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betweenstorms · 26 days ago

Note

HI HI HI HELLO!!!!!!! i really genuinely love your recent childhood friend!simon!!! UGH I’M OBSESSED!! and i’m not sure if you’d expound on the future chapters but i was wondering about what simon was thinking about in the recent chapters and how he finally decided to visit the apartment? SO SO AMAZING LOVE THIS SO MUCH!! LOVE YOU <33

Hiii, your excitement seriously made my day! As for what Simon was thinking and why he finally decided to visit the apartment, there’s definitely a lot of internal conflict, suppressed desire and nostalgia at play...

Drabble Two of Where We Part (previous chapter) (next chapter) (masterlist) Childhood Friend!Simon x fem!Reader

Simon Riley had been back from Urzikstan for less than a day.

Adrenaline still pulsed through his veins, the heat and the dust of those two weeks spent under a burning sky that offered no mercy still clinged to him. The gunfire, the danger, the uncertainty of life and death—it was a language he spoke fluently.

Those were moments where Ghost thrived.

Where the chaos of war had stripped everything down to raw survival, moments where the buzzing noise of his mind finally quieted beneath the relentless rhythm of gunfire. But even in the silence between missions, in the rare, stolen moments of rest, his thoughts drifted to one thing.

You.

It was maddening, how your presence lingered in his mind, like a gentle but nagging whisper. He carried you with him like a secret, a tether pulling him back from the abyss. Every step in the dusty streets, every shadowed alleyway, seemed to remind him of the promise he'd made to you back in Manchester. That he would visit you. A promise he never thought he’d care about, but now, it was all he could think about. And when the mission was finally over, when the dust had settled, the only thing that mattered was you.

He was wary of you, and yet, he desired you in equal measure.

Simon Riley was certain you would be the death of him—

—and somehow, he welcomed it.

Simon had felt like he was drowning his whole life, as if every breath he took was a struggle to break the surface.

But when he saw you again back in Manchester, like a reminder of a kid he once was, it was as though he finally breathed freely for the first time. He didn’t care about the reasons or the logic behind it, all he knew was that he needed you near him, for as long as he could hold on. And he couldn’t lie to himself about the nature of that need. It wasn’t pure, wasn’t noble. He wanted you in a way that was selfish, possessive. It wasn’t the kind of attraction people dream of—it was raw, primal, something that consumed him like a wildfire he couldn’t control. He wanted you beside him, wanted you to carry his name, to feel the weight of his claim, etched into your skin, into your flesh, into your very being. You were his, in the only way he knew how to love.

He didn’t really know what love was, didn’t have a name for it, and he didn’t even care to define what the fuck he felt about you—so long as you were there, within reach, threaded into the fabric of his life.

That was all that mattered.

The visceral need, this ache that gnawed at him, wasn’t something he’d known before, not until he saw you again in that bloody pub.

The familiarity of the child he once knew had shifted, twisted into something deeper, something undeniable in the man he had become. He couldn’t trace when it started—whether it had been lingering in him since his first breath, woven into his very being, destined to be yours, or if it had bloomed in him just yesterday.

Time seemed irrelevant.

The only thing he knew for certain was this—

—he needed you back in his life, needed you like a pulse, something vital, something he couldn’t survive without.

The impulse to kill and to love had always been intertwined within Simon, a duality he carried like a shadow stitched to his soul since birth. But in your presence, something shifted. The urge to destroy, to demolish and to go for the throat, it all fell away and washed clean by the quiet, undeniable force of what he felt for you. As if, in loving you, he could somehow cleanse the violence from his core, from his entire being and become something whole.

Each time you crossed his mind, he couldn't help but think, either release him from this tempting torment or take him with you, away to that soft world you seemed to belong to, where the air carried the scent of lost childhood, where everything was draped in your gentle colour. There, he could finally surrender. And in that quiet, where you lived and breathed, he could rest—beside you, within you, over you, under you, and at last, know peace.

Therefore, when the plane touched down on British soil, something pulled tight inside him. The mission was over, but he knew his real, internal battle was just beginning. The ache to see you, to keep his promise, burned hotter than any physical wound he carried. His mind, which had always been sharp and focused, was filled only with you.

He barely registered the team’s dispersal.

Price had clapped him on the shoulder, saying something about debriefs, but Simon’s mind was already elsewhere.

He moved mechanically, shedding the blood, sweat and tears of war in the shower of his quarters, the boiling water doing nothing to thaw the chill that had settled deep into his bones. He didn’t linger for long. The thought of you waiting for him, of finally seeing you again, pulled him through the motions like a man possessed.

His thoughts, his entire being, were already elsewhere.

Already with you.

Simon grabbed his keys, his civilian clothes clinging to his wet skin. London blurred past him as he drove, headlights streaking like distant stars, but none of it registered. His only thought was you—what you’d say, how you’d look at him when he showed up, unannounced at your apartment. Would you be pleased? Surprised? Annoyed? He wasn’t sure, but the need to find out burned through him, the only thing that cut through the fog of his post-mission mind.

When he finally pulled up outside your flat, the building loomed in front of him, a place of safety, of solace, yet suddenly it felt like hostile territory. His throat tightened as he took the stairs two at a time, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts. His legs carried him faster than his mind could keep up with. As he stood at your door, his hand raised to knock, a wave of uncertainty washed over him.

What the bloody hell was he doing?

What the fuck did he hope to find here?

He hadn’t told you he was coming, hadn’t prepared himself for what might come next. His foggy mind was filled with a thousand doubts. What if you didn’t want to see him? What if he had been a complete fool? He wasn’t good at shit like this—at people, at feelings. He was a soldier, built for violence and destruction, not for this. However, the warmth you’d given him back in Manchester, the way you’d made him feel something beyond the endless emptiness, he wasn’t sure he could walk away from that.

You made him feel alive in ways he hadn’t expected, hadn’t asked for.

The rational part of him screamed to leave, to save himself from whatever mistake he was about to make. He wasn’t meant for soft things, he wasn’t made for the quiet kind of intimacy that seemed to come so easily to others.

But there was something in you, something gentle and tender, that hid away the edges of a world that had taught him to bite in order to survive. Your innocent gaze, like the eyes of a lamb, made him feel like a creature half-tamed, haunted by the violence others had long branded into his skin. Sometimes, he felt like a stray dog everyone feared, the one they whispered about, the one they warned their loved ones about. The one who’d been hurt enough to snarl, to bare his teeth when he didn’t mean to.

He didn’t want that, no... not with you.

He didn’t understand the instinct to bite, the reflex to lash out before he was hurt. But with you, it felt like a betrayal of something sacred, something fragile. He longed to be gentle, to be soft in a way he’d never learned, but feared the wolf inside might never be tamed.

He stepped back from the door, leaning against the wall, trying to gather his thoughts.

What if this was a huge mistake? What if you didn’t even care that he was back? What would he even say if you answered?

It wasn’t like you owed him anything.

There were no promises between you—just a coincidence, a fleeting moment that might have meant more to him than it did to you. For all he knew, you could’ve moved on, forgotten all about him.

And yet, he knocked.

The sound was almost timid, barely more than a hum against the quiet of the night. Simon waited, his heart pounding, the seconds dragging out like hours. When there was no response, doubt began to claw at him again. Then he knocked again, this time a little louder, but still, nothing. Maybe you weren’t home. Maybe you didn’t want to see him. He knocked a third time, frustration tightening in his chest, the irrational need to see you overwhelming all sense.

Just as he was about to turn away, footsteps echoed softly from inside. Then the door burst open, and there you were.

“Jesus Christ,” you snapped, words tumbling out before you could stop them. “Do you have any idea how much you scared me?”

He didn’t have the right words. He never did. But seeing you there, standing in the doorway, looking at him with those wide, questioning eyes—it was enough. It was more than enough.

“Didn’t mean to.”

The silence between you felt like fire against his skin, a scorching ache that made his chest tighten. How could it hurt so much to be alone with you? You were something he both craved and feared, a temptation too pure to touch but impossible to resist.

And then there was the way you looked at him.

As if he were more than a man, as if he was the one who arranged the stars in their constellations, as if the darkness itself was his creation, painted with the black depths of his soul just so you could lie beneath it. It unsettled him, that curious gaze, full of devotion, as though you saw something divine in him that he could never see in himself. And in that moment, he wasn’t sure which was more terrifying—the longing to believe it, or the fear that it might be true.

Honestly, he didn’t know what he felt.

Maybe this was all some twisted, sick need to reclaim the childhood he had lost, and maybe you were the anchor he used to hold onto it. Perhaps you were nothing more than a rebound, a vessel to fill the hollow ache inside him, something to use and discard once he had squeezed from you the illusion of meaning. Holding you close gave him a fleeting sense of peace, a brief pause in the chaos, as if you could somehow stitch together the pieces of his fractured past, just to feel a fleeting sense of something, anything.

Maybe it was all a lie, a cruel delusion he had woven around himself—a tempting trap where you were just a means to an end. Someone he could use to convince himself it was for a greater purpose, to make the suffering mean something. That you were some kind of proof that everything he endured was worth it, even if deep down he feared it might not be true.

Perhaps in holding onto you, he was grasping for evidence that his life, his childhood, wasn’t a hollow, loveless, empty thing.

That his pain wasn’t for nothing.

That he wasn’t for nothing.

But he didn’t care about that now. There was no time to waste on this shit, no point in dissecting the nature of the need that burned inside him. He could question it all later, the whys and the hows, but right now, none of that mattered. It was the one right thing he had done in a life full of wrong turns and empty promises.

In this moment, there was no space for fucking doubt, no room for regret. It didn’t matter if it was love, or nostalgia, or some unnamable hunger—what mattered was that he had found his way back to you.

He knew that he was in the right place.

Right next to you.

Even if it was just a drabble, I feel like it helped paint Simon in a slightly different light, offering a glimpse into his deeper, more vulnerable side. I’m excited to share Part Five of Where We Part tomorrow (10.21.), so stay tuned for that! We’re nearing the end now, closing in on the moment of salvation, and I can’t wait for you to see where it all leads.

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moonlight-prose · 1 year ago

Text

✧ MORE THAN ENOUGH ✧

a/n: i wrote this at 3am, sleep deprived but somehow still thinking about this man. honestly i fully think my best works come out of the 3am haze. the thots are always around though when it comes to miguel. it's hard to believe kinktober is already almost done. seriously october has gone by so fast i'm actually upset. but nonetheless, the show will go on. so enjoy this filthy miguel fic my darlings.

day eighteen - sex pollen | kinktober 2023

summary: "this life was dangerous enough. neither of you wanted to make it harder by being stupid and falling in love. but that was the worst part. he had fallen long before you ever did. and there was no escaping the grasp you had on his heart."

word count: 2.4k+

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, sex pollen (which means slight dubious consent/dubcon), consent is given, p in v sex, miguel being a tortured soul, angst, the ramblings of an exhausted writer.

The mission was routine. Simply another anomaly that you had to secure before heading back home. Each move, each maneuver was familiar—something your body knew by muscle memory now. You apprehended them, grabbed a meal on the way home, and climbed through your living room window at a quarter past two in the morning. Exhaustion riddled your body when you finally entered your bedroom, the dirty suit you wore now an irritation as you slipped out of it.

Even though you wanted to collapse, give into sleep for as long as possible, you were in desperate need of a shower. With a groan, you headed towards the bathroom, suit discarded on the floor, watch still attached to your wrist. Thankfully it was capable of handling a bit of water in the shower.

Halfway through the mission the villain had sprayed you in the face with a powder. Bright red that covered your suit, mixing with the black fabric and practically disappearing. It wasn’t until you saw a red stream into the water did you remember the pungent floral scent that nearly suffocated you. One single spray and you were brought down to your knees, gasping for breath.

Yet the fact that you were simply able to shake it off made you think nothing of it. Until the water turned warm.

A hot stream from the nozzle soothed your aching muscles, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation. You needed it after the night you had. But the heat simply continued to build. Steam rising in the room and clinging to your skin the longer you stood there. Your fingers twitched at your sides, senses ringing loudly in your ears as you tried to figure out what part of your body was going haywire.

Hissing at the burn, you scrambled for the nozzle to turn it cold. Yet even that didn’t cure the painful incapacitating ache that began to overtake you. Turning your legs into jello and sending you to the ground with a hard thump. You gasped, clawing at the walls for some reprieve to get out, but your body had gone limp. The heat now seeping lower, curling around the base of your spine and screaming for something.

