#so i finished reading this today and it changed me

[tuesdaykiss]

“touching toes”

rafe cameron social media au

“he’s over more and more, had to give him a whole drawer. to be honest, kinda like seeing his trainers by the door.” — olivia dean, ‘touching toes’.

synopsis: after finishing her fashion studies at college in nyc, y/n moves to outerbanks to live with her grandparents. she worries about the loneliness that comes with being in a new place, knowing only her cousin topper and other relatives… that is until she is acquainted with a certain cameron.

part - 20 | 21 | 22

masterlist

the evening after sarah’s fashion show was a blur of flashing lights, applause, and mingling with the industry’s elite. but as the night wound down and you returned to the hotel, the buzz online was impossible to ignore.

you sat on the edge of the bed in the hotel room you were sharing with sarah, scrolling through your phone. article after article speculated about your connection with rafe, all because he was sarah cameron’s brother: “caught on camera: rafe and his new flame?”, “fashion show sparks new couple rumours” and “rafe cameron’s new mystery lady — who is she?”.

your stomach churned as you read the comments beneath the posts. some were kind, calling you beautiful or lucky, but others were so cruel… dissecting everything from your appearance to your worthiness to being with ‘the internet’s boyfriend’, rafe cameron.

“stop reading that, y/n,” sarah said gently from across the room. she was perched in front of the mirror, wiping away her makeup after kicking her heels off at the door.

“i can’t help it,” you muttered, locking your phone and holding it clutched in your hand tightly, “it’s everywhere.”

sarah turned to look at you, her expression softening, “that’s just how the internet is these days, they hyper fixate in a person and everyone they come close to.”

you sighed, dropping your phone onto the bed as you sighed, “i didn’t think it would be like this. i didn’t even think about what people would say — i mean he’s not exactly famous!”

sarah got up and crossed the room, sitting beside you on the bed. “hey,” she said, nudging your shoulder with hers, “it’s a lot, i know… trust me, i went through this with john b. but you’re strong. and if this is what you want, if he’s what you want, you can handle it.”

you hesitated, your fingers playing with the hem of your sleeve, “ i do want him,” you admitted. “but it’s scary — what if this is all too much?”

sarah smiled softly, brushing your hair out of your face, “then you take it one step at a time, together. and tonight? i think you should stay with him.”

“what?” you blinked, take aback.

“go to rafe’s room,” sarah said, her voice firm but kind, “you’ve had a crazy day, and i know he’s dying to see you, again. plus, i can tell you’re overthinking. being with him will help, and then tomorrow we can go back to outerbanks and forget.”

“are you sure?” your voice was uncertain.

“absolutely,” sarah said with a grin, “and don’t worry about me. i’m ordering room service and then i’ll facetime john b and tell him all about today… go!”

her encouragement gave you the push you needed. you quickly changed into something more comfortable, grabbed your things, and headed down the hall to rafe’s room.

the knock on rafe’s hotel room door felt heavier than it should have, your hand lingering on the wood a moment too long before you finally knocked. the weight of the day — and the worries that were swirling your mind following the fashion show — made you feel like you could potentially crumble at any moment.

the door opened almost immediately, revealing rafe in sweatpants — his chest on full display. his hair was messy, his face soft with concern as he took in your figure.

“hey,” he said gently, stepping aside and inviting you in.

“hey,” you murmured back, slipping into his room.

the place was dimly lit, cozy, and the scent of his cologne lingered faintly in the air, you set your things on a nearby chair and turned to face him.

“i’m sorry to just… show up,” your voice trembling as you spoke, “it’s just — everything today… i don’t know if i can do this, rafe.”

he took a step closer, his expression softening, “do what?”

“all of it,” you began to ramble, gesturing vaguely, “the articles, the comments, the way people are looking at me now — like i’m just some accessory to you, i’m not my own person. and then there’s topper. he doesn’t even know yet and i just — i can’t help but worry about how he’ll react.”

rafe’s brows knitted with concern, “you don’t have to be sorry,” he said softly. “come here.”

before you could protest, his arms were around you, pulling you into his chest. his chin rested lightly on the top of you head, and for a moment, you let yourself melt into him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you.

