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springsylph · 9 months ago

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WITCHING HOUR, CH 2/3 — [18+]

(18+) - MARKED FOR EVENTUAL SMUT, MINORS DNI!

fem!reader x arthur morgan

summary: the prodigal son returns tags: marked 18+ for smut in later chapters, reader has a backstory kinda (but now a little more than kinda), original side character(s), does arthur count as a tag, he needs his own warning, its more exposition please don't leave

word count: 4.9k

a/n: HERE! DAMN! (i'm so sorry this took so long)

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The subsequent mornings are painted with varying shades of gloom. It was smeared over the sky in thick coats, and if it was just a little thicker, it might be able to keep out the spears of light.

Sometimes, they tickle. Sometimes, they recoil from the rigid mounds of snow and blind you and anything else unfortunate enough to get caught in the line of fire. Pain in the ass, really. A particularly nasty pain in the ass flickers in the cloudy metal of your spoon one morning while you’re shoveling grits into your mouth.

“You planning on eating the table too, kid?”

Your eyebrows shoot up, as does your spine once you lower your spoon back into the chipped bowl.

“My apologies,” you gulp. “You’ll uh, have to forgive me, Mrs. Campbell. Seems the winter air’s gotten to my head.”

Mrs. Campbell was a wiry, dark-haired woman of 63, and had spent more time rearing cattle than children. She was rough, tough, and at present, leveling you with a stare so doubtful that you wonder if the look you often catch on the livestock is embarrassment.

After holding your gaze for a few moments more, she resumes the rocking of her chair from the corner and returns to her darning. A large red sock, the same one she’d whacked Mr. Campbell over the head with after she’d found it on the floor of the living room only thirty minutes ago.

“No, no, you’re alright.” Mrs. Campbell pauses, though her hands continue to work. Under, over. In, out. Not a single finger pricked. “Think that’s the most I’ve seen you take down in one sitting, is all. You bite like a bird.” She makes a funny chewing motion with her mouth—or, at least you think it’s supposed to be funny. It seems to amuse her well enough; most strange things did.

She then asks how much horse feed is left, and you tell her enough to last for the next two weeks. You ask how her daughter’s baby boy is doing, she tells you he’s been picking his nose, and the two of you return to your respective distractions: the pulling of thread and a spoon fishing around a now empty dish while you consult silently with the peeling floral wallpaper.

Arthur Morgan’s appearance had set you on edge, loathe as you were to admit it. The fact that there’d been no sign of him since you’d first spoken only hastened the growing dread, more so than the lack of response after your father’s men had been so kindly disposed of.

Contingencies had been thoroughly accounted for, leaving you mildly inconvenienced at best and dead at worst. There were other conclusions you’d drawn up, of course, but dealing in extremes had its benefits.

You press your thumb absentmindedly into the corner of the dining room table. Could the Campbells have heard your exchange? No, they couldn’t have, too old. And that was excluding the fact that the main house was rather far from the cabin. Given the time frame, it would have been well beyond what was reasonable for your…situation to have been brought up.

Besides, this was important. Better to sort this out now than when—if—he showed up at your doorstep again.

“I have a question.”

Mrs. Campbell snorts. “I presume you’re lookin’ for an answer.”

You set your spoon down, and stand to clear the table. “Do the two of you get…stray cats often?”

This time her hands waver. “During the warmer months, sure. But in this weather? I mean, if it had the guts to get through all that ‘winter air,’ I don’t see why not.” Her eyes flick up. “Would have to be real hungry, though. Or stupid, which I doubt, ‘cause cats ain’t stupid—sonuvabitch!”

You jerk as her needle clatters to the floor. She lets a curse slip as she hunches over to retrieve it; another follows as she tugs the string loose, just a little, and her fingers trip over themselves before falling back into a steady rhythm.

Her brows pinch in concentration. “Never met a stupid cat,” she repeats.

“I…I see.” Moving around to the other side of the table to collect what's left, you frown when you catch your warped reflection in a bent spoon. You pick it up, and your fingers brush over the bump unconsciously. “I saw one,” you say slowly. Mind fumbling over any disastrous outcomes. “A cat, I mean. He’s been hanging around my cabin for a while now. I was only asking ‘cause he’s been spooking the chickens.”

When Mrs. Campbell doesn’t answer, your mouth gets the better of you. “Only, he turned up again a couple nights ago. Acting real docile, you see.” Not docile. The farthest thing from it. “Nearly shot him then and there, but—oh, he just looked so pitiful! He’s real mean looking, all scratched up and such, but I was tired, so when shooing him off didn’t work I let him in. Didn’t hiss, didn’t bite, nothing. But, I think I may have scared him. Skittered right out the door, quick as lightning. He’s been pissin’ me off—pardon my language—but, I just don’t see why he’d go through all that trouble to show up if he was just looking to leave the moment I raised so much as a finger.”

You only cease your rambling once you realize that you’ve bent the spoon too far in the wrong direction. “I…should turn him away, shouldn’t I? If he shows up again?”

Mrs. Campbell lets out an exasperated exhale, smooths out her apron, and sets her mangled sock down in her lap. “He kill any chickens?”

“No, but—”

“You feed him?”

“No?”

“Well, I think you should. It’d be real funny.”

Funny. Funny, she’d said.

You look to the silverware for consolation, but they can only produce a weak gleam.

“Quit making faces at my utensils, I hate when you do that. If you got something to say, say it now so I can finish this damned sock.”

Instead of making faces at the spoons, you reserve them for the tablecloth. “I just—don’t think it’d be wise.” A wanted man, with a lofty bounty at that, and you were comparing him to a mangy feline. Attempting to see him as anything other than what he so obviously was would be disingenuous.

And maybe Mrs. Campbell wasn’t the right person to be speaking to about this, because her nose crinkles with such distaste that you have to remind yourself that you’d remembered to bathe. “You’re grown,” she says, “and you work here. I’m inclined to believe that you have enough know-how to keep yourself from doing anything too dumb. If not, oh well.”

“…Right.”

Sometimes you wonder if her daughter had moved out not for marriage, but to escape Mrs. Campbell’s dreadfully indifferent way of speaking. Still, you take her words with relative care and pray that the “feeding” portion of her advice can be altered into something much more metaphorical.

When you attempt to bring the dishes to the water bucket, Mrs. Campbell’s head snaps to you and she clicks her teeth. “Drop it.”

“I was just—”

The sock finds its way into a basket of other half-finished projects at her feet, and she pushes herself up to stand just as tall (if not taller) than any tree before snatching the dishes from your hands. “I don’t pay you to do my dishes, girl.”

You smile. “I don’t believe you pay me at all, Mrs. Campbell.”

“Precisely. Your Pa pays me. And enough with that ‘Mrs. Campbell’ mess; makes me sound like an old crone. Told you to call me Fran, didn’t I?”

Shrugging past the bitterness in her tone at the mention of your father, you turn to the doorway and pull your coat off of the hook you’d tossed it on the night before. It’s only slightly warm from where the sun has touched it.

The beams have softened their assault on the curtains; it’s still fairly cloudy, but there’s no sign of incoming snow. Chores would be alright, if only for today.

“I’ll work on it, Mrs. Campbell. But, I do have one more question, if you don’t mind.” You wait for a nod while you pull on your boots with a wince. “How come you don’t take on any other help?”

Like most of her responses, Mrs. Campbell doesn’t give much away. Nothing remarkable that you can discern, at least. She merely winks and carries on with her washing. But just as you set a foot out the front door, she calls out to you.

“Hey, kid?”

You turn.

“If the worst you can call him is a spooked cat, he can’t be all that bad, can he?”

You freeze. “Pardon?”

She looks up at the ceiling, as though her next words will appear if she gets her eyes to narrow enough. Glasses had been the first of many neglected suggestions you’d offered upon your arrival. You’d even offered to buy them yourself, with what little you’d been able to bring with you. But Mrs. Campbell, being Mrs. Campbell, had simply laughed.

Squinting, she returns her focus to the bucket and reaches for a cake of lye soap. “Ah, and tell that idiot if he slams my doors, I’ll send my foot so far up his ass that them science folks won’t have any animals left to call him.”

Illusory warmth finds you a few weeks later.

It isn’t quite spring yet; winter is a stubborn mule, and though the snow has receded into the dirt it still stamps its hooves into the wind. In the water, too—freezing rain taps its fingers onto the windows. Soft and melodic, it nearly puts you to sleep from your place on the floor before you remember the annoyances it’s dragged along with it.

There’d been no sign of trouble tonight, and the chicken wire had been reinforced a few hours prior. That’d mostly been the work of Mr. Campbell, though. He’d chirped about some promise he’d made to his “lovely wife,” and went on his merry way after leaving you with some choice words from the wife in question about the importance of rest.

The rain had started not long after. Which was great, for someone out there. But, bad for you. Pretty bad. Ugly, messy bad—because it was cold, dark, and the dirt hadn’t the moral backbone to keep itself together for any longer than two blinks before your boots were practically swimming in it.

The trudge back to the cabin was only slightly humiliating, considering the fact that the sole witnesses were the owls you knew were hiding out in the safety of the trees.

Scampering from the uneven path to the front porch, however, was another story. Although the pliant (no good, backstabbing) earth was quick and eager to drag you to its depths, you were aggravated enough to be slightly quicker, and your palms shot out to catch you just before your chin could meet the full wrath of the wood.

But the word “just” was a pebble cast into a pond, and the first ripple was the metallic tang that flooded your mouth. Diatribes were spat onto the ground alongside the blood, tongue throbbing with a vengeance before you drove the heels of your palms down to push yourself up. The second ripple was a little less red, but just as irritating. The rain had pulled the wet fabric of your work shirt and trousers tight over your limbs, and it had begun to border on painful when water droplets struck like one might strike the skin of a drum.

“I’m grateful, I’m grateful, I’m oh so fucking grateful…” It was a mantra you often found yourself repeating whenever nature’s pranks sought to drive you mad. Rain was good. Rain was fine, actually, so you’d ignored the creaking of your knees and hobbled your way inside.

And here you sit: back propped up against the wall, shivering like a fool with your knees tucked into your chest. The mud crusting between your fingers barely registers while you work on releasing yourself from your wet clothing.

Which, of course, is when the light tapping on the window takes its cue to crescendo. It’s a rather flimsy cloak for the uneven thunks outside that make no attempt to conceal themselves. But your bones know better.

Awful timing, that man.

You feel the weight of his fist against the door before he makes contact.

(One.)

You shoot up.

(Two.)

You lunge for the table.

You decide against greeting him with the rifle, which is a significant improvement. It’s a revolver. But you did have the good sense not to kick the door again; the rusty hinges were fragile enough without your meddling. Instead, you let it creak open with one hand on the doorknob.

You’re met with a bruise, planted right atop a cheekbone. A swollen bottom lip, blood threatening to split it wide. He’s got a button missing from his rumpled jacket, and the caving of the porch underneath his feet clues you in on the fact that he’s favoring his right leg. He’s been fighting. Fighting, and he looks about ready to keel over and die. Or pick another fight. Probably both.

Part of you unwinds at the sight of him, battered as he was. Present as he was. But the more logical part of you senses that he’s here for something, and the even more logical part of you remembers exactly what it was that stood at your doorstep.

It’s then that the stench of alcohol hits you, and the familiar smell of mud sweeps in not long after. Arthur is completely covered in it, save for his face. And—

There. There it is again.

That look.

Your pulse trips in your throat, and you pray that he’s inebriated enough to ignore it. “You’re on my porch. Why?”

Bright blue comes back into focus, and his hands fall to his hips. “I can go where I damn well please.”

“That’s all well and good, but why are you on my porch?”

He sniffs. Peers just over your shoulder. “...House call.”

You step to block him. “Now that’s two chances. I have it on good authority that one is just fine these days, but I’m feeling generous.” And confused. Extremely confused.

His face contorts into a heatless grimace, and the doorknob squeals. You’re suddenly reminded of the odd tales of shapeshifters you’d stumbled upon as a child: one moment a man, the next a bloodthirsty predator. Not a particularly helpful development—especially since your talk with Mrs. Campbell—but it was a development nonetheless.

Arthur rattles off the courtesies typically extended toward esteemed guests while you look him over again, and your eyes lock onto his hair. Another familiar connection—doe brown strands, streaked with mud and nearly plastered to his head from the light downpour. Much less ferocious than the rest of him. But, tonight, if you have to pick, he’s a wet dog. A wet, potentially drunk dog, who was missing his hat.

And suddenly, the natural chatter of the trees comes to a halt.

“What’d you just call me?”

…You idiot.

“I didn’t call you jack shit,” you lie. Arthur gives a loose smirk, and your next protests become nothing but bluster. “What, the little girl that hit you knock your ears shut?”

“Figured I’d let her get a hit in, out of the kindness of my big ol’ heart.” Arthur sways on his feet a bit, peering down at you through the water that he hasn’t bothered to wipe from his lashes. Gravity finds eventual triumph, and he leans into the post before eying the revolver still in your hands. “Don’t suppose you’re plannin’ on pullin’ that trigger any time soon.”

“What’s it to you?”

Arthur’s face begins to harden, and he crosses his arms tight over his chest. “You know, last time I was here I said you were lucky. Well, I’d like to make an addendum: lucky and stupid, lady.”

You cast a disbelieving look at the leg he’s been keeping his weight off of. “And you’re drunk. The fact that you got here without your horse cracking your head open is a miracle.”

His brows draw low, and he rubs the heel of his boot against the muddy spot where you’d fallen earlier. Blinks at the ground. Then, with the vigor of a child caught sleeping in church, wipes angrily at a speck of mud on his thigh. “M’not drunk,” he finally mutters, flicking the offending dirt out into the yard and crossing his arms again. “And I’ve got enough trust in my horse to fill at least half of that barn y’all got.”

“Just half? Not the whole thing?”

“Whole thing would be two horses.”

You almost laugh. Almost. When you don’t reply, his eyes drop back down to the gun, gaze contemplative. “You got any idea how easily I could’ve knocked that flimsy thing outta your hands?”

“Why of course I do, Mr. Morgan.” The dampness you’d been struck with pulls at you, bones heavy and patience now worn thin. You give the revolver an exaggerated twirl, the metal snatching what can be seen of the moon through the rain and reflecting it at him. “I’m real lucky you’re here to tell me so, ain’t I? Matter of fact, why don’t you go and fetch me my chair before I topple right on over? ”

“That ain’t what I meant, and you know it.” You think he sounds somewhat regretful. But somewhat isn’t enough.

“Do I now,” you say dryly. “You seem to ‘not mean’ an awful lot.”

Arthur pushes himself off of the post with his shoulder and shoves his muddy hands into his muddy pockets. “I just don’t see why you people are so eager to act like you got your life for dog-cheap.”

“You people?”

“Yeah, you heard me. You people.” He’s looking at everything but you now, eyes wild but body frighteningly still. “You’ll look trouble right in the eye, and lie right through your damn teeth till it gets you laid out cold in a ditch somewhere.” Arthur gestures to the embarrassing height your shooting arm has dropped to in the time that he’s spoken. “I can tell each time you open that door that you won’t shoot. Can’t, I’d argue, ‘cause if you didn’t have my big head within one inch of that barrel, you’d be some deep shit.” His words are a forlorn echo amidst the rain, now nothing more than a light haze.

You could shut the door and go back inside, you think. Tell him he’s wrong, because he most certainly was. Peel out of your damp clothes, because standing outside in the chill spelled nothing but trouble. Arthur wouldn’t push. He was just as prone to bluffing as you were.

And yet.

“I could say the same about you. Don’t think your kin would take too kindly to the fact that you’re hangin’ around someone that knows your face. Who you are.” You steady your aim. “That’s a loose end, Arthur. You don’t seem like the type of man to keep many of those around.” It’s the first time you’ve said his name all night; you’re only sure because the moment it leaves you, his entire body tenses before he sags back against the wooden post.

The way he looks at you then might be considered cruel and unusual punishment. You think of butterflies, embroidered into blankets from childhood. Tacked to the wall of your father’s study. The only difference between them and you is that you’re free to leave.

If only you possessed something to sweeten the deal—whatever deal you could come up with in the next five seconds. To mask the returning waver of your voice, now laden with inconceivable realities. “Am I a loose end, Arthur Morgan?”

He opens his mouth to speak. Closes it. Untucks a hand from the arms he’s wrapped around himself to scrub at his beard and finally wipe at the water you’ve been eyeballing from his lids. He opens his mouth again, now on the precipice of what might be an explanation.

“S’dangerous,” is all he says.

You see red.

The arm holding the revolver is dropped so you can poke a finger into his chest. “You’re not making any sense!” Each word is enunciated with a jab, and you cringe at the feeling of rain rewetting the mud underneath your fingernails. “You cut and run, turn up drunk and beaten half to death, practically beg me to let you inside, and then you get upset when I say I won’t pop a bullet into your head?”

Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose, voice beginning to escalate. “Now if you would just listen for more than two seconds—”

You cut him down with a harsh whisper. “Listen? Listen?” Your eyes momentarily check for any sign of a light being turned on in the main house. Nothing. Your finger falls away then, and a violent chill wracks your body from head to toe. “No, you listen. I don’t know you. You don’t know me. You said your piece the last time we spoke, and you left, so why are you on my porch!”

“I don’t know!”

Something cracks, and your vision blurs when you whip your head to recheck the lights. Still nothing. The crack fizzles out into nothingness, and you return to find Arthur close. Awfully close. And your hand is warm and—oh.

It seems his pluck is rather contagious. The noise you’d heard wasn’t thunder, but the sound of your treacherous hand clapping right over Arthur’s mouth.

Time stills. Or speeds up, more like. The only thing you can be certain of is that ring of greenish gold around his pupils. The brush of his lips against your palm. Humid air being released in slow, steady clouds. You briefly wonder what else this warmth has dominion over, save for your cupped hand. Who else.

The speed of the exhales increases, and envy wriggles in the dirt of your heart like unearthed worms. Did his mind wander, as yours often did? Surely not as emphatically. It no doubt ambled from one thought to the next, attention snagged only when he had the energy to do so. Had you been interesting enough to snag his?

The spell is broken by a lamp flickering on in the distance.

“Shit!”

Sheer panic sinks its claws into you before rationality can, and you’re curling a hand around Arthur’s wrist and yanking him inside before he can protest.

You’re both panting ragged breaths once the door shuts behind you, in spite of the mere two steps it’d taken to cross the entryway. Tangible confusion permeates the air, and Arthur looks at you expectantly. It’s only fair that the (secondary) perpetrator speak first.

But words are tricky, tricky things. And as much as you partook in your fair share of falsehoods, finding the right ones when you didn’t feel that your life was on the line was an unfamiliar practice.

Voice quiet, you blink at the muddy footprints on the floor. “You left my door open.”

“I remember,” he replies. Simple.

