you’re my friend’s dad... It’s all so complicated,” she continues, her voice trembling with uncertainty.

“I know,” I murmur, my voice gentle and quiet, a fragile thread holding back the torrent of emotions threatening to overwhelm me.

Desperation claws at the edges of my consciousness as I search for the right words to keep her from slipping away. “Believe me, I’ve thought about all of that too. But none of it changes how I feel about you.”

A sense of relief washes over me as the truth spills from my lips, a small confession whispered into the void. But even as the weight lifts from my shoulders, I can’t shake the gnawing fear that lingers in the back of my mind. 

It would be her right to end it, I realize, the reality of our complicated situation looming over us like a dark cloud on the horizon. And yet, despite it all, I can’t help but hope that she’ll choose to stay.

“I want something permanent with you. Something real and lasting,” she finally says, her voice filled with determination and longing as it cuts through the tense silence.

My breath catches in my throat as her words sink in, a rush of emotions flooding through me like a tidal wave. She wants this, she wants us , and the realisation leaves me feeling both exhilarated and overwhelmed.

“And so do I,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper but filled with conviction. “I want us to be in a proper relationship. I want you to be my girlfriend.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with anticipation, as I wait for her response. And when her smile lights up her face, a radiant beacon of happiness, I know that I’ve found my answer.

“I’d like that,” she says, her voice soft but resolute. “I’d like to be your girlfriend.”

A surge of joy rushes through me, a euphoria I can hardly contain. It’s as if all the worries and uncertainties of the past melt away, leaving only the promise of a future filled with love and possibility.

I reach out to take her hand in mine, feeling the warmth of her touch as our fingers intertwine. “Thank you,” I whisper, my voice choked with emotion. “You mean everything to me.”

Without another word, I lean in to capture her lips in a kiss. It’s passionate and tender, a promise of all the love and devotion that I have yet to express in words. And as we share this moment together, I know with certainty that I’ve finally found someone worth fighting for, someone I can see forever with.

_____

“I wish this weekend didn’t have to end,” she confesses, her words echoing the sentiment that has been lingering in my own mind as we reach the front door on Sunday evening. 

With a heavy sigh, I nod in agreement, unable to tear my gaze away from her. “I know,” I reply softly, my voice tinged with regret. “But we’ll see each other again soon, I promise.”

Reaching out, I take her hand in mine and intertwine our fingers, drawing comfort from the warmth of her touch. But when she looks down at our joined hands, a quiet question lingers in her gaze.

“Do you want to meet up next week?” she asks quietly, her eyes searching mine for an answer.

My heart sinks at the thought of disappointing her, but I know that I can’t make any promises I can’t keep. The question pulls me back to the harsh reality of our complicated situation. “I’d love to,” I reply honestly, “but I have the kids next weekend. It’s going to be a bit chaotic.”

The words spill from my lips like a bitter truth, casting a shadow over the fragile hope that had blossomed between us.

It’s not that I don’t want her to meet my other kids, Foster and Cali, but the thought of broaching the subject with Dalton fills me with a sense of unease.

We haven’t discussed how we’ll tell him we’re a couple, and the mere thought of it sends a shiver down my spine. I know it will be awkward, potentially even damaging to his friendship with her, and so I’ve been putting it off, hoping for the right moment to present itself.

Besides, it feels far too early to introduce her to the rest of my family. We’ve only been seeing each other for a short time, and while our connection is undeniably strong, there are still so many uncertainties lingering in the air.

Her smile falters momentarily, a flicker of disappointment crossing her features before she masks it with forced cheerfulness.

“That’s okay,” she says, masking the disappointment in her eyes. “We’ll find a way to make it work, even if it’s just for a little while.”

I can’t bear to see her sad, and the thought of waiting another two weeks until I can hold her in my arms again is almost unbearable. “How about you come over during the week?” I suggest a glimmer of hope igniting within me. “We could grab dinner or just spend some time together.”

Her smile, though tinged with sadness, is still blinding and radiant.“ I’d like that,” she says, her voice soft but full of warmth. “I’d like that a lot.”

With a tender smile, I use my hands to gently cup her face, savouring the softness of her skin and the way she leans into my touch. Her eyes flutter closed, a contented sigh escaping her lips.

Angling her head upwards once more, I press my lips to hers in a kiss that speaks volumes of the emotions that course through my veins.

Eventually, I break the kiss, my heart heavy with the knowledge that our time together is ending. “See you next week, sweetheart,” I whisper, my voice laced with a mixture of longing and anticipation.

“Until next week,” she replies, breaking from my embrace and heading towards her car.

I watch her until she disappears from view, the sound of her car engine fading into the distance. It’s a bittersweet moment, filled with the promise of our eventual reunion but tinged with the ache of separation.

Returning to the house, I notice a sweater. She’s left it behind on accident, and it’s a tangible reminder of her presence that fills the room with the scent of her perfume even if she’s not in it. With a smile, I drape it over the couch, making a mental note to return it to her when we see each other again.

_____

On Monday, Foster, my other son, visits the house to retrieve some items he had left behind, thinking he didn’t need them. But among them are school materials he now requires, so I go to his room and grab them for him while he stays in the living room. 

As I reenter the room, carrying the box of Foster’s belongings, I catch a glimpse of his furrowed brow and his gaze fixed upon the couch. Following his line of sight, I immediately understand the cause of his confusion - her sweater.

It’s a striking red, unlike anything I would wear, with a neckline too low and a size too small to be mistaken for one of my own - and, of course, it’s undeniably female. 

I swallow hard, my heart pounding in my chest as I brace myself for the inevitable confrontation. This is definitely not how I wanted my kids to find out about my relationship, especially not Foster, who I know has a close bond with Dalton.

For a moment, I stand frozen in place, unsure of how to proceed. Should I address the elephant in the room or pretend not to notice? 

If I want to avoid telling him about my girlfriend, I should definitely pretend that everything is fine, so I clear my throat to announce my presence and step back into the living room, hoping to divert Foster’s attention away from the sweater.

Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, I consciously try to appear calm and collected as I approach him. With a forced nonchalance, I hand him the box, hoping to distract him from the sweater.

“Here you go, Foster,” I say, my voice betraying none of the anxiety swirling within me. “You left these in your room.”

Foster accepts the box with a nod of gratitude, but his gaze lingers on the sweater for a moment longer before he averts his eyes. I can sense his curiosity, his unspoken questions hanging in the air between us like a heavy fog.

But before either of us can broach the subject, I quickly change the topic, eager to steer the conversation away from the uncomfortable truth.

“So, how’s school going?” I ask, forcing a casual tone as I attempt to shift the focus. “Need any help with your assignments?”

Foster seems to catch on to my subtle diversion, and he launches into a discussion about his classes and upcoming exams. As he speaks, I can’t help but feel a sense of relief wash over me, grateful for the temporary reprieve from the inevitable conversation that looms on the horizon.

But even as we talk, I can’t shake the nagging feeling that this encounter is just the beginning of a much larger talk that we’ll need to have, one that I’m not entirely prepared for.

After a while, I walk him to the door, bidding him farewell, thankful that the conversation didn’t take a more awkward turn and that he didn’t ask me anything about the item of clothing. 

“Thanks, Dad,” Foster replies with a smile, seemingly oblivious to the tension that hangs in the air or just very good at pretending. “Are us coming over on the weekend still fine?”

Relief floods through me at his nonchalant question. “Yes, still fine. I’m looking forward to it,” I reply with a forced smile. “We could maybe go out to this good burger restaurant I found?”

Foster’s smile widens at the suggestion, and he nods eagerly in agreement. 

As I watch him leave, a weight lifts from my shoulders, but I know that the inevitable conversation with my kids and, especially Dalton is still approaching.

_____

Sitting in my home office, surrounded by stacks of tests waiting to be graded, I’m interrupted by the familiar chime of my phone. With a quick swipe, I unlock the screen to find a message from her waiting for me.

Hey,

Can I come over? I really need to see you right now…

Please?

My brow furrows as I read her urgent plea to see me. It’s not uncommon for her to reach out and text me, but there’s an edge to her message that leaves me uneasy, a sense of urgency that I can’t ignore.

I quickly type out a response, my fingers tapping against the screen with worry.

Of course, you can come over. Is everything okay?

Watching the message marked as read without a response, a knot forms in my stomach, my mind racing with worry over what could have happened.

The seconds tick by agonisingly slow as I anxiously await her response that isn’t coming, my heart pounding in my chest with each passing moment.

Around 15 minutes later, a hesitant knock on the front door breaks the silence in my home. I swing the door open to reveal her standing there, her eyes filled with a haunting turmoil that sends a shiver down my spine.

Without a word, I pull her into my arms, feeling the tension in her body melt away as she clings to me. Her embrace is tight, her head buried in my chest as if she’s seeking refuge from some unseen storm, and I hold her close, offering whatever comfort I can.

After a few moments, I pull back slightly so I can see her features. She looks calmer than before, and I brush a stray hair from her face, my fingertips lingering against her skin. I press a tender kiss on her forehead in an attempt to console her even further, to take some of that weight away that seems to be crushing her. 

“Come inside,” I murmur, my voice a soothing whisper as I guide her into the warmth of my home. My heart aches to hold and kiss her properly and hopefully find out what freaked her out so badly. 

We settle at the dining table, facing each other in the soft glow of the evening light.