“i know it feels like that right now,” he spoke up again, his thumbs brushing over you knuckles, “but you’re not alone in this. you’ve got me and i’m not going anywhere.”

you look up at him, your eyes meeting his. “i’ve always been the kind of person who doesn’t need help,” your admitted, “not from my family, not from my friends. but with you… i don’t know, it’s different. i kind of… like having you here.”

he smiled softly, his lips quirking up at the corners. “kind of?” he teased, attempting to lighten the mood.

“don’t make me regret saying it,” you let out a small laugh, shaking your head.

“i wouldn’t dare,” he said, his voice warm.

you sighed, your smile fading slightly… the moment only short-lived. “but i keep thinking… what the hell am i doing? what are we doing? this whole thing is getting so messy… and i don’t even know where it’s going.”

“we don’t have to have it all figured out,” he said, his presence suddenly feeling quite grounding, “we just have to know what we want right now. and for me? that’s you.”

you smiled at him, allowing yourself to fall into his bed, as he settled the blanket over you, “you make it sound so simple.”

“maybe it is,” he reassured, his voice full of certainty, as he joined you in the bed.

your toes brushed against his as you shifted slightly to move closer to him; the small, accidental gesture caused you to pause. he noticed it too, a smile tugging at his lips as he nudged your foot with him.

“you’re stuck with me now,” he laughed.

you couldn’t help but smile, a warmth spreading through your chest despite your lingering worries, “i think i’m okay with that.”

as you lay beside him, your head on his chest and his arm around you, the chaos of the day felt a little farther away. his foot remained brushing against yours under the blanket, the small, tender action reminding you of how close he was, even in the quietest moments.

“good, because i’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your hair, “and when we tell topper — or anyone else — we’ll do it together. whatever comes next, we’ll face it… together. one step at a time.”

you closed your eyes, letting the steady rise and fall of his chest lull you into calm. “one step at a time,” you echoed, your voice barely a whisper.

the weight of the day hadn’t disappeared, but in this moment, it felt a little easier to carry.

a/n: given the severe lack of social media in this chapter, i ended it with some visuals!

back to obx in the next chapter woohoo

taglist: @my-name-is-baby @yesshewrites1 @urbrunettebombshell @leather-n-velvet @fruitcakerafe @littlefreak-liz @wdwbts101 @akobx @lossfairy @marleymarleymarleymarley @jjmaybankmylovee @mbella607 @scream4mami @mrsdrewstarkeyy @honeyluvsatj

[kcrabb88]

I was reading this fascinating longform article in the New Yorker about a current lawsuit going on in the Romantasy world and what constitutes a trope that can't be stolen vs. an original idea when a lot of the books in the genre end up being derivative, but what was most interesting were the bits about writers in the genre hardly being able to have their own cohesive idea for a book so much as editors and agents suggesting what they should write and not letting them finish a draft before sending revision notes and making changes. This kind of stuff is getting to be a major problem in trad publishing (and romance indie publishing has it's own issues with forcing writers to churn out books fast fast fast to stay relevant while sticking to a certain set of tropes, and arguably it isn't limited to romance). As a friend put it to me today, "the market controls writers now instead of the other way around."

Reading that article made me think of the Fansplaining article that came out a couple of weeks ago that talked a lot about more and more people reading fic but fic writers not really being able to see the fruits of that as much (because less engagement). It also talked about how a lot of "normie" types came into fandom during the height of the Covid years and they definitely have a different attitude toward fanwork than people who are in fandom generally. Which, true! I think fandoms, especially big popular ones have these kind of a sort of ... break and bake cookies concept of how you interact in fandom. There are pre-made silos where you ship certain characters and adopt certain fanon without coming to your own ideas naturally (and sometimes that fanon is VERY aggressive). Fic writers may feel a similar pressure to write what will be popular and trendy in fandom rather than what they might LIKE to write. They might feel they have to adopt certain popular fanon so people don't get mad. So, I dunno! Seems like the same problem in two not-unrelated spaces.

