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mikajunie · 8 months ago

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how to deal with failure when all you know how to do is beat up yourself (as an adhder)

please read this if you are a chronic self-loather like myself.

i used to hate myself for everything i did; the way i talk and walk, my accomplishments, my daily activities, how i cannot keep up with my peers, all that jazz. and especially as a late-diagnosed adhder this gets worse overtime. i ended up getting into a 6-month burnout, failed 3 classes and have to extend one semester, and i had lost my identity as a person.

overall i was just a breathing, walking flesh with depressive thoughts every day.

but after many many months of rediscovering myself, i have come up with the conclusion that life gets easier when i don't fucking hate myself.

shocker, right? ik this is probably like a 'obviously' type of thing, but i think many ppl with adhd can confirm that this is one of the hardest pills to swallow.

but trust me, you don't need to feel bad!!! and i will tell you how to do it down below. pls read, i hope it helps.

(keep in mind im not a psychiatrist or a therapist btw i just wanna help fellow ppl with adhd)

reminder #1: adhd makes you more prone to making mistakes - beating yourself up for every failure is torture.

as people with adhd, we are more prone to making more mistakes and questionable decisions. we are just built that way. we can work on it, but that's our baseline.

self loathing encourages you to beat up your baseline. your default state. your non-productive mode.

beating yourself up for making a mistake is literally like beating up a cat for sleeping. humans are bound to make mistakes, and us with adhd are bound to make more. it's fine, let yourself breathe. im not saying we cannot do anything right or that our mistakes are permissible, but missing an alarm clock or forgetting things we want to say are not surprising. it's just embedded inside us, so either be miserable for the rest of your life or work on reframing your thoughts on failure in general.

reminder #2: you can learn how to be better even if you don't beat yourself up for it

these neurotypical adults who tell you that you should feel bad about failing are stupid. and whoever tell you that negative reinforcement is needed for you to get better are the dumbest motherfuckers ever.

you don't need to feel bad to ge better.

in fact, once you don't feel too bad about it, you can focus more on how to do better in the future instead of replaying the past over and over again.

literally after almost failing college, i only realized that i should not be hard on myself. literally. i remember deciding i should try being nice on myself and now boom! i feel better AND i actually have been working towards fixing my life more and more.

and you know whats the best part?? i can finally start enjoying my life again!!

reminder #3: not everything you do is a failure. seriously.

this is a thought pattern i keep seeing in every person with adhd.

"nothing i can do is right" WRONG!!!! you do some things wrong but you also do some things right!!!! quit discrediting yourself

now try acknowledging your failures:

cry about it first. let yourself sit in and feel your feelings first. you can continue after you finish crying about it

do some form of meditation that helps you clear out your mind. i suggest just 5 minutes or until you don't feel as heavy anymore

let yourself know that failing is an action and consequence, not a part of your identity. it is not you: you are someone who succeeds and fails sometimes. you can fail, but that does not mean everything you do will be a failure.

identify what kind of failure you're thinking about , why you feel so shitty about it, and what you should do for next time. it'd be good if you could write this down. here is an example from me:

failure: failing out of class

what happened: i failed bc i kept procrastinating and ended up sleeping in, so i could not submit on time

consequences of event: i had to retake the class, paid a significant amount of money, and now i cant graduate on time with my friends

why i feel shitty: i feel so left behind and stupid. i feel like this is such a stupid mistake that was easily avoidable.

and now i have so many thoughts in my mind right now, like "how can i be so stupid? how can i be so careless? this is such a stupid mistake."

now notice. if you also think like this, you are actively judging yourself. you are being so mean to yourself, and for what? would you ever told your friends they are so stupid and dumb for making careless mistakes? even if it's stupid, you wouldn't say it to their faces.

after identifying everything, confirm what actually happened, reframe your thoughts, and apologize to yourself:

"How can I be so careless?" -> It's not intentional, and I did try my best to work on it. It's not my fault my executive dysfunction took over the better part of me.

"How can I be so stupid?" -> Just because I cannot initiate tasks as well as the others, it doesn't mean i'm stupid. i am pretty good at other things, i cannot expect myself to be good at everything.

"This is such a stupid mistake." -> It is stupid, and that's... okay. It's fine. I accept it, I'll work on how to make it better in the future.

when you combat negative thoughts, make sure you combat them not only with facts but also with empathy and future action-focused thoughts.

the key is to focus on what you can do now, not what you should have done.

because focusing on the past is very very unhelpful.

now please focus on what you can do now:

Make small goals for the future.

What you should not say:

"I promise I will try harder to focus" -> Nope, you are relying on your ADHD symptom to not be ADHD anymore... which is impossible.

"I promise I won't forget next time" -> Same thing.

"I promise I will make a routine that I will stick to" -> This is too idealist, don't commit to anything for a long run, it's just setting yourself up for more failure.

What you should say instead:

"Next time, I will try to write it down so I won't forget next time" -> Tell yourself the clear steps on what you need to do. You cannot rely on your brain to just be better, come up with actions that can support you!

"Next time, I will set more alarms and ask a friend to remind me. In fact, I will do it now" -> Commit to things you can do immediately! The faster, the better so you won't lose this momentum. Stop thinking that your future self is 100% reliable. Always assume you need to do it as soon as possible to help yourself in the future.

"Next time, I will try out this routine and see if it works or not" -> Experiment with routines. Routines don't last long, so don't give youreelf empty promises. Instead, accept that your routine will chance every once in a while so you need to learn what works or not.

Apologize and forgive yourself

Say sorry to yourself.

It's normal to make mistakes, and it's unrealistic to think you won't make more.

Move on

Seriously. Don't sit on it too much.

Once you know what you need to do to not fail in the future and you have written it down... just let it go.

You don't need to feel bad to grow. You don't need to feel bad to be better.

You are allowed to feel good about yourself.

In fact, you should feel better about yourself now because you are showing your commitment to getting better by reading this long ass post.

Pat yourself in the back.

Failure has its consequences already, you don't need to punish yourself more. Please get something nice.

Failing is EXHAUSTING. Please give yourself a snack or some gaming time.

Allow yourself to breathe.

We are humans, we are not failures. We succeed and fail sometimes, not all the time.

Be nice to yourself, you have been through a lot.

#adhd #adhd things #adhd problems #adhd brain #actually adhd #actually neurodivergent #neurodivergent #adhd tips #neurodiversity #advice #mental health #mental illness #self loathing

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you-til-i-die · 10 months ago

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wishin’ I could write my name on it

f.odair x fem!reader

summary: a sneak peak into you and finnick’s lives

warnings/content: I wrote and edited this all in one sitting so if it’s absolute shit that’s why<3 district four victor!r, r is said to have throw up a few times, but none of it is graphic. mentions of blood and sex trafficking, cannon-typical shit really, swearing

song: august - ts

wc: 1.9k

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺

You and Finnick have one rule.

Don’t talk about it. Don’t ask about it. Don’t acknowledge it.

When the two of you are together, you can just forget about it. You can hang out on the beaches of District Four and pretend like these aren’t your lives.

But they are.

And it always somehow seeps through the cracks.

It’s in the way Finnick’s eyes are dull and empty the first few days after a trip to the capitol.

It’s in the way your laugh has morphed into a short bark.

It’s everywhere and it’s everything.

There’s no escaping it.

It haunts your dreams, it probably haunts Finnick’s too, even though you’d never ask.

Because that’s the rule. No asking. Ever.

————————————————————————

It was August. The sun seemed to slowly be getting the message that fall was getting nearer, the rays a little less intense then they had been a few weeks ago. The water was even the tiniest bit cooler, soothing a stubborn sunburn on your shoulders.

You were laying on the beach, face down on a towel, trying to ignore the stick of salt drying on your skin. You can’t help but let out a yawn, exhausted from the still persistent heat and trying to win against Finnick in a swimming race all day.

You were so relaxed. Focusing on the waves crashing against the shore. And the presence beside you that you knew was Finnick.

You honestly were about to fall asleep before he speaks. He mentions it so casually, he might as well have been asking what you wanted for dinner.

“Snow needs me in the capitol. I’m leaving on Friday.”

His voice is completely flat, devoid from all of its usual humor. It made you nauseous. You consider asking if he feels the same way, but you don’t. That was the rule. And you know the rules.

You push yourself up onto your elbows to get a good look at him, to try and decipher the look on his face. You could almost always read him. You hadn’t spent four years attached to each other to not learn the subtle mannerisms of the other. But this was different. It always was.

You and Finnick could talk about almost anything together. The games, the fear that you could never seem to shake, the nightmares, the way it was sometimes hard to stomach killing even a fish. But you never talk about this.

You never talk about how Snow will whisk one, or sometimes both, of you away whenever he needs a favor. You never tell him how afterwards you have to scrub your entire body raw before you can even begin to feel clean again. You don’t tell him how the first couple of times you would sob until you threw up, but now you just curl up and do your best to avoid the pit in your stomach.

Well, truthfully, you had talked about it once. But never again.

You had just been crowned victor of the 69th Hunger Games, District Four’s second victor in four years. It was no surprise, really. You were seventeen, and one of the oldest in the arena. You were strong, quick, and smart. So, so smart. You had won through pure trickery, and everyone loved you for it.

It’s hard for you to remember what happened the week after you won. There’s little snippets, of course. Looking down at the blood on your hands, blood that wasn’t yours. The booming of a voice in the arena, announcing that you were the victor. You had won. You did it. You had made District Four proud. And then you threw up.

You must have blacked out afterwards, because the next thing you remember is being back in your suite in the training center, sobbing in Finnick’s arms while he held you. Most of what you can remember is centered around him. Gripping onto his hand like a lifeline while your stylists buzzed around you. Glancing over Snow’s shoulder at him while the president crowned you. Watching him standing in the wings of the stage while Ceasar Flickerman went over a highlight reel of your time in the arena. Finding your way back into his arms on the train. You’re pretty sure Finnick didn’t say more than the same couple words the first week. It seemed to be a constant variation of “I know honey, but you’re safe now. I’ve got you sweetheart.”

It wasn’t until your victory tour that he told you. You doubt he ever would have, if he didn’t know for sure it would happen to you.

He had sat you down on the train after a party in District Two and told you everything. How Snow would practically sell him to people. How he didn’t have a say, and how you wouldn’t either, unless you wanted everyone you loved to be dead. He had grabbed your hands, shaking hand in shaking hand, and apologized profusely. He told you how he would do everything possible to keep you safe, he would offer himself instead of you. But you knew that wouldn’t work. Snow gets what Snow wants, and if Snow wants you to fuck his friends for some sick favor, there was nothing you, or Finnick, could do to stop that from happening.

“Oh.”

“Yah.” Was all Finnick said, refusing to meet you gaze as he stared out at the ocean. He’s working one of the muscles in his jaw and you have to look away before you grab his face and do something stupid.