The silence returns, eerily reminiscent of your first encounter. You consider telling him about the warning Mrs. Campbell had wanted you to relay to him. But then you think about all of the other things he’s missed since he’s disappeared, and your mind becomes saturated with just about everything, and somehow nothing at all. But Arthur’s voice, once again, cracks the fragile quiet.

“God damn it!” He begins to pace, rubbing at the shadows under his eyes. You’re thankful that he’s finally lowered his voice to a whisper, though the close quarters don’t seem to help with the intensity. “I ain’t supposed to be here. Not like this.”

“Not like what? Arthur what do you—”

“This isn’t how this was supposed to go,” he says, voice edging on the side of desperation.

“How what was supposed to go?” You look at his hands, fumbling with his belt loops. He sucks in a brittle gulp of air when he catches you looking, like he’s surprised you’re looking at him at all.

And then, miraculously, the pieces of the puzzle fall into place.

“I’m to kill you. Ideally this evening.”

Until it all promptly falls apart.

You turn away. Begin to work open the half done buttons of your shirt. Arthur turns to face the door. You decide to humor him. “Who.”

“Some man, your Pa, I presume,” he says. For the first time in what feels like eternity, his voice is devoid of any feeling. It sounds small. Not defeated, not yet, but oh so small. “Willing to pay big bucks to get rid of a ‘financial thorn’ in his side. Knew ‘bout my business in Blackwater, which I assume you’re also aware of. Said he’d had some bonds on that boat.” Blunt fingernails scratch lightly at the curtains. “He said I could sniff things out, see if I wanted to to his dirty work.”

Shirt falling to the floor, you allow yourself some time to stew numbly in your naivety while you get the fire going; you could be disappointed all you wanted once you were warm. You can hear Arthur scrubbing at his beard again when you begin to drag a chair in front of the fireplace. You sit, or collapse rather, and shuck off your boots with little care for where they land. Where the mud splatters.

“How’s Marlene?” You ask.

Rustling. He’s turned around. More frantic rustling. He’s turned back to the wall. “I’m sorry?”

“Marlene. Chicken. ”

“Ah. She’s uh, good. Eating good. Still pecks like hell, though.”

And, once again, more silence.

You bark out a dry laugh. It hurts—hurts like hell, but it tumbles out of you with a sharp snap. It snowballs into pure, unadulterated laughter. Bouncing off the walls, the drinking glasses, the mud, right into the fire and back out again. It continues until you’re left with nothing but a pathetic wheeze rattling your lungs.

Settling into the back of the chair, your head lolls back till you can see an upside down version of the bewildered Arthur you’d turned away from. The angle is awkward, and the blood rushing to your head makes him look all warm and fuzzy, but it’s precisely why you’ve chosen it.

“Didn’t think finding all this out would be so funny.” He speaks as if poking a tiger.

Another half-hearted chuckle slips out of you. “Good god, I thought you were trying to proposition me.”

“Proposition you?” He scowls. “What on earth would I—”

Arthur stops. Blinks one of his blinks. Gives his eyes another rub. Blinks again. He’s been doing that a lot, lately. This “blinking” thing.

“Oh.” He frowns.

Frowning right back, you push yourself to stand and toss some old papers from your table into the fire. “No need to seem so put off by it, gosh. Should’ve told me you were out for my head from the start. Would’ve made this a hell of a lot less embarrassing.” Disappointment had beat out the warmth.

You wait for an apology, or a joke. Or something. Anything. But you’re met with nothing. The paper eventually crumbles into nothing, too, smoke tickling your nostrils alongside the smell of rain.

His voice sounds from the back of the room.

“I didn’t say that.”

You whip around.

“Say what.”

He speaks as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I didn’t say I wasn’t. Interested, I mean.” When you point to yourself, he rolls his eyes. “No, the couch.”

There was no couch.

The two of you watch each other for a bit. Then Arthur finds another annoying spot on his thigh to rub at, and you’re watching him.

“You’re drunk,” you conclude, voice flat. You pull on a blanket, suddenly conscious of the bareness of your shoulders. “You’re drunk, or tired, or both. You weren’t here. I didn’t see you, you didn’t see me. Am I clear?”

You stand on wobbly feet and motion for him to leave.

“You don’t think I’m joking, do you? I meant what I said.” He brushes past your outstretched hand to clunk into the chair, mirroring that same awkward position you’d found yourself in earlier. Strong neck arched, fire light catching the water that’s begun to bead on his cheeks. “I don’t do charity. Don’t think I have the money for it, actually.”

“How kind of you.”

“I mean it. Truly.”

“Then come back tomorrow,” you blurt.

Fuck.

What the hell were you doing? “You come back tomorrow night, sober, and we’ll see.” No, we would not.

But it’s too late—Arthur is rebounding off of the chair, straightening out his jacket (he’s noticed the missing button, finally), and striding to the door before you can retract your mistake. Even so, you follow after him like a besotted moron, only stopping when he turns to face you once the door is back open.

“Tomorrow, then,” he says. Eyes dark. Searching.

And then he’s stooping down. Reaching for your hand. Pulling it to his dry lips, and pressing a chaste kiss right to the top of it. He chuckles when you shiver, still clutching the blanket tight around your shoulders.

You’re released soon after. And Arthur gives you one long look, tells you to lock your door, and leaves.

—

next chapter >>

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #ao3 #archive of our own #fanfiction #witching hour

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theidiotwhowritesthings · 1 year ago

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INEVITABLE [8]

din djarin x female!reader

warnings: language, violence, death, injury, mentions of blood, angst

word count: 5,135

Summary: It was like fate or destiny had planned from the beginning for you to be on the run from the law. With the words ‘I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold’ adorning your rib cage you always wondered what was worse: Knowing you were bound to being wanted or realizing your soulmate was a cursed bounty hunter. You had a mission to finish and no bounty hunter, soulmate or not, was going to stop you.

[a/n: i'd like to point out that i got this out TWO DAYS sooner than i thought i would. am i patting myself on my back? yes, yes i am. again though, i am sorry it's taken me forever to update this one.]

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08: BUT YOU'RE STILL A TRAITOR

"the true pain of betrayal is that so often our love lingers on even after the damage is done. it is to both carry a wound we cannot bear and yet cannot find the heart to close. to be betrayed by one we have trusted and loved is to be drawn tight between love and devastation, and not know which way to turn." -beau taplin

Thyreps’s moon was never meant to house living creatures. That’s the conclusion you came to as you and Din braced against the whipping winds. Grogu had stayed behind with Ari and Din had tried to get you to stay back as well— a prospect you told him was not going to happen by any means. That left you struggling to cross the barren plain trying to keep sulfurous sand from burning your eyes. Din had wrapped an arm around you and chose to walk a step forward. It made it so the beskar coated man was working as a human shield against the winds. It felt odd to have him nearly wrapped around you, but you couldn’t deny the benefits. Sand wasn’t battering against your skin, and something about the weight of his arm filled your belly with butterflies. You chose to ignore the latter.

Din yelled something, you barely heard his voice, and shook your head, “What?!” He tried once more. You pointed to your ears. “Din, I can’t—”

He suddenly altered the path you were both following and the dim light filtering through the sandy wind darkened as Din dragged you into the mouth of a cave. You felt your entire body relax at the shelter.

“I said we need to wait here.” Din pulled his arm back. “Going any further in the storm isn’t going to help us. We can pick up when it dies down.”

“You won’t hear me complaining.” You shook your limbs and clothes as black sand fell around you like a halo. Din reached forward and he brushed your shoulders and back to help knock the residual sand particles off of you. “Must be nice in all the beskar right now.”

Din shook his head, “Not really.” He tugged at the collar covering his neck and you spotted the same black sand falling from the folds. “It somehow got down my shirt. I can feel it.”

“Do you need to take some armor off and shake it out?” You asked and thumbed over your shoulder. “I can keep watch.”

Din hesitated, only for a beat, before giving you a curt nod. “Thank you. I’d appreciate it.”

You turned around to give the Mandalorian his privacy and stared out at the dreary landscape. You couldn’t see far out over the plains due to how dense and wild the winds were. At least sitting where you were, the sound wasn’t so overwhelming. You could actually hear the hiss of Din removing his helmet and his muted movements as he tried to rid himself of sand just as you had been.

“Sand, uh, it’s just the worst, isn’t it?” You called out. It was the only thing you could think to say in the moment and you realized it had been a desperate attempt to hear him speak sans helmet.

“Yeah.” Din grunted and you took in a quiet, sharp breath at the sound of his smooth voice unhindered by modulation. You liked the way he sounded at baseline. It hadn’t even dawned on you how much you might like his spoken word raw and unfiltered as it was now. “As many times as I’ve been on Tatooine, I’ve never had this much sand collected in my gear.”

“The wind is intense.” You commented. The fact that the conversation was focused on the weather seemed rather silly to you, but you’d continue this small, pointless talk for hours if it meant getting to hear more of him. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Have you?”

Din hummed, “Hoth is pretty bad sometimes, but at least there it’s just snow and ice.”

“That sounds just as bad if not worse than sand.”

“It isn’t. Trust me.”

Finally, you heard the hiss of his helmet being locked back into place and he called out for you that it would be fine for you to turn back around. Din leaned against the cave wall with one knee drawn up and an arm resting on it. You wandered over and sat against the same side as him only a few feet away. Far enough that you weren’t touching him, but close enough that you could if you just reached out to him.

“How long do you think we’ll be stuck here?” You asked.

“Hopefully only for a couple hours.” Din shrugged. “I’m not too familiar with this place’s weather habits. I had hoped to go the rest of my life without stepping foot on this kriffing moon.”

You shot him a sheepish grin, “Sorry I got you dragged here then.”

“No, no.” Din stiffened and shook his head. “I didn’t mean⏤ I don’t mind it now. This is actually nice.” He paused then cleared his throat. “Not the storm or being stuck in a cave. I just meant, I find it… easy to be with you. Socially speaking, of course.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at how flustered he had gotten himself worked up, “Don’t worry, bucket head. I think spending time with you is easy too.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in a comfortable silence just listening to the howling wind. It lasted until a thought occurred to you and the words fell out of your mouth before you had the forethought to stop them.

“What’s it like not having a soulmate?” You asked. Din’s head snapped to meet yours and you only realized then that it could be deemed a ‘sensitive’ topic to some. You shot him a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I just remembered you said you didn’t have one and I got curious.”

“No, it’s okay.” Din replied. “I don’t mind the question. It just caught me off guard.” You waited patiently for him to speak once more because you could tell he was lost in his thoughts. A small chuckle slipped from your lips. It was funny you knew that so easily. You hadn’t spent all that much time with the Mandalorian in hindsight, but you understood his silences. Finally, Din spoke up, “I have a soulmate.”

Your eyes widened in alarm. “What?”

“I… I didn’t mean to lie to you.” Din replied. “Saying I didn’t have one came easier than admitting the truth.”

“Did you lose them?” Your voice took a softer tone. You had your own issues with the concept of soulmates, but you wouldn’t wish that kind of loss on anyone. One of the girls you had been stuck under Viktor’s thumb with had met her soulmate and lost her. The Twi'lek woman said it felt like a piece of her had been demolished— as if an actual portion of her soul had been burned to ash and all that remained was a gaping hole in her chest as a reminder of what was once hers.

Din paused. “In a way.” He shook his head. “I lost them before I ever met them.” Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He clarified, “I decided a long time ago that I was better off without a soulmate. I never gave it a chance.”

“We’re more alike than I thought.” You said with a forced chuckle. The knowledge that Din had a soulmate sat bitter in your belly. It shouldn’t. You had no claim on him. He was your first real friend outside of your life as a slave and that held significance to you. That must have been the reason why a weird jealously crawled up your spine.

“Mirdala runi.” Din said, calling your attention back to him. He had shifted closer you realized, so the two of you were side by side. “I want to talk about—” He came to an abrupt pause and you watched his entire frame stiffen as he stared out the mouth of the cave behind you. You called his name, but it was drowned out by the sound of blaster fire. “Down!”

Din had grabbed you with ease and shoved you to the ground with his heavy body covering your entire body. His beskar plated form enveloped every inch of you and you could hear his quiet, modulated grunts as flashing red bolts of blaster fire pinged off his armor.

You began to pat at his sides, barely able to move with how firmly he had you pinned with his body, but you found his blaster and pointed it blindly to the mouth of the cave to fire a covering shot. It must have been enough to slow the onslaught of incoming fire because Din shoved up and rushed for the mouth of the cave. You flipped over onto your belly, pausing in your firing, in time to see Din draw the hilt of his saber. It came to life with an eerie dark glow. He had mentioned he carried the dark saber which honestly hadn’t meant much to you at the time, but now you could see why it had the pomp and circumstance it did.

You jumped to your feet and rushed back out into the storm to help as you could. The wind made it difficult to see, but you could make out Din tearing through three smugglers. Blaster fire opened behind you and just barely clipped your arm— burning through the sleeve of your jacket and singeing your skin under it.

With a cry of pain, you whirled and fired Din’s blaster. It took you a moment to see the smuggler with sand stinging at your eyes, but when you did you fired a bolt directly into his chest. Another smuggler was approaching, you spotted him struggling through the winds searching for his friend, and without preamble you lifted your weapon and fired at them as well.

Hands clamped down on your shoulders and you screamed in alarm. Din’s voice in your ear immediately calmed your panic. “It’s me. Are you alright? I heard you cry out.”

“I’m fine.” You shook your head and called out over the howling wind. “But I have sand in my eyes. I can’t see shit.”

“Bury your face into my shoulder.”

You didn’t understand his instruction until Din suddenly scooped you up into his arms. Instinctively, your arms wrapped around his neck, your wound screaming pain, but you listened to his previous orders and buried your face into his shoulder. Even with your face down, you still closed your eyes in hopes to relieve a bit of the stinging. Din began to walk, you could feel the swaying of motion, and you assumed he was taking you back to the cave. Moments later, the hissing of an airlock caught you off guard.

Din set you inside a covered land speeder designed for the terrain. He closed the door behind you and momentarily you were reprieved of the sound of the wind. With stinging eyes, you watched Din walk around the vehicle before sliding into the driver’s side. When you were both settled, Din turned to you.

“Jacket. Off.” He grunted.

He must have seen the blackened hole in your jacket. While you struggled to shrug out of it, Din tore off his gloves. Half out of your jacket you paused in surprise and stared at his hands. His naturally tan hands were large and you could see calluses on his palms. It wasn’t until he was pulling you closer that you snapped out of it.

“It really is fine.” You commented.

Din shuffled around the space until he grasped what must have been a canteen. He unscrewed it, sloshing it a bit, then held it up to your face. “Smell. Is it water or something else?”

You took a whiff and caught no real scent. “Water, I think. It’s definitely not alcohol or anything.”

“Good.” Din’s hands suddenly settled on the side of your face and the contact made your breath hitch. “Tilt your chin up.” As he said the command, he used his hand to help you do so. When Din was satisfied with the angle of your head, he held the canteen up. “Try to keep your eyes open I need to wash them out.”

“Do they look that bad?” You asked.

“Keep your eyes open.” He simply repeated.

Din began to splash the water over your eyes and you hissed at the worsened stinging. The gritty feeling that had lingered under your eyelids began to wash away and with it so did the burning. Din set aside the empty canteen and you let your head fall back to a neutral position. Before you could wipe at the wetness on your face, Din cupped your face and used his fingers to carefully wipe away the sand particles that clung to your damp skin.

You stared into the t-shape of his dark visor and found yourself wishing you could see his eyes. His warm hands on your skin brought a comfort you had never felt. Nobody save for Viktor had held you like this before, and this was entirely different. Viktor would hold your face in his hands and peer down at you with a possessive ownership. His grip had felt suffocating. You couldn’t even see Din’s eyes yet you knew that wasn’t the case here. His grip was soft. He cradled you like something precious to hold⏤ tenderly, as if you would shatter if he was not too careful.

“Din…” You said in a voice softer than you meant.

“I’m sorry.” He replied quickly, almost like a knee jerk reaction, but he didn’t release you.

“For what?”

Din paused for what felt like an abnormally long time, “I…” He shook his head a bit. “I don’t know.” Your lips twitched up as a laugh bubbled out from your chest. At the sound, Din’s hands seemed to marginally tighten around your face. You felt his thumb drag over your cheekbone. It left a trail of fire against your skin as he drew lines down to where the curve of your bottom lip sat. You sucked in a short, quiet breath at the firm feel of his thumb tracing your lower lip back and forth. If you didn’t know better, you’d say Din was trying to memorize the shapes of your face with his touch alone. “You’re beautiful, ner mirdala runi.”

The compliment caught you off guard entirely, but you couldn’t deny the warmth that filled your chest at hearing it in his voice.

“I know I shouldn’t say that, but…” Din’s voice trailed away.

“Why not?” You asked. “Why shouldn’t you say that?” Din didn’t reply, and you continued to just gaze into the endless void that was his visor. You swallowed the lump in your throat, your mouth suddenly very dry, and then added, “Because… Hearing it from you, I… I don’t quite mind it.”

You had spent a lifetime being objectified by men and women you crossed paths with. Years being ogled at by Viktor. There hadn’t been a moment of it you didn’t hate. But, just like the act of holding your face in his hands, Din was different. The words, when they fell from his lips, felt like a comfort. It wasn’t about a claim or a method of seduction. He said it like a man in awe⏤ like a man in the midst of worship on his knees before a deity.

“I… I want⏤ I need to talk to you about something.” Din said suddenly. He paused then shook his head. His hand fell from your face and you missed the touch almost immediately. “But we should finish this mission first.”

“Um, okay.” You nodded curiously. As much as you wanted to know what was on his mind, or where that had been leading, you acknowledged that he made a good point. The longer the two of you stayed on this maker forsaken rock the more danger you’d be in.

Din turned in his seat and began to flip switches and buttons on the dash to start up the speeder. You settled in your own seat and kept an eye out the front window searching the horizon for any sign of danger. It didn’t take long to get to what must have been the raider’s base and Din drove the speeder into a makeshift garage.

“I don’t see anyone.” You said. “Do you think we got them all out in the storm?”

“I doubt it.” He hummed. “Stay alert.”

The two of you climbed out of the speeder and began to search the stockpile for what it was that Ari had asked for. You weren’t entirely sure what you were looking for, but you read the crate labels aloud for Din to judge while he searched his own side. You spotted a label that used the word ‘core’ which was a good sign. You cracked open the lid to see a series of blue glass orbs sitting in a stack of soft crate filling.

“Hey, Din.” You called out. “I might’ve found them.”

Din hurried over and tugged you away from the box with a nod. “Yeah. That's it.” He pushed you to stand behind me. “I’ll load them up. I don’t want you to touch them.”