Not that we need to go back to the whole writers are suffering, tormented geniuses thing, but I do feel like writers of any stripe should be able to write something because they find it compelling and interesting rather than being pressured to, or feeling like they must, chase trends. You're going to get better writing that way! And readers will be happier for it, too.

[aishangotome]

[Azel] The Mean Unicorn's Greedy Desire (Bday Story) - Part 1

It had been a while since I started staying in Tanzanite as a traveling merchant---

The day of the Nativity Festival arrived, celebrating the day the living god, worshipped as the incarnation of the moon, descended to this world.

(Amazing... Everywhere is bustling with festivities.)

The shop on the right is selling palm-sized statues of the living god, and the shop on the left is selling commemorative coins that were apparently made to celebrate this year's Nativity Festival...

If I look ahead, I see a multitude of people praying around the statue of the living god, and if I look behind, I see dancers performing a dance dedicated to the god.

The market, filled with a mix of locals and tourists, was so crowded that it was difficult to even walk, so as soon as I finished the job the owner asked me to do, I rushed into a nearby alley.

(I didn't think the crowds would be this bad, but surely there's no one in the back alley––)

Azel: ...Huh?

Emma: Eh...?

Standing right in front of me was the god himself.

(Am I having a daydream?)

I rubbed my eyes and looked again, but the scene didn't change.

Emma: Why is Prince Azel in a place like this–– Nggh!?

Azel: Don't make a fuss, don't shout, be quiet! Do you want to be sued for damages? Fine with that, huh?

(That's so unreasonable!)

Azel quickly closed the distance between us, covered my mouth with his hand, and dragged me into the shadows.

(Is he perhaps hiding?)

When I signaled with my eyes that "I'll be quiet," he finally let go of my hand.

Azel: Of all people, why did you have to find me? This is the worst.

Emma: Were you doing something bad?

Azel: If I were, you wouldn't see tomorrow.

Emma: ...I'm glad that's not the case.

Emma: But, why is the guest of honor himself in the shade on a day like this?

Azel: Did it look like I was having fun?

Emma: ...No.

Azel: That's how it is.

(No, what does that mean?)

Azel let out a huge sigh by my ear.

It tickled, and my shoulders jumped, but Azel didn't seem to notice.

Azel: Do you know what day it is today?

Emma: It's Prince Azel's birthday, right? Happy Birthday.

Azel: Thank you. I'll be collecting presents later, so please be prepared.

(Shoot, I wasn't thinking!)

Azel: I prefer presents with actual items rather than just feelings.

Emma: ...So that's how it is.

Azel: But what all the citizens want to give me are "feelings."

Azel: No, even feelings are questionable... Anyway, people don't really care much about "whether I'll be happy or not."

(Is that... so?)

Azel: What do you think would happen if I went out on the main street now?

Emma: It might cause a commotion. Everywhere is already buzzing about Prince Azel.

Azel: In other words, that's how it'll be.

(I see, I understand now. He's hiding here because he doesn't want to cause a stir.)

As soon as one question was resolved, another one immediately popped up.

Emma: Wouldn't it have been better to stay in the usual temple...?

Azel: That's why I'm here, isn't it?

Perhaps out of spite or something, he pinched my cheek.

Azel: The main event of the Nativity Festival is the divine ritual.

Azel: If I skip this, the whole nation will start making a fuss, wondering if something has happened to the god, and politics, economy, everything will collapse.

Emma: That's a bit of an exaggeration...

Azel: You think so?

Azel: But it's no exaggeration to say that for the people of Tanzanite, god is the pillar of their spirit.

Azel: If that pillar cracks even a little, people will lose their minds.

Azel: For example, you like books, right? You might not be able to read them at all from tomorrow...

