#or explain the intricacies of something i barely understand.

[apocalypticdemon]

I am so beyond ready to quit this job. Wednesday cannot come fast enough.

[esote-rika]

to talk is to bare | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Category: hurt/comfort, fluff Summary: three times you've never felt enough for Spencer Reid—and the three times he rectified it immediately Content: insecure reader, written with early s2 Spencer in mind (glasses!Spencer rawr), reader wears makeup, implied bad relationships in the past, Spencer is just a sweetheart Word count: 2.4k A/N: entry for #lovers1kevent (congrats @mggslover muah) - the lyric prompt for this is “And I knew how you took your coffee and your favorite songs by heart, I read all of your (self help) books so you'd think that I was smart” from enough for you by Olivia Rodrigo. This was supposed to just be pure angst but apparently, I can't write this man as anything other than the perfect boyfriend.

“Well, actually, Dostoevsky intended the book to be a critique on certain schools of thoughts and ideologies, namely...”

You stare at your boyfriend, nodding along as he explains the intricacies and historical context of Notes from the Underground to you. His smile is kind and excited when he stops, looking at you expectantly.

“Right.” the smile on your face isn't forced, per se, but neither does it reach your eyes. How many times has it happened this month? It isn’t that you’re keeping count of all the times he’s corrected you—truthfully, you can’t, because you’ve lost count. And that’s the crux of the issue, isn’t it? The fact that you can’t even keep track of his corrections anymore, because he does it all the time. 

You remind yourself he's not doing this to deliberately make you feel stupid, your memory immediately calling forth all the times you've seen him correct other people — his teammates, the cashier at your favorite bookstore, a random person in the park. It's never pointed, nor is the act laced with anything but genuine, loving desire to share his knowledge. He's not like the men you've had to deal with in the past, the ones who jump at every opportunity to show off that they know more than you, that they're correct and you're wrong.

But this is Spencer. Sweet, wholly inexperienced, awkward. Half the time, he doesn't know how he comes across, and you've been dating him long enough to understand that. 

No, his corrections aren’t the crux of the issue. In fact, it isn’t even him. It’s you, and all the treacherous thoughts running through your mind. This damn book you’d read because you saw a dog eared copy in his satchel one day, pushing through pages upon pages of dense material just to catch up and relate with him, only to still come up short and have yourself be corrected.

The sting is still there, lingering and acrid in the back of your tongue. You cannot pinpoint it yet, this But it's Spencer Reid, so you grit your teeth and remind yourself not to take it personally. The words slip out easily. You could almost believe they aren’t lies. “Thank you for letting me know.”

The beam on his face is a reminder that not everyone is as patient, that he's come to expect looks that range from baffled to downright annoyed. Nobody else allows him free reign to talk like this, long winded rambles that get nipped at the bud with a sharp Reid. He smiles, beams at you, and this time the smile on your lips finally reaches your eyes.

“So what did I get wrong?”

“You weren’t wrong,” he’s pulling you in as he answers, lips finding the underside of your jaw and the bitterness dissipates, sweetens into something that makes your toes curl, “Just a little inaccurate.”

Your body melts into him easily. “You don't have to sugarcoat with me.”

“I'm not, it's literature. You can interpret it however you want, I just thought knowing the rest of the context would help you with your opinion.” he's kissing down your neck, breaths ghosting over your skin as he continues to talk, and you sink into his arms, forgetting why you were even feeling annoyed in the first place.

You’re not sure if you like the color you’ve put to make your cheeks flush. It's always been a point of contention in the past, your exes saying you don't put enough effort in, so this time with Spencer, you try. Even though you're not the best at it, even though you feel a little foolish because it seems a little too bright despite all of your hurried attempts to blend it a little more. But it’s too late to change now. You don’t want to go through the whole deal of reapplying your makeup because that would mean running late, so you ignore it and head to the cafe quickly. 

Spencer isn't there yet. You order your drinks, his black and into which you dump an exorbitant amount of sugar. Memorization is his thing, but you've come to learn a thing or two about him in the time you two are dating.

He's a few minutes late, and when he arrives, Spencer’s eyes lock on you. Or, more specifically, your cheeks.

“That bad?” you tease, standing from your seat and leaning over for a kiss. 

“You don’t have the coloring for that shade of red.”

Your brow knits as you pull away. Attempting to hide the flood of insecurity that swept through your chest, you let out a chuckle. Soft, shaky, and accompanied with a confused, “What?”

“It makes your cheeks look a little inflamed.”

“Oh.” 

Regret fills your chest, settling in your lungs until it’s difficult to breathe. You should have trusted your instincts and scrubbed the makeup off. Shouldn’t have tried something new on the one day the two of you can go out. He’s probably embarrassed by you. How silly, being a full grown woman wearing makeup bordering on clownish. 

He must have caught the hurt in your voice, the way your body deflates because he’s quick to remedy. “Hey, what’s that look for?”

It should embarrass you, the speed at which he picks up on your emotions. But he’s a profiler after all, he’s specifically trained for this, but sometimes you wish he doesn’t use it against you. Gentle hands cup your face. Cold hands, perpetually so until you’ve started keeping them between yours. They tilt your head up. 

“Talk to me.” 

“It’s stupid.”

“Nothing you say is ever stupid.”

You smile, “No, I think we both know that’s a lie.”

He relents. He knows you’re right; there are moments where you don’t make sense. “Not stupid, just…” his eyes roam your face while he searches for the word to use as compromise, as though he’ll find it tucked somewhere in your pretty features, “Lapses in discernment.”

You roll your eyes at his fancy vernacular, the attempt to soothe his mistake. “I think I prefer the layman’s term.” 

Spencer laughs sheepishly, then presses his lips to your forehead, “I’m never using that to describe you.” he murmurs against your skin, and then, “I'm sorry.”

Antarctica could melt from the warmth in your chest.  “You don't even know what you're apologizing for.”

“I upset you. That's reason enough.”

You sigh, pulling him to join you on the plush booth seat you'd managed to secure for your date. “Well, there's nothing to forgive.”

He accepts the coffee you hand him, corners of his mouth curved in a gentle smile. He sips, and you stew in silence, knowing that you shouldn't be leaving him guessing like this. He'd want to know, you can tell by the way he's studying you, the way he wants to examine and turn over your thoughts and reactions like he does with everything else in his life. But he waits, lets you open up if you so wish.

God, he's perfect.

“I was just having second thoughts about my makeup,” you murmur finally, “And you kind of confirmed it. I told you it's stupid.”

“Not stupid at all. I'm sorry,” you wonder if he takes his coffee sweet to match his personality, this asshole, “It was an insensitive comment. And for what it's worth, you look beautiful regardless.”

“Inflamed cheeks and all?” 

He laughs, pulling you to his side, lips firmly planted on your cheek “Inflamed cheeks and all.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have worn the blush after all; you're sure he's making you flush scarlet just by being such a sweetheart.

“Oh Spencer knows her.” the teasing tone in Derek Morgan’s voice normally makes you smile, but something about his tone makes you pause. You stare at the TV, where a new show is running, eyes zeroed in on the blonde actress.

“Spencer knows her?”

“Knew,” your boyfriend supplies, “Very briefly.”

Derek Morgan gives him a knowing smirk that has your stomach churning all the way to the end of the night, when you’re getting ready for bed.

You're in his apartment, in an old pair of his plaid pajamas and a t-shirt that fits you surprisingly well. It always makes you smile, his slight frame, the way you could easily steal his clothes and they wouldn't dwarf you too much. But tonight, Derek's words ring over and over again, bringing forth the image of her—Lila Archer, dazzling, perfectly curvy, an actress on a popular TV series… and apparently, a friend of his. You aren't really sure where this jealousy is coming from. He’s a trustworthy man, and you know he loves you. Still, the image of the beautiful actress persists, even as you climb into bed with him.

He's reading as he usually is, the low lamplight casting shadows over the sharp planes of his face. Without even looking, he shifts the book to his other hand, freeing up an arm to draw you to his body. It's easy, quiet, his heartbeat fluttering beneath your ear as you rest your head on his chest. The exact opposite of your own heartbeat right now.

“What's on your mind?” 

“Nothing.” It should be a sin, the way you keep denying your feelings. But it's just so silly, and you're a grown woman. Jealousy and insecurity shouldn't be consuming you like this, and yet…

“Please don't lie to me,” his fingers are in your hair, tangling deep into the strands and seeking for your scalp. They’re soothing and rhythmic upon contact, lulling your body into a sense of relaxation even though your heart still hammers at your chest.

“Why do you say that?”

“You usually remind me to use the overhead lights when I read.” fingers putting pressure on your scalp, traveling to your temple. He has you in the palm of his hands, “You didn't do that tonight. And your heartbeat's going at an abnormally high rate, even though I'm quite certain you didn't do anything strenuous before coming to bed. What's going on?” 

Damn him and his attention to detail, and the way he’'s learned your little quirks and oddities. He puts down his book and you turn your face to hide into his chest.

You chew on your bottom lip, reminding youself that this is Spencer, he wouldn't judge. “How’d you know her?” your voice is muffled against his shirt, “Lila.”

“We had a case in Los Angeles.” he pauses, as if considering if he should say more. Right. Confidentiality. You nod, accepting his answer.

“Must have been a high profile one then,” you muse, “Or were you just hanging around Hollywood studios with Derek?” It’s an unfair statement, but you can’t help it.

“No, no, it wasn’t like that.” You look back up at him and oh there’s guilt swimming in pools of honey eyes. “I mean, we kissed once, but I swear, nothing beyond that.”

You exhale. A kiss. He's kissed a TV starlet. 

This shouldn’t even be an issue. This is before you were even in the picture after all. It’s not fair to uphold him to some weird standard. You certainly had relationships before him. But none of them had been as stunning as Lila Archer. And if he could have Lila Archer, then what is he doing with you? 

“Hey,” his other hand comes to stroke your cheek, the soft pad of his thumb rubbing small, soothing circles, “Talk to me.”

It's a difficult thing, being mature and communicating when you just want to stew, but god he's so good, you can't punish him for this, for anything. “I thought you said I was your first girlfriend?” you say instead, teasing him.

“You are, but you know, I’ve kissed before, and been on dates—”

“With Lila?”

“No, with JJ.”

Oh.

“JJ?”

JJ? His lovely, warm spring day beauty coworker JJ? He went on a date with her? And kissed Lila Archer. It’s almost ridiculous, thinking about the type of women he's had dalliances with—lithe, blonde, perfect, before he settled with you. 