“So, what happened?” I ask, my tone gentle yet filled with concern as I study her face.

“It’s about Dalton,” she starts, her voice barely above a whisper, and I feel my heart speed up in my chest as I listen to her speak. “Today, at the coffee shop... he...”

Her words trail off, leaving a heavy silence hanging in the air. Concern gnaws at me as I lean in closer, trying to catch every nuance of her expression - I’m growing increasingly worried for her and my son. “He what?” I prompt gently, my hand instinctively moving to run through my hair in nervous anticipation.

“He told me that he... has feelings for me,” she whispers, her voice barely audible but resonating loudly in the stillness of the room. The words reverberating against the walls as if she screamed from the top of her lungs.

For a moment, time seems to stand still as her words sink in, like a sharp knife slicing through the calm. My breath catches in my throat, my hand freezing in its tracks, fingers tangled in my hair as I struggle to process the weight of her revelation.

“I see,” I manage to murmur, my voice strained with the effort to maintain composure. Leaning forward, I rest my arms on the table, attempting to anchor myself amidst the tumult of emotions swirling within me as I try to process what this means for us. My son harbours feelings for my girlfriend – his friend from college.

Her trembling voice pierces through the heavy silence once again, pulling me back to the present. “I... I didn’t know how to respond,” she confesses, her eyes pleading for understanding. “I care about him, of course, but not in the same way.”

As I meet her gaze, a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts churns within me. Rationality urges me to consider what’s best for her to acknowledge the challenges posed by our age difference. Yet, my heart rebels against reason, unwilling to contemplate a future without her by my side.

Unable to face her, I cast my gaze downward again, grappling with the weight of our reality.

“Josh, I want you to know that I only want you,” her voice filled with conviction and sincerity. I can feel her eyes on me, searching for a glimmer of understanding amidst the turmoil within me. 

Her words catch me off guard, stirring a storm of conflicting emotions within my chest. I can’t shake the feeling that she deserves someone better, that she should not want me - instead, she should be happy and overjoyed that someone like Dalton wants her.

Reluctantly, I meet her gaze, my eyes locking with hers in an unspoken exchange of vulnerability and uncertainty. Her expression is a mosaic of pleading and fear, mirroring the chaos raging within me. I lean back in my chair, my fingers grazing through my hair again.

Unable to bear the weight of her unwavering affection, I avert my gaze, my thoughts spiralling into a vortex of self-doubt and apprehension. 

This feels like a universal sign, a cruel twist of fate reminding me of the impossibility and all the problems of our relationship. The mere fact that my son harbours feelings for her feels like the ultimate sign.

Lost in the labyrinth of my own insecurities, my self-deprecating thoughts are loud and incessant, and they suggest that I’m bad for her. 

Perhaps it’s time for me to assume the role of the adult, to sacrifice my own desires for the sake of her happiness in the long run - and let her go. 

In the depths of my soul, I acknowledge the bitter truth that our connection was doomed from the start, a delicate tapestry woven from threads of problems and obstacles. Orchestrated by fate itself, designed to unravel at the slightest tug, leaving us stranded in a sea of unfulfilled longing and shattered dreams.

I ignore the persistent voice in my head - a voice that whispers insistently, reminding me that this was her choice as well. She chose me, just as I chose her.

But the words escape my lips in a barely audible whisper, reverberating in the quiet room like a solemn decree. “Maybe... maybe someone like Dalton would be better for you.”

Even as the words leave my mouth, they feel foreign and wrong, a betrayal of the emotions pulsating within me. Yet, I cling to them as a lifeline, a semblance of rationality in a sea of tumultuous emotions. Deep down, I know it’s the right thing to do despite the ache in my heart at the mere thought of losing her.

Her eyes widen in disbelief, the shock and horror etched unmistakably across her beautiful face. It pains me to witness the anguish I’ve caused her, to see the flicker of hope dimming in her eyes as the weight of my words settles upon her fragile shoulders. 

My heart aches with the realisation that this may truly be the end - that I may be losing her forever and that it’s for the better.

“But Josh,” she protests, her voice laced with raw emotion, barely above a whisper. “I don’t want someone like Dalton. I want you .”

“I know,” I murmur softly, my own voice trembling with the weight of my decision. “But maybe... maybe I’m not what you need.”

The words hang heavy in the air between us, a testament to the agony of our shared dilemma. I know she wants me - I can see it in the depths of her pleading eyes, feel it in the tremor of her voice just as I want her with every fibre of my being. 

The mere thought of waking up tomorrow without her by my side fills me with a profound sense of emptiness, a void that threatens to consume me whole. And yet, I know deep down that this is the right thing to do, no matter how much it tears me apart inside.

I can sense her struggle, her silent plea for me to see past my own insecurities and fears, to embrace the love that she so willingly offers.

Watching her rise from her seat with agonising slowness, I feel a sense of helplessness wash over me - a realisation that I am powerless to ease her pain, to mend the fractures in our fractured bond. “I should go,” she murmurs softly, her voice barely audible above the din of my own anguish.

Tears well in her eyes and spill over onto her cheeks, my own heart breaking with each silent sob that escapes her lips. I know she feels broken because of what I’ve done, because of the pain I’ve inflicted upon her. And yet, I cling to the faint hope that she’ll come to understand, that she’ll see the necessity of my decision in the days to come - even if I cannot bring myself to do the same.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion as I struggle to articulate the depth of my remorse. “I wish things could be different.”

But even as the words leave my lips, I know that wishes are merely fleeting whispers in the wind, echoes of a reality that may never come to pass. 

Suddenly, she whirls around, facing me. The evening light casts long shadows across her features, accentuating the intensity in her eyes that are swimming with tears. I’m momentarily stunned and surprised by her reaction, taken aback by the ferocity of her response.

“No, Josh. I won’t accept that,” she retorts, her voice carrying an edge of anger tempered by an unwavering determination. “I won’t settle for someone else when all I want is you .”

Her words reverberate through the room, echoing off the walls and resonating deep within me. It’s a declaration that catches me off guard, shattering the fragile equilibrium I had clung to.

Her unwavering conviction leaves me speechless, my thoughts swirling in a maelstrom of uncertainty, and I am having difficulties grappling with the fact that she wants me . And that she is fighting for me - for us .

“I just don’t know if this is such a good idea,” I confess, my uncertainty palpable as I avoid meeting her gaze. The weight of my doubts presses down on me, suffocating in its intensity.

It’s as if she can sense my inner turmoil, the silent struggle playing out behind my eyes. Without hesitation, she reaches out to take my hand in hers. Her touch is a lifeline in the tempest of my emotions, grounding me in the present moment.

“Josh, look at me,” she insists, her voice unwavering in its determination. Reluctantly, I raise my gaze to meet hers, feeling like a marionette under her commanding presence. Her eyes, pools of unwavering sincerity, bore into mine with a depth that leaves me speechless.

“From the moment I met you, I knew there was something special between us,” she continues, her words resonating within the depths of my soul. “I wanted you then, and I want you now.”

Her declaration leaves me stunned, my mind struggling to process the magnitude of her confession. It’s as if the world around us fades into insignificance, leaving only the echo of her words reverberating in the silence.

“I love you, Josh,” she declares, her voice a fervent proclamation of her unwavering affection. “And I won’t let you push me away because you’re too afraid to face your own feelings.”

As her words wash over me, I feel a wave of conflicting emotions surge within me. Part of me refuses to believe that I could be deserving of such profound love, while another part swells with elation at the realisation of her devotion.

I wet my dry lips, struggling to find the words to convey the depth of my emotions. With each beat of my heart, the truth becomes clearer until I can no longer deny it.

“I... I love you too,” I finally confess, the admission a balm to my restless soul. With those three simple words, the weight of uncertainty lifts, replaced by a sense of clarity and purpose.

I swallow hard, my gaze drifting away from her piercing eyes. The weight of her love bears down on me, intertwining with my own fears and doubts. Because I wonder - will it be enough? 

“But I’m scared, sweetheart,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared of what this could mean for us. Especially now that Dalton has feelings for you.”

She steps forward again, her presence a comforting anchor in the swirling sea of uncertainty. With each measured step, she closes the distance between us until we’re only mere inches apart. Her touch is gentle yet firm as she cups my cheek, her hand trembling slightly against my skin, and I feel the warmth of her touch seeping into my very being.

“We can face this together,” she says softly, her voice a soothing balm to my troubled soul, brimming with unwavering hope and determination.

At that moment, the weight of her words washes over me, stirring something deep within my heart. Maybe, just maybe, our love is enough to weather the storms that lie ahead. Perhaps we can navigate the murky waters of uncertainty together, emerging stronger on the other side.

The treacherous tendrils of hope begin to weave their way through the fabric of my doubts, igniting a flicker of optimism within my chest. Why continue to fight against the inevitable when it’s clear that she is the right choice, the beacon of light in the darkness of my doubts?

I want this, her, us. And I’m tired of denying myself happiness.

“Yes, we will,” I murmur, my voice quiet and soft, my resolve solidifying with each passing moment.

With a gentle urgency, she closes the remaining distance between us, her breath mingling with mine, and her soft lips meet mine in a tender yet desperate kiss.

In that fleeting moment of connection, time seems to stand still, the world around us fading into insignificance as we become lost in each other’s embrace. Her touch is like a lifeline, pulling me closer and anchoring me to the present moment.