Azel: If that were to happen, could you remain calm?

Emma: I might not be able to.

Azel: That's how big of a deal it is for someone to lose their spiritual support.

Azel: ...Though it's a huge pain.

(Somehow... I think I understand.)

(Azel has to go to the castle no matter what, for the sake of the people.)

(Because that's his duty as a god.)

Emma: Is there no secret passage to get to the castle?

Azel: No. The more entrances the castle has, the more invasion routes there will be.

Azel: Tanzanite Castle is built in such a way that there is no other way to get there than through the main street.

(So, a commotion is unavoidable...)

Emma: Then, I'll be cheering you on from the shadows.

(There's nothing I can do anyway...)

Just as his hand left my cheek and I was about to turn around, he placed his hands on both my shoulders.

Azel: That's not right, is it?

Emma: Wh-What do you mean?

He squeezed my shoulders tightly, putting pressure on me both physically and mentally.

Azel: You think you can just go somewhere without giving me a present?

Azel: By the way, I don't want anything you just randomly bought at the market.

Emma: But, you want a physical item, right?

Azel: A thoughtless item is the same as bulky trash.

Azel: Let me see, what I want from you...

Azel, who had been lost in thought, suddenly changed his expression to a god-like benevolent smile.

I couldn't help but tense up.

Azel: I've never had a birthday cake before, so I'd like that.

Emma: ...Eh, never, ever?

Azel: Never. Because I'm a god.

(Oh right... The way gods celebrate is different from ordinary people.)

(But, why... does his smile seem sad?)

Emma: If I can use the castle kitchen, I can make one...

Azel: I'll arrange it. But for that, you have to go to the castle with me.

Emma: Together...?

Azel: Yes, together.

(If we go to the castle together, won't we get caught up in the commotion...?)

Azel: You want to celebrate me, don't you? You do, right?

The god enveloped me in a benevolent smile, as if bathed in a halo of light.

Azel: Very well. I will offer you my divine lending service at a special price.

Azel: Just for today, I am yours... In other words, we are bound by fate. Please take care of me.

(This wicked god––!)

.

.

.

Part 2

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to leave me a tip or buy me a coffee through the "Leave a Tip" button on my navigation bar!

[pompomchihuahua]

Genya Shinazugawa: A Fish In a Birdcage

It's my favorite boy's birthday and today I want to celebrate why he's possibly one of the most talented characters in the show while still being considered one of the "weakest."

In case it wasn't immediately obvious, Genya is my favorite little guy from Demon Slayer. Everything from his design to his abilities to his personality and story just speak to me.

For this analysis I wanna focus on a little bit of everything, starting with his design.

So from the get-go, the first things you notice about the boy are the huge ass scar on his face and his scrunkly little mohawk. The scar immediately tells you that he has a history. It's an unspoken message of survival and overcoming suffering.

As for the mohawk, well you have to look a little deeper into how Japanese media portrays hair. For early media, it's a sign of refinement and status. To the point that one of the many hallmarks of evil in Japanese folklore is unkempt hair. For the mohawk specifically, it's a symbol of rebellion and a strong, edgy personality.

His clothing is purple and black. Interestingly, purple was, for a long time, banned by commoners to wear as it was exceedingly hard and expensive to get ahold of. By late Edo and early Meiji the tides changed to where it became quite fashionable among common folk to wear purple to the point it got the nickname "old purple" or kodai murasaki. (you can read about it here) But purple can also represent strength.

His sharp eyes, small irises, and furrowed brow all point to a very aggressive design. And! I'd like to note that he's using a katana here, which I'll get back to later in another post!

So! Now, we see Genya's traded out his katana for his iconic gun along with a wakizashi (a shortsword used by samurai primarily for finishing blows, fitting as that's exactly how Genya uses it in canon).