You resisted the urge to remind him that if one of those volatile orbs did get activated and go off, standing behind him wasn’t going to save you. Beskar or not. Din locked the crate and picked up the box, which was longer than it was tall, and carried it over to pack into the back of the speeder. Din motioned for you to climb back into the vehicle, and you glanced around before doing so. This seemed much too easy. The second the thought drifted through your head, you cursed yourself for allowing it to come to life. Din climbed into the driver’s seat and you forced your mind to any other topic. The last thing you wanted to do was jinx the two of you on the home stretch.

The Razor Crest was in view and you began to feel hopeful. You were so close to accomplishing your goal. More than just finishing your personal mission, for the first time in ages you were thinking of what happened afterwards. You wondered if Din would let you continue to travel with him and Grogu. It felt silly and foolish to actually place trust in someone you hadn’t known for very long, your life experience told you it was a bad idea, but from the beginning Din had felt different.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a sudden flash of red. It took only a second for you to register the familiar sight of blaster fire, but that second was a second too long. The speeder’s front right tire exploded and Din turned the steering wheel hard to offset it, but the speeder hit uneven terrain and then the rough winds aided in flipping the speeder over.

It happened quickly after that. You blinked and suddenly you were hanging upside down in your seat. Another blink and your world was spinning as the speeder flipped head over tail repeatedly. Luckily, the vehicle landed upright and your seat belt had managed to keep you tied to your seat relatively safely.

“Are you alright!?” Din yelled. His hands were ripping off your seat belt frantically. You didn’t necessarily feel injured, which was a miracle in itself, but you were still dazed. You offered a small nod, and Din wrapped his arm around you to drag you out of the speeder.

It took a moment to realize Din wasn’t sticking around for a fight. He was dragging you through the whipping winds as far away from the speeder as he could. “Din! Din, the cores!” You cried out. “We need to⏤”

“We need to get further. Can you run??” Din cried.

You glanced over your shoulder and could see the shadowy shapes of whatever raider who had fired at you digging through the smoking carcass of the speeder. “Din⏤” You began again, but Din grunted and scooped you up and began to run. He activated his jet pack, using it to speed over the terrain rather than in the air, but the winds were working against you. “Wait⏤”

Behind the two of you, the deafening sound of an explosion took you off guard. The cores. The volatile cores. Fire filled the air, and even from the distance you were at the blast still knocked you and Din to the ground. The second the two of you hit the ground, Din lost his grip on you. You groaned against the ground. Sand filled your mouth, mingling with the metallic taste of blood from where you had bit down on your tongue, and your ears were ringing so loud that you couldn’t even hear the sounds of the roaring wind.

Shakily, you pushed up onto your elbows and sucked in a shaking breath. Gloved hands wrapped around your arms and helped pick you up. “Thanks!” You yelled, all the sound still muted. “Din?” Your eyes were narrowed to try and block out the sand in the air. The Mandalorian was wavering in front of you. You reached out to grasp his arm and that’s when you noticed it. A large, twisted shard of metal from the speeder had pierced Din in the side⏤ right under the edge of beskar armor on his back. The ringing in your ears faded just in time for you to hear a groan of agony, even over the winds, before Din collapsed in front of you. “Din!?”

In a panic, you tried to visualize his wound, but with the sand storm you could see nothing. You hooked your arms under his and began to drag him toward the Razor Crest. Between the weight of his broad body and the heavy beskar he wore, it was a slow process. With every pull of him, visceral fear crawled up your spine and latched itself into your mind. The last time you felt fear like this you had been kneeling over the dying body of your best friend⏤ a man that Viktor had killed in front of you just because your friend had the audacity to care for you. Not again. Please, Maker, no. You couldn’t lose another person. Not like this.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you managed to drag Din up the Razor Crest’s ramp and into the cargo hold. You wasted no further time and began to strip Din of his beskar. You’d leave his helmet on, but you need the area around the wound to open so you could work. You scrambled to grab Din’s first aid kit and dove back to the ground. Your hands were moving on autopilot. After giving him an e-bacta injection, and then pulling out the shard to fill the wound with the bacta gel, you knew you were overdoing it. Rather safe than sorry though.

It was only after the fourth application of the bacta gel did he stop bleeding. Din laid on the ground motionless, but his breathing was even and his heartbeat was steady. You fell back on your ass and sucked in a shaky breath of your own. Your hands were trembling, stained with his blood, and it felt like all your nerves were frayed.

“It’s okay. He’s okay.” You whispered under your breath to try and convince yourself of the fact. Still, he needed better medical care than you could provide. You pushed to stand, closed the ramp, and then climbed up to the cockpit to get the Razor Crest off the ground. You were by no means a pilot, and in these kinds of winds it was even more difficult, but you managed to get up and off the damned rock. Once in space, all you had to do was set Ari’s address into the system and the ship did the rest.

Being in motion made you feel better. You were on your way to a city that would have an actual Healer. Someone who could ensure Din’s injuries wouldn’t leave him with permanent harm. You rose and hurried back down to the cargo hold. He looked miserable lying on the cargo hold half undone. You cleaned your hands, then took a clean rag to begin to clean his skin. You hoped that wiping away his blood would make you feel better about his state.

This was the most skin you had ever seen of him and it felt like a violation. Once you got him cleaned up enough, you'd lay a blanket on top of him to preserve his decency. Midway through cleaning, your eyes landed on a string of scribbled words against his skin. His soul mark. A part of you urged you to look away. Soul marks were personal, and he had never given you permission to look at this. Hell, he had only just admitted that he had one. However, familiar words gave you pause.

You read it once. Twice. Three times.

‘Would you really arrest your soulmate?’

It felt like someone had picked up the twisted metal shard from the speeder and shoved it through your chest. A storm of various emotions swirled in your mind and suffocated you. Liar. You were crying, and you didn’t even register it until you tasted salty tears trail down your face and reach your lips. He lied to you. You scrambled back from his body and tried to suck in air. You couldn’t breathe. Din lied to you, and you couldn’t breathe. Your lungs were pulling in air, but none of it was satisfying.

Liar, liar, liar.

Anger was burning through your veins, but it wasn’t at Din. No. It was toward yourself. This was your fault. You knew better than to trust someone.

When Din’s eyes blinked open, the first sound he was able to produce was a groan. His body ached. Every inch of him was sore and miserable. The last thing he remembered were the cores going off. Din had tried to get you far enough away to avoid the blast site but based on his injury he had failed. You. Maker, please let him be the only one hurt. He tried to shift, to rise, but it occurred to him that half of his aching came from the way his arms were twisted behind him.

Din lifted his head. He was on the Razor Crest, in the cargo hold, and he was sitting up against the ladder up to the cockpit. A beat of confusion passed before he tried to move again and realized his hands were locked behind him and wrapped around the metal of the ladder. Dank ferrik. Had the raiders caught them?

He glanced around and his eyes landed on you. You were sitting on the floor by the closed ramp door. Din released a sigh of relief. You looked relatively unharmed, and you weren’t tied up as he was. Wait. He shook his head, “Mirdala runi, what…” His groggy mind was beginning to connect dots that had been vaguely floating around in his mind. He had been injured. Din remembered the hot pain of metal tearing through his skin. His beskar chest piece had been removed and his flight suit peeled away. A blanket rested on his shoulder covering him up, but under the blanket his entire torso was bare. His torso was bare. Oh no. “Wait, please, I⏤”

“Stop.” You said in the coldest voice he had heard from you.

Even in the beginning, when you were nothing but snark and sarcasm you still had warmth in your voice. Din felt his chest ache. “Please, just let me explain.”

“Explain what? That you played me for a fool?” You asked.

“No, I⏤”

“That you lied to me this entire time?”

“Please⏤”

“I trusted you.” You snapped. The words were filled with agony, broken and hoarse, and it felt like he had been stabbed all over again. Regret, shame, and guilt filled every atom of his body. You shook your head, “Why would you⏤” Your voice cracked and you forced yourself to stop. Din leaned forward, but his restraints held him back. You pushed to stand and shook your head. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care.”

He could feel you slipping away. He could feel himself losing you. And though he knew it was well deserved after his lie to you, Din still couldn't fathom it. He called out again to you, “It was a mistake. I wanted to tell you the truth. I⏤ I tried to tell you.” Din thrashed against the restraints. It caused his injury to flare and burn, but he had to get free. “I should’ve told you ages ago, I know that.”

You walked over to the control panel and opened the ramp. Light filled the cargo hold and Din recognized the tarmac of Thyreps. No, no, no. You were going to slip away. Worse, he knew where you would go. You were going to find Viktor and the thought of you facing those monsters without any backup filled his soul with ice water.

“Don’t go.” Din was thrashing more desperately now. “You can hate me. You deserve to hate me. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but please let me help you. Don’t go alone. Please!” You paused in place and Din thought maybe, just maybe, his pleading was getting through to you. Suddenly, you began to walk toward him and for a brief second Din felt a flutter of hope in his chest. You crouched down in front of him. “Ner mirdala runi, gedet'ye.”

You reached forward and he felt your fingers brush against the words fate drew on his skin. Din sucked in a sharp breath at the sensation. Goosebumps raised on his skin. You traced the words with the tip of your finger. The feel of it was addicting. “What does that mean? What you’ve been calling me.”

“My clever soul.” Din answered softly.

You chuckled, but the sound was one of devastation. With you this close to him, Din could see how red your eyes were from crying. You pulled your hand away from his skin and Din tried to follow only to be stopped by his restraints once more. “Apparently, I wasn’t clever enough to see through this charade.”

“No, please, don’t⏤”

“You were right, Din.” You said with a voice of finality. “You're better off without a soulmate, and so am I. Consider me dead and gone. Don’t come after me.”

You shoved up to stand and without another word or a backward glance you walked out of his ship and out of his life. Din screamed after you. He roared until his throat was hoarse, and he knew the metal of the restraints were digging into his skin and rubbing it raw but he didn’t care. Din was devastated, and he only had himself to blame.

mando'a translations:

Ner mirdala runi: My Clever Soul Gedet'ye: Please

TAGLIST (closed):

@onceinamando @hrtsforpascal @lil-dragon-draws @harriedandharassed @aheadfullofsteverogers @elfamosotoga @the-anchored-sailor-girl @garbo-lesbo @moonlqghts @stokeholdsblog @morks-watermelon @http-onie @chonkercatto @xalphafox @pedrojoe @zarahbronstein @cockscombkingdom @ale0m @shelbyteller @fallinallinmendes @grandtheoristpeach @perilous-pasta @love-the-abyss @kneelforloki @insomniac-nerd-posts-things @marvelouslytrekking @lady-winchester @liadamerondjarin @vampseddie @guccistardust @smexy-bucky-waifu @mayaaaaah @theway-thisis @keepingitlokiii @catharinaroxastova @andreasworlsboring101 @theclassicvinyldragon @your-slutty-gf @i-cant-write-for-shit @ponyboys-sunsets @honeybug-victoria @godesspsyche @cookielovesbook-akie @adoringanakin

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #reader insert #mando x reader #mando x you #female reader #soulmate au

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woojungz · 10 months ago

Text

park seeun x fem!reader 🌼🪁

❝ one shot

𓂃𓈒 helping your best friend (to whom you have a miserable crush on) buy valentines gifts for someone else was probably the worst decision you've ever made. but that's what besties are for, right?

word count: 4.4k

author's note: typed out the initial plot on my notes app at 3am, got dizzy, then passed out. i thought when im gonna begin to fully write this out it's gonna be like a 1k word count kinda thing, but then boom… 4k. i really need to get used to writing longer fics, i find that i get very impatient and that i want to get it all done quickly! (⁠ꏿ⁠﹏⁠ꏿ⁠;⁠)

( likes and reblogs appreciated!♡ )

it’s monday again, your most dreaded day of the week. especially now in particular, thank god your classes were over, but the walk through the halls were a pain. not only were the valentine's day decorations already set up, but the student body was buzzing with all these talks about love, relationships, and couples.

you didn’t want to call yourself a hopeless romantic, but you couldn’t really toss away the sliver of thought that one day you’ll finally be able to understand all the fuss about valentines. so far, your advances when it comes to romantic matters weren't smoothly sailing. it’s just that… you’ve hit a rock when it comes to getting past the best friend level, as you call it.

and when you stop in front of his open locker door, you begin to recount the memories of your friendship and how all this one-sided romantic bullshit needs to come to an end once you graduate. thankfully though, you’re in your last year of high school, hoping to move to the far end of the city and forget about your silly crush.

you’re startled when he slams his locker door close, snapping you out of your thoughts. speak of the devil… you like to joke around that your neck might grow sore from the way you always have to look up at him.

“oh, y/n! perfect. i’ve actually been thinking about you earlier, wanna ask you about something.” his words melt into a chuckle as you nod in response. park seeun… the guy you have a silly little crush on. and of course you’re not gonna start having a session in your mind and ramble off about how dreamy and cool he is that you’ve developed feelings. enough of that corny nonsense. whatever it is, aside from the fondness you’ve developed with him being your best friend, you’re not really sure what’s drawn you in to want something more.

but hold on, what was he saying again? he’s been thinking of you earlier, and wants to ask you about something?

well… you were previously trashing on the cringiness of valentines and all but of course you can’t deny it—does he secretly have feelings for you and wants to ask you out on a date… for valentines?!

really, y/n. if those floating little angel and devil that hover on your shoulders do exist, they’d probably already smacked your head hard you’re gonna knock over.

let’s be real. it’s probably gonna be some dumb question that’s bound to piss you off.

“hm, what is it you wanna ask?” you reply, watching him sling his bag over his shoulder as you trailed beside him through the halls.

“i think it’s better if we talk about it somewhere by the bleachers.” his brow raises a bit, a grin tugging by his lips that you were so familiar with. he looks so charming right now, but you’re bringing those thoughts to the grave because for sure he’s never gonna let it go if you stroke his ego the slightest bit.

your lips parted at his response, raising your gaze back it him. “why at the bleachers though, can’t we just talk about it at some corner here?”

seeun begins looking around, seemingly in deep thought. “i wanna talk about it with you alone.”

oh. never in your life would you think that the same plot you’ve been witnessing in countless romance movies is finally gonna happen to you. there’s just no way he’s not gonna ask you on a date once you get to the bleachers by the football field. and add to that… he’s so serious right now you kinda miss the usual banter the two of you engage in everytime you’re together.

it’s just all clicking together too well… so you do your best in trying to suppress a squeal from your throat, ignoring the hammering beat of your heart in your chest. no way you’re gonna ruin the greatest moment that’s gonna happen in like what, five minutes? so you tune out the background noise as you wordlessly follow seeun to your destination, thinking of the perfect response to say when he asks you out on a date for valentines.

“oh… i don’t think i have any schedules past 3pm. i’d gladly go on a date with you!” well yeah dumbass… you guys have the same schedule that day so he knows what time you’re done. and what’s up with that last sentence, you sound too excited. that’ll totally not do...

“really seeun? i’ve been waiting…” gosh you sound like you’re utterly in love with him. well, if you don’t mind seeun making fun of how you’ve probably been crushing on him since forever, then go ahead. i’m just gonna leave a warning, you’re probably never gonna hear the end of it.

“you’re so sweet seeun, of course i’ll go with you.” the way you’ve managed to think of a worse response than the first two is honestly quite impressive.

argh… this kinda stuff is unexpectedly too hard, and you’ve got your stagnant love life to blame.

only when you hear the crackle of the grass beneath your shoes do you realize you finally reached the football field. seeun suddenly begins to run swiftly towards the bleachers as you follow suit. what do you expect from someone who self proclaims as your school’s messi.

you’re out of breath, laughing as you finally caught up to him. he doesn’t even look fazed from running, his hair a bit tousled by the wind. “so what is it then seeun… better make sure whatever it is you’re asking me is worth it. we had to walk all the way to the other side of the school building for this!” you tease, hoping to shake away the subtle nervousness inside you.

“alright then, i’m not gonna waste time anymore.” he stands closer to you now, hands in his pockets as you hold your breath.

“i need your help, i’m buying valentines gifts for someone else.”

oh.

and just like that, your fantasy was absolutely shattered.

“huh.” you snort, a frown immediately falling over your face. “why me…”

you look to the side, masking your disappointment with irritation. so he’s got a girlfriend now? how come you never saw him with someone else.

“well, wouldn’t you know what are the best gifts to get girls, since… you’re a girl yourself?”

you don’t know if your brows could get any more narrow than they already are. “park seeun logic i guess.”

“come on y/n! i never ask you for favors anyway.” he begs, hands together in a pleading pose.

“honestly i never expected you were the kinda guy to do all this romantic nonsense for valentines… thought your head was only full of bullshit.”

“what’d you say?!”

“full of bullshit. want me to spell it out for you?” you cock an eyebrow at him, but the way a giggle is starting to bubble up in his throat is suspicious. seeun suddenly holds out his arms, like he’s gonna tickle you once he gets his hands on you. “hey, hey—stop that or i’m not helping you out!”

your voice echoes throughout the field, starting a playful chase with seeun, running around in tiring circles over and over. you’re yelling as he catches up to you in no time, gripping onto your bag hung over your frame. you have his legs to blame, with the way every step of his is double the distance of yours.

and as you catch your breath, panting, you settled down on the grass with seeun claiming the spot beside you. you fish out your water bottle from your bag, along with a piece of paper and pen.

“don’t lose this alright.” you mumble, his attention towards you as he watches you scribble notes on the paper.

by a minute you hand it over to him, the tips of his fingers touching yours in the exchange, mentally slapping yourself from noticing the miniscule detail. got to move on from your silly crush right now, unfortunately.

he blinks at the inked words: flowers, chocolate, necklace, and… movie tickets

“i knew i could count on you! thanks by the way.”

“if it goes well for you then you have to order me chicken alright!” you were already starting to think of distancing yourself from him right after valentines, thinking it was the right move as he’s probably gonna spend most of his time with whoever his girlfriend is anyway. talk about a pity party while chowing down fried chicken.

“of course.”

you spare him a short glance at the reply before turning your head somewhere by the horizon. “i think i gotta go, the sun is gonna set in a moment.” standing up, you stuffed your water bottle back in your bag and dusted your clothes from the grass. you were about to walk away without a goodbye, but seeun was quick to catch your wrist.

“—wait, wait. one more thing.”

“what is it now.” you pulled your hand from his grip, preparing yourself for another one of his takes.

“can you accompany me tomorrow when i buy all this stuff?” he waves the now crumpled piece of paper, eliciting a huff from you.

“fine, whatever seeun. don’t need to act like i got a choice since you’re probably gonna drag me with you anyway!” you joke around with him, making the both of you laugh in unison. your eyes catch his one last time this afternoon, turning around to walk away from the field, his gaze never leaving your figure until you were just a blur in the distance.

it’s the day after you got indirectly rejected, yet you’re spending it with seeun.

“so, which flowers do you think are the best around here?” you watch as he points to a bunch of displayed bouquets on a shelf, awaiting your answer.