“When will you be back?” You don’t say it, but you’re sure he understands the meaning. Please say it’ll only be one night. Please tell me they won’t put you through it more than once this time. Please tell me you’ll be back to hold me through the nightmares soon. Please don’t make me wait for you more than I already do.

“I’m not sure. Snow said a couple of days.”

No no no no no no no please no.

You didn’t respond. Scared that if you open your mouth the bile collecting in your throat would spill out.

You just look over at him. Take him in. It’s no wonder why the capitol loves him so much. Although not for his humor, his kindness, his strength, the way he’s always looking out for everyone but himself. None of that. Just because he’s a pretty face. But in the bright, golden sun, you find it hard to disagree with them. He’s all broad shoulders and a strong jawline. Bright green eyes that always seem to shine when they look at you. Sharp teeth hiding behind that perfect fucking smile. Salty hair you wanted to run your fingers through. Credit where credit is due, the capitol knows how to pick a sex symbol.

But you don’t see a sex symbol. Not right now. Right now all you see is the person you want to hold on to, and never let go of. The person you’d throw it all away for, if he asked. The person who seemed to always have another layer for you to work your way into, but you’d be damned if you ever stopped trying to get to the root of him.

You’ve been staring for an embarrassingly long amount of time. Finnick notices, of course, because Finnick notices everything.

“Honey?”

You tear your eyes away from where they had been tracing the veins in his hands. “Hm?”

“You ok?” And there it is. That fucking wolf smile. All sharp canines and slightly raised eyebrows because he knows. He knows he’s got you in between his teeth and he knows you’re happy to stay there because it’s him.

You pause, but just for a moment, trying not to give him the satisfaction of winning, of successfully flustering you. But his eyes are boring into yours and it’s so hard to look away from him, but you do. He wins. He normally does.

“‘M just thinking.”

“What about?” He asks. Flopping down on his side, trying to get on eye level with you because it’s never just enough for him to win, he has to make sure you know that he knows it.

You just roll your eyes at him, there’s nothing else you can do.

“About how we’ve been out here since nine in the morning and it’s after noon now, and you haven’t reapplied sunscreen once.”

It’s his turn to roll his eyes now.

“I don’t burn, honey, you know that.”

“What about that time you were out all day, didn’t put sunscreen on once, and then I had to rub aloe vera on your back for a week because you burned like hell and all of your skin was peeling off?” You ask, smile working its way onto your face. You know you’ve got him. You’re winning now.

He pauses, he doesn’t back down easily. “It was a fluke. A glitch, even.” He says, trying his best to shrug his shoulders even though he’s lying down. He fails. It looks ridiculous. You have to try not to laugh. “I honestly think the sun just had a vendetta against me that day.”

You’re failing at biting back a smile now. “At least let me get your back because there is literally nothing you could say or do to ever get me to help you with a third degree sunburn again.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just makes a big show of groaning and rolling his eyes at you before rolling onto his back.

You’ve won.

“So dramatic? You know that? It’s like being friends with a child.” You say as you root around in your bag for your sunscreen. Trying to ignore the disgusting feeling you know it will leave on your hands as you squirt it out.

He props himself up on his elbows to look at you, surely about to counter with some story about you being much more dramatic than him, before you shove him back down, face in the sand.

“Ow.”

“You’re fine. A little sand never killed anyone.”

You decide to ignore his grumbling, focusing on spreading the sunscreen on his back. However, you can’t ignore the growing pit in your stomach that you know will be there until Finnick’s back from the capitol.

Still, they can’t take this from you. You’ve earned it. You deserve to be here, definitely not checking out your best friend who you know you can’t have.

You lose yourself for a moment. Letting yourself focus on the way his muscles feel under your hands. Maybe, one day, this could be real. The capitol will find new, attractive victors, and they’ll move on. You and Finnick can fade into the background, and just live.

You pull back, and grab the tube again, squirting it directly on his back. You start to rub it in before pausing for a moment, why not?

Quickly, you write your name in the sunscreen on his back. Snow has cameras everywhere. Maybe he’s watching. Maybe he’s not. But either way, at least for a second, you can say mine. All mine. You can’t take him from me, not really.

He feels it, lifting his head up just as you’re wiping away the evidence.

“Are you drawing on my back?”

You flash him your own smile. A little less wolfish, a little more coy.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺

A/n: Hi omg I wrote this in one sitting😭this has just been rattling around in my head for weeks now and I had to get it out lol. Constructive criticism and feedback is always appreciated, I hope you all enjoyed<3

#mine!!!#finnick odair #finnick x reader #finnick oneshot #thg x reader #thg x you #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick odair fluff

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natsaffection · 1 year ago

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hi 👋 how are you??

im having stressful exams this month, a lot of tough subjects, and i'm so frustrated with it all. could you please share your thoughts on how natty would handle r in a situation like this? maybe in the "my sweet baby" universe??

if you can, thank you so much, my love 💖

Together. | N. Romanoff

Sugar Mommy!Natasha x Sugar Baby!Reader

warnings: Just fluff🍀🍀

words: 947

A/n: Please take care of yourself if it gets too much, drink cocoa, and do other fun and relaxing things!!☕️

Now you're sitting in front of it again. One stack after the other, and it just didn't stop?

Why did you decide to do it again? Ah...Right...Future...

You were a bit frustrated, you had imagined your days to be different from sitting in Natasha's living room and cramming for hours. Natasha was also busy with herself in a meeting, and you couldn't help but take a leaf out of her book. Maybe one day you will be as successful as her..Run your own business someday.

CEO Of the L/N Company..Sounds good already....

"What are you thinking about?" As if she knew you were thinking about her right now, Natasha stands in the room and looks at you smiling, you sigh and put the stapler you had in your hand on the table, "Can't I just start with you?" Natasha could hear the frustration in your voice, and when she saw all the paper stuff she knew exactly what you meant. You see her looking at you with an unfamiliar look and suddenly she’s leaving.

She just left, Damn, you did something wrong..Before you could dive further into negative scenarios, she came back and sits down right next to you, "Alright, what are we looking at here?" You looked at her in confusion, "What about your meeting?"

Natasha reached for a stapler that was on the table, "Finished it, you are more important to me than listening to some people who think they can do something better," She looks back at you, "Now let's talk about you. So, what's it about?"

You couldn't help but smile softly. You can already feel the pressure easing a bit, ,,Aspects of human history and experience.“ Natasha flipped through the sheets a bit and as you did, she asked, „What can you think of already?“

Okay, how do you tell her you've just been staring at it so far? „Uhm..“ Natasha put the folder on her knees and this time looks directly at you, „You haven't looked at it yet, have you?“

You sigh again and lean against the couch, „I wonder how you managed to make everything look so easy, Nat. You're rich, you have your own company, and it seems like you don't have to worry about anything..“

Natasha's eyes softened, and she put a hand on your thighs, her voice soft and soothing. „Y/n, it may seem that way from the outside, but I promise you, success did not come on its own. I, too, sat on the floor and studied for hours. I had to deal with countless obstacles, setbacks, and doubts. Getting to where I am now took hard work and determination.“

You continue to look at her, „I know it won't be easy, but sometimes it just feels overwhelming. I want to achieve great things, but the road ahead seems so long..“

Natasha smiled and squeezed your thigh, „I believe in you, Y/n. You have the intelligence, the drive, and the passion. Remember that every little step brings you closer to your goals. Rome wasn't built in a day, nor were successful businesses or successful careers.“ Natasha realized that she was playing to your motivation with her speech, so she took the chance and went right on, „So, can you tell me anything interesting about any of these civilizations yet? Which ones are there, for example?“

Your eyes lit up as you begin to share your knowledge. „Well, the Egyptians, for example, were known for their impressive pyramids, and they believed in the afterlife.. They had intricate burial practices to prepare for the journey to the afterlife.“

Natasha nodded, acknowledging your answer, „That's right. It's fascinating how different societies view life and death. What are the challenges you find in learning about this topic?“

You sighed for the third time now, your frustration evident. „I get overwhelmed by all the dates and names. I feel like there's so much to remember.“

Natasha's voice sounded reassuring. „It's normal for you to feel this way. Let's try to break it down. We'll focus on one civilization at a time and create a timeline. That way it won't feel so scary. Also, I'm here to help you with the names and dates, understand?“

That sounds like a lot of work, you thought to yourself, but not for you, for Natasha, „Nat..Is this really okay that I'm keeping you here like this? you must have-" she interrupted you directly, „Quit that.“ She leans toward you, " „What good does it do me to have you sinking here in front of me, hm? I'd hire someone for you to make your tables and everything you need, so. Carry on.“

You had to smile again and nodded your agreement. At some point you reached a point where Natasha asked, „Let's talk about the ancient Mesopotamian civilizations. What else do you know about them?“

You think for a moment before answering, „They were known for their sophisticated writing system and the Code of Hammurabi, which was one of the earliest law codes.“ Natasha nodded in agreement. „That's right. And what do you know about the Indus Valley civilization?“

You hesitated, struggling to remember the details. „I'm not sure about that.. I think it was an ancient civilization on the Indian subcontinent, but I don't remember much else.“

Natasha smiled, without a hint of frustration in her voice. „ And that's all right, Y/n. The Indus Valley Civilization was actually on the Indian subcontinent, and they had advanced city planning with well-organized cities.“ Natasha notices you drifting off again, and she puts the things aside, „It's normal to forget some details. We'll work on it together.“

You appreciate her patience and support. „Thank you for your understanding, Natasha. Sometimes it's frustrating when I can't remember everything.“ Natasha reassured you, „It's all part of the learning process. We'll take another look at Indus Valley Civilization and make sure you understand it thoroughly.“

I need a Natasha. 🥲

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov x reader #nat x reader #dom!natasha x reader #natasha romonova #the avengers #natasha

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shalom-iamcominghome · 18 days ago

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I don't want this to come off as offensive, because I'm totally don't mean it that way and am really just curious about this.... why are you converting to Judaism as a trans person? Judaism has a firm belief that you can be a good person and still go to shomayim, even without being a Jew. Part of being Jewish is understanding that Ha'Shem made you the way He did for a reason, whereas the whole notion of trans (to my non-trans understanding) is that you were "put in the wrong body," which just doesn't align. Either you were a "mistake" or God doesn't make mistakes. How do you reconcile those two things? I also don't understand the whole converting to conservative thing. Being conservative is going to the "cheap" sect of Judaism, so to speak, which means not accepting the full 613 mitzvot, which is the whole thing with being Jewish - having to carry the burden of all 613 commandments. If it's not a "full" conversion, why do it at all? Because, again, it's not mandatory to be Jewish to be considered a good person according to the Torah or Ha'Shem. We will love you as b'tzelem elokim either way. <3

The questions you're asking me are so layered in intricacy that I don't think I will be able to convey through text. I'm only answering these questions once because I am not here to defend myself, and I want to make this clear.