“Yeah, I took her to a Redskins game,” he says, his hold on your face still light. There's room to move if you want to, space to pull away should you need it and god he's just so perfect.

“You have a type, huh?” it comes out unbidden, sharp but dulled by a bitter laugh.

“What do you mean?”

“With women,” you reply, trying to temper the snappy tone of your voice. It's not fair to lash out at him like this, you know that, yet you can't help it. It's habit at this point, a form of defense that your exes have all been too happy to participate, “I'm the outlier.”

And apparently, he's an outlier too because his voice grows even softer, eyes searching your face with an anxiety that fills you with guilt. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” you sigh, arm draping over his waist and hugging him tight. 

He returns the favor, tangling your legs together until you're a mess of limbs under his sheets. “Then what's wrong?”

“Sometimes I just feel like—like I'm not good enough to be dating you.” there it is, whispered into his chest, striking straight to his heart. “And now, knowing that you could have had all of these — these women who could pass for models—”

“Angel,” the way he says the nickname makes you hide even further into his chest. He closes his arms around you, holding you so tightly it's difficult to breathe, but that's okay. Let him fuse your bodies together, let his breaths be yours too, “That's not true, you know that's not true.”

“Isn't it? You're so — you. Intelligent, well decorated in academia, an an elite FBI unit…”

He laughs, “I’m also an endlessly annoying know it all, I failed my gun license exam more than once, I don't have abs—”

“You don't need abs,” you counter, fingers clutching on his shirt.

“Wouldn't you rather be with a guy with a six pack?”

“I'd rather be with you.”

He gently moves away from you, hands finding your face to make you look at him. “And I'd rather be with you.”

You pout, “You can't use my words against me, ‘s not fair.” 

He laughs again, leaning to capture your lips in the gentlest of kisses, “I want you, I chose you, and I adore you,” he's murmuring between each kiss, hands cradling your face, “And if you have these thoughts again, tell me, so I can keep reminding you just how much I love you.” 

➺ My masterlist | Event masterlist

➺ thank you so much for reading <3

[ozzgin]

Is it just me or can I imagine a yandere with a darling who’s immune system and possibly everything about them just screams weak and pathetic, BUT their darling is actually very strong mentally and has and will create the most fucked up, batshit crazy inventions from what used to be harmless to something that can help them escape and possibly destroy everything in its path.

But at the end of the day, they become sleepy koalas who hug whoever is near them and fall asleep :)

This could be a request or rant, whatever you can think of! I just wanted to see how different yandere writers would interpret this small imagination of mine <3

But as always, stay safe and take care! everyone needs a break some time to time~

Sorry, but the moment I read the Darling's description, I instantly thought of Dr. Finkelstein from Nightmare Before Christmas. You know, Sally's inventor. 😭 So let me quickly write this down while I'm in my Shelley vibes, because I like the idea a lot. With a little twist, if you don't mind. :)

Yandere! Monster x Inventor! Reader

A frail inventor, and their affectionate rag doll that has been carefully stitched together for the purpose of a caregiver. An artificial existence, trapped within the confines of your lonely tower. Or so you might think.

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, obsessive behavior

"I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel..." [Frankenstein]

You dangle an old, rusty bell for a good minute before leaning back in your chair. The barely audible chimes are quickly swallowed by the loud, mechanical groans of the gears and engines occupying most of this room. No matter, his ears are good. You picked them yourself. And surely enough, within moments, the door to your laboratory opens and someone cautiously walks in.

A tall, slender man. Or rather, something meant to resemble a man. The skin is a clumsy patchwork of blues and grays - you're no talented seamster, sadly - gathering together the body parts in what feels like a parodic attempt at mimicking God and his image. You gaze at the creature approaching you with a tray of tea and sweets. Scarcely your best work, if you must adhere to honesty. Regardless of the quality of your labor at the time of creation, you are proud of the result. How could you not be? You know this man better than you know yourself. Every organ, every artificial nerve cord, every blemish and stitch of his body was placed according to your intentions. A masterfully detailed project that took you years to complete; not an easy feat considering the lamentable state of your health.

"Here's your deadly nightshade tea." The man places a small, porcelain cup on the desk. "Do let me know when I should take you to bed, (Y/N)." You wave your hand dismissively and stretch out your limbs. "Not yet. I am almost finished", you respond, returning to the mound of metal scraps and pipes before you. "Can I ask what you're making?" The pale creature lowers himself to your level, a curious smile plastered on his face. "It's a mechanical heart", you reveal boastfully. "Like the one I have?" You run your hand through the creature's hair affectionately. "Almost. I'm testing out a different way to build the valves, for a more efficient pumping cycle." You continue to explain the intricacies of your novel mechanism, occasionally sipping on your tea. "Who knows, you might have a sibling in the near future."

The man's smile drops in an instant, and his sunken eyes widen at your statement. "What? Am I- am I not enough?" You glance at the creature as he becomes increasingly frantic. "Don't speak nonsense. If it comes out alright, I'll upgrade your own parts as well. I'm a disciple of scientific virtue, of continuous improvement." Nonsense? Vile treachery! You might've chiseled the brain that throbs within the walls of his skull, but his mind is his alone, and you seem to lack a fundamental understanding of his feelings and thoughts. His ardent confessions of love are met with mockingly pitiful grins, in the way a parent soothes a needy child. Even now, your eyes reflect nothing more than sympathy towards his protest. A childish tantrum is what you're most likely thinking. You've no time for emotional bagatelles. He can read you like an open book.

You simply won't understand. There is no place for a stranger in the life he's crafted with his very own hands: you, and him, and the evening tea with a side of butterscotch biscuits, and the bedtime talks, and the stripped branches of the decaying tree that rap at the windows on stormy nights. You might be the Inventor, but he is not just a mere, humble servant, a rag doll to be tossed around or toyed with. As you will soon discover, after all.

You awaken in the midst of night with your temples burning from a much too familiar headache. Although it's not just the pain that has disturbed your slumber. You can hear rattles and thuds coming from the upstairs laboratory. An intruder? Oh, your creations! The sound of glass breaking and metal scraping sends you into spiraling despair. You fumble to reach the nightstand, patting the surface in search for the bell and keys. You shake the handle in a panic, unable to find anything else in the darkness.

The chaotic rustle abruptly stops, followed by descending footsteps. You hold your breath as the chamber door opens, but it's none other than your creature. "Another flare-up? Shall I bring you some medicine?" the man asks with monotonous courtesy. "What have you been doing? What's all that noise?" you demand, agitated, but upon lifting yourself off the mattress you discover your legs are numb and uncooperative. The man hurries to your bed with a worried frown, and you hear the familiar clatter of the keychain coming from one of his pockets. "Have you taken my keys? Cease this foolishness at once!" Indifferent to your reproach, he places a firm hold on your shoulders and forces you back down, tucking you in effortlessly.

"You must forgive my impertinence." he says in a pleading tone. "I do not wish to impede the works of your genius. As your partner, however, it is my duty to prevent you from making mistakes." You furrow your eyebrows at his words. "What mistakes? My invention was flawless!", you argue fervently. "Indeed it was, but not its purpose. What need have you for another being?" It is the creature's turn for a passionate speech. He stands up with a confidence you don't recognize and continues: "You should know by now that I am fit to perform any role. That of your servant, your caregiver, your lover, or anything else you may desire. You can resume your tinkering starting tomorrow, but such blasphemies to our bond as the one today will not be tolerated." He straightens his vest and reaches for the door handle. "I will prepare some tea to help you rest."

Inconceivable. Your own creation, built with your own hands...Has something escaped your attention? His dialogue is deranged, tainted by madness. "Have I done something wrong?" you mumble to yourself, deep in contemplation. "Nonsense." the creature turns to face you briefly. "It was you who created me after all. Everything is perfectly splendid."

[midnightwind]

I'm making the almost kiss messier, for me (okay technically this is a few days after, but close enough) if you don't like the idea of Spite being into the Rookanis relationship, maybe don't read this lol

Summary: Spite tries to help. Things might be worse now. (just kissing and little touches, very pg, lot of yearning tho)

Word Count: 1705

She stood numbly before the pantry door, her heart in her throat. An air of guilt hung heavy around her shoulders. She had tried to give him space, busying herself by helping Taash and Bellara outside the Lighthouse. Things had felt so fragile and she was almost petrified that she had egged him into doing something he didn't want. But she wanted to visit Treviso and it felt wrong to go without at least inviting him. So she tentatively raised her hand and knocked gingerly on the door.

“Lucanis?”

There was a quiet shuffle from inside, but it was brief. She cracked the door slightly, unsure. If he was properly resting, she didn't want to ruin that. He was perched on the cot, slumped back against the wall. A cup was cradled in his lap, fingers slack. Had he fallen asleep halfway through a cup of coffee? She couldn't help the fond smile that tugged at her lips. He'd make a mess if he startled awake. She slipped silently inside, the door closing quietly behind her. With soft steps, she padded to his side and paused.

She had reasoned the intrusion with the idea of moving the cup then seeing herself out, but now that she was close she seemed to freeze. His shoulders rose with each breath, slow and peaceful. The heavy bags under his eyes were more obvious from this close and even though he was finally, finally sleeping, the exhaustion hung heavily from his features. She wanted to ghost feather touches along his jaw, card her fingers through his hair, press gentle kisses to his skin, anything to coax the stress from him. Her hand started to reach for his cheek, unbidden, before she caught herself. Grinding her teeth in frustration at the desire, she turned the motion to the cup. Her fingers had barely brushed the dish when his hand suddenly wrapped tightly around her wrist. He moved so quickly she almost screamed, her instinct to jump backwards halted only by his iron grip.

“Rook.” Her moniker curled from his mouth with Spite's low voice.

Her heart skipped a beat, wincing as the demon pulled her closer. “Hello Spite.” She smiled nervously. “Your grip hurts a little, could you… be gentler, maybe?”

Their eyes narrowed, mulling over the suggestion just long enough for her to worry he'd leave bruises on her skin. And then the pressure lightened, still firm, but measured now. “Rook is. Trespassing.”

“I…” Her mind raced to find an excuse before she sighed. “Yup. Sure am.”

A wide, toothy grin spread across their lips. “Good. We can talk.” And then he was scowling, an annoyed growl rumbling free. “Lucanis has been. Hiding. Avoiding. Won’t explain anything.”