With an urgency born of longing, I pull her closer, my hands tracing the contours of her back, desperate to feel her warmth against me. At that moment, she feels like the missing piece of my soul, filling the void with her presence.

As our lips part, a soft groan escapes me, my chest heaving with ragged breaths as I drink in the sight of her flushed cheeks and parted lips. The intensity of my desire for her is overwhelming, threatening to consume me entirely.

Unable to resist the magnetic pull between us, I draw her back into my embrace, capturing her lips in another searing kiss.

“I want you, Josh - only you,” she breathes, her voice filled with unwavering determination and love.

Her whispered words send shivers down my spine, the sincerity in her voice washing away any lingering doubts. At that moment, I know with absolute certainty that she is mine, and I am hers, brought together by a love that knows no bounds.

As our lips meet in another electrifying kiss, I revel in the sensation of her soft, supple lips against mine. My hands remain firmly planted on her back, pulling her closer with every passing moment, unable to get enough of her intoxicating presence.

Between kisses, I murmur against her lips, my voice heavy with emotion, “I can’t imagine wanting anyone else either, sweetheart. The way you make me feel... it’s indescribable.”

Her eyes light up with joy and adoration, reflecting the depth of her love for me as she enthusiastically returns my kisses. At that moment, I am lost in the overwhelming intensity of our connection, unable to imagine a future without her by my side.

With a deep breath, she breaks the kiss, her fingers tracing a delicate path along the contours of my jaw. I shiver at her touch, every nerve in my body electrified by her gentle caress, my cock twitching in my pants. My gaze remains locked on hers, drinking in the depth of her love and devotion.

Suddenly, she sinks to her knees before me, her movements graceful and deliberate. My heart pounds in my chest, anticipation mingling with desire as I watch her with bated breath.

At that moment, time seems to slow down as I drink in the sight of her kneeling before me, her beauty illuminated by the soft glow of the light. My heart races with excitement as I realise what she’s about to do, my body trembling with anticipation.

“Josh,” she whispers, barely above a breath, filled with reverence and longing. “I need you. I need us.”

Her words send a shiver down my spine as I gaze into her eyes, seeing the raw desire reflected in their depths. With trembling hands, she begins to trace delicate patterns over the fabric of my jeans, each touch sending a jolt of electricity coursing through my veins and straight to my cock that’s already straining against my jeans.

I bite back a groan, my breath hitching in my throat as her fingers dance along the outline of my muscles, teasing and tormenting me with every stroke. Arousal pulses through my body, my senses heightened as I struggle to maintain control, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

Every touch and every caress fans the flames of desire burning within me, threatening to consume me entirely. I fight against the overwhelming urge to pull her up into my arms and lose myself in her completely, knowing that she needs this as much as I do.

Almost suddenly, she reaches for the waistband of my pants, her fingers deftly undoing the button and zipper with practised ease. With a swift motion, she pushes my trousers and boxers down to my ankles, and I step out of them, the cool air of the room now caressing my exposed skin as my hard dick springs free, finally not confined to the tightness of my underwear. 

Reaching out, my hand trembles slightly as I cup her cheek, savouring the warmth of her skin beneath my touch. “You’re so beautiful,” I murmur, my voice husky with desire. “I can’t believe you’re here with me, doing this.”

She leans into my touch, her cheek pressing against the palm of my hand, and I feel a surge of affection wash over me. The intimacy of the moment is almost overwhelming, and I find myself lost in the depths of her gaze.

The sensation is electrifying when he wraps her hand around my throbbing cock. A surge of pleasure courses through my body, igniting every nerve ending and sending my senses into overdrive. My eyes automatically roll back in my head, overwhelmed by the intensity of the pleasure she’s unleashing upon me.

It’s crazy, really, how much she turns me on. Just the touch of her hand against my hardened dick is enough to drive me wild with desire. I can feel every inch of her soft, delicate fingers as they glide along my shaft, sending shivers of pleasure racing up my spine.

I can’t help but groan in pleasure as she swirls her tongue over the sensitive head of my cock. The sound of her quiet moans only adds to the intensity of the moment, fueling my desire and driving me wild with need.

With each flick of her tongue, I can feel myself growing harder and harder, the anticipation building to a fever pitch. I’m entirely at her will, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Finally, mercifully, she takes the tip of my throbbing cock into her mouth, sucking lightly as her hand continues to stroke my length. The sensation is indescribable, and I can’t help but moan loudly as I feel myself being engulfed in the wetness of her mouth.

My hands automatically find their way into her soft hair, fingers threading through the strands as she continues her tantalising ministrations.

“Christ, sweetheart,” I rasp, my voice rough and strained with desire. “You know how to drive me crazy. Keep doing that, please…”

As she takes me even deeper into her mouth, I can’t help but tighten my grip on her hair, the sensation sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through my body. I fight to hold back the urge to buck my hips or release too soon, desperate to savour every moment.

My moans grow louder, echoing off the walls of the room as the overwhelming pleasure threatens to consume me entirely. “Sweetheart, that feels incredible,” I groan, unable to contain the sheer ecstasy of the moment.

As I feel the slight scratch of her fingernails on my balls, I can’t help but buck my hips, a guttural groan escaping my lips as I feel my cock slipping further down her throat.

The sensation of being engulfed so deeply in her mouth is almost overwhelming, and for a moment, I’m lost in the exquisite pleasure. But then I hear it - the subtle sound of her gagging - and my eyes flutter open, my concern instantly piqued. I notice the tears pooling in her eyes, and without hesitation, I pull back slightly.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to push it that far,” I murmur, my voice filled with genuine concern as I search her eyes for any sign of discomfort.

Before I can apologise further, she speaks, her voice hoarse with desire, “ Fuck, do it again,” she gasps, struggling to catch her breath.

For a moment, I wonder if I heard her correctly, but the look of pure ecstasy on her face and the way her thighs clench tell me everything I need to know. Without hesitation, I gently push my cock back into her throat, keeping a careful eye on her for any signs of distress.

As she gags around it again, I can’t help but tangle my fingers in her hair, the sensation sending shivers down my spine. Despite the initial shock, it’s clear that she’s enjoying herself, and I can’t help but feel a surge of arousal at the sight of her surrendering to me.

With each careful thrust, I feel a surge of pleasure coursing through me, the feeling of her lips stretching wide around my cock, sending waves of ecstasy rippling through my body. Her dazed expression only adds to the intensity of the moment, and I find myself unable to tear my gaze away from her.

As I continue to push my dick into her throat, I can’t help but marvel at how incredibly hot she looks, saliva glistening on her chin as she struggles to accommodate my length. The sight alone is enough to drive me wild with desire, and I find myself moaning softly with each slow thrust.

The sound of her gagging only serves to heighten my arousal, and each moan sends a jolt of pleasure straight to my cock. And when I finally manage to push my entire length down her throat, my balls resting against her chin, I can’t help but groan in satisfaction, feeling her throat spasm around my dick.

With a newfound sense of urgency, I pick up the pace, my movements becoming faster and more erratic with each passing moment. I can feel my balls tightening, the sensation of her warm mouth wrapped around my cock driving me insane.

As I fuck her mouth and throat with increasing fervour, I can see the dazed look in her eyes, a mixture of desire and love. With each thrust, I feel myself edging closer and closer to the edge, the promise of release tantalisingly close.

Feeling the urge to cum building inside me, I make a conscious decision - I don’t want to cum in her mouth or spill down her throat. I want to fill up her cunt. With that thought in mind, I gently pull my dick out of her throat, watching as it emerges coated in saliva, a thick strand connecting her mouth to the tip of my cock.

My arousal spikes at the sight, my cock throbbing with anticipation as I observe her taking a few deep breaths, her chest rising and falling with each inhalation. I can see the desire in her eyes, a hunger that mirrors my own, and it only serves to heighten my arousal even further.

I lean down and capture her lips in a passionate kiss, my tongue seeking entrance. I savour the taste of her lips; the intoxicating sweetness mingled with the faint hint of myself. With a gentle tug, I pull her up to stand, our bodies pressed together.

Breaking the kiss, I take a step back and remove my shirt, my gaze locked on her. The fabric falls to the ground with a soft thud. 

I watch as she follows suit, removing her own shirt, her movements mesmerising as she reveals every inch of her flawless skin. My eyes drink in the sight of her perfect, firm tits, her taunt nipples begging for attention, and her smooth skin tantalising me with its softness.

As she takes off her pants, pulling them down along with her underwear, my eyes are drawn to her cunt. 

I can see the wetness glistening between her lips, a clear sign of how much she enjoyed being on her knees and having my dick stuffed down her throat. My cock twitches at the thought of being buried deep inside her pussy, and I can hardly contain myself any longer.

I relish the feeling of her warm skin against mine as I pull her close again, my hand resting possessively on the small of her back. A guttural groan escapes my lips at the sensation, a primal sound that reverberates through the room.

“I’m going to fuck you hard, sweetheart,” I growl, my voice low and filled with raw desire. At this moment, all I crave is to claim her, to assert my dominance over her body and soul.

Guiding her to the couch, I lay her down gently, my movements deliberate and purposeful. With a firm grip, I lift her legs, placing them on my shoulders, exposing her wet cunt to my hungry gaze. My cock throbs with anticipation as I position myself at her entrance, ready to plunge into her.