Something red flashed on your watch, drawing your attention to it quickly. And it wasn’t until the harsh beep of a call came through did you realize it was your vitals notifying you that something was wrong. Slamming your hand down on the watch, a small form of Miguel popped up. His mask covering his face. Yet even from this angle you could tell he stood rigid and worried.

“Miggy,” you sighed, head falling back against the shower wall.

“Something’s wrong.”

You scoffed, pressing your thighs together at the painful ache that surged through you simply from the sound of his voice. “No shit.”

“Nena,” he warned, the soft whine you let out filtering through the call and grasping his attention.

With a sharp inhale, you dragged your hand up your thigh, feeling the way your body jolted. “The mission went wrong.”

“Explain.”

“There was a fucking powder,” you said, eyes trained on the way he moved in the small hologram. It became clear to you that he was pacing. “A red one.” You gasped softly when your fingers slid along your inner thigh. “I’m burning up.”

He let out a harsh breath. “Your vitals are all over the place.”

“Need help.” Letting your fingers dip even further, you felt the pool of wetness that trickled down your leg, your pussy fluttering around nothing. “‘S hot. Can’t fucking—ah—need you.”

Miguel stiffened, mask vanishing and eyes narrowing as he took in the way your eyes fluttered shut, teeth digging into your bottom lip. Before you could beg him again—your voice sweet and enticing—he was ending the call with a guttural noise. A portal already opening up beside him seconds later—your window in his sights.

He could feel a weight fall on his shoulders the second he climbed in, swiftly sliding it shut behind him and flipping the lock for an extra measure. It didn’t do much, but it put his mind at ease knowing the safety was set in place. Miguel wasn’t one to drop everything and go, but this was you. The person whose smile was permanently etched into his heart. Who lit up his day by simply starting up a conversation about nothing—your words quickly divulging into a rambling mess.

Yet he listened anyway.

Content to simply hear the sound of your voice.

Ten steps into the apartment he felt it. His senses flying off the charts, your scent filtering through the air, stronger than normal. Two steps away from the door he nearly fell to his knee as he heard you. The utterly obscene echo of your moans muffled through the door—the sound of your fingers plunging into your slick with reckless abandon. His mouth went dry, eyes darkening and claws descending as he softly knocked. He hoped you were still okay enough to acknowledge his presence; to ask him for help.

“Miguel,” you softly whimpered, pain lacing your voice and that’s what had him shoving open the door. His eyes raked down your naked form to check for injuries before settling on your face. Entirely contorted in a mixture of anguish and bliss.

“Amorcito,” he murmured, face softening as a tear streaked down your cheek, hand reaching out for him.

He fell to his knees beside you, gathering you close. It was hard to ignore the way his cock twitched at your moan—your body reacting to his touch without hesitation. As if you were opening up to the underlying feelings you had both shoved down. This life was dangerous enough. Neither of you wanted to make it harder by being stupid and falling in love.

But that was the worst part.

He had fallen long before you ever did. And there was no escaping the grasp you had on his heart.

“What can I do?” he asked, lips brushing against your temple.

The water still thrummed loudly against the shower floor, heat spilling out into the rest of your home. But Miguel didn’t care. Not when you were curling yourself around his body, lips dragging along his neck and hips bucking up into his stomach. You were wanton and needy. Breathy moans and pleas of needing him falling from your lips—eyes glassy with lust.

“It hurts,” you gasped, somehow managing to catch your clit on the bulge of his suit.

He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as he let you work out your needs. Biting down on his bottom lip until copper burst on his tongue while you grinded shamelessly against his body. Your moans being pressed to his neck, fingers digging into his back. It was its own kind of torture. But Miguel refused to take pleasure in the fact that you were in pain. He couldn’t.

Not when your mind was elsewhere.

On his way to the bathroom he spotted your suit on the ground. The red substance clearly marked on the fabric and he made a mental note to take it with him for testing. Whatever the fuck you’d been infected with wasn’t something he wanted out on the streets. Not if it was this painful.

A sharp gasp signaled the end of his sanity. Your eyes fluttered shut, mouth forming an O as your body shuddered. A gush of slick now coating the outside of his suit. His body was screaming at him, fingers digging into your soft skin. For a brief moment he wondered if it was safe to pull away. Simply to regain some control over himself. But then your teeth sunk into his neck, hips moving once more, and Miguel heard the thin strand of his control snap.

With a groan, he pressed you back onto the shower floor, your yelp covered by his mouth. Tongue slipping in to taste you, your moan being swallowed by him licking deeply into you. Hands pulled at his hair, twisting the now soaked locks around your fingers as your legs locked him in place. A gasp echoing in the small space as you pulled away—eyes taking in the way he practically fell apart for you with a single look.

“Please,” you whimpered. “I need you.”

He fumbled with his watch, pressing the buttons needed for his suit to dematerialize, leaving him bare above you. Yet something tight pulled at his chest. A feeling he couldn’t ignore, even as your mouth parted, eyes going wide at the sight of his cock jutting up into his stomach. Miguel wanted to capture that image of you and keep it in his lab. The pure raw desire on your face, blatantly clear for him to see.

“What do you need nena?” he asked, his chest heaving and eyes focused on your face. He hadn’t allowed them to drop ever since he pulled you close, too intent on making sure you were going to live to see tomorrow.

“You.” Your hands slid along his back, pulling him close until your lips brushed against his. “Please. It hurts so fucking bad.”

He nodded. “Okay. I’ve got you.”

A soft puff of air washed across his cheek as he guided his cock to your entrance, feeling the way your slick practically poured across his length. Coating him in a shiny layer of you. It made his mouth water, his body calling out to you even as he pressed into you slowly. Biting back a cry at the feeling of you tightly wrapped around his cock. You were warm. So fucking warm Miguel nearly shoved his way in, but he could sense the slight tinge of pain that bloomed across your body. Your face scrunching up as a loud moan echoed in the room.

“So big,” you gasped, hips canting down to let him sink in an inch further. Until his hips were pressed to yours—filling you so much he felt the wires in his brain fry.

“Mierda.” His hand slapped to the floor beside your head, body going taut as his head tilted back, the veins prominent on his skin. “‘M not gonna last bebita.”

You watched transfixed as he finally looked back down at you, his teeth clenched and bared as he slid out of you slowly, only to shove himself back in. Crying out, you dug your nails into his lower back, feeling the muscles contract beneath your fingers as he moved. Thrusting into you swiftly—barely even pulling out.

It scared him how quickly he became addicted to the feel of you. The way you writhed in pleasure beneath him, moaning out a garbled version of his name. He wanted to bury himself in your chest. To make a home in your heart without any promise of leaving, but he’d settle for this. The heat of your body against his, your eyes rolling back as his cock kissed right where you needed him most.

“Eres mía,” he gasped, sliding his hand up your back and lifting you slightly. He fucked you deep, feeling the way your body trembled beneath his touch, breaths erratic and filled with high pitched whines. “Never fucking leaving this.”

You cried out, your walls clamping down around his cock and dragging a low grunt from his chest. “I-I don’t want you to.”

His eyes snapped up to yours, hips stuttering when your nails dug into his skin, no doubt leaving a mark—or so he hoped. “Yeah?” He shifted the angle, pounding down into you and dragging a sob from your chest. “You want me to stay nena? Fuck you full of me?”

Your walls tightened even further, head falling back as he did what he could to shove you towards what you needed most. What would finally put your body at ease. Tears dripped into your hair, the heat practically radiating off your body and seeping into his. And with one final deep grind of his hips against yours, you broke. Sobbed his name so loud for the entire apartment complex to hear as you soaked his cock.

Miguel nearly dropped you to the ground, his body giving out at the feeling of you dragging him in so tight he never wanted to leave. White flashed behind his eyes, the breath now stolen from his lungs, as he came so hard he nearly collapsed. Catching your lips in a messy kiss, he cried out, spurting into you until he nearly spilled out. Filling you so full you were sure to feel him for days.

With a gasp, your release finally came to an end, body going limp in his hold. He was soaked from the water—now cold—that still echoed thunderously in the bathroom. With a shaky hand he reached out and switched the knob off. Panting into your mouth as he attempted to regain some of his strength.

“Miguel,” you sighed, hands sliding along his sides.

He grunted, lifting himself up with effort. “Let me get you up, amorcita.”

You shook your head, a whine leaving your lips and legs crossing over his back, effectively shoving him back down over you. “Don’t. Please.”

“I have to. The substance is out of your system.” As much as he wanted to give in to those feelings, to stay right there on the floor with you, he knew this was fleeting. Something to help you when you couldn’t help yourself. Because Miguel knew he would always be there when you needed him.

But then your lips met his once more, hands tangling in his hair. “I meant what I said Miggy.”

“It was—”

“Not entirely the powder,” you said, pressing your thumb to his lips. “I care about you Miguel. More than I probably should.”

That weight from earlier slid off his chest and he swore he could hear it crash to the floor. Shattering on contact. Crimson eyes met yours, an emotion flickering in them so prominent it tore at your heart—forcing your feelings to the very forefront of your body. There was no turning back after this. No possibility where your emotions didn’t clash with reality—intertwining dangerously with the role you were given.

But that was the thing when it came to him.

You wanted the danger. You wanted him in whatever form you could get. Even if it was in fleeting moments like this.

“I know our life is dangerous, but I want…” You sighed, your head falling to the ground with a soft thud. “I want you.”

“Amorcita…”

“If that’s what you want too.”

He smiled, leaning down to press his lips to yours, hands sliding along your sides. “More than you know,” he murmured, settling his body over yours completely, finally giving into the feelings that clawed at his chest.

Content to remain right there with you.

For as long as you wanted.

#miguel o'hara x f!reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #spiderman 2099 #my writing #kinktober 2023

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aka-indulgence · 11 months ago

Text

Got a oneshot! Have a fic where Sans rejects your romantic pursuits with a happy twist ;)

CW: Flashback section containing Sans’ ex, where he wasn’t having a good time

(Sans & Gender Neutral Reader)

Sans doesn’t know what he thinks about the whole romance thing after a disastrous start. What happens when a precious friend confesses?

——————

It wasn’t entirely unexpected.

Sans didn’t think much of it when you came that day. Sans would often usually invite you over anyway, though today you were first to ask him if you could visit. Which was fine- he’s never as comfortable with anyone else as much as he was comfortable with you. (Maybe Papyrus, but even then there were things Sans wouldn’t tell his brother because he didn’t want to burden him with problems that Sans would rather burden himself with.)

You were laughing. He always loved it when you laughed.

“so i told him: paper-thin skin? buddy. pal. i ain’t got skin.”

You were in an uproar, slapping your knee. “Oh my god! I’d give the world to see the look on his face,”

“oh yeah. definitely unforgettable. man got so red faced he looked like he was gonna burst. he then stomped out like an angry toddler.”

You were giggling, before the both of you fell into a silence. That was a normal part of conversations, Sans was used to it. Especially with you, the silence was never unwelcome. But this time… something felt different. The air has shifted. Your carefree expression had changed into something more contemplative. He wasn’t sure what it was, then. Or maybe, he just didn’t want to read too deep into it.

You spoke up.

“... Hey Sans? Can I tell you something?”

Why was he nervous?

“... yeah?”

“It’s… um. Give me a second…” you laughed nervously. “Haha, sorry, I feel a little sick.”

Sans’ brows furrowed. “what’s up? you ok..?”

You huffed. “Ok. Yeah. Sorry for ruining the moment? But uh… it’s been on my mind for a while, and I have to tell you. I hope you’re ok with me saying this but. I like you, Sans. Kind of… a lot?”

… Ringing. Sans hears ringing. It feels like something in his soul crashed.

“... Sans?”

Sans wasn’t there. His mind was somewhere else.

“i just… i just don’t know if i like you in that way…”

Her face broke into despair. She wouldn’t look his way. She didn’t even say a word to him.

“w… wait. why are you… where are you going?”

“I can’t be here.”

It was years ago. Monsters had lived on the surface for about a year. She was one of Papyrus’ friends, and their first meeting had been wonderful. It still leaves an ache in his chest when he thinks about it now, how hopeful he was when he met her. She was fun, always got Sans involved in social events, always found her way towards him when he was sitting on the sidelines while Papyrus took the stage.

“hey i wouldn’t recommend the punch.”

“Why not?”

“y’see, i like funny things. and that thing… it ain’t got a punchline.”

“... Are you seriously punning?”

“i think i’m being funny.”

“Hah, that’s so stupid,”

She was laughing. But when Sans thinks about it now, maybe it was a pitying one. Sans wasn’t one to judge, puns didn’t win everyone over.