She could feel heat rushing to her cheeks. “O-oh, I don't know if I…”

“Rook will explain.” 

It didn't sound like a request, but neither did it feel like a demand. It was more just… an expectation. An understanding that she was simply someone who would answer his questions. It left her a little dumbstruck. Explaining to the demon the intricacies of messy mortal relationships didn't thrill her, but it would be a bigger fight to try and escape. And maybe she'd get some answers herself.

“I can try.” She offered slowly. “Emotions are complicated.”

“Rook will know.” His words had more bite to them this time, grip squeezing. “You will. Stay close. Need to show.”

A thrill of alarm shot through her, heart hammering against her ribs. It felt like a bad idea. “Alright, but… let me find something to sit on. Being hunched like this is uncomfortable.” When he didn't move she offered up a wane smile. “I won't run. I promise.”

He let out a displeased hum, but let her go. She did snatch the cup as she stepped back, placing it on the little side table before she turned to assess the pantry. With only a little sigh, she dragged a crate to the cot and sat down primly. Spite closed the distance in an instant, face close and eyes bright. Nerves had set her hands to trembling, unease curling in her stomach, but she kept her face placid. 

“Why does Lucanis. Refuse himself?” He asked suddenly, voice low. When she only offered him baffled blinks he almost snarled, bringing their hand to caress her cheek. “He thinks. Of touching Rook. Like this.” Their thumb traced the line of her jaw, a little rougher than she would have expected, but it set her heart fluttering all the same. “Always wants to touch. So many different ways.” The wandering motion dragged their palm across her cheek, leaving a trail of warmth before their fingers tangled in her hair, holding her in place. “Wants to be close. Thinks of it. Constantly. So why does he not?”

She could feel the flush creeping up to her cheeks. “Only Lucanis can really answer that. I'll only have guesses.”

That did earn her a frustrated growl. Her heart was back in her throat at the noise and Spite was narrowing their eyes again. A dangerous grin slowly crawled across their face. Spite brought their free hand up to tug her hair free from the pins that held it in place. She didn't dare move as it cascaded to her shoulders, barely daring to breathe. He dragged their fingers through her hair, trapping a lock and pulling it to their lips.

“Like fresh blood. Fire dancing in the hearth. Warmth in the bones.” He purred. 

A strangled noise was all she could offer. Both hands cupped her face, trapping her gaze with his purple blaze. They were so, so close again. Her breath hitched.

“Storms at sea. Sun through glass. Sharp edge of knives.”

He bent their face to the crook of her neck, beard ghosting along her skin. She shivered. Their breath was warm and it felt like the ground disappeared from under her feet. The world reduced to the space between them, a sliver of distance barely maintained.

“Red berries and jasmine. Dizzyingly sweet. Smells of desire.”

That sent an electric spark through her veins, her pulse jumping. She shouldn't be hearing this. The urge to run screamed through her, but Spite had placed a hand on the side of her throat. Their fingers were tangled again in her hair, their wrist pressing down on her shoulder, and that single weight felt crushing. She couldn't move. Their free hand traced the pointed edge of her ear.

“Lucanis wants. So does Rook. Can smell it. Hear it. Feel it.” He brought their face back to hers, head tilted, lips hovering over hers. “Yet you both. Refuse. Why?”

She swallowed thickly, her voice hoarse and wavering. “Fear.”

That seemed to give him pause, though he didn't retreat an inch. “Of what?”

“Expectations.” The words fell unbidden, rasping whispers. “Disappointment. Pain. Misunderstanding. There's… so much that surrounds feelings like this.”

Their brow furrowed as he digested the idea. The moment felt like it stretched on forever under their caging grasp. And then she watched as he dismissed the thought. “Needless. Solution is simple.”

The distance disappeared before the alarm could settle in her bones. Spite's kiss was a hungry need, clumsy but forceful. He moved their other hand from her ear to her cheek, trapping her completely. It would have made her laugh if she had been able to form a thought. Part of her was screaming to run, of course, but the other part simply felt relief. A need finally answered, content to exist in the bruising kiss for eternity. She clawed at their chest, grabbing a fistful of their shirt, but wasn't able to bring herself to push them away or pull them closer. The sharp bite of teeth ripped a gasp from her, more surprise than anything, and Spite finally relented. When he leaned back, he had a wolfish grin as he licked blood from their lips.

“Simple.” He purred.

And then his presence vanished like smoke in the wind and she was left being held by a Lucanis who was struggling to take it all in. His eyes staggered over her loose hair, the deep flush to her skin, and her wide eyes. Her breaths were too fast, shoulders shivering. He could taste iron on his tongue and something else, something new. They stared at each other, both petrified, before the curse finally slipped from his lips, quiet and wondering.

“Mierda.”

It seemed to startle them both, his hands leaping away from her as if he had been burned. She stumbled backwards off the crate, pushing her bangs out of her eyes just to have something to do with her hands. Her gaze was focusing anywhere but on him, unwilling to see the look on his face. Would it be horror, or want? It felt like both would break her heart right now.

“Rook,” his voice was staggering, uncertain, “I-”

“Sorry,” she cut in sharply, a nervous laugh coloring her words. “I just- Spite had questions and I- Sorry.” She took a clumsy step towards the door. “I think… I need air.”

It was her turn to run, stumbling past the tables and chairs. She didn't stop until the dining room doors were closed firmly behind her. Pressing her back to them, she slid to a crouch. Head in hands, she took gulping, shivering breaths. There was a knot in her chest, a confusion of emotions. She had wanted that from Lucanis, but she liked it from Spite, too. That caused a worrying flip in her stomach. She did not want to pick that feeling apart right now. Shaking fingers dabbed at her lips, feeling the shallow cut the demon had made. The bastard left a reminder for her. It caused her to groan, pressing her palms against her eyes.

“Rook?”

Her head shot up in alarm at Bellara’s voice. The elf was paused at the bottom of the walkway to Neve’s room, a bundle of papers clutched to her chest. She took a tentative step forward as Rook shot to her feet.

“Are you okay? You look… Did Lucanis do-”

“No!” She cut in sharply, launching herself from the doors and almost running past the Jumper. “That was not Lucanis.”

[shreddedhumanity]

── .✦  A Gentle Shred of Humanity ♡

𖥻 Pairings ; Vergil/Fem Reader, Vergil/You.

𖥻 Content Warnings ; Explicit sexual content (18+), reader is fem-bodied (though no gendered pronouns are used), porn written with plot, fingering, penetration, creampie, praise, situationship to lovers, partially vocal Vergil, slight obsession if you squint.

𖥻 A/N ; I’m not sure why I wrote this. I had this idea since I began writing “Humanity Isn’t Easy” (A fic I’ve been working on for about a week now), Vergil may be OOC, but I’ll let you all be the judge of that. I haven’t written smut in the longest time, but feedback is greatly appreciated. A big thank you to @dantescatboy and @fragmented-stars for beta reading this for me and providing feedback. ♡

Vergil struggled to navigate humanity and the intricacies it held within. Whether it be socially, romantically, or platonically, little did it matter; for he still found difficulty in truly comprehending its meaning.

Meeting you brought a whole new perspective. It has been weeks since he returned to mankind — despite the icy demeanor he upheld to, you begun to pierce through the defenses he built; albeit, minimal chips at the exterior, it was progress. What you two shared wasn’t a romance, but it wasn’t platonic either. Gentle touches interlaced with dulcet conversations, exchanged fleeting glances at one another during work.

He was uncertain about the emotions he was experiencing towards you, it seemed like a far away concept, baring no sense of familiarity. It was obvious a connection of some form was developing between the two of you, but comprehension failed him. It took time to even acknowledge the probability that he had the capacity to have feelings for someone, especially someone who was human. For most of his life, Vergil denied his own humanity, yet in the time he sought it out, he hesitated when addressing it head on.

Later that evening, when you approached his room, to him it came as a surprise. He hadn’t foreseen your visit to his door at such a late hour in the night. Granting you a silent nod of acknowledgment, the door opened further, welcoming your entry.

And that’s what led to this.

You lay, nestled in his embrace, amongst the dark of the room that encircles you both, with the moonlight above casting the floorboards and walls with a luminescent blue. His grasp on you was gentle, holding onto you as if he never wanted to relinquish you — while he couldn’t explain why. 

“What are we?” You would ask, out of the blue. “We act like lovers, but are we really even that?”

“I have no answer to that,” was his terse response. The uncertainty gnawed at him — beyond his exterior, he was keenly aware you two had a connection of some form, though the prospect of it developing into something more was a thought he dared not address. “Are you wanting a relationship with me?” He found himself inquiring aloud, seeking clarity to calm his ever growing musings.

“That’d be nice, yeah.” 

The silence that lingered between you two felt interminable; as if a century had gone by. He found himself without words, adrift in indecision. For a man who thrived on seeking, knowing, understanding the truth of what he sought after, grappling at the concept of romance in its entirety proved to be an arduous challenge.

“Is there anything in particular you had in mind?” Idle hands remain on your body, cherishing your warmth against his own.

Your face would flush in response to the unexpected  question. “Not..exactly, no.” Your hands explore the texture of his chest, soft traces along the skin.

“I am unable to understand what is included within a relationship — beyond the usual, we already do what contributes to a connection, aside from sex, if that is what you’re implying that you want from me.”

Your face would heat up even more, if that was even possible, face pressing firm into his chest. This was definitely not the implication you intended, however if that were to be the outcome, you wouldn’t deny him.

“If that is what you wanted of me, I’m sure I could provide it for you.” With a gentle glance towards your crimsoned face, hidden within the confines of his body, he almost found a smile gracing his lips, which manifested into a mere tilt at the corner of his mouth. 

“I mean.. I.. don’t really.. well..” You mumble incoherencies, unable to find your wording, arousal clear in your tone, an ache igniting within you; mutters turn into mere, hushed noises. 

“Only if you wanted to, that is. I’m not fully informed on the subject, though that may change.” His voice looms above, hand raising to caress your hair in placid strokes in an attempt to calm your growing nerves.

“I mean..I wouldn’t mind.. if.. we..” You truly were at a loss for words, taken aback by the forwardness of his statements.

It was as if time had come to a standstill; his movements are precise—premeditated, every maneuver found purpose. His grip on you remains as delicate as before as your body lays beneath him, a near yelp escapes your lips. His gaze locks onto you, unwavering as his hands leisurely explore along your body, as if noting every unique detail he could find. 