I'm dissatisfied with the narrative of "born in the wrong body." It's verbiage that often exists to convey to cis people what it feels like to be trans because cis people are (often) unable to even imagine anything else but being cis. It's largely for your benefit to help you understand.

I was not put in the wrong body. Being trans is an identity, not a preset determiner of how you view yourself. There are certainly people out there who may feel they were literally put into the wrong body, but that is not a prerequisite to being trans and it is by no means a reality for all of us. Because we aren't a monolith. We both acknowledge g-d made me (and all people!) the way He did for a reason. And I'm trans. I remember first coming to the realization that I'm trans and I fell into this idea that being cis is the default, the only option - g-d would never make people like me. And it only alienated me from g-d and made me miserable. If I never embraced my transness and accepted it as something g-d made me to be, I never would have come back to g-d. I think I vastly prefer this reality.

Secondly, I'm trying hard not to be offended at the idea that I'm converting to conservative judaism. I'm converting through the conservative movement, but the conservative movement is not where I place my allegiance. It's to the jewish people. If the movement didn't matter to others, I wouldn't even specify it precisely because people will sometimes use it as a yardstick to gauge "how much" a person does or does not do. There is nothing 'cheap' about any judaism. I am in love with every part of judaism - the culture, the music, the art, the history, the people. I'm not just converting for religious reasons, either, and it feels devaluing when people are only willing to acknowledge how religion plays into a convert's journey. Judaism will always be that and more to me.

I really do want to approach this in good faith, to assume that you are also coming from good faith. However, the only reason I'm answering this is for a potential learning experience. I'm only interested in proving myself to my beit din. Any further asks such as this will not be regarded.

#ask #jumblr #jew by choice #jewish conversion #personal thoughts tag #long post

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dr5amatic · 3 months ago

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RUNNING TOWARD HOPE ,

a sentence starter prompts list comprised of quotes from the novel blood over bright haven by m. l. wang. please be advised that this list may involve topics including, but not limited to, murder, death, violence, alcohol, and religion. change verbiage as needed.

was that a veiled dig at my intelligence?

leave your tools and weapons. they’re just weight.

while you can still breathe, keep moving. stop for nothing. turn back for no one. not even your own blood.

it must be hard to be you! how terrible to be so singularly talented!

since when do you really care about people who aren’t you?

i take it that wasn’t supposed to happen?

be cold, be hard, and don’t give them an inch, you understand? no matter what they say of you.

when i care how attractive you find me, i’ll let you know.

you’re certainly not going to survive playing against me.

that’s a lot of power.

i already missed my train. i’m going to sleep here.

the world isn’t about love for me. it’s about power.

i think i’ve just had a problem with magic since the first time i tasted it–like some people have a problem with alcohol.

magic is the one area where i can shut myself in a room with my books and my thoughts and come out more powerful than i went in.

the unbreakable rules of magic are unbreakable for a reason.

don’t play dumb with me. it doesn’t suit you.

is there something unreasonable about wanting to do my own work correctly?

brilliant men–even moderately intelligent men–in this city get showered with opportunities to succeed. brilliant women have to fight for those opportunities, and, when we get them, we have to defend them tooth and nail, or they’ll be snatched away.

i’m not married, i’m no one’s apprentice, and i’ll be damned if i let a man find some other way to take my glory from me.

women are always told to be kind, be forgiving, be nurturing. as far as i know, it’s never gotten them anywhere. the men, who have the real power, won’t return the favor when it matters.

if you are capable of everything they are as a group, then who can say you’ve been arrogant or unvirtuous?

if i can’t clear that clouded glass, there’s nothing left to do but break through it.

i never said i didn’t believe your god existed. i just don’t believe he’s the greatest or only deity at work in the world.

a ravine won’t water crops or quench the dying. at some point, there has to be a river, or what good can you really claim? if the man of good intentions never manifests a river, only calamity, should he not go to hell?

this is the balance of the universe. it is only right for the world to bring back upon him what he brought upon the world.

anyone with enough self-delusion can admit himself to heaven. this is nonsense.

it’s much easier to tell yourself you’re a good person than it is to actually be one.

i can’t work with you if we’re not honest with each other.

i’m not trying to twist your words. i’m trying to make sure you mean them.

you want me to be honest. i want the same thing from you, but you can do that without disrespecting me, my discipline, and my culture.

i can be civil, or i can be honest. you can’t have both in their entirety.

my knowledge of magic and history is obviously nothing in the face of yours.

maybe you’re not remembering clearly. sometimes, when an event is too upsetting to wrap your mind around, your memory gets muddled.

you’re that committed to your god of greed? go on, then. serve him. destroy me.

you’re the worst kind of murderer, i think. the kind who won’t even acknowledge their crime.

you never worshiped a god of truth. you worship a delusion.

i lost myself a little. and it took today–took something terrible–to bring me back to reality.

let me pose you a question that’s been troubling me for hours: must i forgo brilliance–no, not even brilliance; must i forgo any sort of intelligence; must i forgo the baseline mental functions that come with being alive–for stability?

you must be the dullest conversation partner i’ve ever met!

they’re either evil or they’re the stupidest people who ever lived!

you have to play along. pretend to buy his cover story. whatever he wants you to believe, act like you believe it and go about your business like nothing is wrong. don’t ask questions. don’t antagonize.

swear to me on your god and your mother’s grave.

i’ll be happy when i see you alive and whole tomorrow morning.

i just want you to be smart. be careful. acting on your every emotion the way you do is going to get you into trouble.

the most powerful minds and hardest hearts have a breaking point.

your head will clear, you will remember who you are, and you will move beyond this.

your devotion has always been to magic. none of that has to change because you’ve uncovered a few skeletons.

it seems i misjudged you. my theories about you were flawed.

for many, the denial must be a necessary shield against the guilt.

we’re surrounded by devils.

someone’s going to bleed and nothing bleeds like a mage’s ego.

things are about to change. the future has to be different. it will be different.

are you really going to do this? is this the mark you want to leave on the world?

i’m realizing how ridiculous it is to demand civility when the world is so disgustingly uncivil upon closer inspection. so, i’m not here to ask for your friendship or your politeness.

mages are detached from reality. they’re obsessive, socially stunted egomaniacs. you know, like me.

good people will turn monstrous when it’s down to their survival or someone else’s.

all i can say is… if you’re going to do this, i don’t co-sign it. don’t do it for me–or for anyone else. be selfish. be arrogant. do it for yourself.

i don’t want to be the reason anyone gets hurt. i don’t want to be the reason you die.

is it better to be safe and broken than it is to be dead?

all this agony for your goddamn ego.

i can’t believe i ever called you my family.

the forces of darkness are nothing to the light of god.

sorry about your reputation.

you could’ve been something great.

as far as the public is concerned, you will be forgotten–all your skill and innovation.

i never helped you for glory. i did it because it was the right thing to do.

i’m not your glory. i’m your penance.

we have done a great evil, and you’re smart enough to know that, deep in your soul, no matter what lies you spin around it. and i’m your attempt to get out of that feeling, aren’t i?

we all bear the burden of knowledge in different ways. some of us endeavor to do good.

have i dragged you anywhere you weren’t determined to go by your own power?

if i was to be your penance for what you have done, is it working? do you feel absolved?

you want me to throw away honesty in exchange for my life?

i don’t know what you’re capable of.

i think it’s important to be honest with the people you care about.

i don’t want your protection! do you hear me? do you understand? if you harm any of those people down there, it’s for yourself, not me.

you still have a chance to do the right and honest thing.

you have a long way to go yet before you’re half the monster i am.

if i’m going to die, i want to go knowing i left you safe and right with yourself.

if this is the last night of the world as we know it, i want to spend it with someone who can appreciate that with me. i want to spend it with you… if that’s alright?

don’t stay because you’re hoping to talk me into your plan over the course of the night.

honestly, i don’t know why i indulge your pessimism.

remember all this grief and terror–and try to do something good with it.

#inbox memes #inbox prompt #roleplay memes #roleplay prompts #rp memes #rp prompts #rp sentence starters #sentence starters

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ftl-faster-than-life · 7 months ago

Text

Trying to articulate the eldritch horror aspect of the Speedsters is really difficult because it's hard to put into words…You're Wally West, you're nineteen years old. You loved your deceased uncle more than almost anyone (except your aunt, but she's dead too.) You're working with a nutritionist to try to understand why your powers have changed since his death (you never needed to worry about starving to death in five minutes before.) She tells you something you don't want to hear: That power you're using came from that dead man. He wasn't human, not since before you met him, in being hit by lightning he became it. He was an energy source with a smiling face.

He was some kind of monster.

Because then he met you and you got hit by lightning, too, the accident was identical except it wasn't an accident, not really. He remade you in his image--not just with the silly tailored down costume you were happy to wear, proud to be like your hero. He connected you to him, fed you power. Made you into his companion because he was lonely in his inhumanity. Made you not-quite-human, too. You remember how much the idea that he wasn't entirely human haunted him and how he clung to the things that made him ordinary. Denial.

And now he's dead, and your powers are on the fritz, and you have two kinds of dreams: The ones where he rejects you and takes his powers back and you're left with nothing. And the other ones which are stranger (you don't have to unpack those first ones, really, the meaning is obvious.) You dream that you're talking to a dead man. He still cares about you, still wants to look after you, asks you about your week like he used to and tells you you're doing a good job, he's so proud of you. It's harder to believe these ones.

You keep looking for a way to fix your powers, you need to be faster but you can never quite push past a certain point. A man from the past tells you it's all in your head, you're afraid of being faster than a dead man, you don't want to replace him. You're damned if you're going to let anyone else do it, though. You push past that limit which you grudgingly acknowledge really was self-imposed. You nearly die anyway…but you're saved, last second, by a bolt of lightning.

You say thank you, because you know that was him.

You spend years getting faster, more powerful. You have a spiritual connection to the power that's unrivaled by anyone, past or present or future. You're the Fastest Man who Ever Lived. Sometimes you still see signs of intervention in your life, in other speedster's lives. He shows up for your cousin, then disappears again.

Then one day….he comes back. Not as a time traveler, not as a brief manifestation. He's alive and breathing and at first you feel pure relief… then you feel nervous.

What does it mean for you if he's alive?

The other shoe drops soon enough, you don't even get to the Welcome Home parties before the reveal: He was dragged out of the Speed Force by his worst enemy, who has remade himself in the process. He's not like you anymore, he's like him. They're unique, two of a kind. Connected, it turns out. It takes all of you to beat him this time.

Your uncle's got something on his mind, though--a murder over a decade old, his mother's. It's unnatural, a change to history written by his enemy. He's desperate to make it right. He wants to save her.

They fight. You're not there for this confrontation and afterwards, you aren't anywhere. He draws the entire Speed Force into himself and with it, he takes you. And your cousin, your kids, your mentor…Every other speedster.