Normally, I would take the time to prepare her and make her cum at least once so she can take my cock easier. But tonight is different - tonight, I crave to be inside her, to take her and make her feel every inch of me before she falls apart around me.

With a low, feral groan, I push my cock into her, feeling the slick heat of her pussy enveloping me. She moans loudly in response, her head falling back in pleasure as I fill her completely, every inch of me buried deep within her.

Her tightness grips me like a vice, pulsing and throbbing around my cock as I part the walls of her cunt, thrusting deeper until I am buried to the hilt. My eyes never leave hers, capturing every flicker of desire, every gasp of pleasure as she succumbs to me.

I feel her pussy clench and flutter around me, her slick walls pulsating in rhythm with her heartbeat. Pausing for a moment, I give her time to adjust, savouring the sensation of being buried deep within her, lost in the exquisite pleasure of our connection.

“You feel so good, Josh,” she breathes out, her voice laden with desire, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. “Please, move.”

Her plea ignites a primal urge within me to give in to the raw, unbridled passion that courses through my veins. With a growl, I begin to move, setting a steady and deep rhythm. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure radiating through my body, the sensation of her tightness enveloping me is driving me to greater depths of pleasure.

My hands roam over her soft skin, trailing over the curves of her breasts and the contours of her stomach. I revel in the desperate moans that escape her lips and the way her hips meet mine with eager enthusiasm.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” I encourage, my voice thick with desire. “Take it.”

Her responsiveness to my touch only spurs me on, driving me to thrust harder and deeper into her pussy. I watch in awe as her perfect tits bounce with each thrust, her moans filling the air alongside the wet squelch of her cunt. 

“God, you’re so hot,” I groan, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, as I feel her pussy flutter around me, responding to the praise. 

In a frenzy of desire, I thrust harder, pulling out almost completely before plunging back in. The sound of my balls slapping against her is loud in the room. The scent of arousal hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the heady aroma of our passion as we lose ourselves in the heat of the moment.

I lower my head, overcome with the need to taste her, and take one of her nipples into my mouth, sucking hard. She arches her back in response, a throaty moan escaping her lips as I tease her with my tongue. 

Her response only spurs me on, and I continue to please her with my mouth, alternating between gentle sucking and teasing flicks. I revel in the sound of her gasps and the feel of her cunt throbbing around me, a testament to her overwhelming arousal.

“You’re so damn responsive for me,” I murmur against her skin, my voice husky with desire. My hands roam freely over her body, tracing the contours of her curves with a possessive urgency.

I leave wet, open-mouthed kisses along her chest, each touch eliciting a shiver of pleasure from her. I switch my focus to her other nipple, licking and biting gently, relishing the way she responds to my touch.

“Only for you, just you,” she mewls, her voice barely a whisper as she lets me take her.

I growl in response, the possessive thrill coursing through me as I revel in the knowledge that she belongs to me and me alone. “That’s right, sweetheart,” I grunt against her skin, my voice rough with desire. 

I tighten my grip on her thighs, determined to leave my mark on her, to imprint myself on every inch of her skin.

With each powerful thrust, I drive deeper into her wet pussy, my need to possess her overwhelming every other thought. I adjust the angle of my thrusts, seeking out that spot that drives her wild.

When her mouth falls open, and she lets out a whimper, I know I’ve found it. The way her cunt flutters and clenches around me tells me she’s close, her hips moving in perfect harmony with mine.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” I growl, my voice rough with desire as I urge her on. 

“Nobody fucks me like you do. Nobody pleases me like you do,” she stammers, her words a desperate mixture of moans and gasps. “You feel so good, Josh.”

“You belong to me,” I assert possessively, my dominance asserting itself as I take her roughly, my hips slamming against hers with unrestrained force. The headboard of the sofa thuds against the wall with each powerful thrust, the sound echoing in the room.

I can feel myself getting closer and closer to the edge, every nerve in my body ablaze with pleasure as I fuck her with ruthless abandon, lost in the ecstasy of the moment.

“I’m so close,” she whimpers, her voice trembling with desperation.

My own breath comes in ragged gasps, my voice a deep growl of desire. “Let it all go, sweetheart. I want to feel you come apart in my arms,” I encourage, my hands gripping her hips as my hips thrust rapidly into her, my thumb finding her clit to rub rough circles.

I watch as her mouth falls slack, her eyes glazed with pleasure as my thumb works her clit relentlessly. “That’s it, sweetheart,” I groan, my voice strained with the effort of holding back my own climax. “Let me feel you.”

She cries out my name as she cums, her body convulsing with pleasure as her cunt clenches violently around my cock. I’m determined to ride out her orgasm, to prolong her ecstasy, so I hold back, feeling her quiver and shake against me.

When she finally slumps against me, spent and trembling, I thrust into her one last time, burying my cock deep inside her as I let myself go. I cum hard, filling her quivering cunt to the brim with my cum. The orgasm is so intense that for a moment, I feel like I black out, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it all.

“Oh fuck,” I breathe heavily, still buried deep inside her as her pussy continues to milk my aching dick. I hold her close, our bodies entwined, unwilling to let her go. 

I hear and feel the frantic beat of her heart slowly returning to its normal rhythm. My breath comes in heavy pants, my chest rising and falling with the aftermath of our fuck. I keep my cock buried inside her, relishing the sensation of her warmth enveloping me.

“I’ve never felt anything like this before,” I pant, my voice husky with emotion as I continue to hold onto her hips, unwilling to let go. My cock twitches slightly as it begins to soften inside her. “You’re incredible, sweetheart.”

“You’re incredible, Josh,” she whispers back, her voice barely above a murmur as she nestles closer to me, her warmth enveloping me like a comforting embrace.

I tighten my hold on her, pressing a soft and gentle kiss to her temple, savouring the moment. “I love hearing that,” I whisper, my breath hot against her skin as I slowly begin to withdraw my cock from her warmth.

With a wet pop, my cock slides out of her, leaving behind a trail of our mixed juices on her thighs.I can’t tear my gaze away from her gaping cunt, still dripping with my cum. The sight of her, so thoroughly fucked and wrecked, fills me with pride.

“Damn, sweetheart,” I mutter, my voice thick with desire as I reach down to brush my fingers against her slick folds. A soft moan escapes my lips as I feel the warmth of her juices mingling with my own. The desire to claim her again, to fill her up once more, pulses through me, undeniable and fierce.

Lowering my head, I capture her lips in a soft and tender kiss, pouring all my love and passion into the gentle caress. At this moment, with her in my arms, I feel complete. I love her - with every fibre of my being. And as I hold her close, I know that I never want to let her go.

She’s so beautiful, and as she looks at me, I see nothing but love in her eyes. I kiss her again, savouring the taste of her lips against mine. Her fingers trace patterns over my torso, and I feel the familiar pull of desire again. I pull her closer, deepening the kiss, lost in the heat of the moment.

I know it’ll be a while before I can fuck her again, but I also know that she doesn’t need a pause. So, instead, I want to fuck her with my fingers, ensuring she feels every lingering trace of my cum deep inside her. As I lean in to kiss her once more, my hand hovers over her pussy.

But just as I’m about to start, I hear footsteps echoing through the house.

With a racing heart, I quickly reach for my boxers and toss her my shirt, hoping to cover ourselves before anyone sees us. 

But it’s too late. The door swings open, and there stands Dalton, his expression a mixture of shock and betrayal.

“What the hell is this?” Dalton stammers, his voice trembling with disbelief as he takes in the scene before him.

I’m momentarily frozen, unsure of what to say or do. I notice his gaze flicker towards my girlfriend, who shrinks back, and I instinctively step in front of her, as if to shield her from his gaze and potential anger.

This isn’t how I wanted my son to find out about my relationship. But here we are, and it’s clear from Dalton’s expression that he’s not taking it well.

“Dalton,” I interject firmly, my voice carrying a hint of warning as I hastily pull on my boxers,  keeping her shielded behind my back.

But Dalton’s eyes are filled with hurt and betrayal as he looks between us, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place in his mind. His anger is palpable, his fists clenched at his sides as he struggles to contain his emotions.

“I can’t believe this,” he says bitterly, his tone laced with raw emotion. “I confessed my feelings to you, and this is what you do? Sleeping with my father ?”

His words cut through the air like a knife, and I feel a pang of guilt and regret. It’s not as though we started our relationship when he confessed his feelings; we had been seeing each other long before that - but he doesn’t know that. But I doubt that it would make a difference now. 

“Dalton, I...” I start, my voice heavy with remorse. “I never meant to hurt you. I know this is difficult to understand, but…” I trail off, struggling to find the right words to explain the complexity of the situation. 

I want to tell him that this is not what it looks like, to try and defuse the situation - and yet, it is exactly what it looks like, and there is probably nothing that can calm him down right now. 

But Dalton’s fury is unrelenting, his eyes blazing with a fire threatening to consume everything in its path. “Difficult to understand? You’re sleeping with my friend, Dad,” he retorts, his voice laced with bitterness. “She could be your daughter!”

His accusation cuts deep, slicing through the fragile facade of peace and happiness we had clung to just moments before. I close my eyes momentarily, feeling the weight of his words bearing down on me. The worst part is that it’s true - but I still love her and it’s more than just sex.

Dalton turns to her before anyone can say anything, his gaze filled with betrayal.