“I will ask this once, and I want you to be entirely honest with me,” his voice resonates from above, “are you wanting this with me?” 

If you weren’t aroused before, you certainly were now, the pruriency aflame within you formerly boils to a further degree, pooling between your thighs — you stare at him, the moonlight casting a glow on his features. Frigid, azure eyes reflect sincerity, seldom seen beyond his typical austerity, lips compressed into a firm line, awaiting your answer.

“Yes,” your hands raise from your sides, serene in your movements, cupping his face. Butterflies flutter within your entire being, his arms enveloping your body with such admiration, as if you were the most beautiful creation humanity had to offer him. 

Calculated motions, timing stilled in hushed breaths in the fever of the moment — grasps at your shirt, peeling it away from your body with intent. Desperate, tremendously so, though his composure never falters, he endures the ache, testing his displicine; to him, this moment was not about intercourse, it wasn’t an act upon lust, nor passion — a chance to produce a connection anew, restoring the jagged bond between you two, to piece together the sporadic fragments of his humanity. He can feel it in the way you caress his body, lips parting to disperse near discernible whimpers. You were his fortitude, his longing, his humanity. He yearned to discover that exhilaration which intoxicated him so sweetly, something he pursued for so long, now right within his grasp.

Sultry breath fans along your collarbone, leading to your neck. Coarse hands ensnare your frame, treading circles into your skin, seeking out more, sparing no time to ease your shorts down your thighs. Your body radiates heat, sweat glistening along your skin, all you desire is him in the moment, your mind running vacant. “Your body is of God's most divine creations.” His tone rings true, fingers pursuing elsewhere, curling around the waistband of your underwear, to guide it down, slick coating its fabrics. “You poor soul,” he murmurs into the alluring warmth of your skin, inhaling the essence of your scent.

Fingers taunt your skin, earning a gasp from your lips, a singular finger slipping into your silky and soaked heat, your pussy clenches around his digit, enticing him in further. “How I adore hearing you,” he adds another, your hips bucking up to meet his penetrating motions, gliding out, only to plunge right back in. Your breath was caught in your throat, moan after moan rolls off your tongue, the sounds you make urges him further. His thumb strokes your clit, in careful, precise circles. You can sense your climax approaching, deep within your abdomen, a coil burning alight, your cunt gripping his fingers so firm.

 “Vergil, oh god, Vergil,” you weep to him in utter desperation, hand reaching to his hair, tangling your fingers within his unkempt silver strands, slick with sweat. The needs within you boil over, noises falling upon his ears like a graceful song, cunt smearing his hand with your juices, coating the sheets below, and it’s sloppy; and you’re so close, each gasp that leaves your lips, glossy with spit, chest heaving—

His actions halt, fingers slipping out of your pussy, a trail of slick following. A pitiful whine slips from your throat. “Why did you-”

“Quiet,” was the only response he would grant you, his tone carrying the weight of an unspoken command. Rising to his knees before you, his belt unfastening in a brisk manner, his hardened cock finally being freed from the refinements of his pants. Your eyes broaden at the sheer size of it, worrisome that you may be unable to fit it. As if reading your expression, he supplies with, “and you can take it, my love. I am positive you can.”

With his body pressing against yours, you surrender to his touch, fingers finding place in his sweat-coated hair much like before. His own find home on your hips, gentle and light, kneading into the skin.

“You are my everything,” he leaves no time for your response, cock easing into your sopping cunt, ceasing only to watch as your eyes cycle upwards, a soft cry breaking through the air. A kiss brushes your temple, followed by the weight of his own as he respites there. “I have you, my love.” He pulls himself from your heat, only to push himself back in, relishing in the way you clamp around his cock. He stifles a groan, the now harsh thrust of his hips melting away your composure, his right hand leaving its place to begin circular strokes at your clit. The coil burns anew, if your whimpers are any give away to the pleasure capitulating you. You’re so full, and the immense pleasure stirs within your entire body. You can tell by the way his thrusts grow sloppy that he’s close himself. “Vergil, please, I.. I’m so-”

Your words matter not, for his labyrinth of thoughts entraps him, “my everything, my light,” his praises ring in your ears, bringing you closer to your climax, “my own gentle shred of humanity, for you have made me feel alive again.”

You seize, body trembling as your climax washes over you, a loud moan igniting the air, your fingers digging into his hair, whimpering out babbling incoherencies. He continues on, guiding you through your high, before succumbing to his own, a final sharp thrust of his hips as he fills you, his cum flooding within you, a moan finally escaping him. He stays there, noting the heavy rise and fall of your breathing, your body against his. He presses a gentle peck to your forehead, brushing your hair from your eyes. “I love you.”

And you were his; his ever present humanity, a guidance to his troubles, his light in the dark, something to cling to in his journey through life, to never relinquish, to never let go of.

[cr4yolaas]

blue spring — until we're old and wrinkly

prev: remember to be patient! | masterlist | next: my blue spring

he picks her up from her place, something she isn't accustomed to just yet. the sunlight barely peeks out from behind his figure. it's a warm sight.

kageyama planned the entire day out — she caught a glimpse of it on his notes app, typed out neatly and with little details for him to remember — and she finds it foreign to have someone else handle everything for her. when they stand before the museum, she thanks him quietly by slipping her hand into his and pretends to not notice the perspiration on his palms or the flush of his cheeks. the cues of spring happen to be on full display today, given the vibrant blossoms and the light breeze in the air, despite it already being june.

june, she ponders. spring is no longer with her, gone with the wind. she reminisces over late march, in which she had taken it upon herself to tutor her calculus seatmate, despite the inconvenience it created for her routine. she recalls early may and all of its disruptions, from her stepfather to the exhibit that tore apart pieces of her well-being. her gaze falls to the much rougher hand encapsulating hers, and she hopes that june brings about something better.

they walk around each floor together, their fingers loosely intertwined and their footsteps following the same tempo. he finds himself excited to listen to her ramble about each work that interests her. while he doesn't quite understand her observations about color theorems and medium combinations, he does understand the ardor that drips from each whispered syllable. he understands the complexity of her love for the intricacies that she describes. he understands why he likes her so, so, so much.

"i requested to host an exhibit here before," she mutters while they pause to sit and rest. there's a small bench placed in the center of one of the exhibition rooms beneath a dim light. in truth, kageyama feels like it's just them in the room. "mainly because it was convenient, but also because i dreamed of it when i was a kid." he watches as she scans each work with childlike wonder. the thump, thump, thump of his heart only drums heavier against his chest with every passing second.

his thumb grazes over her skin absentmindedly, as if to soothe himself. "what happened after?" he whispers. he's scared that if he speaks too loud, the delicacy they've constructed around themselves will shatter.

she takes a breath before she responds, and he braces himself for whatever explanation she has. "they didn't accept my work because i was too young, by their standards. something about how they wanted seasoned talent." her thumb copies his, albeit with a little more force. "it was odd. it feels weird to be here now, seeing what they would've wanted up on their walls. but i don't really mind it now."

he can't take his eyes off of her. her words spill from her lips with ease and he soaks it all in, as if it's a healing prayer. the effect she has on him is devastating, he realizes, but he doesn't want it to wither away for a second.

they sit in silence for a while. a handful of old couples shuffle by, their hands interlinked, and he wonders if he'd find himself in that position with her. tourists filter in and out and speak in quiet dialects he can't comprehend, but he enjoys the noise. she does too. it's comfortable, despite how odd it feels on her skin, and she can't find herself fighting it anymore. when he asks if she's ready to leave, she questions the last time she was able to relax. she scavenges through her memories, searching relentlessly for a moment of rest that felt as easy as this, and she finds nothing. so, earnestly, she declines. she asks him to sit with her for a little bit longer. he doesn't complain.

he wants to ask if she'd be content with continuing their routine, where he comes over on thursdays and listens to her explain complicated topics until the sun sets behind the horizon. he wants to ask if he can keep buying her iced coffees with hints of cinnamon and lavender until she grows sick of them. he wants to ask if she's ever envisioned them together, old and wrinkly, walking hand in hand. instead, he asks her if she's truly, genuinely happy.

"of course i am. you're here, after all."

that's more than enough for him, he decides.

--

kageyama doesn’t want to drop her off yet, but with the moon hanging high in the sky and the building lights slowly diminishing, he knows he can’t ask her to stay with him any longer. so, with heavy footsteps and a heavy heart, he walks with her up the stairs and down the hall of her apartment building, and his chest aches more and more with every inch closer to the doorway.

his hand departs from hers, and he feels foolish for being so clingy. she swivels around to face him. his jacket rests on her figure, the result of his overwhelming concern from moments prior. it’s the same one he left at her house weeks and weeks ago. the memory is still fresh in his head.

“i had a lot of fun today,” she muses while fidgeting with the zipper. she doesn’t want to take it off yet, and she reasons with herself that it’s only because the breeze is heavy and the night is cold, but she knows there’s more to it than that. “thank you, tobio.”

at her call of his name, he finds himself hopeless. he can’t stop himself from pressing a gentle kiss to her lips, and he can’t stop the confession that he spills out shortly after.

“i think i’m in love with you,” he whispers against her skin. their noses are barely touching. there’s a minty essence to his breath, a glimmer in his eyes, and in his words, there’s a bountiful amount of raw, unfiltered emotion. she can tell it isn’t a new realization, given by the way he utters it so readily. “so much so that i’d let you tutor me until we’re old and wrinkly.”

“really?” she laughs, the sound light against his ears. “that’s a long, long time.”

“i don’t mind. as long as it’s with you.”

she doesn’t tell him that she shares the sentiment, but she isn’t sure if she really needs to tell him. the small smile she gives him and the soft peck she places on his cheek says everything he needs to know.