You, your friends and family, all spend the next years in a strange state: Not alive, not dead, you never existed and no one remembers you. Then one day someone does--he does. He draws you out, fully formed and as you remember yourself (as he remembers you.) You fall into his arms and he holds you and you know the love you're feeling is real.

No one else remembers you at all at first, which isn't his fault it turns out. You're angry and you have every right to be but lashing out at him doesn't feel right either.

But you know he'll forgive you, so you let your helpless anger and grief break against that forgiveness.

Then someone, an enemy from an era you can't go back to, offers you a way to save your children. To get your life back.

All you have to do is destroy the power that is shared with you. Your uncle begs you to reconsider. He reasons with you. You can't help but see that for what it really is, a selfish plea for continued survival from that force.

You make the choice.

Because ever since you were nineteen, you've known your uncle was some kind of monster.

#meta #stumbled over this in my drafts and I figured I'd finish it off and release it into the world #speed force

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mywritingonlyfans · 7 months ago

Note

someone once sent you a request about alex meeting up with a ex girlfriend to apologize and reader feeling a bit insecure due to her past and i like the idea of him teaching her how to be loved in the right way. it would still be good to read ❤️

Of Old // Alex Turner X fem!Reader

I do remember it, it was such a nice one at the time ☝️

...

Given your past, he was aware that it would weigh more heavily on you than it normally would. However, it wasn't that he thought badly of you or the situation; he simply chose not to withhold information. The conversation was brief, and Alex believed everything had been transparent and resolved. Although he had considered elaborating more, you seemed unbothered, and he didn’t want to prolong the subject, fearing it might hurt you when you appeared to be fine.

Now, the contrast was stark. When he told you, you had just returned from work, and as usual, you approached him and wrapped your arms around his shoulders in a hug. He nuzzled your skin, feeling comforted by your scent and reassured by your return—a mix of relief (you were safe) and the desire to be with you. Without feeling the need to delay, he shared his day with you, something typical of your evenings together, except for the fact that he had seen his ex.

You were moving around the kitchen, preparing a meal, and he recalled the sequence of events. As you grabbed ingredients, he mentioned spending the day at the studio with Jamie, and that Katie had been there. During their conversations, Jamie had brought up some ex-girlfriends he hadn't treated well. Despite them not remembering him, he realized he needed to acknowledge his mistakes to avoid imposing his insecurities on others and making them feel responsible. Sometimes Jamie felt like he should have apologized to them in the past.

"Yeah, I can quite understand that." You smiled slightly, and Alex nodded, knowing this mirrored your predominant experience in your previous relationship. He continued, letting you know that he recognized behaviors similar to those Jamie described and felt the need to apologize for some of them. You paused, watching him intently and biting your lip—not nervous, but not expecting such a conversation at the end of the day.

"You know, she’s friends with some of our mutual friends. I thought it was worth it for the sake of social harmony, and she knows I’m with you. I called her quickly, and she said she could meet for a snack. It wasn’t extensive; I just apologized for certain actions and acknowledged my mistakes. I feel better having talked to her; she didn’t deserve some of the things I did. She said she understood and that she’s happy now." You nodded as Alex pulled you closer. "That's such an Al thing to do," he laughed, and you forced a smile. But it was too late; his words, the prolonged and breathed intonation, reading your reaction, replayed in your mind like a curse. He cupped your face, gently rubbing your cheek. "I thought it was fair to tell you. Is everything okay?"

If he weren’t so close, you probably wouldn’t have looked at him. His eyes were bright, so yours, but your body wasn’t there for him. You agreed, wondering how often Alex thought of her or if anything had changed after seeing her again. "And what did you eat?" you asked, trying not to sound jealous. You were serious, even though you wanted to hide and cry. "I had an Italian espresso and ordered some cookies; I brought some for you," he said, getting up to fetch them. You smiled because he had remembered you and hadn’t mentioned what she ordered. You trusted him, pushing the subject away, insisting you were mature enough to handle it. But after years of being consumed in disposable doses, looking ahead wasn’t so simple.

When Alex fell asleep, you found yourself with your fingers in his neck, playing with his soft hair as he snored. He seemed at peace, a strength that made you think he didn't deserve your torments, which you tried real hard to avoid. You kissed his shoulder and left him there, knowing sleep wouldn't come; you had been in this scenario before (never with him). You warmed a cup of milk and thought it was a good time to eat the cookies; the variety and familiar flavors made you feel a bit better. You had no doubt that he loved you, but what if he still thought of her frequently? What if he was happy to see her again? What if you were doomed to just have failed relationships? It didn't make sense; Alex was with you, you knew why they had broken up. You even thought it was good that Alex went to talk to her. However, feelings could change, and we can't control them.

"I'm sorry," you whispered. You didn't hear what Alex said. His hair was messy, and he looked tired; he didn't deserve this. He joined you on the couch, took the cup from your hand, and put it on the table. His arms gently wrapped around you, your cheek pressed to his chest, soon his warm lips were on your forehead, making you sigh and breathe deeply. He wiped away your tears, only then realizing you had cried more out of fear for yourself than for him having feelings for someone else. This way, you would end up pushing Alex away; you needed to learn to deal with your mind alone.

"Why aren't you sleeping? I thought you were okay, little one." You curled up more in his arms, wrapping around his torso; the contact with his skin calmed you. You couldn't look at him, but Alex always made you feel comfortable and heard. You were about to apologize again, but he quickly denied it, holding your chin, looking at you briefly until you had to look away again, feeling pathetic.

"I need you to tell me what you're thinking. I didn't realize it was necessary to say more about this.” He sighed, swallowing his saliva little by little. He was pure sedative for how in turmoil you were. The comfort of his breathing in not wanting to sound bad. “There's nothing wrong with that, but I need you to communicate. If you told me you were meeting with an ex to talk, I would also find it at least strange. I understand it's not the best scenario." His accent, thick from just waking up, was sweet, almost whispered, and he looked so handsome, more rested, with his squinty eyes.

"I'm not him; I want to hear you and see you well." His fingers tracing your back as your tears stopped with his voice. You nodded, and he kissed your shoulder, understanding you needed some time before saying anything.

"I’m not afraid you’ll treat me badly; I know you won’t. I’m just worried you’ll get tired of this. I want things to work out." You rubbed your eyes, your words sounding as tired as you felt. Alex traced your nose with his finger, following the bridge with his thumb.

"And you’re trying, aren’t you? I’m ‘ere with you; there’s no reason to try alone." He felt your relieved smile against his chest as your fingers played with his necklace. "Talk to me, lil’ one." He nuzzled your nose this time, eliciting more soft laughter. "It’s better when you open up and don’t carry all the weight by yourself." You nodded, still feeling a certain sense of how ridiculous it all seemed.

"There’s the call on my phone. I think it has the conversation time and the hour; or you could talk to her? Or maybe Kate? What do you think? And I don't see her often anymore." It was so casual, as if it wasn’t a problem for him (though, in a way, it should be).

"Alex, I’m not going to check your phone or talk to your ex. I trust you." Your eyes welled up with tears. He seemed to understand, his cheeks flushing.

"I don’t trust myself. I still think you’ll get tired of all of this. I kept wondering how often you think of her, if it was just because Jamie mentioned her or… I don't know," Your voice trailed off, and it pained Alex too.

You were friends with Kate, and Alex felt he had learned more about your past relationship through Kate than from you (which wasn’t your fault; you had never withheld anything). And everything he knew was bitter; he couldn’t accept that someone could have been so harmful to you.

The thing was, you had been on that side of the coin before. Even though you didn't expect the same from Alex, you couldn't help but act in a protective mode. On the other hand, Alex might not fully understand, but lacking personal experience in your pain, he knew how to respect and support those he loves.

He shook his head, your body still nestled against his. "I don't think about her. In fact, I've seen her only a few times since we've been together, and only at mutual friends' parties. I haven't talked to her since we broke up." You nodded against his skin, and he held you firmly yet gently, as if you might slip through his fingers. Deep down, he feared that your hesitations might lead you to decide against wanting a new relationship so soon. "It's only you. I don't know how else to say it, but I spent the whole day thinking about how much I wanted to come home and see you; to relax with you, see your smile when you see me, and get a tight hug." Above all, you understood. Alex left no room for doubt; this was about your past experiences, and he embraced that fully.

“I love you, Al. I'm trying.” You sniffled, nuzzling the tip of your nose against his soft skin; the warmth making you sigh. Alex loved that. He dreamed of those gentle hugs of yours even when he didn't need to be far away.

“I know, and I’ll be ‘ere through the entire process. I love you too.”

…

You wrapped your hand around Alex's index finger, which made him come closer. So close that your shoulders collided, you found it pleasant. He avoided things that might make you uncomfortable, and you appreciated how important that was to him.

"Is she your girlfriend?" The sweet old lady smiled, happy to see you with Alex. You had gone to the studio with him, Katie was around too, it had been a good meeting. He suggested stopping by the café during the break, and there you were. "Yes, the biggest fan of your cookies." Then it occurred to you that you had eaten more cookies from there than you remembered Alex bringing home. You smiled sheepishly, nodding and telling her they were indeed your favorites. Alex hugged you as your head nestled against his shoulder, the lady deemed you both adorable.

You chose a table near the window, the warm sun bathing you both. Alex had ordered the coffees and picked out the cookies; you suggested new flavors to try. Sitting beside you, Alex blew on his hands and then placed them over yours, making you smile casually as you looked between him and the new treats. You leaned in, kissing his cold nose, making him smile widely with bright eyes. He kept looking at you, happy that you felt comfortable exchanging affection in public. He kissed your cheek too, leaving no doubt that he was glad with it.

You wanted to thank him for his patience, but you knew he didn’t see it as an obligation. He had feelings for you, and that’s how it should be. Even so, you rested your head on his chest, hoping he understood this gesture carried the same meaning.

...

you have to tell if you wanna be remove 😅 also here's the forms link to be in!

taglist: @ohladymoon @indierockgirrl @bloo-wisteria @bellaturner @cosmicpiracy @nikisfwn @andrews-lovr @nela-cutie @alexturnersbbg3 @blackberryblossom @lilmisssweetdreams @alexshotelandcasino @tbhclove @rostarblog @babieswiftie @yourstartreatment @atticssmellgood @aacheinthejaw @mingods @theonlyoneswhoknowsblog @andulina567 @tonyxstanks @despairinthedeqarture @harrysbestiee @ultragirrl @lifewasawillow @viviannagiorgini @turnerside @seokjinluvbot @solacestyles @humbuginmybones @gracieghost3695

#alex turner x reader #alex turner #arctic monkeys #alex turner fanfic #alex turner smut #alex turner imagine #and alex turner #alex turner fluff

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chiharuhashibira · 1 year ago

Note

hi! I hope your day is going well, do you do requests with all the hashira? If so, i would like to request the hashira reacting to tomioka with a gn reader being his tsugoku, they werent even aware of the tsugoku but they find out theyre complete opposites! The reader is nice, talkative, sometimes loud and overall a really bright person to be with, while tomioka is tomioka, they have a good bond tho

Its okay if its not possible or you dislike the idea! No one can force you to do stuff, thanks and take care!