“And you,” he says, his voice trembling with emotion. “I thought I could trust you. I thought you cared about me.”

“Dalton, I...” she begins, her voice faltering as she searches for the right words, tears glistening in her eyes.

But Dalton shakes his head, his anger and confusion clouding his features. “I don’t want to hear it,” he says bitterly, his voice barely above a whisper.

I reach out and gently squeeze her hand, a silent reassurance that my feelings for her remain unchanged despite Dalton’s outburst and that we will face this together. Her reciprocation brings a wave of relief, a flicker of hope amidst the turmoil.

Dalton recoils at the sight, his face contorted with disgust at the intimate gesture. “I can’t believe you would do this to me, Dad. And you,” he adds, turning his gaze to her once more, “you should be ashamed of yourself.”

With that, he turns and storms out of the room, leaving us alone in the wake of his departure. The silence that follows is deafening, a stark reminder of the pain and heartache that now fills the space between us.

As I turn to her, I can see the pain etched in her features, mirrored by the regret in my own eyes. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice heavy with emotion. “I never wanted things to escalate like this.”

Her response is a soft murmur, barely audible, yet filled with understanding and resolve. “I know. But we have to find a way to fix this. For Dalton’s sake and for ours.”

I can’t bear the thought of losing Dalton, nor can I imagine a future without her by my side.

With her words echoing in my mind, I feel a surge of determination coursing through my veins. I refuse to let this rift tear us apart. I’ll do whatever it takes to mend the fractured relationship with my son, to bridge the gap that now separates us.

“I’ll talk to him,” I declare firmly, a promise laced with determination. “I’ll make him understand.”

As I meet her gaze, I can see the flicker of hope reflected in her eyes. We may be facing an uphill battle, but together, we’re stronger than any obstacle that stands in our way. 

At that moment, as our hands remain clasped together, I know that we’re in this together. No matter what challenges lie ahead, we’ll face them together. For her, for Dalton, and for the love we share, I refuse to let this be the end.

[sciencegothic]

What do you think of Dr Lanyon, like I think he's a neat character but I would love to hear other's opinions about him!!

i agree that he is neat !! honestly my biggest qualms with the musical is that characters like lanyon and enfield don’t really have an prominence in it. i think lanyon is really interesting though, because he is such a narrative foul to jekyll. they are both men of science, both passionate men, but oh very different sides of the great scientific divide. lanyon believes in rules and convention - jekyll sees this as being small minded, too harshly bound by the rules of society. jekyll experiments with things beyond human comprehension - lanyon sees this as a sort of blasphemy in the realm of science

i think, really either of them could have ended up at the extreme which jekyll inevitably feel prey too, he was just always more likely since his path was one of a much less understood nature. but i think, lanyon could be just as obsessive, or at one point was - part of me believes he started to step back a little upon seeing jekyll grow so bitter and isolated, perhaps fearing himself becoming like that too

i think, though, lanyon does still care about jekyll, even when they’re no longer friends. as much as he may have feared becoming like him, he pities that jekyll is like that at all

what’s interesting also is that, for all the two have distanced themselves from each other, for all the divide that’s come between them, it is lanyon who sees jekyll transform from hyde. it is lanyon, who is in every way jekyll, except for his stance on the unnatural, who bears witness to this unnatural thing. dramatic irony, then, or perhaps lanyon was always destined to fall to the same extremes as jekyll, only for him it was witnessing jekyll’s infliction firsthand

but where jekyll gave into what hyde represented - that unnatural, incomprehensible side of science - lanyon could not accept it. it shook him to him core, until he could not recover from it. i saw this quote from the book in an article or on a website once, and it’s always stuck with me in regards to lanyon:

I saw what I saw, I heard what I heard, and my soul sickened at it; and yet, now when that sight has faded from my eyes I ask myself if I believe it and I cannot answer. My life is shaken to the roots.

jekyll - his experient, his hyde - it entirely changed lanyon’s life. it changed his whole view on the world but not in a way that enlightened him, no. in a way that made him weak and weary, drained the very life from him. a man of science, and yet it is a science beyond what he has imagined which is his undoing. i think, actually, dr lanyon is more tragic than he is given credit for. undone by things he had once cared so deeply for - science, and henry jekyll

all that is to say, i think lanyon is neat

[sorrinslays]

Lowkey just realized this, but Simon is perfect for literally every vision from Genshin

Like, think about it:

Anemo vision is given to those who, in some way, desire or chase some form of freedom

Starting off strong, Simon fits that description really well for a number of reasons. He wants to feel free from the guilt and pain of losing Betty and the world he lived in so many centuries ago. He wishes to escape from the labyrinth that is his mind (more Ice King but yk). He desires freedom from his past as Ice King and the mistakes and atrocities he did. And lastly, he wishes to find the true freedom that is death (implied)

Geo vision is given to those who work hard to achieve their ambitions

You cannot tell me that does not describe Simon. He worked hard to be where he was in life (pre-Betty), going on expeditions, researching and not stopping even if literally nobody believes or respects him. And even now, he is working hard to be a better person (going to therapy and expanding his social circle)

Electro vision is given to those who see the world differently from others and are genetically considered different or odd

Now let's be honest with ourselves, that's, like, Simon 101. Even before the Mushroom war Simon was considered weird. Nobody was interested in his lectures or saw his research as valuable (except Betty). It's even more true now that he feels isolated and different from everyone around him due to his circumstances. He's supposed to be dead, yet he's still here, surrounded by people so similar yet different from him in a world that feels like as if someone looked at earth through a funky mirror

Dendro vision is given to those who either seek or posses knowledge or skills that are considered either hidden or forbidden or simply value knowledge highly

Again, it describes the poor sad little man perfectly. As a researcher he valued knowledge very highly as he always studied or researched whenever we see his "past" life. Now he also possesses 'forbidden' knowledge, that of the crown and Golb

Hydro vision is given to those who either have a strong dedication towards something, or have a desire to help or protect others

Marceline, Fiona and Cake. Need I say more?

He wishes to protect people he deeply cares for, especially if he sees them as child-figures. He sacrificed his sanity because it was the only way to protect Marceline during the apocalypse and left before things went bad and he was willing to do the same for Fiona and Cake to protect them even if it mean going through the heartache all over again

Pyro vision is given to those who are strongly passionate about something and dedicated their life to it

You could make the case for both his research and love for artifacts and Betty but I think that Betty is the better option for this. At the start of the series, we see that he has dedicated a lot of his time to Betty even she isn't with him anymore. He still wants to see her again, to save her. She was his everything and he loves her more than anything, unable to move on until the finale and even then he still has trouble with it

Cryo vision is given to those who are at a "crossroad" in their life, are torn between responsibilities and desires or hiding something

The irony of the cryo fitting him aside, the vision is literally him in the series. He's torn between wanting to hang on on that thread of sanity that Betty literally sacrificed her life for and helping Fiona and Cake and having a purpose in life once again. He wants to help but by helping he's basically spitting in Betty's face and showing that her final sacrifice means nothing. How can he decide? When he feels like every day is not only meaningless but also taxing and a waste of Betty's gift. He doesn't deserve it but at least he can help someone, fix their world and do something good with his life. After all, no one really needs him, right?

(This is a very random post and it's a habit I developed of thinking "what vision fits the character I'm hyperfixating on the most?" and, honestly, I recommended it to everyone cause it makes you look deeper and understand them better as a character)

(Don't take this too seriously tho, it's just crazy ramblings that plague my mind at night)

[seriouslysam8]

So after reading the chapter I have started to see how Sirius kinda deserves the hell he is in. Yet also seeing the undeniable attraction both Marlene and him have, it makes me kinda happy to see him struggle and get jealous of her relationships.

Firstly, I feel like the irony is laid on thick, that Marlene sort of watched Sirius wallow away, and keep his distance when she needed him most, in her most loneliest and vulnerable moments. He fucked Tegan and left her to kinda put herself back together, avoiding her.

Now that she's back and in full force, she meant that she would stop trying, and frankly good on her, Sirius as much as he loves her, hasn't really done much to show his affection. I like that she held onto the hope of him and her getting together for so long, hoping that he would end his relationship with Tegan only to watch as he didn't.

She didn't need to hold out for as long as she did, and if she did hook up with Charlie it would've been brilliant. Mainly because from what I have seen she's done all she can, she KNOWS that if Sirius hasn't gotten his shit together then he's kinda chosen not to, and she obviously isn't going to wait on a man who has rejected almost every attempt she had made to reach out. Also it's almost cruel irony watching the two people he loves getting together with the Weasley's a family he has grown close to, whilst having sort of been responsible for that.

I also feel that Harry should be the one who gets his godfather to see that Marlene is the one for him, especially because as much as Remus seems to support the FWB thing. I think he, Andy and Ted would much rather him end up with Marlene.

So just wanted to let you know once again I loved your more realistic character reactions to certain events in the storyline.

p.s. I think Harry would prefer Sirius with Marlene as well, but he just doesn't want to get on his Godfathers bad side, which I think you're setting up nicely with the memory vials.

Obviously I am Blackinnon, I truly feel they are made for each other, I have felt that way since Backstabber and have been annoyed with Sirigan since it was first introduced (nothing against Tegan, more against Sirius).

I love the passion of this post!!