𝜗𝜚 next chapter is the last one !! thank u for reading blue spring :)

𝜗𝜚 i hope that this chapter really encapsulated the shift in yn's life from something much more solemn and bitter to something colorful and light since that's really where the title comes from

𝜗𝜚 blue spring was initially just a random title i came up with, but when i searched it up i found out that it means "youth" or a "fresh start." i felt that this fit super well with the general plot as not only did yn lose a lot of her youth to her workaholism, but she also got to experience a fresh start in her life by meeting kageyama

𝜗𝜚 this chapter is super duper cheesy but i feel like kags is a very cheesy guy anyways

𝜗𝜚 also does this count as them being official in ur guys' eyes ? i was very conflicted on whether or not this chapter would be the last one because i felt that i wasn't very sure on how to show the transition from "more than friends less than lovers" to being in a relationship where you can confess your love, so i was about to make this a "time-skip" sort of chapter where it's already out there that they're in love. in a sense this makes this chapter a filler ,, but it felt wrong to not talk about their date </3

𝜗𝜚 also the dog reaction pic is an inside joke that no one else will understand bc none of my irls follow this account (and i hope they never find it </3)

𝜗𝜚 also also i watched wifty while finishing this up bc i miss it sm :( zhangrai my otp

taglist: @mfcherry @eggyrocks @scxrcherr @yuminako @girlkissersco @diorzs @causenessus @kyo-kyo1 @k0z3me @shironagi @lovingvi @bunninio @hisfuture @lilchubbyyy @gsyche @ghostreader0307 @fiannee @minimarkive @aboutkiyoomi

[skywalker1dream]

part of the stuck with stranger series

Navigating Love's Secret Path

part one | part two | part three

note: I will add summary later, I am working on other fics and I'm little lazy but read it and you will find out and it need little editing too. hope you like it, and I hope you are having a goo day or night, drink water and eat healthy. bye ;3

warnings none?

@barcelonaloverf1life @bokutos-babyowl

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

As the revelation hung heavy in the air, tension crackled between you and Carlos like an electric storm brewing on the horizon. His gaze searched yours, seeking answers, understanding, perhaps even forgiveness for not knowing sooner. But the truth remained, casting a stark light on the intricacies of your burgeoning relationship.

Carlos's brow furrowed as he struggled to process the unexpected twist. "Your sister?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. "But… but I had no idea… that you….."

You watched as the shock registered on Carlos's face, his features contorting with a mix of disbelief and dawning realization. It was as if the ground had shifted beneath his feet, leaving him adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

In that moment, you knew that nothing would ever be the same again. The revelation had shaken Carlos to his core, casting a shadow over the fragile bond you had built together. And as you stood there, caught between past and present, you couldn't help but wonder what the future held in store for you and Carlos.

Before you could say anything, Lando, oblivious to the bombshell he had dropped, chimed in with his trademark grin, "Yeah, I thought it was time for her to see what all the fuss is about in the paddock."

Carlos's gaze flicked from you to Lando and back again, his expression unreadable. "I… I need a moment," he managed, his voice strained.

You watched as he turned and walked away, his steps heavy with the weight of newfound knowledge. And as you stood there, grappling with the ramifications of the revelation, you couldn't help but wonder how this unexpected turn of events would shape the future of your relationship with Carlos.

As Carlos walked away, his mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and emotions. Betrayal wasn't a word he associated with himself, yet the revelation had stirred doubts he hadn't anticipated.

He found a quiet corner in the paddock, away from the prying eyes and the cacophony of the racing world. Leaning against a wall, he closed his eyes, trying to make sense of it all.

Did he betray Lando by developing feelings for his sister? The thought gnawed at him, twisting his gut with guilt. Lando had been more than a friend; he was like a brother. And now, here he was, entangled in a romance with someone so closely tied to him.

But then, amidst the guilt, there was a flicker of something else. A warmth in his chest, a longing that refused to be extinguished. His feelings for you were real, undeniable, and he couldn't simply ignore them, no matter how complicated the situation had become.

As he grappled with his conscience, a voice interrupted his thoughts. Lando stood before him, his expression a mix of concern and confusion.

"Carlos, what's going on?" Lando asked, his brow furrowed with worry.

Carlos hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. "I… I didn't know, Lando," he admitted, his voice heavy with regret. "I never meant for things to get so complicated."

Lando's confusion deepened. "What do you mean?"

And as Carlos struggled to find the words to explain, he realized that the path ahead was fraught with uncertainty. Love had thrown him a curveball, and now, he had to navigate the complexities of his feelings while confronting the possibility of losing his best friend in the process.

Certainly! Let's explore another direction:

Carlos took a step back, his mind reeling with the revelation. The thought of betraying his best friend gnawed at him, clouding his judgment with a heavy sense of guilt. He never intended for things to unfold this way, for his feelings to complicate what was once a simple friendship.

"I… I need some time," he finally managed, his voice strained with emotion.

Lando, sensing the tension, nodded solemnly. "I...okay, I understand, Carlos. Take all the time you need, If you want to talk I'm here, mate"

As Carlos retreated to gather his thoughts, he couldn't shake the feeling of remorse that weighed heavily on his heart. He had always prided himself on his loyalty to Lando, but now, he found himself caught in a web of emotions he couldn't untangle.

Hours passed, the buzz of the paddock fading into the background as Carlos grappled with his inner turmoil. Was it worth risking his friendship with Lando for a chance at love? Could he live with the consequences of betraying his best friend?

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice you approaching until you were standing before him, your presence a soothing balm to his troubled mind.

"Carlos," you said softly, reaching out to touch his arm. "We need to talk."

He met your gaze, seeing the concern etched in your eyes, and felt a pang of guilt wash over him. "I'm sorry, (Your Name). I never meant for any of this to happen."

You shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips. "It's not your fault, Carlos, its mine . I should have told you sooner but I got scared."

As you spoke, Carlos felt a glimmer of hope stir within him. Perhaps there was a way forward, a way to navigate the complexities of your relationship without sacrificing his friendship with Lando.

Carlos and I exchanged hesitant glances, the weight of the revelation still heavy on our minds. After a moment of tense silence, I took a deep breath, gathering the courage to broach the topic.

"Carlos, I think... I think we need to talk," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, his expression serious as he met my gaze. "Yeah, we do."

We moved to a quieter corner of the paddock, away from prying eyes and curious ears, where we could speak freely.

"I know this is... complicated," I began, choosing my words carefully. "But I don't think we should tell Lando just yet. Not until we figure out what this... what we... mean to each other."

Carlos listened intently, his brow furrowed in thought. "You're right," he agreed after a moment. "We need time to sort through our feelings before we involve anyone else."

Relief washed over me at his understanding. "Exactly. I don't want to hurt Lando, but I also don't want to rush into anything and make a mess of everything."

He reached out, gently taking my hand in his, a silent reassurance of his support. "We'll take it slow," he promised. "And when the time is right, we'll find a way to tell him together."

With a shared understanding, we knew the path ahead wouldn't be easy. But as long as we faced it together, with honesty and care, we believed we could navigate the complexities of our relationship and emerge stronger on the other side.

As we stood there, hand in hand, I couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty. And with Carlos by my side, I knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, we would face them together, united in our love and determination.

In that moment, with you by his side, Carlos knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, he was ready to confront them head-on. For in you, he had found a love worth risking it all for, even if it meant defying the expectations of friendship and loyalty.

------

As I approached Lando in the bustling paddock, he turned towards me with a bright smile. "Hey there! What's on your mind?" he asked, his eyes full of curiosity.

I returned his smile, though my mind was preoccupied with the weight of the conversation I'd just had with Carlos. "Just wanted to catch up with you, Lando," I replied, trying to keep my tone light.

Lando nodded, gesturing for me to join him. "come on, I was just thinking about grabbing a coffee. Care to join me?"

Before I could respond, Carlos appeared beside us, his presence catching me off guard. I tried to hide my surprise, but Lando noticed the brief hesitation.

"Hey, Carlos!" Lando greeted him with a grin. "Perfect timing. We were just about to head for some coffee. Care to join us?"

Carlos glanced at me, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features before he nodded. "Sure, sounds good."

As we walked towards the coffee stand, Lando chattered animatedly about the upcoming race, effortlessly filling the air with his infectious energy. Meanwhile, I stole glances at Carlos, silently communicating the need to tread carefully in front of Lando.

The three of us settled into a cozy corner of the café, sipping our drinks as Lando continued to regale us with stories from past races. Despite the weight of the unspoken truth between Carlos and me, I found myself getting lost in the easy camaraderie of the moment.

"So, what's the plan for later?" Lando asked, turning to Carlos with a grin.

Carlos glanced at me, a silent plea for help in his eyes, before turning back to Lando with a shrug. "Not sure yet. Any suggestions?"

Lando's eyes lit up with excitement as he launched into a myriad of ideas, each more adventurous than the last. And as we laughed and joked together, I couldn't help but marvel at the delicate dance we were performing, keeping our true feelings hidden beneath a facade of friendship and camaraderie.

But deep down, I knew that sooner or later, the truth would have to come out. And when it did, I could only hope that our bond with Lando would be strong enough to weather the storm.

[your-local-simp-writers]

Finding Words

Word Count: 727

Warnings: None

Miles Morales x Fem! Hispanic! Reader ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

(Y/N) had been friends with Miles for quite some time now. Their bond was special, a connection built on shared laughter, inside jokes, and countless moments spent together. Despite their close friendship, there was something unspoken lingering between them, a magnetic pull that neither of them could ignore.

One sunny afternoon, (Y/N) found herself in Miles' room, sitting on the edge of his bed. They were engrossed in a conversation, sharing stories and laughter as the hours ticked by. (Y/N) had always admired Miles' passion and dedication, the way he put others before himself without hesitation. It was a quality that drew her closer to him, making her heart flutter in ways she couldn't fully comprehend.

As they continued talking, (Y/N) couldn't help but bring up her struggle with Spanish. Being Hispanic herself, it had always bothered her that she couldn't speak her native language fluently. Her parents, for reasons unknown, had never prioritized teaching her Spanish. It left her feeling disconnected from her heritage, longing to bridge the gap.

Miles, ever observant, noticed the longing in (Y/N)'s eyes and the slight frown on her face. He knew that he wanted to help her, to make her feel more connected to her roots. With a determined smile, he offered to teach her Spanish, hoping to bring a touch of her culture back into her life.

They sat cross-legged on the floor, a Spanish textbook and a notepad in front of them. Miles patiently guided (Y/N) through basic phrases, pronunciations, and vocabulary. He was surprisingly adept at explaining the intricacies of the language, despite his normally blunt and stone-faced demeanor.

(Y/N) listened attentively, trying her best to mimic the words and phrases. She stumbled over the pronunciations, causing both of them to burst into fits of laughter. It was a lighthearted moment, a testament to their enduring friendship and shared sense of humor.

After a while, Miles paused, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He leaned closer to (Y/N), his voice soft and low. In a hushed tone, he whispered, "Me gustas, (Y/N)." The words rolled off his tongue, his Spanish accent giving them a unique charm.