She quickly became a regular in his life, the first human friend he’s made since the surface, one that seemed more interested in him than his brother. She would even pout and joke when Sans didn’t give her enough attention which was cute, at the time. It was easy introducing her to his friends, with how often she tagged along with him.

She would put her arm over his shoulders, hug him, get so close to kissing but miss… Sans never initiated, but only because he wasn’t much of a physical person to begin with. It was nice to have someone so affectionate with him.

He really liked having her in his life.

And then… came that fateful day.

“I was going to wait for you. But you never asked me out.”

“what do you mean…?”

“I know you’re smart, Sans. I’ve been obvious. I just don’t know if you even like me.”

He didn’t know where this had come from. He was suddenly put on the spot, struggling to give her an answer, an answer that he knew she wanted. But Sans was lost.

“i just… i just don’t know if i like you in that way…”

“...”

She was stoic. She was upset with him, she left him alone in his room after he brought out the games he was hoping to play together. Had he made a mistake…? Was he really that dense? Was he just terrible with commitment?

She… she deserved better.

So he decided to fix it. At least, he thought he was fixing it. Though it turned to be a decision Sans would regret soon after.

He showed up at her door the next night. She hadn’t responded to his texts, his calls. Not even Papyrus’. He felt guilty, like he ruined something perfectly good.

i can’t lose her.

Sans was starting to panic if she maybe had left- then the door opened. Sans soul shook when he saw how her face fell when she saw his face. She was going to retreat back into her room.

“w-wait! please listen to me,” His hand was at the door. “i… i made a mistake. you’re important to me, ok? and i think i want… to be with you.”

His soul sung when she finally looked him in the eyes. There were tears in hers, but she was smiling, and he was happy to have her hugging him again. The tension snapping was a relief. That he saved himself. But even then he wondered… why did it taste bitter to say those last few words?

It… didn’t last long. More and more of Sans’ time was taken up by her, which… should be a good thing. Couples should spend lots of time together, right? But he didn’t have time for his friends anymore. Everytime she went out, he needed to come with.

“Sans, you smell like ketchup.”

“oh… yeah, i put too much on my hotdog.”

“Come on, you need to eat something better. People keep telling me you smell like grease.”

“... really?”

“Yeah. Here, I got you new clothes. Crisp!”

“oh… thanks.”

“Get ready, I’m planning to go at six.”

He was becoming active. He was going out every day, he wasn’t locking himself in his room.

It was for the better, he told himself. She brought out the life in him.

… Sans always thought he was intuitive. He was the best at reading people. He’s the judge. It came to him like breathing.

But apparently, he had been blinded. He had a hard time trusting himself. That maybe his gut feeling was wrong.

“SANS…”

Papyrus had found him alone during a party, having escaped to the bathroom. His sockets had bags under them. His face was dripping with water. He just… needed to rest. Without anyone else around.

“ARE YOU ALRIGHT?”

“yeah… i am. just needed to freshen up is all.”

Papyrus looked so… sad. He hadn’t seen his brother frown so deeply, in a way that made Sans feel guilty.

“SANS. I KNOW YOU FEEL LIKE YOU NEED TO PROTECT ME FROM YOUR FEELINGS EVEN THOUGH I DON’T NEED YOU TO DO THAT BUT… YOU HAVEN’T LIED SINCE WE SURFACED, AND NOW IT’S BACK. AND I THINK… YOU MIGHT BE LYING TO YOURSELF AS WELL. BROTHER… WHAT’S THE MATTER?”

Sans was getting sloppy. He looked away from him, to the mirror- he couldn’t handle that sorrowful look on Papyrus’ face. All that did though, was force him to confront his own expression. His signature smile wasn’t even there. And Sans couldn’t muster the energy to bring it back.

“I DON’T WANT TO PRY, IF YOU’RE UNCOMFORTABLE, BUT… Could This Have Something To Do With Her?”

Sans should’ve said no. Denied it. Told Paps that everything was fine and he was just… just overwhelmed. But he didn’t.

“i… maybe. i…” He exhaled through his phalanges, staring at the bottom of the sink. “i don’t know if i love her, pap. at least… romantically. i’m… i’m trying paps, i’m trying, i should- she deserves to have someone love her. i want to love her.”

Papyrus finishes his thought for him.

“BUT YOU DON’T.”

“... no.”

Sans felt horrible. He felt like he was leading her on. But Sans really thought that he loved her. He did! He cared for her!

… But not in the way she wanted.

And Sans didn’t want to pretend anymore.

“What did it? Did… did you find another person??”

“no. it’s nothing like that.”

“Then what changed?!”

She was shouting. Sans didn’t like the shouting. She never took kindly to him giving anyone- anything else attention. Sans tried to fix it, at first. He thought he was the problem until he got the messages asking him where he was, why he was so absent.

“nothing has, it was just a lot of little things. i’m sorry. i don’t love you in that way.”

“... How could you say something so horrible!?”

It was a good thing they hadn’t moved in together. She had insisted on moving, and that was one thing Sans could put his foot down about. He has a couple of old shirts and pants at her place from the nights he’s stayed, but nothing he’ll miss much. Lots of them were clothes she approved. It smelled like perfume. Even when he thought he was in love with her he thought moving together then was too fast.

She blocked him. Cut him out. Told her friends how Sans didn’t try hard enough when she put in the effort. Sans was never a crier- but he was in tears, hiding in his room. He would talk about it with Papyrus, but right then, he didn’t want anyone to hear. He wanted to throw his phone, he wanted to scream at her. He loved her! Maybe- maybe he never wanted to date her, maybe, if they hadn’t they’d still be friends but she always just… took too much.

It was nice when Papyrus chose to cut her off, to show support for him. It was ironic, even though Sans was the one she always chased, she always seemed to be on good terms with Papyrus. Even would ask him to put in a word for her after their arguments.

Sans was fine now. No- more than fine. Sans was happy. His time with her being a mere bump during his time on the surface.

Then, not too long after, he met you.

He never realized what was missing until he met you. You gave him space, and you never asked him to change for you. You… you liked who he was, you liked Sans.

After her Sans was afraid to attach so fast but… he really, really wanted to keep you in his life. He might even like you, more than a friend would. But he wasn’t ready to start another storm in his life.

As he looked into your eyes, he felt his soul sink. He wasn’t ready for it to end.

“... i… i’m sorry,” Why was the air so hot? “i… i… hhh,”

“Huh?”

It was a little hard to breathe. Which should be impossible. He’s a skeleton… air… air literally moves through his ribcage. He isn’t… uh… what’s happening?

You were frowning. Oh no. Were you upset?

“S-Sans? Are you ok?”

Sans was gripping the couch too tightly, phalanges digging into the couch cushions, close to ripping them. Beads of sweat were rolling down his skull. He suddenly felt pathetic… panicking over you.

“Sans?”

His eyelights darted back to you, bringing him back to the present. You looked so confused… he felt so guilty.

no… i can’t do it again.

“i… sorry. i don’t… mean to panic in front of you but… are you upset?”

“About what? I’m… Sans, you’re not making a lot of sense.”

He presses a hand to his face, then takes a deep breath. His mind was in a frizzle and he had to explain to you now before he goes crazy.

“sorry, my mind is a mess right now. i… i don’t want to make you sad. but i don’t know if i’m ready for a relationship right now. and it isn’t you, it’s… it’s me. i don’t want to take away your hope or anything but… i don’t know if i’ll ever be ready for a romantic relationship.”

You blinked at him.

“Oh,”

Sans tensed. Expecting you to explode, or cry, or yell at him, run out the house, hate him, oh god he ruined everything-

“Sans, that’s… ok?”

“...”

what?

“w… what do you mean?”

You’re confused. Sans was too. You shift your eyes left and right.

“I mean… that’s ok. I just didn’t want to make you upset is all, and w… why are you looking at me like that?”

Was he dreaming? His eyelight flashed yellow, as if he could find something. He scanned your face, your eyes, your nose- looking for a shudder, a twitch, even a pulse out of place.

Your face was neutral. Was it just hard to read you?

“you know, you can tell me if you’re upset.” Sans was telling the truth. “i can take it. i’d rather you tell me straight to my face if you are. i… i don’t want to lose you.”

You look startled at his sudden pleading, before giving him a pitiful smile. You put your hands on his shoulders.

“Sans? Can you look at me?” You asked in a soft voice.

It was difficult to look up. He knows you, you’re not the type to yell at him or to curse him for little things. He’d trust his judgment but he’s been mistaken before. Nonetheless, slowly, he tilts his skull up to you. When he does, he sees the determination in your eyes, a fierce yet gentle look.

“Sans. Believe me, I’m ok. You’re not going to lose me if you tell me no. Ok?”

“m… mhm,”

Your serious expression melts a little when you start snickering. “Sans, I… I didn’t even get to finish my sentence. I was about to tell you that I’ll understand if you don’t wanna do a whole romance with me, I’ll be fine! I think it’d be great, and I stand by saying I like you a lot. But, I also like where we are right now, and staying like this is pretty nice too. Just being with you is fun, and whether you’re my friend or my boyfriend, that’s not going to change. So… if you’re ok with staying friends after my confession, I think I’d like that.”

The static of panic started to fade away, and a feeling of calm washed over him. The relief was so potent that Sans could feel his sockets start to sting.

h… heh… i was worrying for nothing.

“yes. god, i’d like that too,” Sans wobbles, phalange wiping his socket. “i was scared that if… if i said no you’d hate me.”

“Pfft,” you snort, before you quickly covered your mouth. “Sorry that wasn’t, I’m not laughing at you. I just want to know what made you think that?”

You bump him gently on the shoulder with your fist. “I thought you knew me!”

Sans snickers, a bit more giggly than usual. “i do! i just have doubts when it comes to romance nowadays,” He sighed. “so… you’re really ok with being friends?”

“Yeah! What’s so bad about being friends anyway? As long as you’re not weirded out by me, if I still get to see you, I count that as a win.”

Sans thought the same thing. He smiled.

“yeah… you’re right.”

It was definitely a win having you in his life.

You go oof! When all of a sudden Sans tugs you into a hug, squeezing you tightly.

“i’m… i’m glad i met you.”

You take him in for a moment, before wrapping your arms around him. You squeeze him back.

“Me too.”

#i used to get really sad reading sans rejection angst fics #then i thought about this to myself #and i feel better :>#sans is cool and i love him uvu #aka writing #angst is a speck in the window and reader deals with it nicely #gender neutral reader

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ram-bles · 6 days ago

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Plsplspls daisuke and reader romance hcs and my soul is yours

gn/transmasc whichever you prefer thank you so much

daisuke x reader | headcanons

part 4:

Romance edition

pay up anon 🫴👈 /j no, bc I have notes about this already and I saw you pop up in my notifs.

⚠️: 🔞 gn pronouns and masc pronouns* used, fluff, nothing explicit but there is implied sex (don't worry, it's optional. I put it at the end so you can skip.)

*bonus transmasc!reader category

🌺 Mentioned in a previous post. You fall first, he falls harder. He doesn't even notice until later on when he's doing the most mundane task and he catches himself smiling - "Oh."- while thinking of you. "Shiiiit."

🌺 The D in Daisuke stands for dense. Dense, dense, dense. To be fair, you guys are close and everything you've done together was seen as platonic. Heavy on was.

"Are you really bros if you don't cuddle to sleep?"

🌺 C'mon. He'll treat this like a romance visual novel game and you are the main and only love interest. It makes him less nervous this way.

🌺 Daisuke - for the life of him - could not use endearments. It makes him cringe. Will most likely call you by nickname or dude/bro (gnc).

"Babe... Baby... Honey— PFFT-" "Daisuke." Last name mouthwashing. Followed by whatever his last name was. You gave him a warning tone. "I can't help it!" He stifles his laughter but it turns into a fit of giggles.

🌺 Best friends to lovers is a perfect trope with him. I feel like the confession will come in naturally. You become best friends, blur the lines of platonic and romantic without realizing it, and the next thing you know, you're dating.

🌺 Experience wise? He's had a few relationships in highschool. Doesn't even know if he considers it as a relationship if he were honest. More-so flings.

⚠️ Implied sex. Ignore if uncomfortable.

🌺 If I were to lean more on to his mature side, then maybe things got too intimate. No promises of what happens next, but surely, you'd both question it. Don't get me wrong though, definitely an each other's firsts situation still.