“i don’t know seeun… how about you ask the florist over there instead? they’re experts in this sort of thing.”

he looks back at you with his lips in a straight line, his hand sneaking around your wrist. “i wouldn’t be asking you to come with me here if i wouldn’t trust your opinion you know.”

to be fair, he has a bit of a point right now. you shake free from his grip, taking a step towards the shelf. “alright whatever, move aside and i’ll take a look.”

you inspect the rows on display, until a particular one catches your attention. seeun’s gaze never left you, and he swears he could almost see a spark within your eyes as you saw the bouquet.

“this one looks cute,” you pointed to your favorite one, seeun inching closer to you. “and the bouquet wrapping’s your favorite color too, isn’t it?”

you nod, eyes flickering to him. “yeah… but wait seeun, wouldn’t it be better if you buy one in their favorite color instead? feel like it’ll be a bit more personal—”

“nope, nope. i trust your choice so i’m getting that one.” he’s rushing over to the florist, huffing as you watch him make the purchase. he better not blame you if this backfires because of his stubborness!

you’re about to give him a rant about the whole scenario until you realize that he’d probably not listen to you since he’s so hardheaded, so you just remain silent. but as you’re walking with seeun on the way to the candy shop, you can’t help but notice everyone else looking at the both of you while passing by.

“what a sweet couple the two of you are!” you’re startled when an old lady suddenly blurts out as you walk by her on the sidewalk, shock riddled all over your face. you turn towards seeun, waiting for him to clarify that the two of you were indeed not a couple.

i mean, if you look at it from another perspective, some guy holding a bouquet of flowers along with a girl would definitely look like a couple. but seeun only laughs, leaving dead air in between every single one of you.

“oh, we’re just friends!” you chuckle, watching as seeun remains wordless, only releasing another laugh.

“what a shame, you look really good together,” the old lady adds, making you sheepishly smile at her.

seeun nods, initiating the two of you go on as he bids goodbye to the old lady. honestly, you were expecting him to quickly deny the allegation of being a couple, bracing yourself as he’d probably throw in a playful insult. something about how he’s never gonna be in a relationship with someone as crazy as you or whatever.

but it never came, and it made you even wonder why he was only laughing as the small talk ensued a while ago.

maybe he’s just busy thinking, right? you figured that must be the reason as he leads, approaching the candy shop nearby. yeah… he’s probably just thinking of all the sweets he might buy as you get there.

a little bell rings as you go through the door, eyes lighting up at the amount of candies and chocolates displayed all around.

seeun beckons you over to a display by the counter, wanting to choose from the selection of special chocolate bars the shop has prepared for valentines.

and he’s off again in his own little world, staring intently as you choose from the display. noticing the way you were beginning to pout subtly, even stepping closer to inspect the chocolates. “woah, this one has different flavors together. i’ll try this one soon once i get to come back some other time.”

seeun doesn’t wait a second to ask the cashier so he could purchase the one you were ogling on the display, teasingly waving the chocolate in front of you once he’s paid for it.

“hey park seeun! you know people have different tastes right, what if they don’t enjoy those flavors?” you strike a conversation as the two of you begin strolling by the sidewalk.

seeun scoffs, the bouquet and paper bags rustling with every step of his. “oh don’t worry about that, i’m sure they’ll like this. you know them very well anyway.”

“huh?! the hell does that even mean.” you send him a peeved look, trying to catch up to him as he starts speeding up his pace. “are you trying to say they’re in the same class as me?”

he continues to ignore you as he starts another playful chase by the street, not missing the grin tugging on his lips.

“hey! park seeun, stop being so cryptic. is that why you keep coming to our classroom?!”

your shouts faded into giggles as he turned a corner, suddenly knocking yourself on his back when you managed to catch up to him. “we’re already here by the way,”

at least you’re finally halfway done with this whole fiasco seeun invited you in. you can’t deny the growing sullen mood you’re feeling in your heart. there’s probably already a stormy cloud floating above your head and raining on you, except you’re not in some silly cartoon.

you begin to follow seeun inside the jewelry shop, the sparkle of displayed accessories were a blur as your mind kept running with countless thoughts.

all this time you were under the notion that seeun kept showing up at your classroom because he wants to hang out. you didn’t want to admit it, but the only conclusion that you could arrive on was that he’s probably just spending time with you because his girlfriend is in the same class as yours. you mentally facepalm yourself at how oblivious you’ve been all this time.

you snap out of it when he starts dangling a necklace in front of you, attention flickering towards the heart shaped pendant he laid over his palm. "this one's a bit cool isn't it? and it opens up so you could put a photo or something."

"hm, it's perfect if you wanna put a couple photo inside the locket!” you beam, meeting his gaze.

and he lets out a scoff, the same one he does whenever he's about to spew some nonsense.

"or... they could just put a photo of me! y'know, so they could look at it whenever they miss me or something."

he laughs at the way your expression fell, lips almost in a straight line as you glare it him. "i've honestly never met someone so full of themself like you."

"guess that probably means this ones the best choice out of all, gotcha!” you only scrunch your nose at him, feigning an eye twitch before he turns around to pay for the necklace.

you're honestly quite confused on how he could have you sinking into a sullen mood and have you reeling in irritation the next second.

park seeun you're such a mystery...

you were startled and greatly embarrassed when seeun’s voice blared throughout the hall of the cinema, earning a few sharp glares here and there. add to that… he was calling you by your name, walking towards him with your head hung low in shame.

“seeun! have some decorum, will you?” you kept your voice to a volume, landing a harsh slap on his arm. he hissed, rubbing the impact of your hit.

“yeah, yeah whatever. kinda your fault you’re standing too far away from me.” you acted as if you were gonna playfully smack him again, flailing his arms in front of him in defense. “i know you’re probably tired by now since we’ve been walking around since morning, but i’m sure you’ll love this one.”

he cheekily grins before pointing to the poster stuck on the wall, and seeun swears he’s seeing the same glint in your eyes again. “wasn’t this the movie you were spamming me about days ago?”

“yeah but—” you take a step forward before getting interrupted by seeun.

“great! then i’ll go ahead and buy tickets for this now, seems like a fun movie for a date, don’t you think?”

he’s quick to rush towards the counter, the squeak of his shoes fading away as you remain slumped in front of the movie poster. the same movie you’d always talk to him about, to the point of gushing over it, even. seeun knew how much you loved that movie series after begging him to watch it with you every time he’s over at your house.

when you found out about the news that it’s getting a new movie in theaters around this time of the month, you wasted no time in getting tickets for the two of you in advance, planning to invite him for a movie hang out right after valentines—having expected that seeun will share the same sentiments as you, that valentines was pure bullshit and that he’d rather spend a day with his best friend than all that lovey-dovey nonsense.

guess not anymore. as you follow him out of the cinema, you couldn’t care less about what he was babbling about, his voice a mere blur as you hear it. sinking into this miserable reverie of having to probably drop your fixation towards your favorite movie series, because now it just reminds you of him. how he inadvertently rejected you.

“are you okay y/n? you’ve been out of it ever since we started walking to the bus stop.”

curse seeun and his hyper aware self, always sensitive to your moods and such. making it even harder for you to move on, as you call it.

but he was met with silence, trudging along to your unusually faster pace tonight. he’s your best friend after all, so he pushes, even poking his finger repeatedly on your shoulder to get you to talk.

you’ve had enough of dealing with him today, wanting to hear the end of it. and so you dig your heel on the concrete, meeting his eyes with a glare as you raised your voice. “would you quit it!?”

thank god there was no one else around, only the chirp of the crickets and your heavy breathing. “alright, alright geez… it’s just, if you’re not feeling okay, then i don’t wanna leave you going home by yourself.”

he gently presses the back of his hand to your forehead, to which you harshly swatted away. the bus conveniently neared the two of you, immediately rushing to step into the vehicle once it came into a halt. seeun’s eyes never left your figure until you disappear in his sight, taking a seat on the opposite side of the bus that's further away from him.

and he watches the bus leave into the distance, unaware of the heartbreak you carried all the way home.

you were honestly surprised that no tears threatened to well up as you rode the bus home, until you slammed your bedroom door shut did it all come flooding in.

seeun and his stupid—his stupid attitude, stupid obliviousness, stupid… stupid everything!

you also blame yourself for choosing to spend the whole day with him, at this point it’s like you're begging your heart to get shattered to pieces. you bury yourself in the sheets to comfort yourself, seemingly making it worse as you recognize hints of seeun’s familiar cologne on your blanket, making you burst to tears even more.

you even start to wonder if you’d done any crimes your past life that led to all your current predicament: at the end of the day, he’s got this collection of gifts that you like, except… he’s not gonna give it to you. and knowing seeun, he’s probably gonna force you to come with him as well to help with his valentines surprise, and you have to plaster on a stiff, fake smile and pretend everything else is alright only your end.

and about those movie tickets… you’d probably just set a bonfire to throw it in and watch your hard earned money burn into ashes, pretending your heartbreak’s also fading away with it.

talk about brutal. you scoff, stuffing your face impossibly closer to your pillows, crying yourself to sleep.

you surprisingly felt numb when you woke up to the sun streaming through your blinds, immediately unlocking your phone to a dozen missed alarms and… calls.

you couldn’t even care less about missing class today. despite the way you cried your heart out last night, the wound still felt fresh as you read a bunch of notifications that came from seeun.

it was a bit difficult to read from your puffy, half-awake eyes, but you managed to see his messages asking why you’re late, begging you to come today. all because he’s apparently gonna give you the coupons to that fried chicken place he promised.

you groaned, rolling over to the other side of the bed, contemplating. fuck fried chicken honestly, if it means having seeun witness your horrible state right now, you’re out of there.

unfortunately, you always manage to amaze yourself at your audacity to go against your thoughts, letting your feelings lead your decisions instead of being rational.

thankfully seeun’s nowhere to be found as you attended the rest of your afternoon classes, hoping no one would notice the remnants of a breakdown from your eyes.

pft… and why would you even be looking for him anyway. starting today, you’d wanna avoid him as much as possible, so you’d successfully move on, right?

but as you clutched your bag tight, walking through the halls as class was dismissed, it just made you even more bitter seeing the couples around you be all over each other. you wonder why you even bothered to come in late when you'd wanna just skip today's classes because valentines irks you to the core.

you didn’t even care anymore as you pushed through the crowd of people, along with a blur of reds and pinks from the littered valentines decorations all around, almost making you wanna throw up from cringe.

but you yelp when you suddenly got yanked at a random corner of the hall, ready to kick your ‘kidnapper’ into oblivion until you look up, craning your neck far too much until you realize it’s seeun.

and you don't miss the sight of the bouquet of flowers and gifts he's holding behind him.

"really seeun? i'm not gonna be helping you with handing it to them. you're on your own now by the way. i know you can do it." you say, face completely deadpanned.

“wait—” he firmly grasps onto your bag once you turned in an attempt to leave. “if this is about the fried chicken, i don’t care anymore. just keep it, i’m going home.”

“y/n i think you’ve got it all wrong.”

he doesn’t let go of your bag, trying to free yourself from his hold, fuming.

“yeah, it’s so wrong trying to shove to my face that you finally got yourself your own love life! i know we banter all the time but i also have my limits.” he watches as you raise your voice at him, a hurt expression falling over your face, one that he doesn’t like.

"just because we're best friends doesn't mean you can ask me for help with this kinda stuff! because what if... what if i..." what if i actually have feelings for you? you choke on your words, preventing yourself from blurting out an unwanted confession.

seeun's hold on your bag turns weak, his eyes softening. "what if you what, y/n? you've been acting weird since yesterday and i'm honestly getting a bit worried. tell me what's wrong then, so i can help you feel better."

"it's not something you could help with." you turn your gaze at the lockers, anywhere but focusing him.

“y/n if you just listen to me for a second then we’ll—” he attempts to calm you down, until you interrupt.

“you just don’t get it because you’re a guy!”

he takes a deep breath before grabbing your shoulder with his free hand, shaking your frame with every word he lets go. “all these gifts are for you y/n. it’s my valentines surprise for you!”

you take a step back, mouth parted in confusion.

“is this some kind of sick joke?”

“god… do i even have to spell it out. i like you, more than friends… or best friends! l-i-k-e y-o-u. got that?”

he lets out all of his thoughts, desperate that you get the message, rendering you speechless.

"i'm not really that good with words but... i've had feelings for the longest. i hope these gifts could make you realize how i feel?"

“me too seeun, it's a bit embarrassing to admit that i like you as well... i just, got a bit confused since you were talking about it as if you’re giving it to some other person. i'm sorry about what happened yesterday.” you look away from him, focusing on the floor instead.

“you know i got you always, right y/n? besides, why’d i give it to someone else when i got gifts that are personally your favorites?”

he finally got his point across as you let out a huff, rolling your eyes as you let him stare down at you with that beady gaze of his, feeling his fingers ghost towards your neck as he laces a necklace around it.

“well, what can you say about it? did i do good in trying to find out what gifts you’re gonna like huh?” you roll your eyes once again, snatching the chocolate and bouquet of flowers from him. you wordlessly linked your arm with his, starting to wander through the halls, biting your lip to keep yourself from smiling. you swear he’s never gonna let it go if he sees you show the littlest bit of enthusiasm over his gift.

as you step outside the field of the school once again, you manage to break the silence, looking up at him. “oh. but i… i did buy us tickets for the movie as well. it was supposed to be a surprise.”

“you’re so bad at surprises y/n, you know that?” he flicks your forehead, earning a glare.

“coming from you?!”

“yeah, well… you seemed to be happy with it from the way you were avoiding my eyes once i handed—hey, hey— wait y/n i’m just kidding, don’t hit me with the bouquet! y/n! @#%@&”

#park seeun x reader #seeun x reader #xikers x reader #xikers imagines #xikers seeun #park seeun

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gozine-translate · 1 month ago

Text

Terminally-ill Genius Dark Knight - 164

164: Eleanor de Rivalin [2]

"Hah, no matter how much of a disgrace you are to our family, you wouldn’t stoop to hanging out with commoners."

"Right. If you ever did that, both you and that girl would end up with your heads hung up in the imperial palace!"

"Haha, that sounds great!"

Even as I watched Allen and Hats exchange such words, I remained silent. I felt disillusioned as I saw Nox laugh quietly.

How can someone have the heart of a human and just toy with others like this? It was painful.

My face flushed, and I could feel all eyes on me. One by one, people’s gazes locked onto me, like they were watching an amusing spectacle. The nobles’ eyes seemed to assess me, making me tense. Naturally, this didn’t feel good, and for the first time in my life, I felt humiliated like that. There’s no need to explain what happened later. I had no choice but to leave the party with a rushed expression. I still remember how my father interrogated me, giving me a hard time. it’s a memory deeply etched in my heart.

But… Even then, was the mischievous Nox trying to torment me more?

At the end, as I was leaving in my carriage, Nox called my name.

Eleanor——

But his words were left unfinished. And that’s how the worst social event of my life ended.

Later, I used a persona.

It wasn’t difficult. Just like my father did, I donned a false mask and deceived people with sweet words. It wasn’t hard for me at all.

And so, a few more years passed.

My mother and father passed away not long after that. At a young age, I became the head of the Rivalin merchant group. Peoples said

— No matter how smart she is, she’s just a child. What could she possibly do right?

— Yeah… Clarkson, that guy, even though he was born a commoner, managed to do things properly.

— Well, We should look into other trading companies

Someone had died. People gathered at the funeral in the rain, mocking my family’s death. That as commoners, they lived an undeserving life. And it's good that they died. They talked about recovering their investments if the company collapsed.

They couldn't trust me.

Right.

They never trusted my father from the beginning. They were like moths drawn to the glitter of gold. In the end, all I had left was my father’s inheritance and the filthy name of Rivalin. But why… why? Why couldn't I abandon this name?

After that, I decided to trust nothing. Gold. I believed even trust could be bought with it. And in fact, I became a wealthy person.

But for some reason, the more success I achieved, the more this unknown thirst continued to gnaw at me. I still don’t know what this feeling is.

I just…

Sometimes, when I suffer from insomnia, I think to myself. It seems like I’m no longer myself. I think I’ve forgotten what I truly want.

———————————————————

"Nox! Wake up! Hurry!"

Eleanor shook Nox by the collar. This was something she would never normally do. A calm fox, who never rattled, and always calm in any negotiation. But now was different.

Tears were faintly welling up in her eyes.

"Haa…"

A faint breath escaped. Nox’s heartbeat began to throb slowly. Eleanor, quickly checking his pulse, wiped her tears and took action to save him. She secured his airway and did everything she could to help him breathe easily. She even channeled the small remaining amount of her magical power into him.

But it wasn’t easy.

Saving a person's life. Especially in such an extreme situation, it was bound to be difficult. No matter how Eleanor used to act composed, in this situation, it just didn't work properly. Nox’s weakening heartbeat, the trembling at the corners of his pale lips, his hands and feet turning blue, and the fragile white breaths that escaped. All told the story of his condition. At any moment, the life of Nox von Reinhaver could end here. He might cross a river he could never return from.

"Wake up… Wake up! Nox von Reinhaver! …You hurt me. Because of you, I work harder… That’s how I made it this far. Even if just a little, I wanted to make other people regret it…. But if you, the person I hated so much, lie here like this, what am I supposed to do?"

Eleanor’s voice was full of sincerity. As she caught sight of the transparent veil in his hand that Nox had given her in the end, tears unknowingly streamed down her face.

Eleanor blamed herself. If this was how things were going to be, she should have just been honest. Though it probably wouldn’t have solved anything, it might have been better that way. Naturally, the reason they ended up in this worst-case scenario was because of the assassin trying to kill her.

Nox von Reinhaver just got caught up in this situation by chance. If so, can I be free with his death?

Can I really say that the actions he took at that social gathering that day were so nasty that they deserved to be repaid with death?

‘No.’

Maybe. Just maybe. Really, maybe… He didn’t actually want to do that to me. I tried to ignore it, but maybe Nox really didn’t want to do those things. I needed Nox von Reinhaver and my father to become colder, I made them worse in my mind, replaying the events of my childhood over and over. Twisting the shape as I saw fit.

Finally, Eleanor started to understand a little.

What kind of person Nox von Reinhaver was. She realized it when the first time she saw him sacrifice himself for someone else. The Nox she remembered until now was nothing more than a person she had distorted in her own mind.

And then, as if she could hear it clearly. Nox's words a moment ago

— Why do you think I’d naturally abandon you?

Nox didn’t abandon me. He protected me.

When Eleanor’s thoughts reached there, she finally understood.

'… The reason he was so harsh to me the first time we met was because of his brother. He said those things to protect me. The most disgusting thing was that I already knew that truth.'

Before Nox von Reinhaver entered Eldain, when I had heard that he had defeated his brothers in a battle. Eleanor first learned that Nox and his brother from the Reinhaver family didn’t get along. I also found out that Nox’s biological mother had passed away long ago, and Priscilla, who had given birth to Allen and Hats, had gained power as the lady of the Reinhaver family.

Therefore, for a very brief moment, I thought. He probably acted so cruelly that day because he was afraid I might get harmed.