YES!

Let me explore this one but it'll be in an HC form~

Like how they will react after knowing that Giyu has a jolly tsugoku! No hard romance here (but romance-suggestive) and completely SFW~

𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

𝑻𝒐𝒕𝒂𝒍 𝑶𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐬 + 𝐆𝐍 𝐓𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐨𝐤𝐮!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Content Warnings: None-Completely SFW 🌸

(Image is not mine. Credits to the rightful owner)

🌸𝐆𝐲𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐢 𝐇𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐚🌸

❥ Gyomei isn't the type of man who judges. But he can't hide how astounded he was when he knew that you were Giyu's tsugoku. He even thought you were Tengen's tsugoku at first because of how talkative and confident you are.

❥ Gyomei is very understanding. Nothing has changed since Gyomei knew you were the Water Hashira's tsugoku. He is still nice to you. Even advises you to try to help Giyu come out of his shell.

"You seem to have a good bond with Tomioka-san, even if you're total opposites. I think you should help him cheer up some time."

🌸𝐌𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐨 𝐓𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐨🌸

❥ The boy doesn't care at all. He instantly forgot what you said a while ago.

❥ Whenever you try to talk to him, Muichiro will continue to ignore you. It seems like the boy is very distant. But one time that you managed to hold a conversation with him, apparently he remembered you being Giyu's tsugoku, so he brought it up.

"Uh, you seem to act different compared to the Water Pillar. It's surprising knowing you are his tsugoku. But okay. Why are you here again?"

🌸𝐌𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐢 𝐊𝐚𝐧𝐫𝐨𝐣𝐢🌸

❥ Mitsuri is very astounded that she went to the point of pinching your cheeks. She looked at you, then at Giyu. She can't believe that you can put up with the Water Hashira's attitude.

❥ But yes, she's very sweet, and nothing changed after she knew your connection to Giyu. Mitsuri still acted friendly to you, even asking you at lunch sometimes to get to know you. Apparently, she's interested in knowing more about water breathing, as she is curious if that is the reason why Giyu acts like that.

"You know, tell me more about yourself and your Water Breathing! I'm so glad you aren't shooing me away. But yes, eat! Try this sakura mochi! I don't usually share, but you're cute, so eat!"

🌸𝐊𝐲𝐨𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐨 𝐑𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐨𝐤𝐮🌸

❥ As he was curious about Giyu, Kyojuro remained friendly with you after knowing you were a tsugoku. Like Mitsuri, he can't believe how you can put up with the silence that Giyu has. And yes, the revelation of Giyu being a bit talkative to you surprised the man as well. You were total opposites!

❥ Kyojuro is just happy to know that you aren't giving up on Giyu. Yes, this man is so pure-hearted. He would often cheer you up whenever he saw you around, while also acknowledging the presence of Tomioka.

"Hi Y/N-san! Hi Tomioka-san! I hope your day is great! If you are free some time, you can drop by the Rengoku estate and train with me! We can have a delicious lunch afterwards too! My treat!"

🌸𝐆𝐢𝐲𝐮 𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐨𝐤𝐚🌸

❥ Giyu is unconcerned by the sudden attention you received after the Hashiras learned that you were his tsugoku.

❥ Oh well, the Water Hashira remained calm after all that fuzz. But yes, he still avoided everyone (except you) like the plague. You are close, but that doesn't mean that he will be close with the others too.

❥ Despite the attention that others seek from you because of your jolliness, you still made sure to spend time with Giyu. Practices? That's just one of the many things you try together! Apparently, Giyu is adventurous around you! But yeah, he's still insecure.

"I don't know how you can put up with me. But thank you. I appreciate this."

🌸𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐛𝐮 𝐊𝐨𝐜𝐡𝐨🌸

❥ Shinobu was horrified when she knew you were Giyu's tsugoku! She just can't believe a person so bright and jolly like you would be around someone like him. She would often try to convince you to train with her instead or explore other Hashiras Breathing styles, as you and Giyu seem to be incompatible. The girl is just so concerned.

❥ But yes, she's obsessed with you. Her behavior toward Giyu occasionally creeps you out, but maybe that's because she also seems to secretly like him. When you're with Shinobu, she always asks about the Water Hashira, aside from convincing you to be a part of the Butterfly Mansion.

"No one likes Tomioka-san. I don't know how you can do this with him! But if ever you change your mind, I will welcome you. But, hmm, what are Giyu's dirty secrets? Does he snore? I want to tease him!"

🌸𝐓𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐧 𝐔𝐳𝐮𝐢🌸

❥ Tengen finds it unflashy that you were Giyu's tsugoku. He doesn't have anything bad against Water Breathing but he just finds the Water Hashira so gloomy, which is definitely not you!

❥ Like Shinobu, Tengen is obsessed with you. The man finds you flamboyant, and he wants to take you in as his tsugoku instead. He even says his wife would love to have her! (Not as a wife, but as a part of their estate—as their baby XD)

"My wives would love you! Why don't you just join me? Be my tsugoku! Tomioka-san is just too gloomy!"

🌸𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐳𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐰𝐚🌸

❥ Sanemi was also horrified. More horrified than Shinobu. He wasn't expecting you to be Giyu's tsugoku at all. For him, you were just like the sunlight, and Giyu was just like trash. (Apparently the lad adores you secretly)

❥ Sanemi would act less harsh with you, but he will still curse you whenever you act "like an idiot," especially when you're with Mitsuri. But yeah, the Wind Hashira also asked you to be his tsugoku, which you always politely declined.

"Your loss, though. That fucker doesn't deserve a talented tsugoku like you. But if you ever change your mind, don't go to Tengen or Shinobu... Those two are dimwits. Be my tsugoku instead."

🌸𝐎𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐢 𝐈𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐨🌸

❥ Mitsuri likes you as her friend, so Obanai isn't rude to you, even if he knew that you are Giyu's tsugoku. He is horrified, yes. But he isn't the type of guy who would hate you for that.

❥ But sometimes he mocks you for choosing Giyu over Sanemi, especially whenever he sees the Wind Hashira dismayed by your continuous rejections. Of course, Sanemi's his friend, so he'll side with him. But yeah. You don't talk with each other that much unless Mitsuri makes him talk to you. And yes, Obanai would just talk about Kaburamaru.

"You know, you're wasting your life as Tomioka's tsugoku. Just go with Sanemi. He can help you better."

𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉!

So sorry if this request took me too long to write hahahahahaha!

But anon, if you are still here, thank you for the request~

Feel free to request, reblog, or comment!

Ja ne~

~𝓒𝓱𝓲𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓾-𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷🌸

#demon slayer x reader #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer imagines #kimetsu no yaiba #sanemi x reader #sanemi shinazugawa #giyuu tomioka #shinobu kocho #gyomei himejima #tengen uzui #obanai iguro #mitsuri kanroji #kyojuro rengoku #muichiro tokito #hashira #demon slayer headcanons #hashira headcanons #tsugoku!reader

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eddiessluttywaist · 2 years ago

Text

desiderium

an eddie munson series

AGELESS/BLANK/UNDER 18 BLOGS ARE NOT WELCOME TO INTERACT. PLEASE RESPECT MY RULES AND BOUNDARIES.

summary: eddie’s odd, forgotten childhood friend seeks him out when he needs her more than he realizes.

pairing: bsf!mechanic!bartender!eddie x eccentric!bsf!fem!reader

word count: 4,752 words

content/warnings: eventual smut so MDNI, angst, swearing, loneliness, mentions of drugs and crime, mentions of imprisonment, family issues, feeling unwanted, slight bullying, anxiety, nightmares, insomnia, depression, loss and grief, mentions of spit, super brief mention of alcohol and vomit, very brief mentions of breakups and inappropriate sexual relations (nothing reader or eddie are apart of). i think that’s it!

a/n: this is my first attempt at a slow burn series so i hope it’s good! i’m also trying a new setup with photos instead of gifs ^ i’ve seen a lot of other people do it and i think it looks really cool so! also creds to who owns and posted these photos! they’re not mine, i just made the collage!

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5

Eddie Munson had grown bitter since you last saw him. To be fair, the last time you saw him was when you were kids but still. You always knew him to be boisterous. Adventurer Eddie. Eddie with the weird ideas and cool drawings. Eddie who made you laugh until your stomach cramped and you would cry out that he was going to make you wet yourself.

You didn’t know it as a kid but even then he couldn’t catch a break from the world around him, and apparently it never stopped spiraling even when it beat him into a hollow shell covered in grease during the weekdays and alcohol—and occasionally vomit—on the weekends. He was worn down by his own worries that never seemed to cease and miserable stories of others admitting things they should’ve never said aloud. Sometimes the stories were fun or at least amusing, but mostly just depressing. This was Hawkins after all.

This wasn’t an Eddie you knew. Had someone told you that man in the garage wasn’t him, you simply would’ve nodded and kept going on your journey to find him.

But it was him, and you were positive he was meant to be back in your life. No matter how much it was hurting right now.

You didn’t know why he left at first. It was as if he ceased to exist, and sometimes—when you were all alone at night—you wondered if he had been a ghost. If he had been an imaginary friend, but surely not? He had his own home you hung out in. His own dad who let you guys eat too much junk food and stay up too late. He looked and sounded real when he would scarf down several bowls of honeycomb cereal with those slurping noises you always hated and would whine at him over. He felt real when you would play wrestle—and unfortunately very real when he won and would pin you down while slowly letting a string of saliva stretch down towards your face in an empty threat. He never really did it, but it was gross all the same, and when he’d let up you’d punch his arm as hard as you could.

One day, you asked if your parents remembered him and your father scoffed at the question while he stared at the newspaper, but at least he acknowledged you at all. Meanwhile your mother had all her focus on putting her earrings in and checking her makeup in the small mirror on a wall surrounded by family photos. Those framed pictures felt emptier than the looming threat of Eddie’s spit touching your face.

“Well his father’s a bottom feeder stuck in prison,” your dad flicked his paper to straighten it out again from where it had begun to bow backwards. “And his kid is probably no better. You’ll make other friends.”

You never understood why he was so cold about the loss of your only friend. You’ll make other friends. Yeah right. No one liked you. Everyone made fun of the way you sat idly on swings just to kick on occasion as you focused more on the book in your hands, or the way you’d squat down and give all your attention to a bug in front of you. Either a line of ants that you regarded with pure intrigue because you wondered how they always filed so neatly and did their best to stay together. Sometimes you left crumbs by them just to see if you could watch them pick them up. You’d watch snails and show them the attentiveness and respect you felt they deserved as they slowly trudged along—so determined, you thought. You’d watch butterflies and try to keep track of all the different kinds you saw. A lot of them were small and fluttery with those buttery white wings, but sometimes you saw a monarch and your eyes would grow large with excitement.