Your sports watch vibrates on the table side, its buzz louder against the surface it was on. Groggily, you sit up, stretching and flinching at how sore you were before orienting yourself, unconsciously tugging the blanket closer to you. The faint sound of the shower beside the shared room reminds you of the events last night and your brain felt like it was about to shortcircuit, thoughts silencing quickly as you hear the bathroom door open, making you snap your head back up and you felt like having another wire shorting in your brain at the sight, but you push it away for now. "Mornin'!" And he says your name so sweetly, enthusiastically. Your heart ached. "I didn't take too long right? Did you just wake up?" Your silence scared him, even more so when you hung your head low. He calls your name. "Did you not like last night? Ah, fuck- Is anything painful? I'm sorry. We don't have to do this again. I'm s—" "Daisuke?" "Y-Yeah? What's up? Seriously, you're worrying me, dude. Did I hurt you?" "What are we?"

[ Bonus: Transmasc!Reader ]

🌺 Seeing your binder for the first time?

You two were back at your shared quarters. The day had just ended and you just wanted to change into your sleepwear and crash. "Dude, that looks uncomfy. You sure it ain't too tight?" "Nah. I made sure it fit. I have looser ones just incase. Don't worry, Dai." You were about to remove it when you notice him staring. Before this, you've been changing in the bathroom already, and at times he'd just turn away when you tell him to. He only realizes when you haven't moved for awhile and he instantly flinches. "Oh, sorry- turning riiiight now!" "We're dating already... It's okay." Plus, totally normal to see dudes topless. He tilts his head curiously as he watches and it would be a lie if it didn't make you slightly conscious of your appearance, but you trust him. The smitten look he has makes you feel better. His eyes dart down to the small dents on your skin left by the band and his hand twitches. "Can I massage it?" "What? My tits?" He calls out your name in mock frustration before laughing. "Y'know what I mean!" "Yeah, yeah. Make some space on the bed then."

🌺 Probably would love pressing the marks away. Also, he gets to cling onto you while at it so win-win right?

🌺 Top scars?

"Duuuuuude. That's sick as fuck." His head was hanging by the edge of the bed, watching you change while upside down. "Hm?" "The scars. How'd you gettem? Don't look like it's from an accident." "... Surgery?" "Oh?" He stays quiet for a moment trying to piece two and two together. You wait for him with an amused expression. "OHHHHHH." Right, he didn't know. "Still sick as fuck though."

🌺 feeling dysphoric? he already treats you like a king, but hopefully you won't get too overwhelmed with his advances when he notices you feeling down.

"hey, handsome." "pretty boy!"

🌺 if he didn't know you were trans and you tell him, he'd be confused but in a way that's like, "I still love you, y'know. That ain't changin'!"

[ Updates: ]

🪓 i'm working on another ask at the moment and it involves a pilot intern!reader. they req afab!reader but it's difficult for me to write femmes and i usually go for gn or transmasc readers :(( I hope that's alright. I can try to make a separate post and do femme pronouns. What do you guys think?

it's going to be longer than my usual posts so it may take some time. so yeah! hopefully the anon who req it sees this.

That's all, thank you for reading!

#rambles #daisuke mouthwashing #daisuke #daisuke x reader #mouthwashing #x reader #headcanon #transmasc reader

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my-castles-crumbling · 1 year ago

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Prompt: People Watching ~ Pairing: Jegulus, background Wolfstar ~ Prompt from: @tastetherainbow290 Thanks!

He was happy for them.

He was absolutely, completely, definitely, certainly, unquestionably happy for them.

Really.

They looked so happy, so blissful, so content. It was rare, to see Remus- who was always exhausted and in pain and worried about hiding his secret- truly breathe. It was extraordinary to see Sirius- who naturally could not sit still and who still flinched when a wand was turned upon him after his family's cruel abuse- close his eyes and relax.

They deserved this. They deserved all of the love and acceptance and safety they had found in each other, after skirting around their feelings for years.

They were perfect for each other.

And James was happy for them.

But he also watched them with a strange, deep, guttural sense of yearning. He wanted that. He wanted to feel what his friends were feeling. He wanted to be so in love that he didn't even worry about the possible pain of falling, to be so attached to someone that their mere presence made him feel at ease.

He'd thought, maybe, Lily Evans would be that person for him.

But he should have thought more, used enough common sense to realize that she wasn't interested.

It wasn't her fault. But he still cringed when he looked back on how hard he'd tried to achieve that dream of picket fences and 2.5 children when he'd still only been a child, himself. He hadn't actually seriously been in love with her.

And now there was Regulus.

Regulus made his whole soul ache. He wanted. Wanted to hold him, wanted to love him, wanted to know him. Every hidden minute they spent together was golden, and they'd yet to even kiss. Regulus was cold and reserved and terrifyingly intelligent and good at everything and for some reason, around James, he let all of that fall away. They connected in a way that James couldn't even comprehend.

But was it worth it?

He hoped so. He hoped that Regulus would be his person, as Remus and Sirius belonged to each other.

Because even though he was terrified to let another person know him, the reality was that he already belonged to Regulus.

But it was scary and nerve-wracking and he was petrified to jump only to end up alone.

So he sat, contemplating all of this, watching Sirius and Remus, living vicariously through them as they shared and armchair and Remus played with Sirius's hair and Sirius murmured softly into Remus's ear.

-------

I'm only looking just to live through you vicariously I've never really been in love, not seriously I had a dream about a house behind a picket fence Next one I choose to trust, I hope I use some common sense But I cut people out, like tags on my clothing I end up all alone, but I still keep hoping I wanna feel all that love and emotion Be that attached to the person I'm holding Someday, I'll be fallin' without caution But for now, I'm only people watching

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holocene-sims · 9 months ago

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next // previous

august 26, 2021 4:00 a.m. a balcony, somewhere

time somehow seems to simultaneously slow to a crawl and race beyond the speed of light. grant doesn’t remember when they’d ended up perched like lovebirds at the pinnacle of a staircase, peering out over the night-drenched landscape, but it must have been a while ago. customers have long since stopped streaming in and out of the restaurant on the street below.

he remembers in better detail the stream of their conversation–they’d shifted from food and a strangely peaceful, humorous discussion of kicking the bucket to movies, and at some point, paranormal stories came up along the way.

it’d be hard to forget talking to yunha.

there’s something curiously enrapturing about her, something that had drawn him to her when he first made eye-contact with her.

the look in her eyes, maybe. it’s piercing, like she’s baring right through your skin and into your soul, but not malicious or judgmental. it’s friendly, it’s curious, it’s playful.

the way she speaks, maybe. she’s the most engaged conversationalist he’s ever encountered. everything you say, whether she agrees or disagrees, is met with affirmations and a lot of nodding. yes, yes, of course. i see, i see. i understand. ohhh, wow! really?

she’s unraveling every shard of the puzzle that is his personality and piecing it back together in one whole picture, analyzing it. figuring it out. appreciating it.

or maybe it’s the sweetness that radiates off her. she appears unafraid to smile, instead all too happy to flash those pretty, crooked bunny teeth for the world to see.

“so, i'm going to guess you’re not accidentally good at singing.”

she seems not to mind revealing her own puzzle pieces either, and the more she says about herself, the more fascinated he is with her. with who she is. with what makes her tick.

“i hope it’s not an accident,” yunha replies, laughing, “because shit, then years worth of practice was a waste.”

“time enjoyed is never time wasted.”

the unabashed cringe of the line garners an immediate eye roll, but she still seems to find it funny.

they’ve definitely been sitting here a while. grant straightens his back, fixing his gradually slouching posture, and is is met with an immediate flash of pain, distinct from the chronic dull ache underlying every day of his life, that radiates down every vertebra.

“what got you into music, though?”

yunha’s rosy pink lips purse in thought as she dwells on the question.

“a lot of things. my parents like music. i listened to a lot of different kinds of songs my whole life, first with them, and then later with my friends. i had some time between classes and studying to spend having fun, but i couldn't spend any money, so my friends and i would go to this music store. we walked around and picked random albums to listen to on the headphones. we never bought anything.”

grant nods supportively. “what’s, like, the first album you remember really liking? or albums. you don’t have to pick one.”

“ah! i treasure so many albums. seo taiji and boys IV. i think that’s still my favorite nostalgic album ever. i also remember fondly, um, this girl’s in love with you by aretha franklin. i heard that at the music store, and i was so impressed by her talent. i still am.”

“i'm not a music expert. surprise! i know, i know, i'm sorry to tell you, i did not practice for centuries for that wonderful spice girls performance earlier. no, but seriously, i most often just listen to the same old emo stuff i liked when i was 13. so, unfortunately i don’t know the first album at all, at least not yet, but i do know the second one. you have fantastic taste, that’s a classic.”

despite his ignorance, yunha still smiles from ear to ear. “you should look up the first one! look up, like, seo taiji ‘come back home.’ that’s the most popular song on the album. i don’t wanna bias you, so listen on your own and make your own opinions.”

“wilco. and if you don’t mind me asking, how’d you turn the interest in music into a skill? you are talented, but i know it's very much a skill. it does take a lot of practice to become tangibly good at music.”

“to express myself,” yunha says plainly, “it’s easier to tell your story in art than talking about it, and singing is free. you don’t need supplies to learn it. but yes, i needed that kind of outlet, you know? i always liked singing, always did it, but i needed more than only entertainment from it over time.”

“oh yeah, art is helpful. i really should have gotten on that train earlier. i got on board about a year ago. it's much better for you than intellectualizing everything. or at least that's what i tend to do. do you perform, by the way? outside of karaoke, that is."

"sometimes. but also, not in a long time."

there falls a brief, but peaceful lull in the conversation. grant’s eyes draw to black night sky as he recalls the last haphazard art he’d created–the mushy-gushy attempt at processing the universe. seeing it hanging above him now, his thoughts are no less conflicting. light pollution washes out the shining sea of stars, but the sky still retains its beauty, its bewilderment. visible or not, an infinite chain of dimensions and celestial bodies exist in the vacuum of space, orbiting independent of him, yet factoring in the tiny fraction of his mass on the mass of the earth in their delicate ballerina dance across the fabric of spacetime.

the universe must have created me for some reason, for something other than anguish.

his own words. again. ever-present.

“i miss seeing the stars.” yunha’s buttery soft voice breaks his concentration. “you can’t see anything here.”

“polaris.” grant raises his left arm and draws his index finger across the sky until it hovers above the only star he’s seen thus far. “technically, that means we should be able to see sirius, too, but we don’t need to get all science-y and talk about magnitude and that polaris isn’t–”

“i would like it if you did.”

she was thinking of the stars, too.

synchronicity.

“aw shucks! well. i’ll say this, polaris isn’t the brightest star. we just talk about it way more frequently because it has the most cultural significance in the northern hemisphere for, you know, navigation reasons. but hey, give it about 12,000 more years, and it even won’t be the north star anymore. thank you, wobbly earth axis. but also boo, woobly earth axis, because it's a little sad to think about.”

yunha’s eyes glitter with fascination. “it’ll be something else?”

“yep! the next north star will be vega,” he explains, “come on down, you’re the next contestant!”

“maybe we’ll see it happen.”

“if my consciousness is still floating around as little dust particles, that’d be pretty sick. you know? forget fly me to the moon, fly me to vega. why not?”

“i don’t think i'll be dust,” yunha says, not missing a beat at all, even as her focus remains fixed on the faintest twinkle emanating from polaris, “it’s kind of troubling. you don’t want to be, like, stuck in the whole cycle of the universe, but if you’re still here, you can see some really beautiful things.”

“ah. reincarnation?”

“if you’re asking me, you’re not going to be dust. either you escape the suffering or you come back in some kind of physical form, human or not, and you try again.”

grant thinks about it for a moment. and then the feelings, like usual, spill out at once.

“i'm not going to lie, that idea has always given me the heebie-jeebies. i think it’s very cool as a concept, but i'm, like, man, i don’t want to do this shit again. also, look, we're doing the thing again. oh, and shit, that sounded judgmental. i just run my mouth too much."

"most people don't know they lived before. you can't really remember your other lives without a lot of study," she answers, "and no, you don't. i prefer to hear your real opinion. it's actually stupid when people tell you what they think you want to hear."

"do you ever wonder what you were up to last go-around?"

"not too much, but i always heard strange birthmarks and scars are signs from your last death. fears, too. things you avoid. so, i guess, like, a clown stabbed me in the neck with needles."

"are you afraid of storm drains, by any chance? if so, i think pennywise had it out for you."

"hahaha." yunha shakes her head. "wait, i have to ask. is it not worse thinking you can only live once? that's not uncomfortable? feeling like you have to make everything perfect in your one lifetime?"