I think Sirius has a tendency to shut off his emotions and bury his feelings. It’s that whole childhood trauma thing. But between the depression potion, the therapy, and really coming out of the dark spot Azkaban put him in, he’s starting to make some realizations that he hasn’t been handling things in the healthiest of ways.

I think he’s starting to realize he made some mistakes. He’ll keep making mistakes if he doesn’t stop his self-destructive behavior.

[randomvarious]

Today's compilation:

The Wild Bunch (18 Metal Masters) 1985 Heavy Metal / Thrash Metal / Glam Metal / Progressive Metal / Speed Metal / Hard Rock

Oh man, I swear that I'm about to go to my local thrift store to buy a denim jacket and then tear its sleeves off and start securing patches to it with safety pins after listening to this thing. Back in 1985, the cassette-only, New York-based ROIR label, in conjunction with Hit Parader Magazine, put out this ephemeral mid-80s snapshot of all things metal, from the glam to the prog to the speed to the thrash, and it just goes so satisfyingly hard, you guys 😤👊🤘. If you were a metalhead in the 80s, this feels like something you'd definitely pop into the tape deck of your boxy red sedan and then cruise on into your suburban high school's parking lot with, looking like a total badass with the volume cranked up and the windows rolled down. It's really such a whole goddamn vibe 😎.

A lot of folks rightfully make fun of most of the stupid and inane hair band material that ruled the Sunset Strip back in the 80s, and, outside of the thrashing big four of Metallica, Anthrax, Megadeth, and Slayer—the latter three of whom appear on this album itself—that highly commercialized sound does really seem to have defined what 80s metal was for most people. But the heart of that enormous, MTV-aided boom really occurred a little after the release of this tape, so what you end up getting here is a bunch of sweet tunes that, unless 80s metal is already your domain, you probably haven't ever heard before.

And one really need look no further than this cassette's tone-setting opener for a prime example. "Pull the Trigger," by Seattle's Q5, is just a quintessential piece of some straight-up hard and heavy 1980s rock music if I've ever heard it before. These guys reunited in 2014, but prior to that, they had only managed to put out a pair of albums in the mid-80s. And on this particularly fierce tune from their debut LP, lead singer Jonathan Scott K. sports an impressive and passionately scratchy yell that smacks of a higher-pitched Brian Johnson from AC/DC. And, of course, the song also comes with a kick-ass guitar solo too.

Then, not too long after that, we get another band that also only put out a couple albums in the mid-80s before getting back together: a quintet of speed demons called Agent Steel, whose absolute fit of fury, "Taken by Force," should have you going totally ballistic by the time the back-to-back solos hit. It's just so utterly jaw-dropping what these guys were able to conjure up with all their energy in that one 🤯.

And then another fast gem on here happens to come from—say it with me now—yet another band that only blessed us with a pair of albums in the mid-80s before they ended up reuniting too: LA's Abattoir, who provide a swifter cover of one of speed metal's biggest ever commercial hits, "Ace of Spades," which is originally by the band that many regard to be the first ever in speed metal history, Motörhead. Basically, if you love the original version of this song, I don't really see how you couldn't love this newer one too. It's high-octane fuel for a flying-motorcycle-riding skeleton whose skull is perpetually on fire, which, in other words, means that it's a total banger 🔥.

So, outside of the dumb and tacky hair metal hits that the irony-poisoned side of me really can't help but love, I've never been much in the habit of actually listening to quality 80s metal before. But this little cassette tape here appears to have opened up something of a brand new world for me. I always assumed that there was good 80s metal out there outside of the big four, but I never really seemed to have found much of it; until now 🙂.

Highlights:

Q5 - "Pull the Trigger" Shok Paris - "Marseilles de Sade/Battle Cry" Agent Steel - "Taken by Force" Anthrax - "Metal Thrashing Mad" Megadeth - "Chosen Ones" Abattoir - "Ace of Spades"

[garrulousgeologist]

> Begin Again

I skipped to the trolls.

Haha just kidding, but could you imagine?

I love a good data structure crash course.

I’ve always been someone who struggles with comprehension when I don’t have all the context.

When my friends (s/o to snipey and cam) first pitched the webcomic to me, they gave the option that many people prefer to skip to act 5 where you are introduced to “the grey kids with the candy corn horns”, as anyone on tumblr in 2011- regardless of fandom affiliation- could have recognized.

This suggestion was due to the first couple acts of Homestuck generally being seen by young audiences at the time as dense and irrelevant to the plot, and while I admit I barely followed what was going on tutorial-wise at the time, getting to know each beta kid was and is profoundly important. From page 1 there are themes and symbols echoed to the very end with enormous ripples of influence along the way.

Yesterday on 4/13/23 I read through the first 214 pages, right up to the introduction of Rose, which felt like a good stopping point.*

I am thrilled to declare I could follow nearly everything this time, as I wouldn’t dare claim I catch every single bit of information given out in any given page. That being said every 10 pages or so I had the recurring thought that I am thrilled to be revisiting this as an adult with so much more experience reading all sorts of documents and being exposed to a wide range of fields of study. Hussie is clearly well-learned, far beyond what my 14yo brain could absorb.

"The moon's an arrant thief, and her pale fire she snatches from the sun." -Mark Twain

You are almost certain Mark Twain said that.

[William Shakespeare said that]

Also, Broblerone?! It was there from the beginning…

I’m interested to see how my opinion of John evolves as I remember hating him for a large portion of the years I spent reading updates as they came out. I honestly can’t say what I think of him anymore, but from the introduction alone he’s just a kid and life is a nightmare. So, no harm no foul, yet.

Dave Strider I was an enormous fan of from the get-go back in 2011 and to this very day I ride or die that kid. He’s marred deeply enough in irony that he thinks he can get away with just being real and saying how he really feels and no one can tell.

He loops right back around and ends up being a hilarious, startlingly talented, complex, compassionate and cool genuine individual. It just takes him time to figure that out himself. He also reminds me of someone possessing all those traits as well…someone admittedly more ornery from the compassion he extends…someone who is constantly fighting for his life from infancy as well…someone with the exact same demonizing eye color…hm, guess it’ll come up later.

I can tell, Dave. We can all tell.

"Absence diminishes little passions and increases great ones, as wind extinguishes candles and fans a fire." -Walt Whitman

Yes, you are certain Walt Whitman said that. One hundred percent positive.

[Francois de La Rochefoucauld said that]

Rose Lalonde was my favorite character by far back in the day. I am also interested to see where that goes nowadays. I’m one of those people who came out of the 2020 quarantine as a completely different gender/person. It’s a little uncomfortable for me to look back at how I was forcing myself to identify in high school, but I don’t necessarily think it’ll taint my view of Rose. She is badass as all hell, and over-intellectualizes everything she hears, thinks and feels just like me <3. Let’s not talk about my mommy issues.

"When two great forces oppose each other, the victory will go to the one that knows how to yield." -Oscar Wilde

Wise words by a man who likely could resist everything but temptation.

[Lao Tzu said that]

Tl;dr

No strong opinions yet other than I am so excited to be getting started again and to see what I inevitably missed. And the music!!! I missed it SO MUCH!!

*(a/n: bare with me on my timing with posts on this blog, I am an adult now with a 40hr/week big kid job and it sucks the energy right out of me, be impressed I mustered up the life force to make a post on a fucking friday)

[silentmeteorite93]

The Leaping Gazelles 11/34

Cooking

The man still doesn't know whether the meal he had 10 years ago was good or not, he has no passion for cooking, and his extreme and childish mentality is not conducive to the trivial process of cooking. It's not because of his ability to do it, but because he really doesn't care, and he prefers to show that he doesn't care by the results of his cooking. Up to now, the man has only cooked one meal, which turned out to be good for him and her, but not for his roommate, who is a very good cook.

Arriving in a foreign country, the man immediately adapted to his new life. Like their brand-new relationship, they're no longer comfortable with each other in their still-friend status, but it does seem like a relatively gentle approach. The man smiled in the video and moved two steps sideways out of the middle of the shot, lighting up the screen with the recipes that had been placed next to him that had almost gone out moments before, the two of them were now gradually abstracting their video time because of the time difference, although the high frequency still got the man surrounded by new friends who lamented about the kinks and contradictions between the two of them. But for 7 years of feelings and can not mention a better way, the man and the woman are jokingly urged each other to quickly find a new goal, otherwise so dragged on or not very sensible.

This time another breakup between the two occurred when it was determined to leave the ice field. Both were willing to do so, after all the relatively mature pair knew that they couldn't possibly survive the foreign love that was unavoidable and would become the norm. The gentleness and calmness on both sides was both comforting and a touch disheartening to each other, with the man wanting to prioritize his own progress to reach a battle that no one could have won in the first place. The leverage that can be won is not more favorable conditions, but more relentlessly inferior. As it turns out, just when everything is running on the right track, fate plays a joke on the two men once again. Before they had a chance to mingle with the city, before the relentlessness of time could show its eternal destructive power, the two men were once again dragged off their horses by suddenly straightened ropes.

No sooner had the man who once prided himself on his strength begun to emerge from his sinking state, so that he could breathe freely, than he received the enormously bad news. Not only was their relationship to be put to a great test, but the physical damage the woman was about to face would have to be borne by her alone. This was even more painful for the man as if his heart was being gnawed by an insect, and even though he loved hurting the woman even after she had tamed him, such harm was not at all part of the pleasure that the two were expecting. At this point, there is no point in speculating whether it was the madness caused by the farewell that broke the rubber, and the two men, who love life but don't want to create it, have no choice but to accept the fate that has befallen them despite all their care.