(Y/N) blinked, her heart skipping a beat. "What did you say?" she asked, her voice filled with curiosity and a hint of nervousness.

Miles chuckled, realizing that he had caught her off guard. She repeated the phrase back to him, "Me gustas," and this time, his eyes locked with hers, brimming with unspoken emotions. He had just confessed his feelings for her in Spanish, hoping that she would understand the depth of his affection.

(Y/N) felt her cheeks flush, a wave of emotions washing over her as it had finally clicked. She took a moment to process what had just transpired. It was a beautiful revelation, one that left her breathless and filled with a mixture of joy and uncertainty. She mustered the courage to speak, her voice soft yet determined.

"I like you too, Miles," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. And with those words, she leaned in and gently pressed a kiss on his cheek, her affection and gratitude mingling in that one tender gesture.

Miles' eyes widened in surprise, a blush spreading across his face. He couldn't contain the joy that swelled within him, knowing that his feelings were reciprocated. He reached up to touch the spot where (Y/N)'s lips had met his skin, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

In that precious moment, they shared a profound connection, transcending language barriers and unlocking a new chapter in their friendship. The room was filled with a sweet, unspoken understanding, as they sat there, basking in the warmth of their feelings for each other.

And as they sat there, side by side, basking in the glow of newfound love, (Y/N) couldn't help but feel grateful for the twists and turns that had led her to this moment. Sometimes, the sweetest surprises were found in the simplest of encounters, and she knew deep in her heart that her journey with Miles was bound to be extraordinary.

[pastanest]

Gale Boetticher x reader

A/N: first thing I’ve ever written for this character/universe but I only recently finishing Breaking Bad (yeah I’m 8 billion years behind Ik) and this man is my mf POOKIE so pls be nice x

warnings: as of writing this I’ve not seen Better Call Saul but I’m aware Gale’s in it so if anything contradicts pieces of his lore found there PLEASE DO NOT SPOIL IT I’ll come back and amend them after I’ve seen that show as well if need be - will be using gifs from bcs tho bc there are barely any gifs from Gale in bb on the internet for some reason

Being Gale’s S/O Would Include

- first of all, Worlds Giddiest Boyfriend™️

- no like actually

- gives very much in-awe-of-everything-his-S/O-is-and-does vibes

- every single thing you tell him you’ve done is a monumental achievement to him, even down to something as simple as going to the grocery store

- LOVES to explain sciencey things to you, regardless of whether you understand the intricacies or not

- in fact, better if you don’t bc he loves going into even more detail just to make it easier for you to wrap your head around

- LEAST condescending person ever, does not believe himself to be smarter than you or anyone else (he is a genius but he’ll only blush and shake his head when you call him that) and is thoroughly impressed by everything you do and know that is outside of his area of expertise

- the king of chivalry

- opening doors for you, pulling a chair out for you, paying the bill at a restaurant, standing up whenever you walk into a room if he’s not already standing, kissing the back of your hand whenever he says goodbye to you; regardless of your gender, Gale Boetticher IS pulling out all the classic romantic stops for you

- is actually a big fan of PDA but not in a making-out-in-public way, more of a will-blush-for-three-business-days-if-you-kiss-his-cheek-in-public-one-time and absolutely loves it

- the fact that you’re proud to be his and proud to love him in front of others makes this man’s heart sing for you

- incapable of giving you anything less than the most heartfelt and expressive compliments you have ever heard in your life

“You are the prettiest star I’ve ever seen.”

“Every atom that makes me the person standing here before you, thanks you for being who you are.”

“If an asteroid hit this exact spot and you, right now, are the last thing I ever see, I will live to be the happiest man there’s ever been.”

- unbeknownst to you he actually has a separate notebook filled with compliments and poetic tidbits that he thinks up whenever he daydreams of you and then saves them up to tell you later

- doesn’t care whether you’re vegan or not obviously but will cook you the most fire vegan dishes ever known to man

- will play records just to slow dance around his apartment with you crying as I type this one fr

- will zone out and smile so fondly, just thinking of you

- the sweetest and most attentive partner in the entire world

- memorizes your every like, dislike, quirk and interest so that he can plan the most perfect dates out for you, surprise you with the most thoughtful gifts and ensure at all costs you avoid things/people/situations that could result in you feeling upset/uncomfortable

- Gale is finely tuned to your emotions and will notice IMMEDIATELY if something’s not quite right with you

“Hey, is everything alright? Actually, don’t answer that; I noticed your hands have clenched marginally more than normal over the past 15 minutes so if you’re comfortable enough to tell me why, I’d love to know, but if not, please just tell me what I can do to make whatever this is better for you.”

- stop it I adore him

[diazfox]

I have a lot of thoughts about Red, White & Royal Blue (both the book and the movie). If you manage to read through the whole thing, I would love to hear your thoughts and feelings! Please feel free to interact. If you don't feel like reading through the brain dump of a random girl from nowhere, here's a summary: movie was great, but the book remains undefeated, plus a pathetic attempt at rallying for a petition to make this into a series.

I first read the book in january 2023 (I was very late to booktok I'm sorry) and have been obsessed since then. I have re-read it multiple times and have pages of annotations in my pdf copy. as a huge literature nerd, thematic expressions, plot and character development mean so much to me. While it's not a crime to interpret this book as an idealistic and purely romantic piece of fiction, I think there is plenty to value in the way family, politics and self-discovery is illustrated in the novel.

To me, it's really the intricacies that give so much to life to many scenes and characters. June standing up for Alex even when he never outright asked for it, staying in the white house for him instead of pursuing her own dreams. June feeling trapped and chained down being born into a life of politics, while Alex, entirely optimistic and determined, revels in it. Nora being introduced as a tech junkie who gives it to him straight while June is the more soft-spoken one, but Nora being the one to deliver the most important cold hard truths that wake Alex up multiple times throughout the book. How Alex is who is because he has these 2 girls who provide him with 2 different support systems - June who understands the struggles of the public eye, the divorce of his parents, being biracial, and Nora who understands the realm of queerness and shares his passion in politics. Rafael Luna's story arc and the triple-crossing. How Alex looked up to him so fervently, how Luna has his own dark past that made him who is today.

and Henry... (cue BIG DREAMY SIGH) The harrowing reality that someone so special not only to him but both Bea and his mom as well left all of them so bereaved that his mom completely shut off and Bea turned to a life of drugs. His father who symbolised everything that the crown frowned upon, and stole his mother's royal-blooded heart anyways. How Henry was probably brought up to be fearless and strong just like his parents but his entire family was snatched from him at such a young age that it left him stranded and lost, leaving him no choice but to follow the path of royal traditions, being pushed and shoved around however they deemed fit. and when he did get older and privy to his sexuality, it was too late to turn back and stand his ground to say "No, I don't want this life." The pills, the insomnia, the piece of himself that's been lost forever, that nothing and nobody will ever be able to replace. Percy being his only escape from the royal lifestyle, how he was willing to share a part of his life's works for Henry to experience outside his mundane royal duties, something Henry chooses to do instead of being forced to. Bea stepping up after realising how she needs to do better not only for herself but for her brother as well, that all they have is each other and she needs to fight for them. Bea being the protective sister who explains to Alex how Henry misses his dad, and that he needs to be comfortable with the fact that there will always be a part of Henry that Alex might never be able to reach. Henry's mom stepping up in the end, not willing to lose her son the way she lost her husband, how Henry is the closest living reminder to the love of her life, born with his heart on his sleeve.

Their emails. Henry and his beautiful monologues depicting grief and love. How he has never bared his heart out like that to anyone, yet when he finally found the right person, everything was leaked to the entire world. The multiple references to historical figureheads and literature that actually give "History, huh? Bet we could make some" all it's meaning.

The tension in the confrontation with the queen. The nervous wreck that election night put me in. The political journey of this book further helped to solidify the idealistic, fairytale-like nature of the novel and its ending. It left me with such an overwhelming sense of comfort, like coming back to my childhood home (quite literally in Alex's case).

Ellen and Zahra's relationship, Oscar and Luna's relationship, Oscar saying Ellen will always be the love of his life... the list is literally endless. I could go on forever. I laughed, I cried, I screamed into my pillow, I stared out my window wistfully, wondering how people can feel so much so deeply.

All these details that bring so much colour and dimension to the plot convinced me that it would be a crime not to make a live action of this book. But that is not to say that the movie was bad. I had already prepared myself beforehand to handle the disappointment of not getting all 500 pages verbatim, and I understand the directional choices made to focus solely on Alex and Henry's relationship, not having the luxury of time. Viewing the movie as something separate from the book, it was beautifully executed and I have already watched it 3 times now.

But... just to put it out there...

Imagine a live action with everything I mentioned above, though. Wouldn't it be lovely to go on all these journeys with all these people together with Alex and Henry? And it's not something completely impossible is it? I think even an animated series would be sublime but is it really too much to ask for the novel to be made into a proper series? I feel like Casey has given us such a wholesome and never-seen-before story that deserves every nook and cranny to be explored and made into film. We have had so many versions of Little Women and Pride & Prejudice, so I'm holding out hope that a rwrb series is not an impossible feat. Taylor and Nick will always be Alex and Henry in my head, but that's something I'm personally willing to trade for a longer series made with even more people and further explorations that the movie couldn't afford to make.

My sister asked me last month why I kept losing my marbles everytime a new photo or clip dropped. Said that "it's just a random book, get over it". I think this book means a lot to many different people from different walks of life. Minority race, being biracial, coming to terms with bisexuality, dealing with divorce, dealing with the public eye, being born into a family that you don't entirely identify with, losing a loved one, dealing with mental illnesses, dealing with grief, standing up to authority, being outed, letting yourself love and be loved. This book encapsulates such a vast array of experiences and emotions that I'm confident that I'm not the only one who feels this strongly about "just a random book".

Casey really did make history, didn't they?

[fadewalking]

☕ ( to emmrich something magic related idk )

Send ☕ for my muse to rant about something (bonus points if you pick the topic) // @theredconqueror

"—And do you know what she said?" He posed sharply, not waiting for a response to his rhetorical question before sating it himself.

"That she did not care!" He scoffed, disbelief palpable, as if recalling a personal insult.

"Can you imagine?! Not caring about the mimetic entanglements of the individual particles which thread the Veil together? Ah! The indignity!" His hand moved to his collar, gripping it as though the act could physically steady the fury roiling within him at the memory of such willful ignorance.