"oh no, it's terrifying. dying and just being done with everything is eerie, too, because there are nice things to do and see here in the real world. you’re right about that. and yeah, there is a lot of pressure to get it all right. also, that's not even mentioning that there are people i love that i don’t want to be gone forever. i'd like to think they remain somehow. conscious or not. i kind of think they do, but i don’t know. am i contradicting myself? capital-P probably."

“you don’t know what to think.”

grant immediately bursts out laughing. “yeah, no, absolutely not. i do not know. i just kinda waffle around and hope some scientist throws out some numbers and whatnot that proves some explanation of everything correct. but that’s impossible. it’s literally impossible. we can’t even simulate or predict the wacky physics that were going on at the exact moment the big bang happened.”

“not to be, like, all quirky, but...” yunha reaches over, patting him on the shoulder. “maybe don’t think about it? you’re gonna go crazy. you can just not know? and it's fine. this doesn’t mean anything anyway. the answer to anything is already in you, it’s not out there.”

and then she, too, starts giggling all over again and her cheeks blush deep red from sheepish cringe.

another stereotypical line, but he doesn't mind. they sound better coming from her than him anyhow.

a second later and she checks the time on her phone. her cheesy smile erodes into a slight frown.

“ahh, i really need to leave soon. i have a schedule in the morning.”

grant checks the time as well, drawing the sleeve of his hoodie up just enough to read the minuscule roman numerals on his watch.

on the watch an ex-girlfriend gifted him. not päivi, but...

4:00 a.m.

fuck.

right.

you’re leaving the country in two hours.

#ts4 #the sims 4 #sims 4 #sims 4 story #sims 4 storytelling #simblr #hlcn: everything the stars promised #GUYS GUYS GUYS GUYS GUYS #*screams into the void*#i have too many thoughts and i need to WATCH IT in my tags gushing because i will reveal too much either way #all i'm gonna say for now is ermmmmm i've been thinking about these scenes for literal years and i am pretty happy with how they came out #also i needed to advance the plot a bit for [REDACTED] story elements hence the unusual conversations #but nonetheless i love people getting to be a little funky and weird with each other and idk i've had similar encounters with random people #classmates and whatnot and you just find yourself talking about topics that are hard to get into but somehow you did #holocene.docx #holocene.png #hlcn: grant #hlcn: yunha

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inoreuct · 1 year ago

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I imagine Zoro feeling guilty for the famine & death he inadvertently caused. During this time he's a bit more distant, more closed off. One day, Sanji sees him in the fields of the dead with souls of children who had starved to death. He sees Zoro apologize to them and, with with a wave of his hand, takes away their pain. (1/2)

oh YES. there’s definitely a lot of guilt and emotional tumoil there. zoro doesn’t regret it, because then he wouldn’t have met sanji, but it eats away at him. he gently deflects sanji’s attempts at getting him to open up; spends way too long after dinner soaking in the mineral pools beneath the castle and running circles around his head over what he could have done differently. he ensures that the souls are happy after death, sure, but what about before? what about how much they’d suffered? they hadn’t had painless deaths. they deserved better than what zoro had caused because of his own immaturity.

sanji slips down and finds him in the pools, and his husband is silent when he sits on the ledge and dips his feet in the water.

they don’t talk. not for a while. sanji coaxes zoro’s head into his lap and pets at his hair, and zoro hugs his calves to his chest.

now, zoro is not what you’d usually call a soft person. sanji has seen him absolutely radiating divine rage, his shadows lashing out behind him like barbed whips, eyes glowing unearthly gold in his anger. he has seen his husband make unbelievably tough calls without so much as flinching or showing a hint of emotion.

but here, when it’s just them, it is obvious to see that zoro cares. he’s plagued by the truth of what he’d caused from one small decision, and it makes sanji’s heart ache. “what’s on your mind, darling?”

“it’s my responsibility to take care of the dead,” zoro breathes as he presses his forehead to sanji’s thigh. “i don’t regret it. you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, but it can’t happen again.”

“well, i’d hope not!” sanji scoffs gently, trying to lighten the mood and trailing his finger back and forth through zoro’s two remaining earrings. “if you kidnapped anybody else to marry i’d— well, i don’t know what i’d do.”

“if that ever happens,” zoro starts, very seriously, “take my head off. that isn’t me.”

sanji laughs. zoro’s hair is damp at at the ends and silky-soft beneath his fingers. “why was your first instinct to kidnap me, anyway?”

the king groans, and sanji is delighted that he can read zoro well enough to tell he’s embarrassed. “i had no idea how i was going to talk to you. you looked… untouchable. you’d have never looked twice at someone like me.”

“so… you kidnapped me. kind of a red flag.”

“i panicked and made a stupid decision, okay? and that stupid decision killed thousands.” zoro lifts his head and shifts to stack his forearms across sanji’s knees. he suddenly looks haunted. his eyes are bottomless pools of grey slate. “your father’s wrath was… deserved. and i wish he’d directed it at me.”

“oh, believe me, he wanted to. but he wasn’t sure who took me, even though he suspected, and even if he was right knew that he wouldn’t have been able to touch you.”

“i’d let him.” he draws in a shaky breath, leaning into the fingers sanji presses to the nape of his neck. “if i could go back—”

“but you can’t,” sanji reminds him gently. “what’s done is done. we can only make the most of it now. try and make it better.”

zoro sighs heavily and regards his husband with a wan smile. “don’t know what kind of stupid decisions i’d be making without you here,” he says, and sanji snorts.

“yeah, well. that’s why i am here. somebody had to keep you company before you went bonkers,” he mutters airily, ruffling zoro’s hair with his fingertips.

the water sloshes gently. zoro’s lungs are warm with steam, and his fingertips prune. “i’m sorry. i’ll do better.”

sanji clicks his tongue in a soft reproach, leaning forward to hug zoro to his chest. “it’s not me you should be apologising to anymore. you’ve more than made up for that,” he whispers, and the words echo in the cavern. they help, if only a little.

“i know.” zoro’s lips brush his husband’s shoulder. his arms fit around sanji’s waist like they were made for it, and he feels the wedding ring pressed to the top of his spine. “i know. i’m trying.”

he doesn’t know what else to say. doesn’t know what will absolve him of this guilt, sitting like a stone at the bottom of his stomach; he has a sinking suspicion that it’ll never really go away, but he’d prefer that any day over not feeling guilty at all.

zoro is the king of death. that is exactly why he treasures life most of all.

he looks up at his husband, resolute, and sanji raises an expectant eyebrow. “help me. teach me to be— kind. gentle. i need a buffer so the children—”

“but you are,” comes the reply, so very soft. “you are kind, and you are gentle, and you are a good king. they are not scared of you. they are simply in a new place, and they need guidance. familiarity. but yes—” sanji smiles, slowly, and zoro’s heart aches in his chest. “i’ll help. i’ll come with you. what was it you said to me, when you proposed?”

“my equal in every way, by my side,” zoro says immediately. it is his truth, everything he knows, and sanji nods.

“exactly. you’re allowed to lean on me, you know.”

“…i don’t feel like i deserve it, sometimes.”

“well, you’re wrong. so get your butt out of your giant bath—” sanji splashes the surface of the pool with his fingers, and zoro smiles despite everything, “—and we’ll go visit the fields again.”

“alright.” zoro is blessed. he knows it. and he’s dealing with the fallout of his stupidity, but gods.

he is so fucking glad sanji’s here.

#zosan #one piece zosan #op zosan #zosan au #zoro x sanji #ronoroa zoro #one piece sanji #black leg sanji #one piece zoro #one piece #ask box #ino’s ask box

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lirotation · 1 year ago

Text

I Hail from Silverymoon: The party night

POV my little fanfic. Astarion X Amaara(my wizard Tav). Seriously though, who didn't see through his theatrics? It was pretty bad the first couple of hours into the game. I wanted to smack him and ask him to talk normal.

__________________________

The Tug of Influence

Astarion reveled in the satisfaction of his successful influence over Amaara. After almost two centuries, he finally had control over something. It had become a game for him, a way to get what he desired with seemingly minimal effort. He had grown comfortable in this dynamic, his requests and desires granted without much resistance. Yet, he knew that the time had come to aim for something more substantial, something that would truly solidify his hold over her thoughts.

"We can unlock immense abilities if we embrace the tadpole's power," Astarion's words flowed smoothly, a silver-tongued promise hanging in the air. "Imagine how powerful we could become, side by side."

Amaara's expression remained uncertain, a reflection of the internal battle waging within her. "Power without wisdom is perilous. The risks are too great, too unknown. I do not want to venture into something I know nothing about. It can corrupt us, change us in ways we can't anticipate."

"Or," Astarion leaned in closer, his voice dripping with seduction, "it may secure our survival. Don't you want a future with me? Imagine what we could overcome together."

Amaara turned away, a mixture of frustration and concern etching her features. "I've studied forces beyond our control. They always turn on those who wield them."

Astarion's patience was wearing thin, the careful façade of tenderness starting to crack. He reached out and turned her chin to face him, his eyes locking onto hers. "You cling to dusty books and denial. We must use everything at our disposal, especially when faced with the unknown."

"Not when it may cost our body and soul," Amaara's voice held a firm resolve, her gaze unwavering.

A flash of frustration flickered in Astarion's eyes as her words echoed in his ears. He had assumed she was firmly within his grasp, malleable to his will.

"If you won't embrace strength, then stand aside. I'll claim this power myself," he declared.

"I cannot let you take such a risk!" Amaara immediately countered

Astarion contained his surprise at her quick refusal, though it rattled his perception of control over her. The familiar feeling of being powerless - as he had been for two centuries under Cazador - came crashing back, filling him with equal parts of fear and rage.

"Have it your way then," he retorted, all pretense of charm gone. His voice now dripped with unveiled venom, his true impatient nature exposed. "Keep standing between me and what I want, and I will have to go through you."

Amaara's eyes widened, taken aback by the intensity of his words. The venomous tone of his threat cut through her, leaving her feeling exposed and vulnerable.

As her pained expression met his gaze, a pang of regret shot through Astarion's fear-fueled mind. His haste and frustration had gotten the better of him, and he realized the gravity of his words. Seducing Amaara required subtlety and finesse, a gradual erosion of her defenses over time. He had grown too comfortable in their dynamic and had acted recklessly, potentially undoing the progress he had made in days of careful effort. He may have overplayed his hand in this instance, but he was determined to regain control of the intricate dance he had been leading.

_______________________

The party night

After the argument last time about tadpole power. Astarion went on like nothing had happened. Amaara won't deny that doubt started to plague her mind. She reflected and regrouped, clung to the memory of the tenderer exchanges. She was well aware of Astarion's struggles, the demons that haunted his past and cast shadows over his present. His scars run deep, etched into his very being, and she felt a profound ache to be a balm to his wounds. So she carried on as if their rift didn't exist, welcoming him with warm gazes - though her smile never reached its former radiance, betraying her heavy doubts.

Astarion smiled as Amaara walked towards him in the chaos of merriment, "Here is my little treat with her cheeks all flushed. You will come to my bed tonight, won't you?"

Amaara was caught off guard, "I... I'll consider it."

Astarion was actually expecting a consent with eagerness, but it's not a no either. He said, "I see, you need some enticing. How about this? All these accolades from the Tieflings are nothing compared to the sound of my name, cried from your lips."

Amaara turned bright red, "Please, not so loud, they'll hear you..." She glanced around nervously but can't suppress a tiny smile, "Your name does sound rather lovely."

Astarion hid a chuckle and continued, "every part of your perfect body whispers temptation - it's as if the Gods made you just to ruin me."

Amaara was both flustered and flattered, "I...you flatter me too much. I'm no celestial beauty."

Astarion whispered, "I can go on all night with the flattery, but is that really all you want?"

Amaara had a serious expression, looking up at him, "I enjoy our conversations too...learning more about you."

Astarion was very amused by her innocent response and he said, "How about if I said these little words...Everyone's favorite...I love you."

Amaara's eyes widened, her heart racing. She searched Astarion's face earnestly, daring to hope it was true. But her keen intellect pierced through the pretty lie.

Her shoulders slumped imperceptibly with disappointment and renewed uncertainty. Yet she managed a small, bittersweet smile to mask the pang in her heart.

"It's alright, you needn't say such things just to please me," she said softly, turning away.

Those three little words - "I love you" - had been tossed her way so freely in the past by those who never truly meant it. How she longed to hear them spoken with genuine intention. She would give anything to have Astarion be the first to utter them sincerely, and then she could finally reply in kind, with all her heart.

Astarion noticed the glimmer of disappointment and sadness in Amaara's eyes before she turned away. He paused, unsure why his failure to convince her stung. This was merely a game to him...wasn't it?