After learning that the woman wants to keep her secret, he also tries to enquire about visas and air tickets. The irony of the situation is that the man has completely lost the possibility of being there for the woman when she needs him. The burden on the soul and body of saying goodbye in that way was so great that it was tantamount to being cut in two by a dull saw in the innermost recesses of the soul, and it was impossible to do it all over again. So they naturally chose the most unscientific yet reasonable option. The two get back together for the second time, and perhaps there is no other way to sustain themselves in hell but to cuddle together. Such a hopeless and miserable new relationship is more airy-fairy than ever, delicate and beautiful and unbearable at the same time.

What hasn't changed is that the man has once again given up cooking, he still hates chopping vegetables and scrubbing dishes, and he has a feeling that this second enthusiasm for learning to cook is the last of his life.

[herpoetryshelf]

[Blog #9] Spring 2023, Whitman and Dickinson vs Gay and Soldier

Today, I am comparing and contrasting 19th Century Romantic-style poets -- Walt Whitman’s “Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking” and Emily Dickinson’s “After Great Pain, a Formal Feeling Comes” -- to their Romantic-style contemporaries --  Ross Gay’s “Opera” and Layli Long Soldier’s “Whereas”.

For reference, romantic-style poetry or romanticism is poetry that lean towards emotions, nature, imagination and individualism.

Before I analyze the similarities and differences between those four poems, I would love to greet anyone who happens to stumble upon this blog post.  

This is the link to my first blog post on Ada Limon’s The Carrying (2018):

My professor assigned a poetry book collection or individual poems every other week. My main objective was to dissect a few poems that left an impression on me while using his T.R.I.F.F.I.D. method.  

Tone: the voice, mood, or attitude the reader believes the author is conveying through subject and word choice. 

Rhythm: the pattern and beat between the stressed and unstressed word syllables. 

Imagery: the details told through the five senses (touch aka physical, sound aka auditory, sight aka visual, taste aka gustatory and smell aka olfactory). 

Figure: or figure of speech, is the non-literal expression of language. Figures of speech include hyperbole, irony, metaphor, simile, anaphora, antithesis and chiasmus. 

Form: the way a poem is presented on paper or a screen. Think of how the author physically shapes the poem -- the use of dialogue, line spacing, paragraph breaks, rhythms and patterns. 

Idea Density: how the author expresses their ideas throughout their poem. Can be literal (concrete) and/or figurative (vague or hidden).  

Diction: the word choice and arrangement within a piece. 

Part I:

In terms of similarities, both Walt Whitman’s “Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking” and Ross Gay’s “Opera” share a sorrowful tone that transitions into hopeful by the end. For example, in Whitman’s poem, the narrator states:

O past! O happy life! O songs of joy!

In the air, in the woods, over fields,

Loved! loved! loved! loved! Loved!

But my mate no more, no more with me!

We two together no more. (Whitman)

Here, the sorrow is conveyed through one of the narrator’s (a bird) sings for the return of the past -- being with their lover -- because in the current day, it is implied that their lover left them (in death or break up). 

In Gay’s “Opera”, the narrator says:

Today my heart is so goddamned fat with grief 

that I've begun hauling it in a wheelbarrow. 

(...) 

I'm sad. (Gay 1-2 & 8) 

The sorrow is outright mentioned when that narrator says, “I’m sad,” rather than implied like Whitman’s. 

Part II:

Moreover, in both poems, the tone shifts to hopeful and upbeat after the narrator encounters a mystique or (almost) supernatural character. In Whitman’s, the boy narrator listens to the bird narrator’s song of grief, which triggers an emotional moment and self-revelation for the boy:

O you singer solitary, singing by yourself, projecting me,

O solitary me listening, never more shall I cease perpetuating you,

(...)

My own songs awaked from that hour,

And with them the key, the word up from the waves,

The word of the sweetest song and all songs. (Whitman)

Though it is not implied what the boy narrator’s “own song” symbolized, I believe the song represented the boy maturing into a man as seen by the first stanza, “A man, yet by these tears a little boy again, / (...) A reminiscence sing” (Gay 19 & 23). 

The first stanza is the current day or flash-forward of the boy narrator’s life. His sentimental feelings “A man, yet by these tears a little boy again” towards this “reminiscence sing” proves its major impact on his childhood -- emotional passion. 

In Gay’s poem, the narrative became cheerful and jovial upon hearing a woman sing opera during a stroll: 

I will be slogging through the obscure country of my sadness 

in all its monotone flourish, and so imagine my surprise 

when my self-absorption gets usurped 

by the sound of opera streaming from an open window, 

and the sun peeks ever-so-slightly from behind his shawl, 

and this singing is getting closer,

(...)

it was heaven sailing from her mouth and all the fish in the sea 

and giraffe saunter and sugar in my tea and the forgotten angles 

of love and every name of the unborn and dead 

from this abuelita only glancing at me 

(...)

let me stop here 

and tell you I said thank you. (Gay)

Here, the narrator was stunned and awestruck by the opera singer; similar to Whitman, the narrator experienced a rebirth or a revelation just by listening and looking: 

all the fish in the sea  

and giraffe saunter and sugar in my tea and the forgotten angles 

of love and every name of the unborn and dead 

from this abuelita only glancing at me. (Gay)

This chance meeting, in turn, inspired hope within the narrator, judging by the last line when the narrator thanks the singer: “let me stop here / and tell you I said thank you” (Gay).

Part III:

In terms of differences, earlier romanticism poems such as Whitman’s “Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking” and Emily Dickinson’s “After Great Pain, a Formal Feeling Comes” differs greatly in form from contemporary poems such as Ross Gay’s “Opera” and Layli Long Soldier’s “Whereas”. 

In Whitman and Dickinson pieces, both poets rarely pack their stanza: Dickinson’s poem is three short stanzas long with 4–5 lines each, whereas Whitman’s is 39 stanzas long. Except for two stanzas that have more than 10 lines each, Whitman’s stanzas are relatively curt (about 2–6 lines long). 

On the other hand, Gay’s “Opera Singer” only has two stanzas; the first has 8 lines, while the second uses 32 lines. Soldier’s “Whereas” offers a middle-ground between the short stanzas of the forebear poets and the longer stanzas of her peers. Soldier’s poem has 20 stanzas: 17 short stanzas (1-4 lines) and 3 large (prose poetry) stanzas. 

What did I learn?

The shift in incorporating larger stanzas and/or prose within poetry could be due to many contemporary poets experimenting and breaking the conventional romanticism rules of their forebears -- making their own style.

For more information on romanticism and poetry by Whitman, Dickinson, Gay and Soldier, check out the links below:

Lastly, what are some of your favorite romantic-style poems? 

Feel free to share some below!

[mridulasharmasblog]

Movie Review

So I went to watch Geeta Sakhiga yesterday with my family since it was recommended by my sister, who is like a literal movie critic. Within a few seconds after stepping in the movie hall, this movie grabbed my attention even more since it is based on a true event. Being a law student myself, such movies inspire me the most and at the same time make me believe in the power women hold in our nation. So basically, the story revolves around sensitive, yet not so sensitive, issues of our country: rape and women's empowerment. What an irony, right?

The Tollywood industry is now extremely the talk of the town among the Hindi moviegoers because of its amazing content like never before.

Adding another one to the block-baster list "Geeta Sakshiga," is the latest passionate, dramatic, and emotionally packed film from Anthony Matripalli. The tale of Arjun and Amoolya is not only a gripping tale of love and redemption, but it is also a significant narrative about the empowerment of women and the problems that society faces. This narrative demonstrates the difficulties that women encounter in society as well as their tenacity and resiliency in overcoming those difficulties. The mere trailer itself has left the audience in utter excitement. The film's complex story is beautifully complemented by Gopi Sundar's soundtrack, which will definitely make up to your playlists. Following mentioned are the general details about the movie-

Movie Name: GeetaSakshiga Writer & Director: Anthony Mattipalli Release Date: 7th April 2023

It’s amusing to watch that how the storyline takes surprising turn of nail biting events, Aadarsh's character Arjun, a DJ at a bar, is introduced to us at the start of the movie. He is a charming, loving, and compassionate young man, like most guys. His good nature is evident in the way he conducts himself. He is a devoted son to his mother, a humorous teacher to his students, and a responsible member of his family. As requested by his family, he consents to an arranged marriage but later realises that he is not in love with the partner they choose for him. When he develops feelings for the stunning gorgeous woman Amoolya, his predicament worsens (played by Chirtra Shukla). His life takes a turn for the worse as he tries to tell his family how he feels, and he is found guilty and given a life sentence for brutally raping and killing a girl. He is wrongfully imprisoned while being innocent, and he must accept his fate. Moreover, seeing a movie with a female protagonist and a man lead character was a novel change. I won't go into additional detail about the plot of the movie, but I will talk about the issues it explores.

We live in a world where rape stories are more frequently heard than people having a headache, newspapers are flashing with rape as their highlights. So i’m so glad to come across a movie like this which depicts the dark side of the society further being portrayed so beautifully by the director.