But I quickly dismissed the thought.

Nox had to become a bad person to Eleanor. So I judged him solely based on his worth. I kept him close only because he was more skilled than I expected. Because this is work, business.

But…

"I can’t do this anymore. Nox, wake up… You saved me twice, weren't you? I haven’t even properly thanked you yet. So why are you lying here…?! Just why…."

Eleanor de Rivalin. A fifteen-year-old girl with a soft heart.

Even though she was now considered an adult, she still carried the fragility of her childhood. She hadn’t shown it until now, hiding it because she believed she couldn’t survive if she didn’t.

As she listened to Nox’s fading breaths, Eleanor’s body trembled. Sobbed as she spoke.

"Shane…! I need your help. Please save Nox von Reinhaver… Please."

But for some reason. The response that came from Shane until a moment ago was cut off. With telepathy, even screamed aloud. It was the same.

Why is that?

Why has he suddenly disappeared?

When she first made the mana vow with him, Shane had promised to help her as long as no harm befell him. So why wasn’t he showing up now?

‘Could it be that Shane is also in a life-threatening situation?… Is that why he can’t respond?’

If so, that would be really dangerous. It would mean there’s almost no chance of surviving this place.

According to Nox, this place is [The Frozen Frostwood Forest]. And it’s near the northern Winter Bridge.

Even if someone tried to get here through a portal, it would take about three days. No matter how fast they came, it was a distance too far to reach quickly.

'Not good… Am I really going to die like this?'

I haven’t said anything yet. Not to Nox, not to Shane who saved me. I wanted to thank them.

The kindness I received without expecting anything in return flashed like a revolving lantern [Note: 走馬灯 if you know Japanese]. Eleanor thought the day she talked with Nox. When they opened the Rivalin family’s secret library and had a brief conversation. In fact, she could have asked him. Nox, why did you save me? She could have asked him straightly, and a bit more firmly

But now she thought she knew why she didn’t ask.

The fact that someone had saved her without anything in return. She didn’t want to shatter that illusion.

If she found out Nox saved her only because of money?

She felt like she would be completely broken. It would have been dangerous for her.

That’s why she didn’t ask why he saved her or if he wanted something in return. She was afraid she was going to expose her most vulnerable self, the part of her that couldn’t trust herself.

'I’m such a coward.'

In a situation where it was hard to make a normal decision, Eleanor finally lost her way completely, not knowing what should she do

But…

Something called threats usually, came overlapping dozens of times in a single day. For example, now. The bone-chilling cold surrounding Eleanor was proof of that.

"What… is this? This mana?"

It was a massive amount of mana she had never felt before. Eleanor moved instinctively. She quickly used the mysterious veil Nox had given her to cover both herself and Nox. But it didn’t fit. The artifact was only meant for one person, so it was a useless action. A foolish act Eleanor would never have done.

It was a mistake.

'I should have just used the artifact on him.'

But she had already done it without even realizing it. A fear that was difficult to bear started to consume her entire body. It soon became a massive whirlwind, wiping out the outside in a blinding white.

What is this?

Before she could even process the thought, a tremor ran through the cave with a faint rumble. As the sound of the earth-shaking grew louder.

Eleanor saw it.

A giant eye. An eye. The slit, reptilian eye stretched vertically, exuding an overwhelming terror.

And unfortunately, that eye didn’t belong to Astrid.

[Are you the one who awakened me with your mana, girl?]

A dragon. A giant ice dragon rose up and spoke to Eleanor.

At that moment, she instinctively knew. That dragon was not going to be friendly to her and Nox.

———————————————————

Whooosh!

Astrid, who had been gliding through the air, suddenly accelerated, picking up tremendous speed. Noah frowned, trying to fix her now messy hair.

She asked.

"What's going on? Astrid, is it fine to fly like this? aren't you dislike going fast since it's troublesome?"

[It stopped.]

"What?"

As Noah asked with surprised eyes, Astrid’s usual lazy expression was gone, replaced by a raw, unfiltered rage. Mana surged between her eyes, brimming with anger.

[Nox von Reinhaver's heart. It stopped.]

#terminally-ill #terminally-ill-genius-dark-knight

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jacquelinemerritt · 1 year ago

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Dragon Ball Z: Abridged Episode 60 Review

What does it mean for an abridged series to go even further beyond?

Part I

I started this review series in 2015 because I loved Dragon Ball Z: Abridged, and I needed there to be writing out there that explained why I loved it so much.

It’s a funny thing, re-reading all of my old writing about it. Part of the nature of a weekly review series is that you tend to zoom in on the particulars, as that’s where the meatiest criticism lies. Going over the specifics of the story’s structure, how details in the show add to a greater whole, it’s all part of the process of finding out why something in a show works, or sometimes, doesn’t work.

It’s in those details though, that you come to a greater whole. By recounting the specific ways in which a story is threaded together, week after week, episode after episode, you start to bring forward recurring ideas, and piece together aspects that continually make a show work, and contribute to the greater whole. And when you’re critiquing a masterpiece, a show so lovingly crafted that every single detail lines up perfectly for its conclusion, you eventually are able to tie those thoughts together into what is hopefully a masterful conclusion of your own.

Dragon Ball Z: Abridged is the best possible version of Dragon Ball Z.

This might be the most contentious statement I’ve ever made about this show. It’s a statement I know for a fact the creators disagree with. But it’s a statement I believe wholeheartedly, and I even would go so far as to say that Dragon Ball Z: Abridged is closer to the spirit of the original Dragon Ball than Toriyama managed to pull off himself.

The original Dragon Ball manga is a masterpiece of its own. Akira Toriyama did a phenomenal job weaving together hilarious gags with thrilling martial arts action and compelling character growth, all while centering one of the most lovable, fun, and pure-hearted protagonists to ever be written. There’s a reason that it spawned an entire genre of imitators, and that’s because its blend of action, comedy, and growth were all executed masterfully.

I don’t think that Dragon Ball Z ever manages to capture that magic the way the original does. That’s not to say that Dragon Ball Z is a bad show, but by the time Raditz enters the story, the manga and show both change into something much more akin to a melodramatic soap opera. There’s so much waxing from the characters about how powerful these foes they’re facing are, and there’s very little levity sprinkled throughout these long, drawn-out fights, as the circumstances feel too dire for the characters to make jokes and be silly.

Silly humor was core to Dragon Ball’s charm though. The very first fight in the first World Tournament Arc is a gag about how Krillin is able to beat a martial artist who has never bathed and uses stench as a weapon, because he doesn’t have a nose to smell him with. The best side character in this series goes from being an angry, murderous criminal to being a cheerful, innocent sprite every time she sneezes, and she always sneezes at the worst possible moments for everyone. Hell, the entire Red Ribbon Army Arc is a joke about how Goku completely obliterates a major threat to the world on a whim, because none of them are martial artists, and not a real challenge as a result!

The very magic of Dragon Ball Z: Abridged is that it takes this melodramatic source material and finds the space within it to make jokes again. The Saiyans are a world-dooming threat, but Nappa is hilarious, and I will forever quote everything he said. Freeza is a genocidal tyrant who has taken the galaxy by force, but even when the world around him is unable to laugh, his spoiled, petulant attitude is funny as hell, and full of delightful dark humor. Even the darkest timeline of Trunks’ future is filled with jokes, whether that be the genuinely despicable ramblings of TJ and the Wombat, or a 50-year-old Bulma making a pass at Gohan, perfectly fitting her original boy-crazy characterization.

And phenomenally, Dragon Ball Z: Abridged manages to do everything I just mentioned without sacrificing an ounce of drama. Goku’s battle against Freeza is desperate, and his Spirit Bomb failing rips the ground out from under you. Future Trunks’ battle against the Cyborgs is tense, and his first transformation into a Super Saiyan is gut-wrenching. Even in the first season, before they fully found their feet, Team Four Star managed to make the battle between Goku and Vegeta every bit as tense as it needed to be, while still incorporating a constant stream of jokes.

So where does that leave us with Episode 60?

Part II

What, exactly, is the purpose of an abridged series?

I think it’s fair to say that an abridged series is, at its core, an adaptation of a work of art from one medium to another. This is a statement I’ve made before in these reviews, but I don’t think I’ve ever elaborated on it. It feels rather obvious to me that an abridged series be treated as any other adaptation might, because at the end of the day, that’s what artists like Team Four Star, LittleKuriboh, and Something Witty Entertainment are doing. They are adapting a work from the medium of televised anime to the medium of a comedy YouTube short, and making the same kinds of adaptational decisions in creating these series as a production team turning a book into a movie.

You can see this question of adaptation present itself as far back as some of the earliest abridged series, like Avatar: The Abridged Series. Most of that show intentionally leans into the weakest aspects of Katara’s character, emphasizing her feminity, thirst for cute boys, and quick temper far more than the original show ever did. Yet, in its last episode, Katara undergoes a significant transformation in the face of Paku’s sexism, and is completely reimagined with a new voice actress as she goes on a rant about the sexist ways she’s been written, and her refusals to stand for it anymore. The last episode of this abridged series ever made goes out of its way to critique both itself and its source material in its last episode, and it begs the question of how far an abridged series adaptation can go.

Sword Art Online: Abridged famously goes even further in its critique of its source material. Almost every character is completely rewritten to serve as both a more accurate representation of online culture, and a deconstruction of their original persona, with Kirito in particular standing out as a fantastic depiction of the kind of loneliness and self-isolation that comes with being a try-hard edgelord. It takes an entire season of the show for Kirito to learn to truly connect with other people, and that growth is made all the more satisfying by showing genuinely difficult it is for him to maintain anything resembling a positive friendship with anyone because of those edgelord tendencies.

These shows both have very different purposes, in large part due to the evolving understanding of what an abridged series is capable of between their creations, but they both raise a fairly similar question: what happens when you give everyone with a video editor and internet connection the ability to re-tell someone else’s story?1

The answer here is something I think is quite beautiful. The abridged series thrives outside of the realm of copyright locked down by rent-seeking ideas landlords, and allows individuals, groups, and communities to reimagine their favorite stories. Sometimes, what they imagine is as simple as few extra jokes, or a simple rant about the sexist way a character is written, and sometimes, what they imagine is a completely new version of the story that actually raises interesting questions and showcases compelling characters.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the abridged series found its roots in the copyright-less utopia of early YouTube, when anyone had the freedom to take something they loved or hated, and transform it into something completely different. The rise of Content ID has long since taken away this pure, unadulterated freedom from us, and I truly feel that the internet is worse off for it.

When it comes to Dragon Ball Z: Abridged, the show we are watching is the result of a bunch of people who love Dragon Ball and Dragon Ball Z more than anything else, asking what they can do to make the show funnier, smarter, and more meaningful. Team Four Star found their footing as writers when they began to focus on the comedy that came from character interaction, as we watched these huge personalities clash, and for every funny joke they were able to draw out of that foundation, they managed to draw even more pathos and catharsis for these characters.

Which is to say, Team Four Star took the idea of an abridged series, and went even further beyond.

Part III

Episode 60 of Dragon Ball Z: Abridged is a massive episode that provides a satisfying resolution to the whole series, and nearly every storyline running within it. It also highlights the relationship between its characters fantastically, placing most of the story’s emotional weight on the fractured dynamic between Gohan and his chronically absent father, Goku.

The entire first part of the episode is focused on the tension between who Gohan fundamentally is, and the man his father expects him to be. Goku has, in a stroke of fighting genius (the only genius he is capable of), perfectly planned out this encounter between Perfect Cell and Gohan. He’s manipulated Cell into hosting a tournament for the fate of the world, and placed his son in the perfect position to take down Cell and ascend to power greater than anyone has ever seen. And it’s all ruined because, as Piccolo perfectly points out, Gohan hates fighting.

The subtext of emotional strain between Goku and Gohan has been running throughout the entire series, but it’s finally brought to the forefront of the text in this moment. We see Gohan wrack himself emotionally and Cell wrack him physically, as he and Cell both try to force himself to fill the role his father has placed him in. Even as Cell violently births his own progeny to wreck Goku and his companions, in a last ditch effort to stir a fire within Gohan, Goku’s son cannot bring himself to be the warrior his father believes him to be.

Android 16’s speech and subsequent death changes all of that for Gohan. In a moment set to a breathtaking cover of Unmei no Hi, Gohan internalizes the lesson passed onto him by Android 16, who thoroughly eviscerated the liberal pacifism Gohan has been trying to embody. And Gohan gets angry. So angry that his power skyrockets, and he becomes a Super Duper Saiyan.

Super Duper Saiyan Gohan is fucking terrifying.

Throughout Dragon Ball Z: Abridged, we’ve come to know Gohan as an incredibly intelligent, exuberant, compassionate bookworm. Even though he doesn’t want his entire life to revolve around education and books, he still revels in knowledge and the opportunity to learn, and some of his cutest moments are when he is allowed to be truly childlike, like when he eagerly investigated Cell’s time travel pod for clues.

Every single ounce of compassion and love for life Gohan had before transforming into a Super Duper Saiyan is replaced with rage. Rage at Cell for destroying Android 16, a beautiful soul who did nothing wrong. Rage at Goku for thrusting him into this fight unprepared, and taking away the only hope he felt by throwing Cell a Senzu. And rage, most of all, at the world, for being so fucked up that he was forced into this situation to begin with.

Gohan’s rage is cold though. There is no righteous fury like Goku, no petulant tantrum like Vegeta, no sorrowful torment like Trunks. This Gohan slowly defines the word “filicide” for Cell as he effortlessly commits it, wiping out all of Cell’s children so quickly even Freeza, the most murderous being we’ve met in this universe, would be impressed.

That very rage drives all of Gohan’s decisions, as he lords his power over Cell and takes every opportunity to torment him. He blows away all of Cell’s limbs with a Kamehameha, and then guts him with his fist so hard that he throws up Android 18, and loses his Perfect form. It’s this blindness by rage that leads to Gohan’s greatest mistake, of not finishing off Cell, who tries to blow himself and the planet up in order to gain some kind of victory.

What’s perfect about this moment though is that while Gohan feels entirely responsible for his mistake, Goku knows better. He recognizes the responsibility he bears for Gohan’s bloodlust, and knows that the only way to make it right is to remove Cell from the equation altogether, teleporting the two of them to King Kai’s planet in bold move to save the earth.

Goku’s decision to sacrifice himself also recalibrates Gohan’s perspective, guiding him away from the rage that filled him before, so that when Cell returns, and murders Vegeta’s baby boy, Gohan doesn’t hesitate to put himself in harms way to protect Vegeta from a deadly blow. It costs him an arm, but his commitment to protecting others, even when it’s stupid, and even when it gets himself hurt, is true to the Gohan we’ve come to know and love. All that’s left for Gohan to do is face off against Cell, one Kamehameha against another, and draw on the strength and fighting spirit of his father to deliver the final blow.

Goku and Gohan aren’t the only two characters whose relationship is deepened in this episode. Vegeta’s enraged cry of “MY BABY BOY!” when Cell kills Trunks shows just how much Vegeta has come to love his own son, despite the airs he puts on to the contrary. Piccolo’s love for Gohan is also expressed incredibly here as he lectures Goku for not paying attention to the needs and wants of his son, who just wanted to receive love and affection from his father.

In fact, the love that these characters have for each other, and the ways they express it, is a theme that runs deep in this episode. Trunks love for all these folks around him is shown as he dutifully delivers them all Senzu Beans, quietly making silly puns to each of them. Krillin’s love for Android 18 is displayed wonderfully, whether through him gaining the strength to stand up to Vegeta because she’s resting in his arms, or through him wishing her and her brother free of the bombs implanted in them. Even Yamcha and Tenshinhan are given a moment of brotherly love, as they express for the first time in words how much they both mean to each other.

That very love is also what drives Goku to refuse to be resurrected at the end of the episode, despite Cell having been defeated. He genuinely loves Gohan, Goten, Chi Chi, and all of his friends, and knows that the best way to show his love, for once, is actually to be away from them, and spend time in heaven with King Kai. He’s not afraid of the great change this will be, both for him, and the people he loves, and is willing to embrace the afterlife if it means safety for his loved ones.

Goku’s speech about embracing change and not being a part of his loved ones’ life anymore is also very easy to read as a coda to Dragon Ball Z: Abridged itself. He, and all the rest of these characters, are saying good-bye to us, the audience that has followed them on their journey for years, and they are all embracing the truth that it is beautiful to let this show end on its own happy terms. It’s ironic that, at the time, Team Four Star announced that they would be trying to continue this series, but it’s clear they grew to see the wisdom in Goku’s words too.

A similar message can be found in Cell’s final moments, as he gives us a beautiful rendition of Frank Sinatra’s My Way. Team Four Star, just like this villain, has spent nearly a decade re-telling the three sagas of Dragon Ball Z they loved the most, and at every turn, they chose to do it their way. Sometimes, in the early days, that meant reference-based humor that aged like milk, but more often than not, it meant leaning into their strengths as comedic writers, taking creative liberties with the source material, and working to elevate the text of Dragon Ball Z to something even better than the original show.

I don’t know what to call that other than Perfect.

Epilogue

The journey that I’ve been on with Dragon Ball Z: Abridged, both as a viewer and critic, has been an incredible one. It has meant more to me than just about any other show I’ve ever watched, and stands up there with some of the most impactful art that I’ve experienced. It’s a show I’ve watched when I was suicidally depressed to find some sort of levity, a show I found enough depth in to meticulously critique every episode, and a show I’ve gotten even my shounen-indifferent partner to get extremely hype about, as I showed them the entire show in the lead-up to its fantastic finale.

What Team Four Star managed to create in Dragon Ball Z: Abridged is something genuinely special. It’s a show that makes me laugh harder than just about anything. It’s a show that’s made me cry more times than I can count too, as I was tearing up multiple times while re-watching the finale for this review. It’s even a show that I get to cringe at sometimes, when I think of the early seasons, but that cringing makes it all the more impressive how much Team Four Star improved as storytellers, and elevated their craft to tell their version of Dragon Ball Z better than anyone else could.

I love Dragon Ball Z: Abridged. I will always love Dragon Ball Z: Abridged. And even though it’s over, I know it will always be there for me, waiting for me to tag along with Goku, Krillin, Vegeta, and Gohan, as they power up and save the world.

Rating: 5/5

If you like my writing, consider supporting my continued film criticism addiction on Patreon.

Stray Observations

1This question, you might notice, is exactly the same question raised by the existence of fan-fiction, and this is because abridged series are, at their core, no different from any other form of fan-fiction. An abridged series does, by its nature, require more work and expertise than a piece of prose on Archive of Our Own, but all it achieves, in the end, is a greater level of accessibility, like the difference between a written article and a video essay.

I genuinely adore that in this episode, when Piccolo goes to yell at Gohan to dodge, he’s already dodging Cell perfectly. What a great ending to a running gag.