Quickly regaining his nonchalant composure, he gently turned her chin back towards him. "Come now, why the gloom? You know you alone hold my fascination," he purred gently.

Letting his thumb caress her cheek, he gave a roguish smile. "There will be time enough for pretty vows and labels later, when the dust has settled."

He leaned in, voice dropping lower. "For now, we have each other for more pleasurable pursuits, do we not?" He brushed his lips temptingly close to hers, hoping to dismiss her melancholy and reestablish his thrall.

Yet despite succeeding in lighting her cheeks with a blush, the lingering shadow in Amaara's eyes gave him pause. An unfamiliar discomfort stirred in his chest. But he shrugged it off - such trifles were below him.

For now, it was enough that he still commanded her desire. The rest was meaningless. Wasn't it?

His honeyed words still managed to sway her. The temptation of his allure and the familiarity of his intimacy always pulled her back into his orbit. As they stole away together again after the party, her initial hesitation was gradually overridden by frail hope that they could strengthen a weakened bond.

The first night they shared, Amaara was too engrossed in her own embarrassment, inexperience, and overwhelmed by brand new sensations. But as they came together this time, Amaara's senses were more attuned, her heart weighed down by a mix of uncertainty and determination. She focused on Astarion, observing him closely. Beneath his seductive façade she sensed not affection, but repulsion and scorn she could not understand.

Amaara felt utterly lost. She had opened herself to him fully, only to find contempt rather than care. She hid her welling tears and retreated in silence after the deed, unable to process why he would shower her with sweet words yet harbor such bile towards her. He didn't enjoy their intimacy, it's plain as day. It felt like every fiber of his being urged him to escape as he moved inside her. she had felt like an unwelcome presence in his world. The contradiction between his words of admiration and the coldness she sensed gnawed at her, leaving her wounded.

Her thoughts briefly drifted to her previous romance. The golden haired half-elf with the tender smile and voice of an aasimar. She remembered the kiss they shared on the moonbridge, the sweet words he whispered. Didn't she think his eyes were filled with the most sincere adoration until she saw him in another nobleman's arms?

Realization dawning along with a profound sadness. She had allowed herself to be thoroughly deceived once more.

It doesn't matter, a voice whispered in the back of her mind, just enjoy his performance, he's a skilled lover. Keep him around for pleasure. Just keep your heart shielded from the inevitable pain. The suddenness of her inner monologue startled Amaara. It was a stark reminder that she was hopelessly in love with Astarion. Her heart yearned for him, craved his presence, and any excuse to be near him seemed reasonable, even if it meant compromising her own feelings. But her logical mind, her better judgment, screamed at her to recognize the facts: Keeping her emotions aloof, detached from the whirlwind of attraction and affection, would be far easier said than done. The best course of action, her mind reasoned, was to walk away right now. She recognized how right it was, but her heart rebelled against the mere thought of losing him.

#this is my in game experience #first night we argue then next night he propositions me #my first playthrough was rough with bugs and Astarion was so inconsistent #my durge playthough was a lot better gale was inconsistent this time #bg3 fanart #astarion #astarion fanart #clip studio paint #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 fanart #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 oc #astarion x mc #my oc stuff #I Hail from Silverymoon #Amaara Ashvale

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insane-control-room · 7 months ago

Text

altar

Joey comes to ask for forgiveness. He says he's sorry. Henry doesn't think that's enough.

RATED: T - suggestive comments/behavior, uncomfortable situations

WARNINGS: Emotional hurt, tied hands

Length: medium (1750 words)

Ao3 link here. REMINDER: you must be signed into Ao3 to read my work on the platform due to AI scrapers targeting my work.

inspired by this drawing by @twinktor-frankenstein :) go check it out its great :D

Joey stared at the man around the corner, his heart rate accelerating as he observed him. Henry was resting in a hammock, one leg off the side so that he could rock himself as he relaxed. Joey stared, and bit his lip, slowly finding that he was losing his nerve. He was about to slip away when an eye opened, immediately fixing on him.

A wave of panic crashed over Joey, and he made a move to disintegrate and disappear, but it was too late for him. Henry had made it to him in less than five bounds, his calloused, firm hand wrapping around Joey’s exposed forearm.

“Joey,” he greeted, smiling, but there was something uncomfortably cold about the flash of his teeth. “What are you doing here?”

Joey stared at him once again, throat dry, hands trembling. Henry’s smile was still bland and neutral, but with a frigid emptiness laying beneath it. It made Joey quite uncomfortable, rather perturbed by the lack of emotion on his old friend’s face. He looked at him quietly, brows furrowed as they stared at one another in silence.

Henry’s hand tightened sharply on Joey’s arm.

“I asked you a question. I expect you to answer,” he spoke slowly, clearly, that low voice making Joey want to tremble. “What are you doing here, Joey?”

“I… I wanted to…” Joey looked to the floor, finally breaking his gaze from the other man. He steeled himself with a breath, though still could not bring himself to look at Henry. “I wanted to ask you to forgive me, Henry.”

“Forgive you,” Henry repeated, staring at him. His smile made his soul ache painfully, yearn to escape. “You’re here to ask me to forgive you.”

“Yes.” Joey said, simple and soft. “I am.”

He was not sure what he was expecting. A punch in the face, maybe. Being shoved away with the door closing in front of him. Maybe even a good kick between the legs.

Joey was not expecting laughter. It was low and amused, tranquil but with some darkness lingering on the edges of the mirth. It made Joey’s lungs constrict. Henry released his arm at last, and folded his arms as he looked at Joey, raising an eyebrow.

“Forgiveness,” he commented, “Is less-”

“For the person you’re apologizing to, and more for yourself, I know,” Joey restrained himself from snapping at him. “Stop messing with me, Stein, and take me seriously. I’m sorry for what I did, okay? For all of this. It never should have gone down like this, and I never should have dragged you down with me- what are you doing.”

Henry sighed, raising an eyebrow as he lifted the tie he had pulled from beneath his collar. Joey, unsure of what the man was playing at, frowned. Henry put his hand out, gesturing with four fingers once for Joey to put his arms forward.

Joey did so, and was baffled by the loop Henry tightened around his wrists. It was loose, though, but Henry’s firm hand came to Joey’s arm once again when he tried to pull away out of instinct. A vague sense of alarm rippled through him, but he was confident that Henry would not harm him, resulting in a conflicted meld of emotions.

“Henry-”

“On your knees.” Henry calmly demanded. Joey stared at him, and watched Henry’s eyes harden. Swallowing harshly, he opened his mouth to protest, only for Henry to cut him off again. “Do you want to be forgiven or not? Show me you mean it.”

Joey’s mouth closed slowly, and he hesitated, glancing to the floor again. It came closer as he knelt down slowly, discomfited but trying to put on a brave face (he was failing miserably at that, and they both knew it). As he moved down, the fabric of the tie tightened around his wrists, and honestly, he felt like crying, though he ignored that urge as hard as he could.

“Okay, Joey,” Henry smiled at him again. “That was a good start. Try again.”

“Try- try what?” Joey asked, confused and upset. Henry’s smile relaxed him just a touch, encouraging. Joey wracked his empty head, shaking it in an attempt to figure out what Henry wanted from him. “You want me to apologize again?”

Henry did not reply with words, only smiling once more. Joey took a deep breath.

“I’d like to apologize,” he started, his voice tight. He paused, clearing his throat to loosen his words. “For everything I’ve done to harm you, and- and everyone else. But, you first. You didn’t deserv- hey!”

Henry, his hand still on the end of the tie, had yanked on Joey’s arms with it, making him pitch forwards off balance. To add insult to injury, Henry’s jacket suddenly landed on his head, blocking his vision entirely as he landed harshly on his hands. He scrambled back onto his haunches as he yanked down the jacket over his face, opening his mouth to give Henry a piece of his mind- only for it to go dry immediately.

Henry’s shirt had been partially opened, and Joey struggled to keep his eyes from dipping between the fabric and onto his chest. Henry’s hands were on the straps of his suspenders, pulling them off his shoulders deliberately, still smiling down at Joey.

“Henry,” Joey mouthed, looking up at him with wide eyes. He fought the liquid that threatened to build up within them, blinking rapidly and it went away. Henry’s blank smile stung like wasp bites. “I’m sor-”

“Are you?” Henry asked calmly, with an icy edge as he removed his suspenders. He sighed as he snapped them between his hands, making Joey flinch at the twang. “Are you truly sorry, Joey?”

“I am,” Joey tried to keep a whine out of his tone, getting more stressed, watching the suspenders twirl around Henry’s hands. At least it was a distraction from his chest; as lined with muscle as it was. Feeling warmth trickle into his face, Joey looked away. “Really.”

“Are you, now?” Henry asked quietly, snapping the metal tipped straps once again. Joey could not meet his eye. “Joey. Look at me.”

He glanced up, and then broke his gaze again, face blazing with shame.

“Joey.”

He repressed a shiver as the suspender strap came under his jaw, forcing him to look up at Henry once again. The metal clasps of the suspenders were strikingly cold, bringing forth the shudder Joey tried to hide. Mercifully, Henry tossed aside the suspenders upon noting the uncertain discomfort with which Joey was eyeing them, but he made no comment on it. Joey bit his lip as he watched the arch of the elastic. Slowly, he managed to look back at Henry.

“I-” Joey swallowed down his nerves again. Joey’s eyes strained to remain on Henry’s form, focusing as hard as he could on his eyes. He mumbled his next words. “I said that I was sorry.”

“Said?” Henry laughed again. It was like ice on his arms, causing goosebumps to rise up. “You said. There’s just a small problem with that, Joey. You say a lot of things. Make a lot of promises. Talk up a pretty picture. It’s rare that you deliver on it- like you are right now.”

Joey’s mouth was full of cotton; dry, stiff and unable to say a single word in his defense. Half lidded, Henry’s eyes came to his mouth, and then his hand did, a gentle caress on his jaw slipping up to a grip on his mouth.

“Do you think that you’re able to get whatever you ask for?” Henry laughed, eyes crinkling with humor. Joey did not know what he found so funny. “You said you’re sorry. Do you really think you deserve forgiveness, Joey?”

Joey kept quiet. He did not really think that way, but knew that saying anything was not going to be a good idea. There also was the fact that Henry’s strong hold on his face prevented him from saying anything coherent, anyways. Joey’s hands tightened on his own knees, digging crescents in the fabric with his nails.

“Said,” Henry scoffed, though his voice was sunshine; and he leaned even closer, starry smile even brighter than before. “Maybe you should try begging instead.”

Now the tears began to drip. Henry jerked his hand away from Joey as though his skin burned him. Staring down at him, his smile was gone.

“I’m sorry,” Joey choked, sniffling as he tried to keep his roiling emotions under control. “Please, please, please forgive me. If you don’t, at least say so. I’m trying, I promise, I’m trying to make it count. Henry, please forgive me!”

“Joey-”

“I’m sorry that our studio wasn’t working out, and I’m sorry that I put more on you than you could take, and I’m sorry that I didn’t know where to stop,” Joey went on, sobbing harshly. The crushing weight of his failures felt like shackles on his wrists, tied to the heavy chains with naught but Henry’s tie. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me, please forgive me for everything I’ve done to wrong you. Please. I- I am begging you, Henry. I’ll keep begging you until you believe me. Please, please….”

“Joey….”

“I don’t know how to make it up to you,” Joey looked up at him miserably through his streaming tears. “I’m sorry that I don’t know… please, give me a chance. Please. I’ll- I’ll do anything, just say it, please-”

“Okay- okay- I-” Henry looked down at him with a torn look, smile completely gone, jarringly made uncomfortable by his own demands. After a moment of shifting where he stood, he knelt down and put his hands on Joey’s shoulders. “Maybe that was a little cruel of me. We’re both in this hell.”

Joey looked at him with the saddest, wettest eyes Henry had ever seen. Henry quickly spoke to try to get rid of them.

“I can’t forgive you,” he said quietly. Joey’s gaze broke away again, and his tears restarted. Henry lifted his head despite the fact his tears burned his hands. “Not yet, okay? If I see you really mean it-”

It was Henry’s turn to be cut off, Joey’s bound arms coming down over his shoulders in an awkward, but tight, hug.

Henry slowly hugged him back as he cried.

“It’s okay, Joey,” Henry soothed, though they both knew it was not okay. “You’ll make it. I believe I can forgive you, one day.”

Joey almost believed him.

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alastors-airwaves · 1 month ago

Note

Alastor, maybe you should at least confide in Husk. You own his soul, so he's not going to be spilling your secrets, plus, he's an omega too. Having someone at the Hotel to help would be a good thing.