You cried when Zachary McKay would stomp on the anthills or teased you about how the French ate snails—something his dad would say was just more proof of how odd Europeans are. They were one of those arrogant “We love our Country!” households with an “I can do whatever I want—America is the land of the free” ideology and it showed in their unbridled and privileged ass of a child. You didn’t inform him that one Spring of the wasp nest that formed on the underside of the slide he frequented. Maybe it was mean, but you were content in silence over on your swing when you heard him crying out in pain one day. He developed a crush on you in high school that dramatically contrasted how he treated you in grade school—and even tried to make a move at Maddi Ecker’s 17th birthday party—but you could only think of the ants and the snails. You turned him down and he was horrible to you again.

You eventually did make some friends, other odds and ends throughout your school, but it wasn’t the same as it was with Eddie. Maybe it was childish and stubborn, but you could feel it deep in your gut that he was one of a kind. So you couldn’t let him go. All those years you ached for your friend who you considered lost. He always came up with wild stories and (when you were still relatively young) you imagined he had become a pirate and was lost at sea. Or became a gunslinger in the Wild West and didn’t draw fast enough. Maybe he went to slay dragons and wound up a burnt crisp of a human. That last one made you cringe the most, but he probably would’ve liked it the most. He loved mythical creatures the way you adored real creatures. By high school you weren’t as naive. You heard about his dad—caught with multiple charges of grand theft auto, a hit-and-run in one of said stolen cars, and dealing drugs. The hard shit. Not weed or shrooms. But the kind of stuff that really ruins lives.

You always thought Eddie had a good home. His dad didn’t hate him the way you were sure your parents hated you, and he had a nice house. It wasn’t a mansion or anything, but they really didn’t need anything beyond a one story and a sizable basement with only two of them. In hindsight, you supposed he couldn’t find a home in that childhood house anymore than you could with yours. Yours lacked love. His lacked a reliable source of income.

Over time you heard about the night with all the sirens and social workers. The night he turned into a spirit that had finally moved on—an imaginary friend that your growing mind ceased to conjure. He lived with his uncle over in Indiana, rather than your small town in Ohio. Even in your mid twenties, he flashed in your mind like a small blip on occasion and it still twisted your stomach.

You thought of asking if you should go to him whenever you remembered, but you thought you needed a sign. What if you showed up too early? And you messed up any possible grand plans? So you avoided indulging in questions about him to your tarot cards or over your pendulum map. On occasion you caved and just asked a simple question: is he safe? It was a yes every time you broke and just had to check up on him, and the answer reassured you for long enough until the next time the concern rose up to unbearable levels.

But then you started getting those dreams. Sometimes they were just memories playing from deep within the archives of your mind. Sometimes they were nightmares of yelling at someone to go away, only to realize it was Eddie far too late—and when you wanted to run after him to correct the mistake, you couldn’t move as quickly as you knew you were capable of.

It went on for about a month before you finally broke. Your eyes had snapped open, accidentally waking yourself in the middle of saying what you had been shouting to Dream Eddie out loud into your pitch black room. You glanced at the time. 11:11 PM. You felt your heart skip a beat before you shoved yourself out of bed. You had to take a moment to steady yourself against your bedpost from the sudden movement making you dizzy, but then you were flicking on the light and digging through your belongings. You didn’t even give yourself a chance to wipe away at the thin sheen of sweat over your skin from August heat mixed with a cheap fan that really didn’t make that much of a difference, and the stress from the events that had played deep in your mind while you slept.

With a shaky breath, you smoothed out your map on the floor where you were squatting, and steadily held your pendulum over the center. Does he need me? You finally asked and watched as the chain connected to a sphere of rose quartz slowly began to circle. It sped up and then began to dart in different directions before finally swinging back and forth between both of the “YES''s on the piece of cloth.

It took a little over a month to arrange your departure from your life in small town Ohio—not that small town Indiana was really all that different. You had briefly been back at your childhood house after your lease came to an end for the apartment you shared with a friend (who didn’t want to renew because she wanted to move in with her boyfriend, and you didn’t have the heart to tell her that the card spread you had laid out all pointed towards a breakup). All of this to say you didn’t have a lease or mortgage to tie you down. You certainly didn’t have a boyfriend (you haven’t had one since college), and you didn’t even like your job at the local mart so it was easy to give your two weeks. Your parents were just as sick of your presence now as when you were a child, and were willing to help you in every way possible to get you to just leave again. Had you not been so focused on your end goal, you might’ve taken a beat to really feel the hurt that always came with parents who only came to your aid when it meant keeping you at arm's length. But you couldn’t focus on it and really (for the sake of your mental health) you shouldn’t focus on it. All of your energy went towards Eddie who seemed so far, even if he was supposedly just a few hours and a state line away.

You didn’t have a place yet, which was a mistake on your part for rushing, but you could stay in a motel for the time being. The prices were pretty low anyways and the owner seemed pleasantly surprised by the sudden source of money and company. The lot belonged to her husband who had passed a few years back, so now it was only her running the place. Her daughter helped sometimes, but she had another job to focus on—only coming to help when the older woman was ill. So even though she appeared kind of grumpy at first, she really softened up to you when you wound up padding out of your room the first night and asked if she wanted to play Go Fish. You had been feeling antsy and lonely, and you were right to assume she felt lonely too.

Over the past week or so, you found a friend in that creaking, groaning motel. You did have a bit of a tendency to befriend the adults around you more often than kids your age when you were younger and it still happened now, apparently. A shrink at university pointed out once that it had to do with the lack of guardianship and guidance growing up. That you were trying to replace something that had always been missing, but you didn’t go back to him after a couple sessions. You didn’t like how patronizing he was, telling you things you already knew. And when you asked your dowsing rods if he was sleeping with any of his clients, the two pieces in your fists whipped open in a blatant “Yes!” But he wasn’t around now to make you feel low with his supercilious commentary and his notes that he always scratched down right in front of you. Your parents weren’t around to remind you of how utterly unlovable you can be. It was just you, Martha at Hawkins’ Blue Bird Inn, and hopefully a pleasant reunion on the horizon.

Today was the day to finally see Eddie, and Martha urged some confidence into you this morning before sending you on your way with the directions to the garage. No matter how many times you clarified he was just your childhood best friend, she got that sly look about her that always showed when an adult was all amused about the novice in front of them being openly or involuntarily blind to love.

So there you were. On a mild Wednesday morning in late September, standing before Thacher Tire after a lot of asking around, a lot of time flipping through Martha’s phone book, and even more odd looks. You let out a careful breath, doing your best to reassure yourself with the knowledge that the people you spoke to knew his name in the first place. He had to be here, and even if he wasn’t working today he should at least be employed here. Maybe you could be told when to come back to speak with him or where you could find him outside of work. Would they share something like that? People don’t tend to care about privacy in small towns, that’s why everyone knew (generally) where everyone else was. Maybe if you clarified that you’re an old friend, they wouldn’t treat you as a customer and tell you where he would be.

You were wringing your hands as you eyed the door in front of you. The glass looking in was worn from age and weather, clearly cleaned so people could see through it, but there seemed to be an aging to the corners where the rectangle of glass met the surrounding wood that couldn’t be scrubbed out. It felt like a portal looking into what could be, and you suddenly felt yourself getting anxious with what exactly meant could be. You had a knack for catastrophizing, and spiraled in all of the worst case scenarios until you were running back to your car and abandoning the lot.

“Trust me, it’s not as scary as it seems. Going for those intimidating opportunities is always better in the long run than letting ‘em slip away,'' Martha murmured to you before biting into the sandwich you brought her.

You bought typical fast food that you always came running back to when you were stressed, but she didn’t like the grease. You learned that over the past week when you brought up your bad habit, and her nose scrunched up at the mention of crappy burgers and overly salted fries. Instead you got her a tuna sandwich from the nearby marketplace, and she shared her big jug of iced, sweet tea with you.

“I haven’t seen him for over ten years…,” you sigh, toying with the crackling paper that was wrapped around your cheeseburger. “What if I’m the only one who clung onto our friendship? What if it’s stupid to him?”

“Mm, us women always do hold on longer,” she hummed thoughtfully and you refrained from your urge to correct her old-fashioned view of gender dynamics for the sake of staying on topic. “I still think you should go for it.”

“What if… what if it’s not what I think it’ll be? What if I’ve turned him into someone more fictional than Eddie in my mind, and when I’m faced with how he really is now I just… I dunno…wish I didn’t come here?”

“They never are what you conjure up. They’re always better up here,” she pointed a bony finger to her temple and you focused on one of the curls in her short gray hair for a second before bringing your gaze back to hers. “I still think you should go for it.”

You huff out a laugh at her repetition, smiling sadly to yourself as you look down at your hands and notice the thin sheen of grease on them. Maybe Martha’s right. Maybe this food is gross. You grab a few napkins from the brown paper bag and wipe at your fingers.

“Just think of it this way: is it worse knowing the truth or worse never knowing?”

Eddie had been having a shit day. Actually he had been having a shit week. If he let himself truly indulge in his pessimism, he’d be acknowledging that he’s altogether just had a shit life, but he was trying not to fall into that trap. It would make him the kind of depressed and bitter that made him snap at others and then feel guilty about it—which only made him feel worse about himself.

He hasn’t been sleeping well, a sudden flare up of his insomnia throwing off his circadian rhythm. He thought with how busy his schedule was that he’d knock out the second his head hit the pillow, but he only seemed to be exhausted until he finally laid down. Then was when his thoughts randomly chose to run and his heart would race with the sudden surge of anxiety-inducing thoughts. He was beginning to feel so overwhelmed by everything that his eyes burned with the beginnings of hot tears but he wiped at them carelessly with the heels of his hands before they could become too real. In his mind, they didn’t exist until they fell.

Eddie ached with exhaustion that only seemed to let up when he could actually get a shot at some rest. He ached with loss and grief. He ached with pure misery and painful seclusion and a silent trailer—besides the occasional buzz of electricity through his lamp that he turned back on when he realized he wouldn’t be sleeping anyway, or the groan of the old mobile home settling against its cinder blocks. The upcoming season made itself known through the ever growing chill that formed at night and occasionally blew through every crack and crease of the trailer, making him shiver and pull his blankets up before inevitably growing hot again and kicking them away.

He missed his friends that he rarely saw. Everyone is busy nowadays. He missed Wayne who… god, he couldn’t even think about it. He missed Chrissy who lit up his world Spring of ‘86 just for them to drift apart. People seemed to drift from him a lot. People seemed comfortable with forgetting him and giving a brief call only when they got a pang of guilt at any reminder that they were getting awfully close to leaving him behind. But who was he to drag them down? It was heart-aching enough to live the way he did sometimes, let alone when people acknowledged just how heart-aching it was. Sometimes he even missed his dad, but he always avoided thinking too hard about him before it could sink his mood to a new level that would be hard to crawl out of.