Yamcha’s every line in this episode is great too. He just wants to be included, whether that’s in Team Three Star, or Cell’s plans for tournament entertainment, and I love him for that.

Super Duper Saiyan is also, just, fucking brilliant. Like, what a great way to use Goku’s silliness to get around the awkwardness of these forms being called Super Saiyan 2 and Super Saiyan 3. Vegeta calling the next form Super-Dee-Duper Saiyan just sells the joke even further. If the show had continued for another season, I genuinely would have loved the comedy of these characters shouting about being “Super-Duper Saiyan” or “Super-Dee-Duper Saiyan,” and would love to see a mock-up of Goku’s “even further beyond” speech with these terms in Team Four Star’s style.

Krillin Owned Count: 0. And as a huge fan of Krillin, yeah, this makes me real fuckin’ happy J

Also holy shit, did Krillin cum 39 times??? That’s super impressive for a cis dude, mad props.

#dragon ball z abridged #dragon ball z #team four star #tfs #dbz #dbza #dbza ep60

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aita-blorbos · 1 year ago

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AITA for deleting some files?

I (18F) am the president of my school’s literature club, at the beginning of this story we only had 4 members (including me). It all started when one of the members, we’ll call her S (18F) brought along a friend (it’s complicated, let’s just say ?M) to join our club. We managed to convince him with a little bribe of cupcakes from another member of the club who we will call N (18F) and very good tea from Y (18F), the last member of the club.

This new member will be called MC for the purposes of this story. I don’t know how to put this… but I immediately felt drawn to him. He seemed more real than anyone else I’ve ever met. It almost felt like him and I were the only conscious people in this entire reality…

I quickly fell deeply in love with him (or her. or them. it depends… again, it’s complicated. I’ll stick with “he” for simplicity’s sake). I tried to get closer to him, but it wasn’t easy. The other three members of the club also fell for him. I know how cliche it sounds that all of us girls fell for him, but that’s what happened.

S is the one who’s known him the longest, so I honestly perceived her as the biggest “threat” so to speak… I know I sound very… extreme or possessive here, but I promise it’s justified.

The other two weren’t much better though, because they were far more straightforward in getting closer to him. Neither S nor I really had the option to get close to him like they could.

Why?

Well. I might’ve left out the most important part so far. All four of us (me, S, N and Y) are just characters in a video game. They don’t know that, but I… because conscious so to speak. It might be due to my position as the club president, but I’m not sure. I realize how odd this sounds, but even though these three were supposed to be my friends… I felt so distant from them. I felt depressed. All because I realized I was a character in a video game. And the worst part is- I’m the only one who didn’t get the option to become closer to MC!

Oh, I forgot to mention- MC is the player. The player can be anyone behind the screen, but the character they “play as” is depicted as a guy. That’s why I used he/him pronouns, but also hinted at other uh possibilities…

Anyway! It didn’t seem… fair… to me, that the other three all had so-called “routes” that the player could choose and I didn’t- Even though, I’m arguably the most important character in the game. I mean, I made this club after all, didn’t I? And I am the only one who noticed that this whole thing is a game at all…!!!

I had to do SOMETHING about this unfairness, so I might’ve started messing with the game’s code. Now, I’m a prodigy in many things, but not exactly in coding… I maybe should have just created a route for myself, so MC would’ve had the option of choosing me, but… I didn’t do that. It’s been a while, so I’m not sure if I’d say it was due to a lack of skill or a fear that he would still choose one of them over me. So instead, I messed with their character attributes. I exaggerated their flaws and their negative traits and feelings and- Sometime towards the end of the player’s first play-through of the game, I even deleted the character file of S.

I don’t know how to feel about that, since I had still somewhat viewed her as a friend… But getting MC to love me was more important to me.

When MC played the game again, no trace of S was left. A few glitches here and there, but she was gone! In this second play-through it became more and more obvious that I messes with N and Y too. Both of them ended up turning so incomprehensibly wrong that I had to delete their files as well.

Then… I had achieved what I wanted. It was just me and MC now. I even controlled his cursor so he couldn’t exit the game as easily and leave me behind. Maybe at some point he’ll find a way, but… for now I have him.

As I mentioned though, I did have to make sacrifices to get here. But I think, since they weren’t conscious like I was, it’s no real loss that they died, right? They had no consciousness. They were just characters. I know I am technically also a character, but I am different, because I awoke and found out about that.

MC doesn’t seem happy that I deleted S, N and Y though, so I’m doubting my decisions a bit. So, am I the asshole for deleting their character files- and through that, them?

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality

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roseblog-rog · 10 months ago

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Hello Rose Blog Enjoyers! i haven’t been posting lately because. the horrors. However, I did promise more, so here’s a very self indulgent smut work i finished a little while ago (under the read more line).

(TW for blood, wounds, and knives)

“You’ve Got A Lot of Blood.”

The comment catches me off guard, as nobody has said anything even remotely as deranged as that to me. Okay…that might be an exaggeration, but to be fair I was on my way back from the bathroom to continue sunbathing, and I’d rather not have my beach day interrupted any longer.

I turn to find a woman I’ve never seen before smirking behind me. She’s pretty, with long black hair and red lips. She’s close to my height, wearing dark sunglasses, a large sun hat, and a flowy black robe perfect for the summer weather. She’s even carrying an umbrella (to each their own I guess). Her skin is fairly pale despite the beaming sun.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was a vampire. But I do know better, because vampires aren’t real. Probably.

Besides, why would a vampire be at the beach?

Exasperated, still grumpy about having to get out of my relaxing position to use the bathroom, I snap at her, even though I barely even know her. “What the fuck does that even mean?” I regret it immediately, but hold my ground against this random stranger commenting on my bodily fluids.

“Woah, you’ve got a mouth.” She moves closer to my face and grins devilishly. “I like that.” I can feel her breath, but there’s no real scent to it.

I can very faintly see her dark eyes through the sunglasses, though I can’t tell exactly what color they are. I swear I also see fangs in her mouth, two unnaturally pointy teeth sticking out, but it must be a trick of the light. It has to be.

“Who even are you?” I startle back, the prolonged closeness lasting far too long for my liking. I’m clearly in for a long conversation. Dammit.

“Your worst nightmare.” She grins again, striking some pose out of some shitty porno. To be fair, I wouldn’t really know, but I’m probably right. It’s pretty clear now this is a hookup of some kind. I’m flattered, but I also don’t really…do…hookups. Not my thing, I’d rather get to know someone for a while first. I make this clear.

“While I appreciate the flattery, I’m not really looking for a hookup. Apologies.” Her face falls to a frown, and looking a bit closer I can see traces of desperation. She gets close again, but this time her mood has completely shifted. She’s afraid, voice falling to a whisper.

“Okay look, I’m really hungry and I apologize for thinking you wanted a hookup. You’re cute, so I assumed you do this kind of thing all the time.” I blush at the compliment. “I just…I don’t want to just take people’s blood without asking and I know vampires are sexualized a lot so I guess I just…I don’t know.”

Oh.

She goes quiet.

Earth shattering realizations aside, she needs help. She is clearly not doing well, hunger and some now noticeable burns taking their toll. If I have to lose some blood, fine, as long as there are no needles. Plus I still have some snacks left in my bag.

I sigh, beach relaxation already long gone.

“Okay, what do you need me to do?”

I understand why she was at the beach of all places now. She lives nearby, a quaint little beach house down the shoreline. Inside, the lights are off, and the curtains are drawn shut.

“I was also turned very recently, and I’m still getting used to everything. That’s why my methods thus far have been, well, unconventional.” She laughs sadly.

I’m helping her apply burn cream in the places she can’t reach, the only light coming from the soft glow of candles scattered around the house. We talk about our lives while softly rubbing the rough patches of her skin. It’s…well, it’s nice.

When we finish, I ask the big question. “So…are you going to bite my neck? I’m not really sure how this actually works.”

She hesitates. “I think so? To be honest, I’m still unsure myself.“ She looks…guilty. “I haven’t actually, uh, had any blood yet? But I know I need it cause regular food wouldn’t go down and I…” She stops, clearly nervous.

“You what?” I ask, cautious.

“I can smell it.” She mutters, eyeing my skin with a sort of contained insanity.

Okay. Not how I expected my day to go, but that’s what life is all about I suppose. “How about we figure it out together? Maybe build up to biting?” I am pointedly ignoring the slight warmth that fills my body when I mention being bit.

“Oh! Yeah, that would work. Uhm, I can make small little cuts with a kitchen knife to build myself up to eating blood. They won’t scar, don’t worry. Besides, it could also build you up to the pain that biting will probably cause.” I blush fiercely, but nod. Thank gods the lighting is dim.

She smiles.

“Well then, let’s get this over with.”

I’m sitting on her kitchen tile while she finds a knife. I took my shirt off but still have my bra and shorts, not really wanting to show a stranger any more skin than I had to.

With the chaos at the beach and applying burn cream, I never actually stopped to really look at her. She genuinely is pretty, with two fangs now very clearly shimmering as she pulls a knife out of a caninet, red eyes glowing and twitching as she looks at my more exposed skin.

She sits down in front of me, candles still glowing all around us. The knife looks sharp, new. Dangerous.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” She asks, glancing down warily. Her hands are ever so slightly shaking.

And that’s the question, isn’t it? Do I trust her enough to run a blade across my skin? To feed herself with my blood like her life depended on it (which it does)? To sink her fangs into my neck? To lose herself as she drinks from me? I shudder.

“Yes. I trust you.” Let’s hope I don’t regret it.

She nods and gets closer to me. I can feel her breath on my body again, warm air pressing gently against my chest as she raises the knife up to touch me. I can see it in her face: she cares. She’s trying to be as careful as possible, afraid of hurting me any more than she has to. My heart stutters ever so slightly.

The blade is now touching my skin, gliding like a feather all over. It’s cold, and I occasionally get the chills. She hasn’t made any cuts yet, hasn’t pressed down even slightly to draw blood, but from the fire in her eyes I can tell she wants to.

And then a sharp pain hits me above my left breast. I flinch, a small whimper falling from my lips.

“Are you okay?” Her eyes flick back and forth between the cut and my face. She licks her lips, but still holds back. I can feel a few drops of blood slowly sliding down to stain my bra. It feels warm. Fuck, it actually feels…good. The adrenaline is already pumping, and I look down to see the red liquid continuing to drip.

Drip. Drip. Drip. It’s beautiful.

“I want more.” The words surprise us both as they leave my mouth, and I almost go to backtrack and apologize before she smirks. She brings her face close to mine, her lips just barely touching my ear.

“So do I.” She whispers, and from the sensation of it alone I whimper again. She’s already lost it, I’m thinking to myself, as she quickly bends forward to lick up every last drop of my life force with no hesitation. My skin gets wetter and more sensitive from her tongue’s movements, and I bite my lip to hold back a moan.

I think I’m losing it too.

Once satisfied with the first cut, she quickly brings the knife back up to my skin to glide across it more. This time she doesn’t wait, very quickly making a new cut above the right breast this time. She starts licking the new wound, far more eagerly than the first time. This time I can’t contain myself and start to moan softly. I can feel my underwear getting wet already. Fuck.

This continues for what feels like hours. Cut after cut, lick after lick. It doesn’t hurt enough to cause serious detriment or extreme blood loss, but each time the blade presses deeper I still feel that sharp pain, that adrenaline. It’s addicting. I’ve quickly become a shaking whimpery mess, and my desperation for more only makes her increasingly eager to drink. To feed. My body is completely smeared red, the blood also coating her face. Her lips. I can smell the iron now, that intoxicating metallic smell only making me wetter. I never want this to end. I want her to keep draining me of my life force, to keep using me as nothing more than a glorified blood bag. I need her to drink me until there’s nothing left.

However, to my disappointment, she moves the blade off of my skin, lifting it up to a few inches from my face. It’s covered in red at this point, with a few drops still gliding down the blade. Behind it I see her, also drenched. She licks her lips to catch a stray drop of red. Hot.

“I was just gonna lick it off the blade…but I have a better idea.” She rubs all the blood from the knife onto the lower half of my face, and I shake even harder. Once the blade is cleaned off, my face now painted to her liking, she places it off to the side. I can feel every drop of my essence slowly falling from my face down to my neck.

She then gets closer, bringing her lips close to mine. I lean in, but she places a finger against my mouth. I can taste the iron. “Look at you, so desperate for more. It’s adorably pathetic.” My body continues to shake. “You’re more into this than I am! You sure you aren’t a vampire? Or are you really just a canvas, eager to be drenched and painted to my liking?” She smirks, then, pushing her finger into my mouth. I instinctively start to suck on it, the taste of my life force already filling me. She chuckles. “That’s what I thought.”

As I continue to suck, she starts to lick my face. She starts at the cheeks, but slowly and subtly moves down further and further. The jaw. The chin. By the time I realize she’s licking a spot on my neck with extra time and care, she’s already going for a bite.

The feeling of fangs penetrating my skin is unlike anything I’ve experienced before. I inhale sharply, bracing. But then it hits me. The feeling of her fangs inside my skin, drinking. I feel my blood pumping, feel it being sucked out of me. The pain is absolutely euphoric, and I can already feel my warm essence dripping down my neck. I moan wildly. I hear her moan as well, whether from pleasure or a satiated hunger. Maybe both.

I keep squirming from sheer pleasure alone, even as she pulls her fangs out to start licking the two marks in my neck. It’s all so warm. I can’t stop the whimpers and moans from leaving my mouth, so much so that she starts subtly grinding her knee against my crotch as she feeds. She’s absolutely drenched in my life force, painted red just like me.

We are both bloody and beautiful, and everything feels wonderful.

Eventually, though, she falls back and lies down, sighing in relief. I look at her, the candlelight illuminating her frame. She’s breathing deeply, coated in red with a soft smile on her face. She’s really pretty. Everything feels so warm and fuzzy and…blurry. I realize now that I was getting so lost in the pleasure of it all I didn’t realize that I lost a lot of blood. A lot of it.

“B..bag.” I’m swaying now, an absolutely goofy grin on my face from how wonderful everything was. I feel close to fainting. She looks at me, confused, and I see in her face exactly when she realizes what’s happening. She mutters a curse and goes to grab my bag.

There’s blood all over me, completely staining my bra and shorts. The floor surrounding me is also covered, and I run a finger across it to get another taste of iron. I can feel my skin start to harden, my life force starting to dry up. I still feel so much pleasure I can hardly think straight...or maybe that’s the blood loss.

She runs back in with my bag and fishes out a nutrient bar for me to eat. I take slow bites, my breathing starting to level. When I finish, I collapse into her arms and mutter a “thank you.”

“Wha—thank you, ya dork! I’m the one that needed this.” She chuckles fondly and I smile. I feel myself drifting into sleep, and the last thing I feel are her fingers running through my hair.

#(ro)s(e)mut #nsft #blood #tw blood #wounds #tw wounds #knives #tw knives #vampire #i am actually the most normal ever

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boy-gender · 4 months ago

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hey love ur blog! idk if you have anything for this but im questioning my gender rn and i feel like some mix of a guy and agender or nonbinary (so im thinking demiboy maybe) (im afab) but i also kinda sorta feel like a girl sometimes but only like a tiny tiny bit. and only sometimes. and every time i feel like a girl i also feel like a guy at the same time. idk my gender crisis only started like a week ago (i’ve had others in the past but this is my worst so far) so i’m scared i’m faking it or it’s a phase and i just want the aesthetic of being a guy or something. idk totally fine if you don’t wanna answer this cuz ik you’re not an advice blog or anything but i js thought you might be a good place to ask

There's no such thing as faking a gender, unless you are doing it intentionally. If you arent purposely, knowingly, choosing to lie, then it's not fake. Gender is confusing and multifaceted and contradictory and not static. It changes throughout a life, and as quickly as hour to hour. Just because your gender shifts around and you dont always know how to keep track of it doesnt make it fake- it makes it what gender is. A qualia. A subjective experience. There are 8 billion people on this planet, so there are 8 billion unique genders, even if most people tend to use the same handful of words to approximate their feelings.

If demiboy feels like a label that fits you, try it out! You can always change it again later. Maybe youre genderfluid. Maybe youre agender. Maybe youre genderqueer. There is no limit to how many times or how often you can change your understanding of yourself, or how you describe it.

Also, id like to throw this out there, not just for you but also because ive seen many newly trans or questioning people echo this: "im not really trans im fetishizing being trans" is straight up not a thing. Do you see trans people as people? Congrats, you have not dehumanized trans people the way negative fetishization requires. Thinking you want to relabel or explore your gender based on aesthetics is fine! a lot of gender IS aesthetic! Thats not a "lesser" or "wrong" or "shallow" reason. Aesthetics matter to people. Aesthetics influence gender presentation. Anyone accusing you of faking being trans or saying your reasons for calling yourself trans are bad/wrong/not enough? That's a transmedicalist scumbag and you go put their opinion in the garbage and then block them.

I cant tell you what you are. I cannot diagnose you with genders. Only you can tell you who you are, and it's okay to not know, or to change it. I would recommend instead of asking outsiders, ask yourself. Sit with it. Examine it from different angles. Rotate gender in your mind, if you will. What words are you drawn to? What kind of body would you want to have? What aesthetics matter to you? Amongst what groups of peers are you most comfortable, and why? What about gender makes you decidedly uncomfortable? You don't need to know all those answers now or soon or even ever, but they can be places to start.

Ultimately the opinion of anyone who *isnt you* isnt worth jack shit in this regard. You gotta spend some time with it and decide for yourself. And there is no wrong decision; there's only yourself in progress.

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nexstage · 1 year ago

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What happened to Marceline in Winter King’s world?

That's a question everyone has been asking themselves since the airing of that episode and even after the finale of Fionna and Cake. Honestly, the contrast between what would've been of Marcy without Simon and Simon without Marcy is really telling of the effect both have on each other’s lives. Despite the tragedy surrounding the crown which destroyed Simon’s mind and forced him to leave Marcy, both saved each other from becoming the worst versions of themselves. But I’m going on tangents, the real focus is Marcy’s fate in the messed-up world of the Winter King.

Now, while we might never have an explicit answer, I think I came close to, in my opinion, the best one, based on information from the show -Marceline and Bubblegum’s story, the Stakes mini-series-, Marcy’s Super Secret Scrapbook, and even The Winter King episode. And some key elements draw a bigger, clearer picture:

SPOILER WARNING FOR MARCY’S SUPER SECRET SCRAPBOOK.

1. Marcy’s vampire hunt arc

2. Marcy’s relationship with the human survivors in her vampire hunt

3. The mentioned-only-once-and-never-addressed lore of the Ice King being The Empress’ slave

4. The Vampire King’s power and army

5. Princess Bubblegum’s role

Alright! Let’s start with some obvious context. So, as we know, there are two clashing concepts in this image:

According to the Scrapbook, when Marcy was older, she got the Abadeer axe from his father and she kept it with her which, if you ask me, is both a pragmatic choice due to the dangers of a post-apocalyptic world and an emotional/conflictive one because of her rocky relationship with Hunson Abadeer. Much more important is that in Marcy’s flashbacks on the Stakes mini-series, she was shown with her axe turned into a bass already, playing a song for the human tribe.