With frustrated movements, he continued the task he had been earlier working at of sorting through books in piles of read versus unread, though he continued his rant through it.

"How anyone worth their tenure can reduce the understanding of reality to mere utilitarian abstraction is far beyond me. Yet still, she would parade around her Copenhagen allegiance as if it were a badge of intellectual humility, claiming the wave-state is nothing more than a bookkeeping tool, while she dismisses the ontological implications of the Veil's intricacies, as if reality itself were just some trivial nuisance!"

The hubris alone was enough to set anyone off, surely. Even Manfred, sat behind him, offered an angry hiss in solidarity. Emmrich spun on his heel, his robes flaring dramatically as he cast an acknowledging gesture toward his skeletal companion.

"Thank you!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in exasperation, as though Manfred's agreement vindicated his outrage. Of course, it did. Manfred was not only a manifestation of curiosity itself, but arguably the most advanced among his ilk. It was little wonder he understood.

Back again, he turned toward his books, not letting the brief interruption disrupt his momentum. "Does she not understand that to discard the messy nuances of deep-fade phenomena in favor of mathematical expediency is to abdicate the very purpose of inquiry entirely?"

The indignation twisted in his chest, unable to let go of the renewed incredulity the topic had resurfaced. So wrapped in his upset, he did not once think to stop and see if Valrys was still paying attention, or to notice if he ever had been.

"When I gently explained my more Bohmian-aligned perspective, she replied 'Who cares what is real, so long as the equations continue to output the correct energy eigenvalues?' Hah! Arrogance in its most undiluted form!"

It was an arrogance that spoke for itself now that they knew she was behind so many terrible and forbidden magicks. He felt almost guilty for it. If only he had been able to convince her of his perspective, to stop and appreciate, maybe he could have prevented this.

"What she fails—or refuses—to grasp, is that the Björn rule isn't just some magical abacus handed down to ensure students pass their exams. It is a window into the epistemological paradoxes that underpin existence. The Veil's waveform is so much more than some blunt instrument!"

He leveled his sharp gaze at Valrys, inadvertently transferring some of his outrage onto the other man. But what else could he do? She wasn’t here to absorb his ire, to hear his arguments. Valrys, by unfortunate proximity, became the stand-in for his unresolved emotion.

In earnest, very little of it was even directed at the memory of the singular argument he was recalling. The truth was more relevant. He was frustrated, and grieved at how far his friend had fallen—and how blind he had been to the warning signs. Dismissing her descent as a mere difference of philosophies had been his mistake, and one he now carried like a stone in his chest.

"It is a metaphysical map of a terrain we barely comprehend—a superposition of possibilities, an open invitation to explore what it means to be. But no. She would rather sweep those implications like dust under the Planck-scale rug. Well not I," he declared, lifting his chin in a cosmic rebellion.

"I would rather attempt understanding. To rail against the tyranny of probabilistic nihilism. There is nothing so unappealing as a lack of curiosity. She can keep her sterile equations; I will take the messy, maddening, glorious pursuit of reality any day!"

[caeliatus]

A quick preview of a short fic I'm working on about Beatrice and Ava facing the end of the world together. They fly out to Switzerland for their last weeks and find the small things that matter in the time they have left. Mother Superion gets drunk and throws it down on a dance floor. The Universe conspires.

The end of the world breaks on a lazy Friday afternoon as Beatrice directs Ava through the winding roads of town. It’s Ava’s seventh driving lesson, Beatrice’s sixth time instructing–the first time it was Mary, and after that incident the only one brave enough to volunteer was Beatrice–although now, as Ava’s slowly getting a hang of being gentle on the brakes and keeping her hands at the nine and three o’clock positions, Beatrice is more content to sit back and point her way. 

They almost miss it, at first. Ava’s focusing on easing the car forward from a stop, her foot nervously revving the engine as she lets out the clutch. 

“Stop doing that,” Beatrice says, frowning, who seems to never miss any of Ava’s mistakes, no matter how small or inconspicuous–it’d be overbearing if she wasn’t right every time. “You’ll wear out the clutch prematurely. The whole point is to fully engage the clutch in the shortest time possible, by pressing the gas you’re making it harder on the car.”

“But I’m scared of stalling the car,” Ava says. “Plus, I see race car drivers being much harder on the car all the time.” Rally drivers and formula drift were the sort of driving videos she preferred over the dry instructional videos. She’d decided the first time she ever saw a rally driver pinning the gauges at the redline and somehow holding the car at the limit that sport driving was something she wanted to do, and spent hours watching video after video of POV cameras and footcams of championship drivers yanking levers and pumping pedals with the precision and intricacy of a ballet dancer when she should’ve been listening to the more mundane introductory videos Beatrice gave her. Still, when she looks over sheepishly at Beatrice, she’s met with a flat stare and an unimpressed expression. 

“Ava, we’re driving a 2004 Smart Fortwo that’s a hundred miles overdue for inspection. Just keep your foot off the gas and feel out the clutch and engine. Make small adjustments. And stop staring at the tachometer, or else I’ll cover it up with sticky notes so you’ll have to look at the road.”

Ava reluctantly obeys. The car shudders, jerks to a stop. A caution light pops up on the dashboard. 

“Shit,” says Ava. “See?”

Beatrice is used to Ava’s habitual cursing by now. It doesn’t stop her from muttering language under her breath. “Try again. Stop dumping the clutch, it’s engaging too fast and the engine can’t keep up. When you start to feel resistance, slow down and let the clutch bite. You’ll feel it.”

The concept is, at its core, simple enough. Beatrice had explained it for the first time in their shared bed–a tiny twin that barely fit the two of them pressed together side by side–as she dragged her finger lightly over the dips and rises of Ava’s hips. It was the only way she could get Ava to listen, she said, and she was right. A little disconcerting to think that she was being allured into learning about cars in exchange for the mindblowing feeling of Beatrice’s undivided attention on her body, but the orgasms were good and she didn’t really mind, in the end. Tangled in the sheets and wrapped up in Beatrice’s arms, she could listen to anything Beatrice had to say. She doesn’t understand the words but memorizes them along with the curves of Beatrice’s body bathing in the sunlight. Ava focus please, Beatrice will say, and Ava will giggle and reply, How am I supposed to focus when I’m in the arms of such a pretty girl?

Ava turns the key and the car doesn’t start. As Beatrice is reminding her to keep in the clutch, as the engine starts to whine and crank, Ava catches onto the tinny voice coming through the shabby radio that mixes the channels together more often than not. 

“...and indeed scientists around the world are confirming this discovery as politicians and leaders try to contain the panic that is spreading across the globe. This is certainly a very sobering issue, and we advise our listeners to remain calm as the world leaders figure out what our next steps will be.”

Beatrice turns the radio off. “Nonesense,” she says, then points straight ahead. “Alright. Go again. No gas, just clutch.”

“You’re boring,” Ava mutters, but she tries again, this time easing off when the clutch starts to engage, and the car rolls forward.

[hoursofreading]

When I was a little kid, I felt that the adults around me had a thick, rich, complicated understanding of the way the world worked. They knew things – facts, history – and they understood processes and people and the way something like a bond measure or a public authority worked. It was this understanding – which they had, and I didn’t – that made me a child, and them adults. Grownups had an infrastructure of information, truth, and insight that I lacked. As I grew older, I was dismayed to discover that grownups really didn’t know a fraction of what I gave them credit for, and that most of the people ostensibly running the world had no clue how it operated, and my intense disillusionment caused me to lose sight of that adulthood theory for awhile.

But reading this book made me feel like a grownup because it helped me to understand the way the world works as I never had before. This book is about power. It is about politics. It is a history of New York City and New York State. It is an explanation of how public works projects are built. It is about money: public money, private money, and the vast and nasty grey areas where they overlap. This book is about democracy, and the lack thereof. It is about social policy, and economics, and our government, and the press. This book is about urban planning, housing, transportation, and about how a few individuals’ decisions can affect the lives of the masses. It helped explain traffic in the park, and the projects in Brownsville, and a billion other mysteries of New York City life that I'd wondered about. The Power Broker is about ideals, talent, and institutional racism. It is about inequality. It is about genius. It is about hubris. It is the best goddamn book I have ever read in my entire life, hands down, seriously.

Please do not think that it took me five months to read this book because it was dense or slow! This was a savoring, rather than a trudging, situation. Robert Caro is an incredibly engaging writer. One thing that happened to me early on from reading this was that I lost my taste for trashy celebrity gossip. Who CARES about Britney’s breakdown or, for that matter, Spitzer’s prostitute peccadilloes when I could be reading about the shocking intricacies of Robert Moses’ 1925 legislative consolidation and reorganization of New York State’s administrative structure? This book gave me chills – CHILLS! – on nearly every page with descriptions of arcane political maneuvering and fiscal policy so riveting that I lost my previous interest in reading about sex and drugs. Let’s face it: sex and drugs are pretty boring. Political graft, mechanics of influence, the workings of government: now that’s the hot stuff, when it’s presented in an accessible and digestible form. Nothing in the world is more fascinating than power, and Robert Caro writes about power better than anyone I’ve come across. There are no dry chapters in this book; there’s barely a dull page. It is infinitely more readable than Us magazine, and not much more difficult.

Of course The Power Broker is many things, among them a biography. While any one portrait of New York power icons from Al Smith to Nelson Rockefeller is more than worth the price of admission, this book is primarily about Robert Moses. Caro understands and explains the relationship between individual personalities and systems. One of his main theses is that Moses achieved the unchecked and unparalleled levels of power he did because he figured out how to reshape or create systems around himself. The Triborough Bridge and Tunnel Authority would not have existed without Robert Moses, and Robert Moses would not have been what he was, or accomplished what he did, without the brilliance he had for shaping the very structure of government into conduits for his own purposes. To explain this, Caro needs to convey a profound understanding not only of how these systems worked, but of who this man was. He does so, and the result goes beyond Shakespearean: it is Epic. The Power Broker is the story George Lucas was trying to tell about Anakin Skywalker’s transformation to Darth Vader, only George Lucas is no Robert Caro, and The Power Broker succeeds wildly in the places where Star Wars was just a hack job (of course, Caro wasn’t handicapped by Hadyn Christensen, which does indirectly raise the burning question: WHO’S OPTIONED THIS???).