He hadn’t been able to fall asleep Wednesday night until early into Thursday morning. He settled into a deep rest around 4 AM just to be abruptly woken up by his 6:30 alarm to make sure he was at Thacher’s by 7:00.

“Fuck off…,” Eddie groaned out loud and slammed his fist down onto the alarm clock, never lifting his face from where it was planted right against his worn pillow.

He laid there for what felt like forever, but was really only a few minutes before he finally peeled himself out of his spot. Forcing himself from the comfort of his old mattress was never easy, especially when he couldn’t rely on any excuses he made up as a teenager to just flop right back into his bed. He had to get up. He had to work.

He went to make his usual toast just to see there was only the end piece left in his loaf of bread, and let out a guttural groan of frustration as he tilted his head back. He forgot to stop at the store. Grumbling a bitter so that’s how today’s gonna go under his breath, he shoved the sad excuse for a slice of bread into the toaster and then began looking through the kitchen for something else to satiate him until lunch.

He wound up eating what was left in his jar of peanut butter with a spoon after slathering the small piece of toast with jelly. He didn’t have time to clean a travel mug (which he forgot to clean last night) so he took a regular one with him on his commute, and wound up dumping his coffee all over himself mid-sip when he had to stop short for a kid suddenly biking across the road. The young teen laughed at the close call and made his way to the other side of the street. Eddie glanced down at his drenched t-shirt and coveralls, releasing his third irritated groan of the morning while he rolled his eyes up to the ceiling of his van before focusing back on the road and moving his foot to the gas. He focused on taking deep breaths as he gripped the steering wheel and made his way to the shop.

Thankfully, Linda had already started a pot of coffee in the break room which he happily drank and patted at his wet clothing with one of the blue shop towels. Staining was inevitable and it really didn’t matter with the coveralls anyways, but that didn’t mean he had to be damp. Taking that moment at the start of his shift helped with his mood, but the amount of customers bitching over the phone about how long it was taking to get their cars back were steadily draining him back into a surly mood. The most he had to look forward to and keep himself from unnecessarily snapping at someone was the fact that it was almost the weekend—and yes he would still have to work nights at The Hideout, but at least he didn’t have to get up early.

Never knowing was decidedly worse.

You had concluded this after ruminating on it all night—with and then without Martha’s help. And despite all of your anxieties that were just barely buried under the surface, you made yourself go to the garage again.

An obnoxious, tinny bell sounded and a dull voice said from behind a counter: Welcome to Thacher Tire. What can we do for you?

You approached carefully as if you moved too quickly, the depressing gray and beige setting around you—which held far more meaning for you than just fixing cars—would suddenly melt away and you’d wake up.

“Do you know where I could find Eddie Munson?” you asked in a soft voice, and the woman obnoxiously chomping at her gum looked up at you over the top of her glasses before looking back down at the paperwork in front of her.

“He’s in the garage. Is he working on your car?”

Your heart jumped and although you hated to lie, you did.

“Yes,” you said probably too quickly, but it seemed nothing could get this woman to care.

“Wait over there, please,” she spoke in a voice that was just as greige as her place of work.

You thanked her meekly and shuffled over to one of the worn, faux leather and hard plastic seats. The room smelled of cheap pine air fresheners and the potent combination of oil, and that specific rubber scent of brand new tires. The space with the front desk and the waiting area was small enough to be cramped if it was a busy day, but since you were the only visitor at the moment you didn’t have to be confronted by the full potential of such limited space. You toyed with your hands and tried to pay attention to the fuzzy television in one corner of the room, but you couldn’t help listening in on the receptionist’s call.

“…’s a girl here to talk to ya… uh-huh… yeah I know… uh, no I don’t think so. I doubt it. Her voice is different from the one that keeps calling about the Ford. Might be though... ‘Kay.”

You anxiously wiped your sweaty palms over your jeans as you heard the clunk of hard plastic settling back into its cradle. What if he didn’t remember you? What if he did, but didn’t care? What if he thought you were weird for showing up? What if he grew up to be someone who stomps on anthills?

Your head shot up at the sound of a door opening and then closing from the back, and a man in filthy coveralls approached the woman behind the desk. He had messy, curly bangs settled on his forehead and the rest of his long hair was in a low ponytail. He was sweaty and clearly exhausted as he wiped at his forehead and left a swipe of grease in his wake, speaking quietly to the receptionist before making his way over to you. The closer he got, the better you could smell the grease and sweat and bitter coffee, but it didn’t deter you. What truly threw you were the circles under his eyes and the sort of pale cast to his skin that people got when they were fatigued or ill. You weren’t sure why a part of you expected to see an eleven year old kid approach you with a god awful buzz cut and big brown eyes, even after fourteen years.

This was it. This was your moment. The time to reclaim your best friend, and have the greatest person you had ever met back into your life. Why was your throat suddenly so dry? You swallowed anxiously and then parted your lips to speak and-

“Miss, I know you’re waiting on your car to be fixed before the weekend—I promise I’m working as quickly as I can.”

You tried not to cringe at the use of “miss” and looked up at him with wide, sad eyes wondering why he didn’t see an almost ten year old girl with a messy braid in her hair that she did by herself, complaining at him to chew with his mouth closed.

“I lied,” You said bluntly and the man stared at you in a way that felt blank and still despite his wonderment.

“I-I don’t have a car here. I just wanted to talk to you.”

He eyed you curiously, his hands slowly wiping onto an old rag. It looked like it had been used so many times, you doubted it was even picking up any filth on his hands but just moving it around instead. He was clearly thrown off by the sentiment which brought a sort of youthfulness to his face in that moment of curiosity before his features hardened.

“Listen. I’m sure whatever prank you have conjured up is hilarious, but I’m tired and trying to do my job.”

“No-- no, no,” you tried to clarify, shooting up from your seat. “I—I-”

But he was already swiftly stomping away from you towards the back, muttering to the receptionist with a quick and surely rude comment about you on his way. You were moments from being politely asked to leave, you’re sure, but the woman hesitated with a gentle expression when she saw you approach her with glossy eyes.

“Could you please just give him this?” you asked in a soft voice that you did your best to keep even, but of course it wobbled just enough to be humiliating. You could feel the heat in your face and (even worse) the moisture in your eyes so you did your best to avoid eye contact.

You outstretched your arm and she met you halfway with a nod, allowing you to drop the old friendship bracelet into her palm.

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #stranger things x reader #mechanic!eddie #bartender!eddie #bartender!eddie munson #angst #slow burn #slow burn eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader #bsf!eddie munson #eddie munson angst #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson series

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yuri-is-online · 1 year ago

Note

Hi Yuri! I hope you are doing well<333 I really enjoy reading your writing and I am always more fond of reading the little octatrio fish gang! I dont really know how this usually works because I never send in any asks at all nor do I see your rules list or anything but if you dont mind I would like to make a request<3

A mc who finds an out of tune and old piano and fondly remembers that they used to play piano back in their world. And perhaps Azul hears in on this and despite the piano being old and out of tune, it is rather beautiful how you play it because of how imperfect the notes are being played out. (SORRY I WAS LISTENING TO FALLEN DOWN AND THE FEELINGS WERE JUST SURGING AND THE BRAINROT WAS TOO MUCH)

You dont have to force yourself or anything! Please take care and dont feel too pressured! <3

The Most Romantic of All Arts (Azul Ashengrotto x Yuu)

Hello dear friend and I am doing quite well thank you! I'm pleased you like my writing; the octotrio is what finally cracked my resolve to check out Twisted Wonderland and put FGO on the back burner so I suppose I shouldn't beat myself up too much for writing about them so much. I am sorry I caused you stress with my lack of rules, I don't usually send requests or asks myself, so I felt really bad to have frightened you. Not too sure if this will end up being what you had in mind, it got away from me a bit.

Also when you say Fallen Down, you do mean the Undertale soundtrack piece right? It's a soothing song I listened to it while I was plotting this to try and get into a similar headspace.

notes: they/them used for Yuu, header taken from the painting Spirit by George Roux (1885) which I found on this wordpres blog article I took the title from, it's a neat painting, Azul learning to find beauty and love in imperfections is important to me ok? Other works can be found on my masterlist here.

Sometimes you wonder if Ramshakle is sentient. The old building has more rooms than you know what to do with, and lovely as the ghosts are they don't fully remember what they were used for, if they remembered in the first place. But still there was something about those rooms that seemed to love you; he guest room almost built itself up around you, the kitchen had only needed some basic repairs before it was ready to help play host again, and no matter where a fire place was found it was always eager to burst to life and warm you and Grim.

It does not have the same love for Azul, he'd complained as much when you talked about just what it was he wanted with the building after the events of his overblot had cooled between you.

"It's got a graveyard in front of it, though?" That really had been the crux of your whole argument. It was hard to be annoyed with his laugh when it sounded so nice, the genuine amusement a refreshing difference to his previous performitive indifference.

"Yes," he muses, sipping at his real before he continues, "I'm not bothered by that much, ghosts and grave ships aren't uncommon sights under the sea, but I always forget how unusual humans think they are."

"There's a lot of superstitions about places where people are buried." You mean it as an explanation, but it brings an odd look to Azul's face, like there's an emotion bubbling beneath his surface he doesn't want to acknowledge but is too strong to suppress. It settles over you both, as you try to focus on drinking your tea while your host seems content to let his grow cold.

"Well, I suppose it's a good thing that ruin isn't really sentient." He sounds almost bitter, disappointed in how long he has let his drink cool you decide as he reaches for the pot and warms it with some fresh tea. "Otherwise, I'd accuse it of trying to keep you."

It's a silly thought, but the sight of this latest discovery really does have you wondering. You are supposed to be in that wonderfully accommodating kitchen making snacks for when Azul decides to "coincidentally drop by" later this evening to "go over the Lounge's expenses" in your guest room. On a Tuesday. When it was almost guaranteed business would be slow enough to keep anyone from wondering too hard about where he'd gone or the twins from being too upset about running things. But instead of "just wanting to try" a new recipe, you are here, tucked in a room just a bit further down the hall from the guest room watching Grim give his best impression of Ace after completing a magic trick. Because stars know he has never seen any other magicians.

"TA-DA!" He puts both of his paws out to really sell the piano at the window. "See, I told you I had a great surprise!"

"I'm sorry for not believing you." You say and try not to laugh with just how much more proud that seems to make him. "But where did you find this? Or how I guess, unless you moved it?"

"Nah." He shakes his head before remembering he's supposed to be the "great" Grim. "I mean I could have! But I'm just so cool I managed to find a piano here already, so all I had to do was clean it up instead! You're welcome henchuman." You scratch just behind his ears and politely ignore his purrs as you examine the piano and its bench. They're old, likely just as ancient as everything else in the dormitory and likely extremely, achingly out of tune. But the mere sight of it makes your fingers itch, and Grim barely has to whine "Well ain't you gonna play somethin'?" Before you're at the bench, experimentally pressing the keys to try and sound out something.