Now the question is how it got into the hands of the Ice King if Simon had left her. Well, browsing through YouTube I’ve found a video with a fan’s headcanon* about Marcy’s fate showing Hunson Abadeer giving him the axe and explaining what happened to her. But that comes with more questions: how could Hunson and Ice King have interacted if Ice King forgot about him due to the crown’s madness? What could’ve compelled Hunson or Ice King to talk with each other? After all, in the letter Simon left to Marcy after leaving her, their only interaction was watching each other after he opened the portal to the Nightosphere.

Simon even mentioned in said letter this: “After I completed the binding spell on your dad the portal closed and everything went dark. God knows what I did.” It didn’t mention anything about Hunson attacking him for entering his realm, or stopping him from executing the binding spell; therefore, the chances of an interaction between them are slim next to nonexistent. Of course, we also have this scene:

Here Hunson enters unapologetically and pretty violently into Marcy’s crafted little house and then points at something in particular that was on the wall whether it is the portraits of Simon Marcy had drawn or Hambo, my far-fetched theory is that he wondered about the guy on those portraits but again, this is far-fetched so it doesn't have a solid base to keep going.

What's next? Oh yes, Simon and The Empress’ abusive* past relationship. Why past relationship? Because of this line: “Hello, Simon. (…) Wait, you don't remember me?”. Most importantly, maybe this was the first and only time when Marcy and Simon met again after the heartbreaking departure and she had to confront him in his almost-complete Ice King transformation while saving him from The Empress’ hypnosis. Why almost-complete transformation? Because of this piece of dialogue from the Empress: “He used to have more of a silver fox thing going on, with the hair and those cute glasses.” This can mean two things: one, that Simon still was himself but in tiny bits and pieces both in personality and appearance and a characteristic item of his past self are the glasses. Two, those ‘cute glasses’ might signify something ridiculous and humiliating the Empress manipulated Simon into using while he was still her servant.

Now, it's hard to pinpoint how much time had passed between Marceline and Simon’s separation and their encounter when he was serving the Empress due to the unstable count of time on the Scrapbook but, in my opinion, it must have been like several weeks or a few months. With that in mind, perhaps Simon still remembered Marceline albeit in fragments that came and went which was too painful for her to deal with; for that reason, after she saved him from the Empress, she left.

But after that what was next? Well, the last enemy Marcy must kill to ensure humanity’s survival was the Vampire King, and knowing Finn didn't exist in the Winter King’s universe leaves two possibilities: Marceline dies fighting the Vampire King but is unsuccessful in killing him which leads to him rebuilding his army and slaughtering the survivors. However, how could the vampires still thrive in a world where there were no more humans, only penguins and ice creations from Winter King and the candy people from Bubblegum? That would mean extinction for them unless the Vampire king had led his army to search for more scattered tribes. Going further, with Marcy and all her human friends gone, who could be there to give Ice King the axe bass? I doubt even Hunson could sense something this terrible had happened to Marcy.

The second possibility has a few changes although makes more sense. Marcy manages to kill the Vampire King but dies due to her injuries or because he sets her a trap right before he perishes to get revenge. Then after the whole mess is over, the human tribe she had befriended finds what is left of her: the destroyed axe bass and her stake.

Mourning her, they later find Hambo, Schwabl, and her diary. By reading it, they discover two family members of hers are still alive: Hunson and Simon. Obviously, after suffering attack by attack from the vampires, summoning the “Nameless One” would be the last thing the tribe would do. That and according to her diary, Marcy was mad at Hunson for killing the werewolves and eating her fries. The other option is Simon and that is where it gets interesting. If they believe it’s true that Simon has lost his sanity and memories because of the crown, then trying to find him and tell him what happened to Marcy might be a waste of time and a double tragedy. Also, they don’t know what kind of north Simon had gone to exactly, so trying to find him could take them a lot of time they need to escape the next disaster.

That leaves another two possibilities: the first one I have some doubts about because what if Simon, in his bits of memory and old self, is looking for Marcy and finds out what happened to her? But knowing the crown’s madness is leading him to build an ice kingdom, that is again a farfetched theory. The other one that is riskier but makes more sense to me is that, despite the dangers and the time spent, the human tribe travels to find Simon as a way to honor Marcy’s memory and sacrifice. Once they find him, they tell him what she did for them and give him her axe bass. Despite losing his memories and the crown’s madness, a tiny part of his old self reacts strongly to the news.

It’s unknown what happened to her dog Schwabl and Hambo, maybe they were passed on to Ice Marcy and Schwabl died of old age, or both were taken care of by the child of the human tribe Marcy had befriended to honor her memory. Going into tangents again, about the humans, another reason Finn might not be in this world is because either he wasn’t born in the Winter King’s dimension or he was born but never left the island.

Coming back to where I left it, Ice King transformed due to the most important aspect of the crown: the heart’s deepest truest wish. In the show, his obsession with princesses was due to his desire to be with Betty again and be loved by her, although his wish wasn’t taken that far except for the episode where he stole a piece of each princess’ body to create a Frankenstein-like princess. However, Marcy’s death might have caused his grief to be so strong to battle the madness of the crown and regain some of his memories that were related to when he met and raised her.

Because of that, his biggest wish turned from having Betty again to bringing Marcy back and kind of absolving himself from the guilt of not being there to save her. This is connected to another character’s fate: Princess Bubblegum and the fall of her kingdom. As is shown in The Winter King episode she was turned from this:

To this

Winter King had sang to Simon that thanks to his sheer force of will he had overcome the crown’s influence which in this theory of mine is half-true as his grief had its own sheer force of will that resisted the ice power and madness until Ice King found a way to have Marcy back. Of course, we all know he was unsuccessful, he might have found a way to transfer the madness to Bubblegum, condemning her people to the whims and brutality of an insane ruler, but reviving the dead was impossible. It was even established in the show because neither Margles (Magic Man’s wife) nor Betty (fused with Golb) could come back despite Prismos’ efforts.

Still, it didn’t stop Winter King from trying. I think that after he created Ice Marcy, his denial skyrocketed. Deep down, he knew Marceline was gone and in front of him was just a copy of her when she was a child but he couldn’t accept that leaving her behind to protect her from himself led to her death. He couldn’t accept that despite his best efforts: spell-binding Hunson, the ritual to the Nightosphere, believing she could be strong enough to survive, he would find out time later that she had been taken away from him.

And despite this, he doubled down as he “raised” -if you could call it that- Ice Marcy but also kept her isolated as a way to protect her from the outside world. In many ways, Winter King is what Magic Man would’ve become if he had let his grief overtake him to a new level. His madness indeed came from the loss of his wife and his obsession for bringing her back but after too many failures his efforts focused more on making everyone miserable maybe as a coping mechanism. Not so different from Winter King as he let the Candy Kingdom fall into chaos after transferring the crown’s madness to Bubblegum.

As a last detail in this extensive theory, why Princess Bubblegum? Why not someone else? It could be because Ice King’s former obsession with princesses was still alive and it became more of a means to an end than his feelings for Betty twisted by the crown. And maybe that’s also why Ice King is callous about Betty’s memory and calls her “the dead one”.

*Link to the video I was talking about and that inspired me to write this:

https://youtu.be/k2zJKsABi0A?si=em0JMNQYGsA4LPG0

*Yes, the past relationship between Simon and The Empress was abusive as she had tried to hypnotize him to have him as a servant, took advantage of his crumbling mental state to make him do things that might be against his wishes or moral code (for example, killing Marceline in the miniseries), was delighted in how pitiful his madness made him look, and insulted him when he defied her orders

#Fionna and Cake #Adventure Time #Meta and theories #The Winter King #Marcy’s Super Secret Scrapbook #This is like a super dark theory of mine yeeesh #Winter King world is like seeing the worst Au but covered in shiny glitter

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eveistdiepommes · 7 months ago

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💕💛 🪞^^ ~

OMG YAYY HIIEEE OKAY I CANT WAIT TO ANSWER!!!! :3

💕- So!! A character that I ABSOLUTELY LOVE AND ADORE but don’t speak a lot about is… well… there are a couple!!

The first one that comes to mind is Romania! And this is a newer favorite of mine!! I mentioned I think in an ask that I’m still catching up on newer hetalia lore and characters and stuff! And I finally got around to reading Romania’s segments and learning more about him and… I ABSOLUTELY LOVE HIM!!! He’s quickly becoming a character I attach to because of his personality, or what I gathered from personal interpretation!

He’s so positive and silly and I think I’ve seen other people describe him as an orange cat! But what I think is very relatable is that he’s charming and positive but ALSO loves folklore and (what other people consider) creepy things! I’ve always been drawn to the macabre, I practice and believe in magic, and it just so happens that my second biggest passion is Vampires (among other supernatural beings and lore!)

Other characters that fall into this category are Japan, Belarus, Ukraine, and Belgium! BIG emphasis on Belgium she’s my favorite hetalia lady!! I used to have a Belgium roleplay account on twitter (before it became confusing 🥹) so if any of you remember waffle mun… hi… that’s me🫶

💛- OKAY!!! A friendship that doesn’t exist in canon but I want to see… I might be biased here, and also I don’t think???? It’s happened in canon??? But they have interacted!! It’s..!!!!! (Drumroll)

Finland and Italy!!!! I think these two would get along so well and I’m biased because they’re my favorite characters (in the ‘im just like them’ category) Finland and Italy are both bright and cheery and sweet! Their kindness would fill the whole room up! But, I also see them as two very anxious people (IM PROJECTING AAAAH) I usually portray Finland with OCD, as I’ve been coping with my own OCD after coming off of anxiety medicine. And in the same vein, I’ve always portrayed Italy as an extrovert who is also socially anxious (and sometimes socially unaware.) I think these two could help each other in moments of stress, as I’ve always noticed I forget my anxiety when I see a loved one in trouble! The need to help people you care about almost always overrides fear, and I think their friendship would be beneficial to both of them!

(Also another friendship I’d love to see is Canada and Italy, but I could dedicate a whole post to that BAHAH)

🪞- YES! I ACTUALLY HAVE BEEN MEANING TO TALK ABOUT THIS!!! Also, heads up, this is gonna get a bit personal!!

It’s no secret Finland is my favorite character! And that’s for a multitude of reasons. But I actually first got very attached to him because of how he was physically portrayed. He’s short, chubby, rounded. I used to be very chubby because medicine made me gain a lot of weight (the same anxiety medicine I mentioned I got off of!) Well, last month actually marked a year of being off it, and within that year, I lost all the weight I gained (45 pounds!) Of course, this also was because I started exercising a bit more and stuff!! But all in all, I’m very proud of how far I’ve come and I love how I look!

All of this is to say, I give Finland my body type. While I am short and slim, I’m by no means a twig! My portrayal of Finland still has a soft tummy and rounded face and thicker arms and thighs! It’s mostly my height I give him, making him the second shortest Nordic, but even then… he’s still taller than me 🥹 (I’m 5’2” / 158 cm for reference!!) I know a lot of people portray Finland as chubbier/fatter and let me tell you THAT IS AMAZING AND CORRECT AND BEAUTIFUL!!!!! I LOVE CHUBBY FINLAND TO THE DAY I DIE!!!!!!! The only reason I give him my body type as I grow and change is just for the simple fact that I am very attached to him! I see myself when I look at him, which probably sounds really silly! But these stupid hetalia characters have been with me at my worst moments, have been with me through hospital visits, and they give me a lot to look forward to!

WOW THESE ANSWERS GOT DEEPER THAN I ANTICIPATED!!! ANYWAYS!! THANK YOU FOR INDULGING ME!!! 🥹🫶

#hetalia #hetalia headcanons #hetalia fandom #hetalia world stars #hws romania #hws italy #hws finland

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quibbs126 · 6 months ago

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And now I have made a part 3 of the human Cookies, this time featuring the Legendaries

You know I’m noticing that recently I’ve been drawing a lot more. I mean I’ve drawn 3 pieces in the last two days and I drew stuff last week. Seems my medication is at least helping something, even if it’s not me doing actual work to get my life together like my parents hoped. But hey, it personally makes me happy I’m drawing more, so it’s at least somewhat of a win

I think I was spurred on to do this one because I was playing around with the Mii maker on my 3DS, and I was making Cookies and started making the Legendaries

I will say, the Legendaries are probably some of the more difficult characters to translate into normal humans, since their designs are more fantastical. Almost all of their hair is made of something not normal, like fire, grass or water, so I have to try and make it at least semi-cohesive. It also means a lot of hair dye

I admit, while Wind Archer doesn’t look terrible, he does look very boring, like a generic guy. But frankly I just don’t see him using hair dye, or getting a lot of piercings. He doesn’t feel like someone who would to me, and so he looks boring

On the subject of designs I’m not satisfied with, I think Sugar Swan came out the worst. I just legit didn’t know what to do with her design. I’m a proponent of short haired Sugar Swan, so I gave her that, but I don’t think it turned out the best. I also wasn’t sure how to incorporate all the wings and swan thing on her head. I got that but it’s not that great

Originally in Sugar Swan’s spot was Millennial Tree, but he wasn’t turning out great so I tried doing Sugar Swan in his spot. Maybe that spot was just cursed or something

I think my personal favorite of the bunch is Sea Fairy, I think she turned out fun. Honestly I can see her going either way with the hair dye, so might as well just give her the blue. The buzz cut thing was actually something I got from another Sea Fairy design that I really like. I was debating between her having black or dirty blonde hair, but I eventually settled on the blonde

Moonlight and Stardust were pretty fun. With Stardust, I wasn’t sure whether I should have him dye his whole hair blue or have him bleach the front of his hair. I asked on Discord and they said the latter, so that’s what I did. But also note, I realized that if I were to try and give him bleached front and also potentially blue tips, he would have had Yugi Moto anime hair, but just flattened down instead of all spiky. Like I’ve seen people draw Yugi with hair similar to it

I wasn’t really feeling it after Sugar Swan’s failed design, but Fire Spirit got my mojo back, I think he turned out good. And with that I was able to make a Millennial Tree design I liked a lot more (while also looking at someone else’s interpretation of his design and deciding to use locs as well). Maybe not the best but not as bad as it was before

I kind of threw in Frost Queen because last spot and also she is an elemental Legendary. With her, instead of her hair being dyed, it’s supposed to be that her hair has actually turned white from either stress or age, with a tiny bit of her blonde still there at the ends. Don’t know why I picked blonde other than light color though

In my head while I was drawing, I was trying to come up with human things for them to do, but I really only got as far as the Dessert guys and the Wizard guys

Moonlight is the heiress of the “Wizard’s” estate, and she lives there and is the self proclaimed custodian. I’m not really sure what Blueberry Pie and Sugar Glass are doing there, but they’re probably also here. I also don’t know what the estate really is, I just have the idea that it’s a big place that the “Wizards” used as a research place, until they just stopped using it or disbanded or died or something. Stardust meanwhile is either Moonlight’s half brother she didn’t know about, or they’re full siblings who were orphaned and then separated at a young age via the foster care system. Stardust’s journey there would be him learning of his sister and her location and then I suppose hitchhiking his way there until he arrived

Meanwhile, Sugar Swan owns this wildlife preserve, which is the Dessert Paradise (probably goes by another name but I can see “Paradise” still being in the name), meanwhile the Dessert guardians, including Wind Archer, are the other caretakers that manage and guard the preserve. Are they also Sugar Swan’s kids? Maybe, I don’t know. Wind Archer probably is though, and maybe Millie’s his dad, I’m not sure

Frost Queen I think is just an accomplished doctor who lives in a more remote area and takes care of patients with a rare condition that she specializes in the treatment of (and also contracted herself when she was younger). She also just kind of dresses like that I guess

Genuinely I don’t know what Fire Spirit does, he might just be like, Pitaya’s adopted son or works under Pitaya, I don’t know. I can’t see him with much of a job

I imagine Sea Fairy has some sort of job (that she might neglect), but I have no clue what that job would be, since it presumably impacts both Black Pearl and Abyss Monarch in some big way, so like, running an aquarium might be too low stakes. Her crush on Moonlight might be something like she met this cute astronomer one time at some sort of astronomy conference or something, but she doesn’t know where she lives and so doesn’t know how to meet her again. Moonlight also thought she was cute, but again, doesn’t know where she lives

And yeah, I think that’s about it. I hope you enjoy these designs

#cookie run #legendary cookies #wind archer cookie #sea fairy cookie #moonlight cookie #stardust cookie #sugar swan cookie #fire spirit cookie #millennial tree cookie #frost queen cookie #human cookies #my art

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yajuachi · 8 months ago

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So I’m reading Pandora Hearts seriously this time and hopefully i don’t decide to take a break only for that break to be indefinitely long because i have new content anxiety and get scared when i enjoy things, ( as seems to happen with many things i start.. ) But anyways wow these bitches are all so damn cute, I love Alice Oz and Gil so much. I love Gil and Alice’s bickering and, i can tell they will definitely get to care about each other a lot in the near future. I always find it really sweet observing how much affection is displayed between Jun Mochizuki’s characters. And its subtle and not always made a fuss about but i notice it and it makes them all feel that much more real and connected to each other. Silly things like Gil putting his hat on Oz or Sharon drying Gil’s hair is important to me and i appreciate that sort of subtle relationship building especially when i know I’m in for a series with a bunch of characters and interactions. If i had to pick a favorite so far, Break is definitely stealing the show as the absurd and morally questionable weirdo. He’s insensitive as hell and i love it, very old man of him. And despite his coercing i trust him simply because he’s a very honest manipulator. He’s a watch it play out and explain later kind of guy cause it would ruin the fun otherwise, he is the ¿mad hatter?…after all so he’s chaos for the sake of it. Alice and Oz are tied for now but i have a feeling Alice is gonna win my heart. Its the impression of a girl who really needs a hug and i have a soft spot for that sort of destructive loneliness i sense in her. Oz intrigues me to no end because he’s trying to be the typical optimistic smiley main character except he’s just a little more aware than i’m used to seeing and i love it. It’s the kind of attitude that’s not completely fitting for the world circumstances and even tho its used to liven up the mood it fails to convince you or the other characters. I don’t get the sense that he’s like that for other people as much as it’s for himself. His optimism is disturbing to everyone and that’s something i love to see be leaned into for a main character. “I’m curious about what it was that warped you so,”. I know there’s going to be a lot to him and i am not ready. As for Gilbert, he is so incredibly sweet that it almost guarantees immense suffering in his future. If someone has not drawn him bargaining gum with Alice and Oz like Aki from csm i might have to because they’re both in the big brother club to me. Or Oz might even be the gum dealer just to get the two to stop fighting lol.