Falsely accusing innocent people of crimes like rape while the offender is free to perpetrate other crimes is a common occurrence. The film demonstrates how money and power may have an impact on the law. It portrays and handles societal power dynamics beautifully.

What I loved the most about the movie is the fact that the director instead of victimizing the women, the female protagonist, Amoolya’s character has been portrayed as a strong heroic character throughout the movie. Another aspect of the film that I enjoyed was the way it portrayed its female characters. Popular media frequently presents female characters in clichéd ways, failing to acknowledge the various kinds and nuances of women. Yet, this film not only features a wide variety of female characters, but also demonstrates how these women have control over their own lives and the ability to alter the story. For instance, Amoolya is the protagonist and the saviour of the story in addition to being Arjun's love interest.

Lastly I would like to conclude by saying that the film is a spectacular cinematic experience and an entertainer in addition to containing profound themes. The film's music, which was composed and directed by Gopi Sundar, is surely a vibe. Overall, I thought the tale was interesting and would strongly advise everyone to watch the film. Now quickly book the tickets to your nearest cinema halls and cherish this bliss of Tollywood with your friends and family.

[ashlingnarcos]

.

@narcolini

Me looking at the no happy ending(!!!) warning [insert ben Affleck smoking meme here]

Unhhhhh this early dialogue they're so friendly idk maybe I came in too scared but im getting scared already lol

‘You’re gonna smoke it all before you make any money off it, Rafa.’ Literally lmao

The dramatic irony of knowing where this all goes is killing me cause Reader so just thinks this is their bright yet silly Weed Friend

"You’ve seen him cry like this before. Once when he left school, once when his mum died." Things to feel normal about

READER TELLING HIM TO BLOW IT UP. LOVE LMAOOO

Rafi is a cute nickname choice btw

"No, Rafi, I like what’s mine." Thank god too. Reader has some sense

"A new project, you realise, that’s what he’s found. Something he can’t have, something impossible. Something to solve." Love the way you put it and it is indeed Rafa. Dreamer who loves to dream. Followed up with "That’s how he is. Passionate. He fixates, he works, he wins. Loves with a tunnel vision that you’ll never understand."

"Tomorrow, you told him, it’s the soonest I can. " Really into this actually.

The slow camera going through the room approaching him seeing the carnage before you see the man, chefs kiss

"No, not her, only you. " HOWLS

WE???? WE NEED TO GO AWAY FOR A WHILE? OH I THINK NOT !!!!!!

YOU AND SOFIA WILL GO FIRST?????????? ABSOLUTELY NOT

"He’s never been nobody anywhere. Even before all this shit." Oh fucking hell

"someone you love is in there" OH EYE— makes furious gibbering noises the way you never used the word love from Reader to describe Reader's feelings towards Rafa until he's locked away from them…for FUCKSAKE fit to throw a tantrum

"They got Sofia too, and she sold him out like the criminal he is, without hesitation" love this precise framing of it by Reader. You're right, Reader, you're right

"You’ve met him before, of course. He isn’t a character you can forget easily. " That must've been QUITE the interaction

‘It’s always been about you, Rafa,’ you push, looking at the table instead of his hope, ‘every time, it’s all about you. I can’t do it anymore. I have to…’" literally. I'm still feeling resentment towards him about him just yelling about Sofia for 2 hours straight. Like god he's so self centered

and you won’t say goodbye to the cheek of him, so you don’t say anything else at all chef's kiss

five and one

rafa x gn!reader, 7598 words, canon typical drug use, hurt/comfort/angst, no happy ending(!!!)

the five times you were his friend, and the one time you weren’t 

a/n: this has been in my docs waiting to be finished for sososo long omg finally the rafito despair is here. enjoy!

taglist: @ashlingiswriting​ @drabbles-mc​ @cositapreciosa​ @hausofmamadas​ @cherixrosa​ @purplesong1028​ @mandaloria314​ @dashavau​ @yeetintomadness @thesandbeneathmytoes​ (as per i have forgotten who wants tagging and who doesnt sorry!)

1

Rafa’s been asking you for weeks. Come smoke, carnale, come on. I have something to show you.

Soon, you told him. I’m busy with school, work, I have to pick my Abuela up from church—I’m the only one who can drive her, remember?

They weren’t made up excuses, even if he thought they might’ve been. You didn’t like it either, having no time for him, but it’s how it went. How it is. He dropped out of school, never made it to college. You did. It gives you different markers now, different structures to shape the friendship around. When you were classmates it was easy, natural: before class, in class, after class. Simple. There you were, there he was. Now, you have to pencil him in like any other obligation.

He isn’t an obligation. You try not to let him feel like one.

Keep reading

[phthalominekitty]

from ten million years ago.

9/7/2001

uncertain reality entertains superfluous minds transfers bliss pulled from chaos theory indulges in risk trusts something ungodly romantic minds often falter the eyes fail to blink pasty skin reflects in subtle mirrors urges coil like fire trains crash like thunder girls stumble, enticed by screaming fields endless transformation though processes WE ALL FEEL IT.

from back in the day:

[1] cliches manifest as my failed attempts to break away from expectation. there is the realization that i'm no different than them. i'm just a sordid puddle of fallen grace, and not even that - i'm dead.

i died last year, it was interesting. i became a faceless mass of sarcastic flesh, applying makeup and trying to squeeze into black tights and worrying about trivial issues like similarly dead boyfriends, and glitter. i would cry at indecent times and bitch about the lack of fear and love in my life. i was ignorant and stupid.

regeneration occured with new insights and possiblilities. i realized that, yes, boys do grow on trees, and if i wanted one i could find another. it was just harvesting them that was the trouble… and then there was sprite, who caused me to understand that i've got an obsessive, restless nature. also, he got me into "goth" music.

i don't feel good. this is going nowhere. i believe it's time to go insane…

the leopard ate my heart with a swift glance in the direction of the rising sun he tore my mother's heart out with a mental swipe and feasted on her anguish i tried to save her but i was too weak from loss of blood and we died together in each other's arms while the leopard purred and curled right round us like a large, warm kitten we realized at the brink of death the favour which he'd granted.

[2] sleeping together in a cloud of discomfort, wearing nothing but the blankets. entwined in him, i can't help but hide my eyes. i break free for a moment. staring at the cold ceiling, i can't sleep. i want to go home.

[3] many words forsake her plain, pathetic existance as she tries in vain to create a semblance of order. she wraps her arms around her knees in a feeble hug, thinking about [a] the stock market, [b] the death, [c] the future, [d] the cold. which one is more important? the fish need to be fed, there are papers scattered about the floor, laced with cookie crumbs and pick-ed out raisons. it wasn't that raisons didn't agree with her - she didn't agree with the raisons.

raisons. she began it once more - the linking train of thought that makes the world go round. raisons - 80's - madonna - christopher - cults - manson - dirty - pigs - intelligent - not her. it all came back to her, and how she wasn't pleased with herself or what she was doing. her fingers were frozen - moving slowly, she began to type. for the final time, of course. she hated nagging. she hated school. she hated schedules. yet. she knew she needed one to keep her alive.

oh, the irony.

it reminded her of the time she was home with her brothers, mother off at some meeting. a passionate craving for chocolate milk overcame her, and her car glistened [beneath the dust, of course] in the harsh sunlight. summer, ah. memories. and so, she grabbed her newly aquired license and was off, down to road to the drugstore with two dollars in hand, or lap. her automobile eloquence had yet to be obtained, however. on the way back, a lazy turn caused her to bam-crash! right into the side of her driving instructer. his car, his face. "oh, i know you feel bad about this, don't you." the cop wrote her out a ticket, and she thought, sullenly, about how she hated that man. she would kill him.

a fantastic tale began to rise from her underestimated mind. she would steal a samurai sword - but from where? the mall - a ha! she would run, run, run and they wouldn't catch her because she was too smart, she knew where to hide. and she would look up that evil driving instructer's address and stalk to his house, in the dead of night, and slice his stomach open. then she would laugh loudly, with no remorse, and drink his blood and feast on his flesh.

she shook her head. no, no. was she mad? morbid thoughts overcame her far too easily if she didn't keep them in check. she sighed. her dilema was this: she had an entire chapter of japanese homework to do, and her eyelids were quickly drooping. maybe she'd drop the class. learn more on her own. sleep comes first, always in her world. the most important phone call can be passed up for a few minutes more sleep. anything could be passed up…

she was a slacker. and then, she thought about how she could end up. she could get a job, some low-class entry level kind of thing, and scrimp and save and buy a one-way ticket to elsewhere. japan, maybe. she could traipse through the streets of harajuku and take pictures of all the trendy girls and the goths. she could find work in japan, anyone could be a janitor.

she shook her head. no, no. was she mad? she knew she was intelligent, a smart girl. she could get anywhere with brains like that, and the beauty (sometimes, some days) to boot. she pursed her lips, "i'm pretty," she told herself. and with an art portfolio like that, well, she very well could even go to san francisco. the city screamed, "magic!" her parents screamed back, "no!"

time to sulk.

the japanese homework lay at her feet. she glanced down at it, gave a soft snarl, and fell asleep in the chair.

[4] (pseudo-gothic poetry) oh, how fair art thou slender fingers slowly breaking apart my poor withered heart my mind is dead dead like the wind on this still night my tears run red for the acid of your kisses implanted upon each eyelid burns oh, my soul livid with a rent of failed passion how i wish your love was true.