Twinkle twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are-

You hum it rather than sing, irrationally worried Grim will somehow figure out it's a lullaby and complain that you're babying him instead of cutely dancing along with the music like it's one of the cassettes Deuce let you borrow. He cheers for another, and you oblige, letting your muscle memory carry you as far as it can as you try searching your brain for just what it was you wanted most to hear from yourself after all this time being unable to play.

And missing the click of a heavy door down the hall in the effort.

Azul hears nothing at first, and though it does disappoint, it does not bother him. He's had a long day, one about to be made longer still by the grey zone already draping itself around his thoughts as he shrugs his blazer off to his shoulders while en route to the Ramshackle guest room. He pauses, for what he tells himself is only going to be second, at the kitchen door and is left unrewarded for his detour.

You aren't there: and that does bother him somewhat, even if it should not if his pretext is to be believed. These visits were too commonplace to be random, but maybe you'd made plans, deciding not to look past his excuses for the evening. Maybe you were asleep, tired of the day or just plain tired of him. But there is a kettle sat on it's base, mercifully not on just yet, but two mugs and the pour over cone set next to as if it was expecting company. The nerves remain knotted in his stomach, though the cause shifts towards something more welcome.

So you do have a mug purposefully set aside and designated just for him, and is that a little recpie card with notes on coffee taped to that tin? These things should worry him, the picture he snaps and immediately hides in a folder should be for a purpose. But it's separate from those ones, labeled something inane and barely full with how careful he is to have his longing remain unseen. He wonders, briefly if it would be an intrusion to make the drinks himself. If it would reveal to much to show outright he knows the way you take yours instead of just saying it in time with your order, but knows that would not be the exact issue here. He is a guest, and guests limit themselves to the halls and that room he forces himself, with haste that would be noticeable if you were there to see it, back down the hall and back towards the guest room. Azul has work to do, he can content himself with the warmth the mental image the cups on the counter produces until something forces him to pause at a door once more. The piano is old, droning out a tune that is unpolished and rusty from the player's lack of practice but filled with such a specific sort of joy it has him actually running towards it.

You sit at the bench, a serious look of determination on your face so unlike the usual Yuu it can't help but be cute. Grim sleeps contentedly on your lap as you continue searching for the threads of melody still trapped inside your head from years of only occasionally reluctant practice. It's an unfamiliar tune in composition, but not in feel. There's words to this song, maybe not in the form of lyrics, but there all the same for him to stumble even closer to as he comes to a halting stop just behind you and the music ends in a surprised crash as you whip your head around to see him.

"Azul!"

"Very sorry to interrupt." He holds up both hands in surrender, composure only just maintained as you check to see Grim still asleep and laugh nervously. "I didn't know you could play."

"Can't really." You say somewhat bitterly and more confidence comes to Azul as a slight plan froms in his mind. "I'm really out of practice ugh. I know it shouldn't annoy me! But with how everything's been since I showed up, it's just not been on my mi- Oh hello?"

Azul fully removes his jacket and sets it on a side table close to where he had been satanding, moving to sit on the bench next to you. He has enough mercy not to loosen his tie or do anything else scandalous, but the close examination he gives to the keys could have fooled you. "Pity it's so out of tune, this is a nice piano."

"I know right! I'm really happy Grim found it." You resist the urge to poke his cheeks some and Azul lightly, trying not to too openly relish in your surprise reaches one arm around your back to place his hands into a similar position as you had been earlier, tucking you close to his side.

"May I?" He's smug. Too smug it's robbing you of sanity.

"What's it going to cost?" You try too hard not to sound like you're flailing as you look to see your question hasn't even phased him at all.

"Oh normally I wouldn't dream of charging for a performance," he clearly lies "but it's been such a long day I wouldn't say no to a cup of coffee." And he's off, music only marred by the off key of the piano in a clearly purposeful display of talent meant to sear itself into your mind enough that you don't think about his request too long. You and he are from two different worlds, but he knows that music has a way of gapping that if the stories of the mermaid princess told him anything at all. So when he purposefully slows the song at its end, he knows you know, that tricky smile he swore once he'd always hate kicking his heartbeat up again as you lean fully against his shoulder.

"Beautiful." You say, not bothering to give the compliment direction as he can't help but agree. "We should play together next time."

"I-" You pick yourself up and what he wants to say slows when you pick up his jacket for him and hold out a hand. Later, he all to easily decides. Later, without Grim and with specific time set purposefully aside so you know just how much it matters. "I would like that. You'll have to show me the songs that you can remember from your world." And he takes your hand just to soothe some of the ache, trying and failing not to show just how happy he is when you keep it.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #<3 asks #i really love old paintings and actually ended up making this one my phone bg #so thank you v much for sending me this request annon idk if i would have found it otherwise

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thesparklingwriter · 1 year ago

Text

misplaced jealousy

“You should have asked how I felt about this ‘tiny Childe’ before you let him take my place in your arms.”

word count: 1.2k

original ask

tags: gn reader, fluff

taglist | masterlist

When you told Childe that you planned to use your annual leave from work to get back to some crafting, he’d thought that it was a great idea. He’d asked around to find the best supplies possible, had them delivered to you in a neat little package, and waited patiently to hear whether you liked it or not. He knew he’d be at the bank when the delivery came, so he half expected you to come by and tell him about all the plans you had for each item.

But you’d been really quiet about it, and he worried that maybe the package had never made it to you, so he drops by to check it got delivered to the house. He opens the front door, expecting you to notice almost immediately, like you always did, but you don’t. In fact, for a few minutes, he’s convinced you’re not even home, until he decides to check your office.

“You know, if your inhumane ability to know when the door is opened is broken, you might have to look at locking the front door more often.” He says, as soon as he spots you hunched over your desk. You jump as soon as you hear him, but turning your attention away from your sketch seems to be a hard task.

“Jeez, Ajax, you scared the life out of me,” you say, as he reaches down to hug you. “What are you doing here?”

“I was concerned the craft supplies I ordered for you never made it,” He says. “So i thought i'd come by and check”

“You just wanted to slack off,” You laugh, putting your pencil down. “Anyway, it’s a good thing you came. I planned to come down to the bank to thank you myself, but I got totally distracted with ideas.”

“And those ideas are?” Childe asks, trying to get a glance at your paper, but you flip the paper over, glaring at him half heartedly.

“For me to know, and you to find out later.” You pull him into a hug, laughing as he tries to pull away from you and the kisses you plant on his face. “Thank you. Really.”

“Anytime,” he responds. He sits with you a little longer, trying his best to observe quietly, but failing miserably as he descends into peals of laughter at your attempt to draw a bunny. Or was it supposed to be a dog? He doesn’t know, and he never gets to find out, because you throw him out of your office and he finds himself forced to return to work.

He very quickly begins to regret his laughter at your sketch, because now he’s not allowed in the same room as you if you're making your plushies, and it just so happens that every minute of your day is consumed by your crafting activities. When he got home, you used to at least acknowledge his presence, but now, it's as if he comes home to an empty house.

To make matters worse, the only way he knows if you’re alive or not is if something goes wrong. And you seem to be so good at what you’re doing that he only ever hears you curse frustratedly once a day if he’s lucky. Sometimes you come out to eat dinner with him, and other times you fuel yourself on snacks and don’t leave your office until night when you tiredly crawl into bed next to him without a single word.

As much as he wants to march into your office and burn every single thing he bought so that you’d look at him again, he knows you deserve your own space, so he tries to find a hobby of his own. (It doesn’t work, and it only makes him miss you more.)

After a week of feeling like he doesn't exist, he returns home, expecting to once again be met with a silent house.

“Oh, you’re back, great,” You say, getting up to hug him when you feel the sudden gust of air from the front door opening. “I need your opinion on something 'cause I think that Liyue has the spiciest food, but for some reason, my friend thinks Mondstadt does. Like has she even eaten Mondstadt’s food before?”

“So you’ve remembered I’m alive?” Childe mutters into your hair. You look up at him skeptically.

“I wasn’t that bad,” you scoff. “Was I?”

“You were horrendous.” he laughs. “But at least it’s over now.” He doesn’t dare ask you to see the finished product, in case it suddenly makes you decide to revisit the project.

You apologise lightly, laughing at the face he makes when he’s forced to relive the past week in his mind. The rest of the night seems normal–you eat dinner together and spend the rest of the evening relaxing in each other’s company. You go to bed nestled up in Childe’s arms, the same way you usually do.

Everything goes wrong in the morning, when he notices that you rolled away in the middle of the night, and is horrified to discover that you did so to cuddle the stupid plushie that’s been taking you away from him for the past week. He considers excusing it since the plushie is in his likeness, but in the end, he decides that it’s too much of an insult, and the minute your grip on it loosens, he grabs it and hides it in a wardrobe he knows you rarely go into.

Since it's a weekend, he busies himself with making breakfast to try and forget the ridiculous situation he finds himself in because it makes no sense to him. How is he literally getting replaced? And by a stuffed toy?

“Morning, Ajax,” You mutter sleepily, as you come down the stairs. “You’ve not seen tiny Childe, have you? He must have fallen off the bed at some point last night but he’s not underneathh it, so I have no clue where he’s gone.”

“I slept well, thanks, you?” He replies, focusing on the eggs he’s frying.

“Ajax.” You suddenly don’t sound sleepy at all, and Childe keeps himself firmly facing the stove. He quietly turns it off, just in case you decide that taking your plush is a crime punishable by death by flames.

“Yes?”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re the worst liar ever. What did you do to tiny Childe?”

“You should have asked how I felt about this ‘tiny Childe’ before you let him take my place in your arms.”

“You are not jealous of a plush right now.”

“Maybe I am.” he scoffs. “Maybe it’s silly. But I maintain that until you atone for your misdemeanours, ‘Tiny Childe’ will never see the light of day again.”

“You’re joking,” Your attempts to hide how hard you're trying not to laugh fail miserably, and you can see Childe trying his best not to laugh either. But in the face of a completely ridiculous situation, what are either of you supposed to do?

“Fine,” you sigh, pulling him into a hug. “I apologise for giving my attention to something else, and I will never, ever do it again.”

“Much better.” Childe grins.

~~~

Bonus:

“You lasted way longer than I thought you would. I half expected you to break down my office door.”

“What do you mean?”

“You really thought it took me a whole week to make that?”

author's note: once again, another guy i haven't written for in a while lol

childe nation how does it feel to love a character that's favoured by the literal game devs

taglist: @tartigglez @aixaingela @thelonelyarchon

(crossed out @s couldn't be tagged)

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #fanfiction #childe x reader #childe genshin impact #tartaglia genshin impact #tartaglia x reader #genshin childe #genshin tartaglia #childe fluff #tartaglia fluff

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