Thats enough for now and I’m really enjoying everything so far, i will update again when something rattles me. I’ve started avoiding fan content like the plague and its real hard considering how many ph artists i’ve followed beforehand. Now that i have context for things spoilers are harder to fly over my head. There’s a lot I’ve had spoiled since forever and am aware of, just not in how its applied in the story. I’m the worst spoiler dodger ever because i convince myself i don’t care until it’s something i care about but that’s on me, and i usually enjoy stuff regardless.

#pandora hearts #pandora hearts reading #thoughts #spoilers #no further spoilers #my list of messed up blondes is getting updated with this one huh

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rallamajoop · 8 months ago

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Twist my arm, why don’t you? XD Well, I did tell you guys to ask!

What the hell, let’s open this one by sharing a few pics from a Sims household created by a good friend of mine, made up of Heisenberg (mad scientist), Mia (secret agent) and Ethan (just really wants to be a dad). The three of them immediately became the most delightful sims-land trainwreck imaginable.

Their neighbourhood is full of werewolves, because you can do that in the Sims. Ethan’s apparently made friends with some of them. But because this is Sims-land, when he and Mia tried to have a romantic dinner together, it ended with Ethan passed out on the kitchen floor while Mia set herself on fire, with Heisenberg running in in his underwear with some passing hippie, and being no help whatsoever. Aren’t Sims wonderful?

Beyond the land of the Sims, though… I mean, let’s be honest, my desire for mithanberg comes from how I ship both Ethan/Heisenberg and Ethan/Mia, and refuse to choose between them. I could see it working either as a proper OT3, or a poly arrangement where Ethan’s involved with both of them, but Mia and Heisenberg aren’t involved with each other (on which note, I also ship the hell out of Mia/Zoe, so Mia is not missing out here).

For the few really mithanberg-ish things I’ve ever posted so far, Follow Me Home is headed for the former category, whereas that other one is more likely headed for the latter. Going for the proper-OT3 option does come with the extra hurdle of trying to figure out how Mia/Heisenberg would work when they’ve never even met in canon, but I am fully up for the challenge.

But there’s way more to this ship for me than just the convenience of ‘why not both’. Seriously, wintersberg fic is missing out on so much by writing Mia off so quickly.

For one, Ethan’s somewhat-complicated relationship with Mia is the best evidence you could ask for that Ethan might actually be up for getting involved with someone as fucked up as Heisenberg (or even Chris, if you’re more into winterfield). Mia has canonically lied to Ethan, (accidentally) drawn him into mortal danger, and (while possessed) sliced off his hand with a chainsaw. Ethan’s still with her in RE8, so clearly he’s willing to forgive.

Fig 1: Apparently not a dealbreaker!

Heisenberg, meanwhile, opens their relationship by stabbing Ethan with a fucking spear-headed fencepost, chains him up, drags him off be put on trial, and ‘rescues’ him only by throwing him into a gauntlet of lycans and spike traps. He later sends Ethan through the second gauntlet that is the Stronghold, before finally trying to make a deal with him. When Ethan refuses, Heisenberg throws him to a chainsaw-propeller-faced monstrosity made of engine parts sewed onto a corpse.

Fig 2: Also not a dealbreaker?

I will make some excuses for Heisenberg, given that he’s been trapped in a repressive cult for decades and seems to have internalised a lot of bullshit about the strong destroying the weak, but holy shit is this guy red flag city (and I love it). And that’s not even touching on all the violent bullshit Chris pulls in this game. You may also note that neither Heisenberg or Chris have Mia’s convenient mind-control or replaced-by-a-shapeshifter excuse for their worst behaviour.

Ethan asks for none of the madness all these maniacs have injected into his life, but goddamn, does he learn to roll with it and come back swinging. Whether or not you assume Ethan ever found out the truth about Mia’s past, she offers us some solid proof that Ethan’s ‘type’ does not exclude covert special agents with a talent for violence, who’ve spent years working full-time for evil bioweapons manufacturers. Ethan may not be ready to admit to himself that he’s got a thing for dangerous people, and Mia may be a lot better at pretending to be normal than Heisenberg, but the fact Ethan’s still with her could say a lot.

Basically, if you wanna ship Ethan with either of these other guys, Mia Winters is the best ally you could ask for!

There are other problems with writing off Mia too quickly so you can ship Ethan with someone else, one being that it makes Ethan look like, well, kind of a psychopath. Fic after fic presents him as the kind of guy who can witness the mother of his child being brutally murdered in front of him, and within a matter of hours, he’s apparently realised he was never that happy with her anyway, so it’s just fine if he’s fucking some other dude. The fact the ‘Mia’ people are so quick to dismiss as an abusive bitch wasn’t even the real Mia apparently doesn’t necessitate any sort or reexamination. It’s basically a meme at this point.

Thing is, even if his relationship with the real Mia was unhealthy, you just aren’t going to make a guy like Ethan process that within hours of watching her fucking assassination. Try and make him face it, and you’ll push him straight into defensiveness. Even at the best of times, Ethan’s just not the kind of guy who could leave the mother of his child without a fuckload of heartache and a few rounds of ‘what does this say about me’ at the very least (and Mia loves Ethan far too much to leave him, except in a misguided attempt to protect him). Even if you're writing an AU where Mia really does die (rather than just suffering the usual round of character assassination), at least let that poor boy ANGST about it! C’mon, people – that’s the juicy stuff!

Of course, the real problem fans are grappling with here is that in the current fandom climate, the idea that Ethan would willingly hook up with a guy who stabbed him in the gut that morning is still somehow more palatable than having to consider that Ethan might be capable of being (gasp!) less than completely faithful to a partner who doesn’t deserve it. So it’s not enough that he thinks Mia’s dead, she’s also got to be a horrible person and a complete non-entity who can be forgotten as quickly as we’ve brought her up, just to get her out of the way – as if that somehow makes Ethan look better.

People are so eager to get rid of Mia that I have legit read multiple different fics where, even after being mysteriously reborn post-game via horrific mould-magic, somehow one of the very first things Ethan wants to talk about afterwards is divorcing his wife. Can we not even give the poor guy a single scene to have a proper existential crisis over not being human anymore before finding a woman to blame for all his problems?

Fig 3: Ethan's actual thoughts on his wife right before his death

On the greater subject of that whole inconvenient marriage poor Ethan's saddled with, I can only say ‒ again ‒ c’mon, people, that’s the juicy stuff! A good story needs conflict, and Ethan having had this weird hook-up with/confusing attraction to an incredibly creepy guy in the middle of an incredibly confusing day and while he thought his wife was dead, only to later discover that she’s alive? GOLD.

You don’t even necessarily have to wrap it all back around to a happy OT3 scenario. An Ethan who's struggling with Mia’s (actual) death, or even the realisation that he truly can’t deal with all her lies, all while telling himself Heisenberg’s just a rebound fling that doesn’t mean anything – that’s all the angst and pathos and opportunities for filthy smut you could ever ask for! Lean into it! Heck, the Duke tells Ethan outright that he can’t go back to his old life anymore – you could have Ethan decide his own status as a mould-creature makes him too dangerous to go back to Mia and Rose. More angst, more drama, more actual material for narrative conflict!

tl;dr: Write Mia off in a sentence, and not only have you made Ethan look like an asshole, you’ve made your story boring. And thus (thank you for bearing with me) ends my tangent about The State of Wintersberg Fandom, and why Mia deserves more love (from Ethan at least, even if the author can't completely bring themselves to join in).

Getting back to the real topic here: if you are up for letting your resolution involve an OT3 scenario, you’ve got some great options to play with.

Mia bossing the other two around is certainly an angle you could go for, but I think I’d prefer watching Mia and Heisenberg working together to drive Ethan out of his mind (not that options like these are ever mutually exclusive, mind!) But I’m broadly more interested in how you get these three together than what it would look like once they get there. In other words, it’s time to talk Mia and Heisenberg.

As I touched on above, these two do have more in common than it might look at a glance. They’ve both been infected by the mould, they’ve both spent years (or even decades) trapped in dysfunctional, cult-like, mould-controlled families, and had to bottle themselves up and hide behind a persona while working for truly terrible people. They’ve both done some truly terrible stuff themselves, probably watched even worse happen to other innocent people, and presumably internalised some pretty awful excuses for themselves along the way. They’re also both madly in love with Ethan (what, is anyone into wintersberg going to argue with me on that one?) In short, there is no lack of stuff for these two to bond over and find common ground.

I can’t see Mia being too hard to convince if Ethan does want to try an open relationship either. Heck, the first thing we ever see from Mia involves sending Ethan a message where she tries to let him go, because she doesn’t think she’s making it back alive. Her guilt throughout RE7 is palpable, and how much she loves Ethan is the same. I don’t think it’s any stretch to say Mia would be willing to contemplate almost anything if it would make Ethan happy (and frankly, she’s pulled enough shit herself in this relationship that she doesn’t get to get judgy anyhow).

That said, I do think she’d have reasonable concerns about Ethan’s new boyfriend being someone like Heisenberg, but then, he’s hardly any more dangerous than what Mia’s brought to the table herself. If anything, your bigger obstacle would be convincing Ethan that he’s sure enough about whatever’s going on with Heisenberg to admit it at all. But then, I don’t think getting Mia and Heisenberg involved with each other too would be too difficult either.

It doesn’t hurt that Mia has a lot of the same characteristics that probably draw Heisenberg to Ethan: a badass survivor, tough and determined enough to be a little sassy even in the face of danger, but still very vulnerably human underneath. That vulnerable side of Mia is a very important part of her to me – it’s the main aspect in play in the longest thing I’ve (yet) posted with any Mia/Heisenberg interaction, where she’s locked up in Miranda’s lab, and has no good reason to trust him. There’s nothing openly shippy going on in that story, though Heisenberg makes no bones about what he wants with her husband. I’m not sure exactly where things are headed in that universe, but you know there’s drama coming on in that front.

The main point there is that Mia’s not too badass to be intimated by Heisenberg, especially when she’s got her back up against the wall. Take them out of the village, though, and I can see Mia being a much tougher nut to crack.

Which is mostly my way of leading into mentioning that the longest thing I’ve written between them that I haven’t posted yet basically flips the previous scenario: instead of Heisenberg coming to tell Mia he’s after her husband, now it’s Mia coming to tell him she knows what he’s after, and he's about to receive some serious grilling about his intentions. What I realised in writing it was that somewhere in the middle of this conversation, Heisenberg goes from seeing Mia as an obstacle between him and Ethan to seeing her as a potential bonus. He’s impressed with her gall and starting to look at her in a whole new light. This is one ficbit that's definitely going places ‒ only problem being the usual one: I’ve still got to write the rest of the damn fic to get to that scene. (I’m working on it! But you know how it goes.)

That isn’t the only way I can see you getting the three of them together, of course. One interesting alternate possibility might be to suggest that Mia and Heisenberg have met before. Mia seems to have met Miranda (they’ve been photographed together, at least), and it’s not completely beyond the realms of possibility that Miranda might have brought along an ‘assistant’ (slash-bodyguard-slash-whatever else she thinks he’s useful for). And if she’s going to bring any of her ‘children’, Heisenberg is by far the best qualified to pass as normal, hilarious as that should be.

I don’t imagine either Heisenberg of Mia would be eager to admit any of their personal reservations about their respective ‘bosses’ to each other, meeting under circumstances like that. But the possibilities are intriguing nonetheless.

For complete AU territory, however, I don’t think you could find a better start point for an Ethan/Mia/Heisenberg scenario than to introduce Heisenberg as Mia’s ex. He’d be back in her life for Reasons, and Ethan would naturally be more than a little threatened by this huge, hot guy with history with his wife, little realising that Heisenberg’s as interested in Ethan as he is in rekindling anything with her.

Or for doing the whole thing on easy-mode, suppose Mia and Ethan have always been in an open relationship from the start – or that they’ve already had that conversation because Mia’s also in love with Zoe (I meant it when I said I ship them too!) Doesn’t mean there’s no angst or drama potential for Ethan getting involved with Heisenberg: he’s still going to be questioning what’s wrong with him that this guy is turning his crank, or whether it’s remotely appropriate for him to be seeing someone new while he’s got a six-month-old daughter at home. But if nothing else, I can promise you that having a third person around to babysit while Ethan’s ‘busy’ could only do good things for his sex life at this point. ;D

So, yeah – those would be My Thoughts On Mithanberg in a nutshell (or possibly more of a nut bowl, I can never resist the urge turn out a full essay on this stuff). If you’ve got any interest in writing mithanberg yourself, please do consider all these ideas free to a good home! Treating Mia better makes Ethan/Heisenberg better for me, and all those possibilities are right there to explore.

But to finish, have some more random Sims!

There are many more of these if anyone wants to see them, though most are less G-rated ‒ the friend running this household has installed ALL of the porn mods to enhance this little trainwreck.

(Also, before I'm done, just throwing a quick tag at @macgyvertape, since I had to screenshot their ask rather than reply 'officially' so I could reply to the both of them at once.)

#mithanberg #wintersberg #mithan #Ethan Winters #Karl Heisenberg #Mia Winters #Resident Evil Village #asks #meta #LetThatBoyAngst!#Mia Winters week

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inflatingnblue · 10 days ago

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worried anon here again, but off anon this time bc fuck it, and also if we can’t be open about shit on our kink blogs, where can we??? 💜

I’ve felt and seen how seductive an ED can be; besides my own history of disordered eating and dysmorphia, the love of my life struggles with pretty serious anorexia, and it kills me to watch her be drawn back in again and again by this terrible thing that our culture only perpetuates, even now that she’s years into recovery. When she was at her worst, when she had almost convinced herself that the ED was “working,” she was so miserable and exhausted and listless and angry all the time, and she still hated her body to the point of suicidality. The weight she lost didn’t fix any of it, but it did make her incredibly hard to be around and made her life feel so small that she didn’t want to live it anymore. It makes me sick that the world we live in would rather we hurt and hate ourselves over and over again, systematically denying ourselves the nutrients we need to live, in order to make us think we’re doing right by our bodies and that people will think we’re beautiful. I’m sure you’ve heard all this kind of thing before, just as my fiancée has, from therapists and partners and friends and family and doctors, but I know from my experience that it’s easier to actually start to hear it when you’re not also exposing yourself to pro-ED voices. When I was in high school and at my most mentally ill, I had a whole secret blog where I posted and reblogged self-harm content, so I genuinely do get how that can make you feel less alone. When you’re at your lowest, the most important thing is to not isolate yourself, even if that means you’re in some darker online spaces. Obviously you can and should like whatever posts you want on here, and me and your other followers can easily protect ourselves by blocking pro-ana tags — I guess I just wanted you to know that someone who doesn’t even know you is genuinely worried about you, and hates to see you unable to see how beautiful and valuable you are.

I get the relapsing stuff too; I hadn’t restricted in almost 10 years, but then last December I went through some major life/career/medication changes and gained like 30 lbs in a couple of months, and all the ED and SH voices came right back. The best things I’ve done for myself since then are the simple ones: 1) remind myself that if it was my fiancée feeling this way I would be endlessly telling her how beautiful she is, 2) try to remember that gaining weight isn’t a moral or health failure and is actually a natural part of getting older, and 3) buy myself some cute new underwear and comfy new pants so I didn’t feel horrible every time I tried to get dressed for the day. It’s taken months, and in the mean time I got a new job, this weird old kink of mine resurfaced (possibly as a coping mechanism? idk man, the human brain is wild), and I yanked myself back into a healthier relationship with food and mirrors, but it was and continues to be fucking HARD.

Long story not-so-short, I am really proud of you for making it this far. I am proud of you for being here, and I am proud of every time you push back against those voices, alluring as they might be. Recovery is the toughest, weirdest thing, but it is so worth it. I hope your husband is loving on you lots, I hope you had a wonderful Halloween looking adorable in your Violet costume, and I hope you’ll reach out if you ever need someone to talk to. I’m leaving this as an ask bc I don’t wanna risk making you feel uncomfortable, but feel free to DM me instead of posting/answering it publicly if you’d rather.

💜💜💜

Hello Not So Anon Anymore,

I appreciate you reaching out again and for sharing some of your and your fiancee's stories. One thing I find helpful is hearing about other people's experiences, even if it's not ED related. Hearing how someone has fought and struggled and conquered is good inspiration that maybe not all is lost.

To be honest, I was taken aback by your first ask. When I started reading I was like this person is leaving a compliment, which took a left turn. Not a bad left turn, just an unexpected one. It made me face what I had been doing and it was a good example of how personal struggles don't only affect you.

Oof, I totally understand that crankiness and feeling irritated. I've snapped at people when not meaning to. When you've got a constant stream of thoughts bombarding you it can be easy to lose it, not that it's okay to do so.

Like you said isolation is no bueno. Thinking about my relapse, I did isolate. I'd think maybe I can reach out to a friend, but then I'd stop myself. They've got a lot going on and it always seems like something is wrong when I connect with them, how annoying of me, what a burden. I noticed that no one reached out to me. Not that I was expecting anyone to reach out, but usually friendships go both ways. Both people contact each other and no one did. My ED was like "see, they don't even like you." And that only made the isolation worse.

I also didn't talk to my husband because he had a lot going on and I didn't want to him to try to impede my "progress." Of course I finally told him after several months. He was upset because I wasn't talking to anyone about it, and I don't blame him for feeling that way. Who wouldn't want their significant other to be healthy?

The interesting thing is I was big and I was experiencing symptoms that someone would assume an underweight person faced. I was lightheaded a lot. There were times I wasn't near anything to hold on to so I would crouch to the floor. (I even had a dream of it happening out in public. Tried to will myself to keep walking, but eventually crouched down because I didn't want to fall.) I've never been that lightheaded ever, but I didn't lose much weight when I was younger which is why I never experienced that before. I was scared that my symptoms were increasing in frequency, but at the same time it was a sign that it was "working." I eventually fainted one night. I've never fainted and it was so scary. I didn't even know I had fainted when I first woke up. I literally thought I had somehow fallen out of bed. My memory came back quickly and I couldn't believe I had fainted. Me, overweight, had fainted? I always associated that with those who were underweight, who were actually sick, who actually looked the part of an anorexic. But something that the general population don't seem understand is that it doesn't matter your weight or size - EDs don't discriminate. Starving is starving, regardless of size the body needs energy and when you deplete it the body will respond like a car without gas. It will breakdown.

Also, I totally agree that paying more attention to the bloating and such is a coping mechanism. In a way I think I'm trying to beat "it" first. Like making fun of myself first before someone else can. Making myself big before recovery or my lipedema can. I wish this wasn't such a mind fuck.

I really appreciate your kind words of encouragement. Being vulnerable is challenging and it's brave you decided to not be Anon this time. And same - reach out to talk, even if you'd like to unpack what's going on with your fiancee. I really hope everything works out for you both. 💙

Thanks again.

#ed relatable #ed recovery #eating disoder recovery #recovery #inflatingnblue

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