Alastor had been pacing his room for what felt like hours, his nerves frayed and his mind racing. He had kept his secret buried for as long as he could, but the pressure was building—his body was changing, betraying him in ways he couldn’t ignore. The sour smell, the mood swings, the nausea—it was becoming harder to hide. Even Charlie had started to notice, and while he could brush off her suspicions, there was one person in the hotel who might understand.

Husk. Another omega.

Alastor had always maintained an air of superiority and control, especially over Husk, whose soul he owned. Confiding in him, of all people, felt like an admission of weakness. But the reality of his situation was becoming too much to bear alone. Husk, for all his gruffness, would understand the omega experience—especially since he was pregnant, too.

With a deep, reluctant sigh, Alastor made his decision.

Later that night, Alastor found Husk in his usual spot at the bar. Husk was surprisingly subdued, leaning back against the cabinets, his own discomfort masked by a casual air of indifference. But Alastor knew better; he could sense the tension in Husk’s body, the quiet ache in his movements.

Taking a deep breath, Alastor approached, his usual confident stride feeling more hesitant than usual.

Alastor: Husker. May I have a word?

After a long moment, Husk glanced over at Alastor, raising an eyebrow.

Husk: What is it now, Boss?

Alastor: I need to speak with you Husker.

Husk studied him for a moment, noticing the way Alastor’s hands fidgeted slightly, how his posture wasn’t as rigid as usual. There was something different about the way he was carrying himself—something vulnerable.

Husk: Alright, spit it out. What’s eatin’ at you?

Alastor: *Glancing around to make sure no one else was nearby, he lowered his voice* I need to speak with you... privately.

Husk’s ears flicked with curiosity, though he didn’t move from his seat right away. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the bar as he eyed Alastor suspiciously.

Husk: You? Wantin’ to talk in private? This must be good.

But there was something in Alastor’s eyes, a seriousness that made Husk sit up straighter. With a grunt, Husk stood up and gestured for Alastor to follow him to a quieter corner of the lounge, away from prying eyes.

—————

Once they were alone, Alastor hesitated, his usual charisma faltering for the first time in a long while. He glanced at Husk, unsure of how to start. This wasn’t a conversation he ever thought he’d have to have.

Husk: *Crossing his arms, he tilted his head, waiting* Well? You wanted to talk, so talk. What’s this about?

Alastor: *Swallowing his pride, he took a deep breath* Husker... I haven’t been entirely honest about my situation *He paused, struggling to find the right words* I... am an omega.

Husk blinked, clearly caught off guard. He raised an eyebrow, his tail flicking slightly.

Husk: You? An omega? *He snorted, half-expecting this to be some kind of joke, but the look on Alastor’s face was dead serious.*

Alastor: It’s more than that. I’m also... pregnant.

There was a brief silence as Husk processed the revelation. He rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a low whistle.

Husk: Well, shit. That’s... a lot. So, you’ve been hiding this from everyone?

Alastor: *Nodding slightly, his voice quiet* Yes. I thought I could handle it on my own, but... *He glanced away, frustrated with himself* It’s becoming harder to manage. My body aches constantly, I’m nauseated, and I... can’t control the scents.

Husk could relate to that. His own symptoms had been steadily worsening, but at least he had accepted his situation.

Husk: You’re not gonna be able to hide it forever, Al. You know that, right? People are already suspicious.

Alastor: I’m aware. But I can’t... I can’t afford for this to become public knowledge just yet. That’s why I came to you.

Husk leaned back against the wall, watching Alastor carefully. He could see the struggle on the other omega’s face—the internal battle between maintaining control and accepting vulnerability.

Husk: *With a resigned sigh, he scratched his head* Look, I get it. Being an omega and pregnant ain’t exactly a walk in the park. But you ain’t gonna make it easier by tryin’ to tough it out on your own. You need someone to help you through this.

Alastor’s shoulders slumped slightly, the weight of his secret finally starting to lift, if only a little.

Alastor: *Quietly* That’s why I’m asking for your help, Husker

Husk looked at Alastor for a long moment, his gruff exterior softening just a bit. He’d never seen Alastor like this—vulnerable, needing help.

Husk: Alright, I’ll help. But you gotta stop pretendin’ like you’re invincible.

Alastor: Yes... I suppose you’re right.

#alastor’s airwaves #alastor #alastor the radio demon #ask alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #husk #ask husk #husker #alastor mpreg #omega alastor #omega husk #husk mpreg #hazbin hotel au #hazbin hotel

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idyllic-affections · 2 years ago

Text

together through thick and thin.

summary. their love for kaeya was not conditional. trigger & content warnings. depictions of burn wounds, canon-typical ragnvindr family drama, slight violence. tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. hurt/comfort. kaeya & ragnvindr!reader, implied venti & ragnvindr!reader. 1.3k words. they/them pronouns for reader. author's thoughts. soul crushing angst is my favorite kind of fanfic! just kidding. im sensitive and i like hurt/comfort more than anything... can you guys tell i like kaeya more than diluc? anyways the reader is an anemo user in this fic because... anemo users and their, ahem, issues, if yk what i mean......

Freezing drops of rain pelted painfully against their skin, piercing the raw flesh of their various burn wounds like little knives.

Fuck, it was cold and hot all at the same time.

Unsteadily, their trembling hands drew their coat closer to their body as they darted towards Mondstadt City. They winced as their charred fingertips brushed against the fabric, choking out a whining sob at the shock to their overworked nerves. Pitiful shivers wracked their form; whether that was because of the raging storm in their head or in the skies was debatable, really. Perhaps it was the consequence of both. Perhaps it was simply because of the severity of their burns. They couldn't be sure.

What they were sure about, however, was that they needed to get away from Dawn Winery.

In that moment, they couldn't care less about the way their brothers had so desperately tried to stop them from running off. One thing they couldn't possibly handle right then was looking into either of their eyes.

(Though, their reasons for not wanting to look at each brother were different—very different.

They couldn't bear to look Diluc in the eyes because how could he dare to raise his blade to his own brother? His own—formerly—visionless brother? How could he bear to hurt him like that, knowing that there might've been no effective way for Kaeya to defend himself, had he not received his Cryo vision at the perfect moment?

Moreover, how could Diluc bear to hurt them like that? Mentally and physically, he'd created wounds that would leave lasting scars on their young body and mind.

Their burn wounds throbbed.

Wounds caused by either element littered opposite sides of their body, but only the Pyro burns still stung. That fact indicated that Diluc had struck with real, furious intent.

Kaeya did not, however.

The ice burns barely ached, while the fire burns pulsated and seared and sent chills up their spine with every movement they made. Diluc had struck with the intent to seriously injure, perhaps even... neutralize—they couldn't think of their brothers killing one another; the simple thought made bile climb up their aching throat—Kaeya.

That was why they couldn't bear to meet his eyes.

On the other hand, they couldn't bear to look at Kaeya because they knew that the moment they did, they would burst uncontrollably into tears. He'd suffered so long, keeping a secret like he had, only for Diluc to attack him so cruelly when he decided to tell the truth and confide in someone he thought he could trust?

Admittedly, Kaeya's timing was beyond awful—who reveals a secret like that immediately following their father's death?—but still. He deserved so, so much better.

They would face him first when they felt ready to.

He needed to know that at least one Ragnvindr still loved and trusted him wholeheartedly.)

Times like these were those that made them grateful for their Anemo vision; there was no way possible that either brother would be able to keep up with them, regardless of how injured the youngest Ragnvindr was. They would always be faster. However, the rain paired with their wounds did slow them down just a little.

Being an Anemo bearer meant being agile and fast.

They were very thankful for that.

The Mondstadt Cathedral was already within their sight. Briefly, they wondered how fast they really must have been running to make such distance so rapidly, but they shook the thought off almost instantly. The blinding, pulsing teal light emitted from their vision was enough to give them a clue.

Perhaps Lord Barbatos looked upon them with sympathy, for having one's father pass on only hours before a brutal, irrational battle between their only remaining family was quite possibly the hardest thing a teen their age would have to go through. It was something they would never forget, something that would permanently change the way they saw the world. Perhaps he recognized that.

Perhaps he had spared them the strength they needed to get to Mondstadt City safely without collapsing. They liked to think so; any little crumb of comfort and safety they could latch onto was something they would not pass up on. In their fragile state, they needed everything they could get. If Lord Barbatos was watching them in these horrible moments, then they were safe. They were comforted. Regardless of how silly it might have seemed to some foreigners—Mondstadters knew well that such behaviors were normal and common, regardless of if they were rooted in faith or not—they had been whispering their sorrows to the wind since they were little. Some nights, they were lucky enough to hear gentle melodies carried on the breeze as an encouragement to go on.

Surely, they thought, those occurrences were not simply a trick of the mind. Based on what they knew, compared to some other deities...

Lord Barbatos was a gentle god, an Archon of his people. They wholeheartedly believed that.

Their teary eyes flickered upwards as they approached the Cathedral, pounding their less injured hand against the doors.

The response they got was almost instantaneous, and upon seeing them, the sisters were absolutely petrified. What was someone of prestigious descent doing in a state like that? Why were they not at Dawn Winery? Why had they run all the way to Mondstadt City?

Shaking, soaking wet, with wounds that only seemed to ache more as the adrenaline left their system, the youngest Ragnvindr child was rushed into the welcoming warmth of the Favonius Cathedral for immediate treatment.

— flower of the universe !! 🌸

The silence was heavy and thick as their wounds were treated.

"What happened?" Grace* inquired sweetly, hand tenderly tilting their chin so that they'd meet her gaze when they didn't reply. They absently leaned into the comfort of her touch. "Young Ragnvindr? Darling, what happened? Where did these wounds come from?"

"...I don't really want to talk about it," they murmured in a whispery voice, eyes fluttering shut. The exhaustion on their face was blatant. She hummed, thumb brushing over their cheekbone soothingly.

"I understand."

The tense air seemed to thin out slightly, and they sighed. Most of the other sisters had gone elsewhere by then, which they were grateful for; the quiet was much appreciated. Muffled tapping of rain against the roof and stained glass windows was the only sound occupying the space (other than Grace's heels clicking as she began to put the spare medical supplies away—she'd have a certain Hydro user evaluate their condition the following morning). It was calming in its own way.

Their heart leapt into their throat when the doors slammed open.

There stood none other than Kaeya, drenched and panting.

"Sir Kaeya!" the woman called frantically, rushing to his side to shut the doors before turning to him in search of any wounds. All he did was wordlessly brush her off.

Earlier, they'd assumed it was physically impossible for them to cry any more, yet their eyes began to shimmer with the sheen of unshed tears upon his entry.

A pathetic sob left their lips as they reached out in his direction, only comparable to the way would reach out for him or Diluc when they were small and had a nightmare. "Kae— Kaeya..!"

The pulsing ache in their entire body made it so impossibly difficult to stand. A pair of strong arms caught them before they could fall when they did make an attempt to. He frantically pulled them close, one hand cradling the back of their head as if they were the most fragile thing to ever exist while the other wrapped securely around their waist, supporting the entirety of their weight.

They tucked their face into the crook of his neck, hands pressed against his chest, and they sobbed. Incoherent apologies and declarations of love and trust spilled from their lips. Archons, what even were they apologizing for? They knew that they had done nothing wrong, and yet a heavy sense of guilt weighed on their chest.

Kaeya only hushed their cries with such love and tenderness that it was clear he understood what they wanted to say.

*grace is a nun npc in mondstadt who can be found in the favonius cathedral at night. she is described as motherly to children who lack a parental figure or figures in their lives.

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

#aphelion writes 🌸#platonic genshin impact x reader #platonic genshin x reader #platonic genshin impact #kaeya x reader #platonic kaeya x reader #kaeya alberich #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader

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savebatsfromscratch · 8 months ago

Text

Windmills and Seabreezes - Palletshipping Week 4 (Coming Home)

Summary:

Ash returns from his final Journey. He can't seem to feel at home.

Notes:

Prompt: Coming Home Note: Btw I have NOT watched any of Journeys. This was just so clear in my head I had to spit it out. Apologies if it’s kinda wacky. This is intended to be a Palletshipping end game, but it’s rather convoluted and extremely open-ended. I still think it counts though, and it is my opinion that matters so… Cws: Post breakup whump. (Satogou for reference.) Mental turmoil. It’s NOT happy. Words: 1,518

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54897274

Ash dropped his bag onto his bed and sighed.

So that was really the end huh?