[bongkillua]

6 tucker and konami 8 konami aaaand 13 konami (today is the day of konamis)

thank god bc i need to work on konami lore more hehehe

6. How does your oc feel about labels? Theirs, or in general?

TUCKER: tucker cared more about labels in the past but has kind of given up on them by the time the wolfsbane narrative is over. he had to be really assertive of his identity when he was younger because he had to defend it a Lot and ur much more believable if you have a Solid Set Of Words u use to define urself. even now though he definitely asserts his masculinity a lot more than jord or xander do and is more picky about the terms you use to refer to him but it’s also like. he thought he was a gay man and then he caught feelings for xander who says a different gender every time you ask so he also recognizes that even the labels he does use are kinda up to interpretation lol. i feel like he still chooses to introduce himself as a gay man when asked even though that’s straight up not how he identifies he just doesn’t feel like explaining everything bc he’s had to defend himself for so long. and if you assume something else before he can explain the stranger-friendly version of himself he’s just going to shrug and go along with it. in terms of like general feelings on labels again he understands the importance of them but is also Definitely going to forget any intricacies you try to explain to him especially if ur a stranger. like he just cannot be bothered to care. like definitely a “just give me your pronouns because i’ll fucking forget everything else sorry.” kind of guy. if someone else tries to start shit though he Will defend the fuck out of someone using Whatever Damn Labels They Please even if he barely knows you.

KONAMI: ok i had to like literally think about konamis entire personality arc for this. so like right after death when he finally starts connecting with people again (tucker and xander), konami thinks labels are really cool even though he doesn’t know what any of them mean. i feel like he likes the idea of being able to explain himself with a Word because they have to relearn themself from the ground up. i think in terms of sexuality he probably re-finds and identifies with “bisexual” pretty quickly bc as much as konami struggles with emotions and how to deal with them he is Very in tune with his preferences especially in regard to people. gender is a whole other can of worms though. pre-death hes very sure of his gender but after dying he forgot his own identity and loses touch with all the stuff he connected with before. he probably spends a lot of time picking people apart about their labels to see if he can Relate To That Too! id imagine it leads to a lot of “i think that’s cool i want to be that too”/“i don’t care about that i would never identity that way.” and very little of it is truly Genuine. over time though as he learns more people’s experiences and understands his own more he starts to genuinely hold some labels close. think a lot of them are related to Concepts like “computer” and “electricity” bc once he realizes that his gender can be Things as opposed to these weird ideas of femininity and masculinity that he just cannot relate to he starts to understand the whole Gender Thing more. BOY though. Boy is his favorite word. that’s their One Gender Word that they relate to so much they don’t want anyone else to have it. He is the Only Boy.

8. Have they had struggles with their identity, be it due to internal or external reasons?

KONAMI: post-death, yeah, but not so much to do with queerness as just identity in general. sorry these answers are gonna be rly similar because it’s hard to explain one without the other. anyways their pre-death life doesn’t feel like theirs to the point where they can’t identify themself in old pictures and obviously that does a lot of weird things to your identity. but for the sake of sticking with queerness he wakes up as a ball of energy in the shape of a body which has been altered (konami got top surgery and was on t pre death and those changes stick upon death) but somehow it still feels… right? and on top of all of that he literally like Can’t grasp the concept of gender because he forgets everything and doesn’t have any frame of reference for like. what gender is. his only frame of reference is Himself which is already gender weird both in presentation and feeling. it’s a really unique experience to have because, like, his struggle doesn’t come from any sort of cishetnormativity being imposed onto him but rather the feeling of Loss from once having an identity and seeing the marks it left behind and no longer being able to understand what got him there. i think it makes him upset because he really Wants to know himself ESPECIALLY when he’s “reintroduced” to who he was before death but he just can’t make the connections. i don’t think he shows it at All though and just sorta avoids the question when it comes up or makes a joke out it/insincerely agrees or disagrees based on how he thinks he Should identify. being surrounded by trans people definitely makes his journey to finding his own identity more Genuine but also makes it a lot longer of a ride. sexuality is a whole different story though LOL as i said before he’s very sure of what he Likes and once someone is like “yeah the word for that is usually bisexual” he’s like cool so i’m DEEEFINITELY bisexual. no struggle there.

13. Would your oc be open to a poly relationship? Why or why not?

KONAMI: i answered this previously but no i think konami is a very monogamous guy. first of all he’s extremely territorial and doesn’t like sharing because he’s been denied connection for so long. this like. is Not the best thing for a relationship but by the time he’s actually to the point where he can connect to people in that way again he’s gotten over it a lot but probably still wouldn’t want to Share a Partner. he’s just very Devoted. even pre-death he was very similar he was a super devoted and loving partner. and a lot of the way that he connects with people is like. one on one experiences and communication and referential stuff so polyamory just wouldn’t make sense to him.

these answers are so damn rambly i’m sorry lol. i like talking about konami though he’s definitely the least fleshed out of the main four at this point. need to fix that.

[existingrentfree]

I sit here once again, grappling with the complexity of my own mind, trying to make sense of the thoughts and emotions that swirl within me. It feels like an unending maze, and the more I try to explain it to others, the more I realize how elusive understanding can be.

Sometimes, it seems that people expect a clear-cut explanation for the chaos that resides within us. But how can I explain something when I am still trying to decipher it myself? It's a battle between my own thoughts, an intricate dance of uncertainty and introspection.

The weight of this burden often goes unnoticed by those around me. They see the smile on my face, the mask I wear to hide the inner turmoil. But beneath it all, there is a constant struggle to articulate the storm that rages within.

It's frustrating, to feel the pressure of explaining something that defies comprehension. It's like attempting to catch smoke with bare hands or grasp at the wind. The more I try to convey the intricacies of my thoughts, the more elusive they become.

Yet, in the midst of this frustration, I find solace in the knowledge that I am not alone. There are others who share this struggle, who also navigate the labyrinth of their own minds. It is in this shared experience that empathy blossoms, and understanding takes root.

Perhaps the truest understanding lies not in finding the perfect words to explain our inner workings but in the compassionate presence of those who listen without judgment. To have someone hold space for our uncertainties and offer support without needing a complete understanding.

So, while the weight of explaining my thoughts may sometimes feel overwhelming, I take comfort in knowing that there are people who genuinely care. And in those moments of vulnerability, I can simply be, without the pressure to dissect and explain every thought that passes through my mind.

As I close this chapter, I remind myself that self-compassion is just as crucial as seeking understanding from others. I will continue to navigate the labyrinth, embracing the journey of self-discovery, and allowing myself the grace to accept that not everything needs to be understood or explained.

For now, I find solace in the words of Rumi, who said, "The wound is the place where the light enters you." And perhaps, in the darkness of my own mind, there lies the potential for growth, healing, and the emergence of a deeper understanding that surpasses words.

Until our next encounter, may I find the courage to embrace the mysterious landscapes within me and find solace in the knowledge that I am not alone.

With introspection and acceptance,

ネジ

[fenharel-is-so-swell]

I’m in the very beginning stages of DAO (I haven’t played it in probably 6-8 years) and oh my gods the way they entice the player to engage in lore. Which is another issue in DAV, they just overwrite it then maybe explain the change away in a throw away codex in a sentence or two. I’m a lore hound and I find myself feeling it’s a chore trying to read DAV codex’s.

For comparison, this is the way lore is framed in DAO:

1. Lore as told by codex, with personal information such as faction of the author included. This provides faction grounding/world building. It often highlights opinion taught to the masses

2. Lore as told be characters. This provides character identity AND indicates dissent from established faction teachings. It adds humanity to the dogmatic writings of Genitivi(sp?) and the like (i.e. Hahrens)

3. Lore as told by the main story—often through the mouths of characters. It provides you enough to follow the world, but if you want the intricacies of faction/sub faction beliefs and how they pertain to past and current politics you are encouraged to delve deeper via avenues 1 and 2 (questions you can ask characters, or going through the codex)

Playing through Veilguard, I’ve realized I have a decent knowledge base for elves, humans (mages, Templars, guilds that include other races), and Qunari but I don’t have much knowledge of the dwarves and I noticed I FEEL like I’m missing info during Harding’s quests. It made me see that while the game spits/ poorly engages with most of the lore it also fails in the face of the number 1 defense of that problem: the devs are introducing new players.

No, they’re not. They’re using hand wavy yada yada and not engaging with/providing info accessible to new players to make the story understandable without established knowledge. It’s incredibly confusing because the overall feel of the game is that it is Exposition+Reboot the video game. Why did they smooth over the differences in the factions and then STILL write a story inaccessible for most people?what new player gives a fuck if that one thing happens to that one guy (spoilers iykyk) because he’s barely involved in the plot?????????? What was the point??? Who is this for?? The game has no audience identity and the writing suffers for it.

Playing through DAO again in between getting tired of Veilguard I’m finding myself even more frustrated because the through lines to DATV are sooooooo there, and I want to feel vindicated and excited but they’re just so poorly explained and sooooo poorly executed.

I was in the camp of retcon (which they absolutely do considering the opinions of Dalish elves v city elves and Qunari culture w/ comments Taash makes that erase the dangerous existence of the Tal vashoth). Now I’m more firmly in the boat of “how did you royally fuck up something with SO much potential”. You had two paths and you took neither of them. You didn’t write this game as though everyone who touched it would be new; and you didn’t write it as through everyone who touched it would be a seasoned DA fan.

It somewhat feels like the devs essentially played up through the joining and meeting Morrigan as a Cousland in DAO, then played trespasser and the other DAI DLCs, and saw fan art of Dorian and Isabella…then just ran with it. Along the way the community council told them “do this thing with this lore” and they did it with no extra thought. Most of it isn’t wrong per se, it’s just so horribly written it loses the plot.

I’m not even a DAO truther. I’m playing with a skip combat mod because I hate the mechanics and don’t love the aesthetic. I’m much more of a DA2/DAI girl but wow, how we have fallen.

I don't want to join the group of fans that reduce Veilguard's issues down just "retconning" because I truly believe it's a far deeper problem as a whole, where there is very little, if any at all really, attempting to engage the player in the lore and changes from that lore ie the Crow's philosophy. So what happens due to that with no acknowledgment of these changes between the previous games and now is old fans use previous knowledge as a framework to apply and when it doesn't match up, it feels wrong and bad and a whole slew of other things.

And knowing this, trying to keep this in mind, any time I think of how the Wardens were written by the narrative I start to whiteknuckle the sink because oh my god what did they DO.