The sudden rush of tiredness wasn’t a surprise. It wasn’t at all unusual to feel a little sore after coming home from a journey, just like it wasn’t at all unusual to feel aches creeping into focus after actually getting a room in a hotel for once. It wasn’t even surprising to feel the ever present question of, “what am I even doing here?” spin inside his head.

No.

None of that was the problem.

He sat on the edge of his bed and tried to talk himself into feeling better. He had done it! He didn’t have to fight anymore, he had won. No matter how unlikely it had seemed, especially with his soul crushing defeat in the Kalos league, he had done it. For whatever reason, trainer critics never seemed to take his Alola win seriously, only reflecting on his loss in the Kalos semifinals, and he had to admit that it had got to him a little bit!

But this was not that!

This was something undeniable.

The masters tournament, something that was meant to be the best of the best, and he had won!

So… Why did he still feel so down?

Was there really nothing beyond this? Of course not! He still hadn’t won in most of the leagues he had been a part of, and there were missions upon missions to take on in any project he desired, if he chose to go down a different path. Heck, he hadn’t even given contests or performances a real shot, those looked fun, he knew for a fact that you had to be made of something special to do well there. Beyond that, he hadn’t even been to many regions, completely losing out on their styles of being a trainer.

He’d never tried wild pokemon photography, or card games, or research puzzles, or ranger life, or battle simulators, or capture contests, or any of the other things that he’d heard fellow trainers raving about on the roads. Sure, not all of those options really sounded like his style, but just the fact that there were so many of them clearly meant that there was more out there to do! There was more to learn, more to experience, more to grow in and with, why wasn’t he excited about it?

Of course, he knew the answer.

Duh.

Losing traveling partners always hurt him, but this most recent loss was on a level that Ash found almost completely unprecedented. …almost. There had only been one other abandonment that hurt quite so bad, but it had been years and years since that loss, and now his wounds felt fresh and reopened.

If he couldn’t look at someone he loved, hold their hands, and tell him they’d always been together, what did it matter that he was the champion? What did it matter that there was more to do? What did it matter that he was not yet perfect? He certainly hadn’t been perfect when he’d been unable to see anything but him.

Why had he come back?

Until that point, Ash had felt comfortable, even happy with Goh at his side. Until that point, he had finally thought he had found someone to whom a promise of “forever” wouldn’t be a dirty lie. Finally someone who could, and would, save him, make him clean and whole once more.

Someone who, funnily enough, was exactly the type of person who could make Ash break his promise.

That was his problem, he guessed. He never seemed to be able to pick one. Did he want to be a champion or a friend of Pokemon? Did he want to keep in one region, or did he want to head onto the next? What even was the next? Should he go left, or should he make the right decision? Should he try something new, now that it was over, that which he had spent, and on occasion, even lost, his life in order to achieve?

What about him made it so impossible to make a decision like this?

He forced himself to lay down in his bed, forcing his mind to calm down. He couldn’t risk accidentally stomping his feet and alerting his mother to his distress. He had just gotten home, as far as she knew, he had never even been dating Gou, let alone broken up with him, and he wanted to keep her shielded from his tears for as long as possible.

Ash stared up at the ceiling, eyes burning.

Maybe the problem was not that it was over, but that he knew it was for the best.

He had loved Gou, yes.

But he had loved Gary longer, and seeing his former rival come back into his life had turned everything on its head. Despite everything, Ash still loved Gary, and, as it turned out, when choosing between the two of them, Ash would pick Gary.

From an outsider's perspective, Gou and Gary may have appeared to be a sort of uncertain friendship, but Ash knew better.

But apparently not enough to save his relationship.

Forgetting all about not alerting his mom to his distress, Ash clambered to his feet. He had to get out of the house. He had to go somewhere else. The air, so clearly different from the winds that had blown through the trees on his many adventures, felt stuffy and all too warm. Even with the window cracked open, it was hard to hear the sounds of Pokemon around him, and the unnatural shape of rectangular shadows coming through the thin opening glowed with a very false looking sunset.

Despite traveling for so long, it seemed he was not quite ready to go back to a “normal” life, not quite yet.

He hadn’t removed his coat when jumping into his bed, but his bag and Pokemon were left behind as he left his room, crept down the stairs (past where his mother was cooking in the kitchen), and slipped out of the house. Once outside, he took a deep breath of air, but it was not quite right either. It was clean and cool, and tasted of a coming night time, but it was not what he was looking for.

Almost aimlessly, Ash began to walk. He walked between trees, houses, and occasional agricultural fields. The land of Pallet was nearly pristine, almost lacking entirely in pollution, and yet the air was not yet perfect.

He followed a small stream of water, not even thinking about where he was going as it winded down a hill, past the research station, past an old patch of red flowers, now mostly withered, and flowed into the sea. Ash looked up, as if only then he was realizing where his walk had taken him. The place wasn't the same as where his heart had longed to be, but the feeling of the wind over the huge expanse of water brought the very same feeling to his lungs.

He breathed in deeply, and let his mind run through memories.

As the sun sank, he remembered everything he could manage.

He had loved Gou, and though he knew it was going to be a while before those wounds stopped aching, he suddenly realized that he was feeling better in the presence of the air of the waterside. It was just as Gou had said, they would both be happier this way.

He had said it with a sad expression, and he had said it with a nod, when his group of explorers had walked back into view.

All the way home, Ash had wondered what he had meant, but now he knew.

This was not an ending, as the setting sun told him, but a new beginning. This was a chance to make his life good again, even better than what he had felt before. It had practically been a command, and who was he to disobey a former love’s last wish?

Ash turned to look behind him, looking up at the slow turning of the windmill of the lab.

It spun calmly, unshaken by what he was feeling, a constant in his life of constant changing, it seemed to represent the endless cycles he so often found himself in. He felt a rush of wind come across the ocean, and he hugged his hands to his chest. No matter what his past threw at him, he was going to find a place in his future.

He continued to watch as the lights of the lab flickered on, inviting an occupant back home, back into the embrace of the clean walls and bookshelves. Ash stared into one of the windows, and suddenly he was half sure that he had seen a familiar explosion of brown hair look back at him.

As Gou had told him, it was time to live their lives the way they wanted to, a way that was safer. Maybe for Ash, who had been traveling for who knew how long, that safety was right there at home.

Notes:

???? Idk if this fits the prompt. Comments very appreciated!

#palletshipping #palletshipping week #palletshipping week 2024 #pokeani #trainer ash #angst #post breakup #trainer gary #trainer gou #satogou #my writing #actual post

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kowaindar0u · 5 months ago

Note

diary entry #15, with Yuichi AND Sengou ehek (@zantedeschia-praesul )

[ DEAR DIARY . . . ]

oho... let's see how this goes

15. entry made featuring desire. (Yuichi)

[maybe dated after our current thread with them]

Dearest journal. You know, I hated you at first. It's still sort of awkward to write here like this, and I don't think I could survive the embarrassment if anyone else were to ever find you. There's a reason I keep you unlabeled, even in my personal room. Just... inconspicuous, yeah? But, here I am.

Likewise, I never thought I would ever be feeling this way about somebody, and lo and behold, you're the only one I dare to admit it to. Yes, of course, it's Nagasone. I know one of the previous times I wrote about him I said it wasn't anything uncouth, but... I don't know, maybe it is a little bit...uncouth.

God, even just writing that is so... ugh, I want to scream.

I... don't even really know what exactly I mean by that either. I've never really had this feeling, about anyone. I mean... I'm an adult. By now I've had... 'what-if' thoughts, right? By this age for a lot of people, this is nothing. It's normal, even. But until now, the thought has always just been... uncomfortable, mortifying... I mean, scary, yeah?

But I think...maybe what I'm feeling is that... with him, it might not be any of those things? Nothing is scary when I'm with him. I think I might even like it...?? I... I don't think I would be good at it, though? I seriously CANNOT believe I'm even writing this. What is this?? What am I doing? God. No, yeah, of course, he's... too sweet to hold it against me if that's the case. You're right. And I'm imagining that you're speaking back to me. Okay. Great. I knew writing about this was kind of a stupid idea huh?

Well. This entry here more than ever-- if you tell a soul, I'll... I don't know. Rip you apart or something. Use your imagination.

---

15. entry made featuring desire. (Sengo)

[from before our thread with them]

I should probably be speaking with some of my more... insightful fellow touken danshi about this, but as per usual I'm not doing that. Instead, I'm writing in this journal. I think this is best. Others may describe me as mysterious, or perhaps too forward in certain regards, or maybe a mix of the two. But it all comes down to the fact that I simply... cannot seem to express my true self.

In general... the reason for that is... kind of a mystery. Surely there are many feelings the sharing of which is good for all involved, no? Perhaps it's that when I do try to express them, I do it...poorly. Incorrectly, maybe.

However... the reason I'm even scrawling on these pages today is something I feel for certain that is simply best kept hidden, relegated to my own mind. I only write here in hopes of relieving some of the ache it causes me. Perhaps this is what they call 'heartache'.

You see, little notebook, for some time I have been harboring this... longing, for my saniwa, my master, my-- ... Saseki. He is beautiful-- simultaneously so handsome, so pretty, and so adorable. He is strong, yet I have the feeling that he has faced considerable trials in his time as sage up til now, and while I haven't been privvy to the specifics, I just... I want to protect him. I know-- all touken danshi wish to protect their master. I know, but this... It's different. I want to protect him, I so, so badly want him close to me, more than close. I want to love him, and I wish, so fiercely and desperately, that he could love me in the same way, but...

I feel... I feel like it could never be. Even if I did find the audacity, the honesty within me... If I were to tell him, to spill all or any part of this as some bleeding-heart confession, I... I think it could only lead to discomfort, or worse. And I don't think I could handle doing that to him.

So... I will continue to simply serve him as touken danshi, to maintain an arm's-length friendship, and... as painfully as I yearn for something more, I will cherish and appreciate every aching second I spend with him.

Until next time, journal.

#huhuhu? (asks)#zantedeschiapraesul #ic:yuichi #ic:sengo #I HOPE THIS ISNT TOO AWKWARD LMAO #lmao maybe yuichi's journal is becoming ever-so-slightly a tsukumogami itself lol #AAAAAAAAAA #sengo: *clutches chest*#diary:yuichi #diary:sengo

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happydahlia · 27 days ago

Text

home

My home has never been one place.

Never a house, I merely lived in those.

In the end they’re just four walls and a door,

Little chips in the drywall and messy doodles in corners.

I found home in a multitude of places;

Under the covers late at night with whatever book had most recently beckoned my name.

Shadowing my mother on those days where I felt a tug in my soul telling me I needed to be near her, though I didn’t always know why.

My best friend’s bedroom floor, laughing at every other word while nearly choking on junk food.

Then there were the times where I only drifted,

Struggled to find comfort in any place.

No idea how to express what was trapped inside my head.

Floating with no direction,

Just existing,

The way I did in a house.

It took me a while,

But I found ways to make my own home when the ones I’d dwelled in for so long didn’t keep me as warm as I needed.

I found home in the words of others,

In webs of poetry spun by strangers whose minds worked akin to mine.

I idolized them,

Wondered how they managed to turn their thoughts into something so beautiful,

Something that made me feel so much.

Spent nights wishing I could create the way they did, give that inner stream of consciousness a voice.

Then I realized I could, that the only thing stopping me from weaving my own web was my fear and self-doubt, so I tossed them to the back of my mind,

And I wrote.

I painted constellations with my words,

I weaved my own webs until my hands ached and my pen ran dry.

And I finally found home.

a/n: hi everyone! same as always; likes, reblogs, comments, and follows are always greatly appreciated. I love to hear what other people think of my work and/or how they interpret it or relate to it so feel free to message me, leave a comment, or leave your thoughts in my asks.

Ima get a little into my feels here lol,

Not so long ago I was really struggling to find home. I felt so out of place, like I was just drifting with no way to find stability. The places where I did find comfort could only do so much the deeper into my head I got, and right when I reached the lowest point, I discovered poetry. Tbh I used to think poetry was for depressed emo kids and weepy weirdos, but I’m glad to say I was very wrong. It’s a way to express those innermost thoughts and feelings and hurts in a way that is so unbelievably beautiful. I love writing, it’s honestly saved me in more ways than one. So I want to say thank you. Thank you to everyone who’s ever read, liked, or reblogged any of my posts. Thank you to my 14 followers, I know you’re random internet strangers and there aren’t many of you, but I appreciate you so much. Thank you to my best friend @world-seen , who has supported me throughout everything and has hyped the living crap out of every shitty poem I’ve shown her. And most of all, thank you to every poet who has shared a piece of their self with the world and has helped me feel a little less alone. Ily all so much seriously.

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