There's a modern misconception that samurai were wholly against the use of firearms during their active periods, but history and art show quite the opposite (here). And seeing as Demon Slayer takes place during the Taisho era, when Japan was seeing a lot of "modernization" and were specifically adopting a lot of Western values, it makes sense to implement a character using a more modern and Western weapon (even his outfit is more of a western style with his pants being a straight cut instead of the traditional samurai hakama that the others wear!).

His hair is grown out and more tamed though still in a mohawk style showing that while he's softened, he still has a strong personality and rebellious edge. Another thing I find cool is that the author gave an in canon reason for Genya's hair length in the Kimetsu Gakuen extra; he uses it to gauge the strength and direction of the wind to redirect his shots.

We also see that he's shot up in height and filled out in physique, a very nice nod to how his demon eating abilities affected his body in the long term.

Overall, Genya's design is efficient without giving everything away. It leaves out the subtle details like his hidden gentle nature and his sharp mind and good heart; which I'll elaborate on now.

One misconception I see floating around a lot is that Genya is below average intelligence. This is probably for three reasons: the extra in the Kimetsu Gakuen universe where Sanemi tells Genya to "get better at his math" and the part in the data book where it says Genya is "never calculating." The third reason is that there's a bit of a stereotype that thug/punk=stupid.

But in Kimetsu Gakuen proper we see that Genya is actually making really good grades.

But test grades aren't everything! Even in canon we find out that Genya is incredibly observant. During the Hashira training arc, Genya says this: "Well, not that Himejima-san is exactly good at teaching it. You need to watch and learn and swipe it for yourself, all right?"

This implies that Genya taught himself the Repetitive Motion technique by just watching Himejima do it. He is a master marksman and described as the ace of his high school shooting club able to make real time adjustments to his aim based on how the wind blows his hair.

Not calculating just means he's not one for scheming, not that he's incapable of critical thought. And Sanemi getting onto him for his math scores is him being a hardass as Genya is within the top 15 in his grade.

He is still a child at heart, something he desperately tries to hide and that is readily apparent in the Japanese version. Specifically in the way he oscillates between using "Nii-chan" (the childish way you'd refer to your older brother, as expected in especially young children or women) and "Aniki" (the rougher way of saying it, translates more as "big bro").

As for his gentle nature, I already made a whole post on how I believe Genya stepped in as the homemaker of the Shinazugawa family. (Which you can read here) He's also described in the data book as regaining his "gentle nature," telling the audience that he was a soft hearted boy growing up.

Look at his soft smile here when he sees that Nezuko is okay! He genuinely cares about their well-being despite Tanjirou having what Genya desperately wants but can't have: family, strength, the ability to use breathing.

He apologizes to Kanata and steps in to help the caterpillar girls in one winged butterfly. He may have a brash exterior, but he's got a heart of gold.

However, out of anyone, no one hates Genya more than Genya hates himself.

Which brings me to my next and main topic: Genya's abilities and how it makes him a fish in a birdcage.

From the very first introduction of Genya's ability, the very narrative sets Genya up as "talentless." "He doesn't have the physical talent to use breathing techniques." As a result, his nichirin blade never changes color. He makes up for this by using his gun, but when he's put into a tight situation, that's when his more unique ability comes into play.

Before we get into that, I want to delve into what the breathing techniques are and what they're supposed to do. For that we go all the way back to the beginning where we meet Makomo who says this: "Total Concentration Breathing accelerates your blood circulation and your heart rate. That causes your body temperature to spike, making you as strong as a demon while being human." So we can conclude that the goal of TCB is to achieve demonic strength.

Which brings me to Genya's most unique and prominent ability; Genya can eat demons to temporarily gain the powers of a demon without fully becoming one. So, if Genya can't use breathing but can gain the strength of a demon anyway, then there should be no problem, right?

Well, it seems that the demon slayer corps is built upon a rather strict honor code and places a heavy emphasis on tradition. Genya not being able to use breathing and having to rely on tainted, evil power, to have to stoop down to a demon's level and consume flesh, in the corps' eyes it makes him lesser. And Genya seems overly aware of this.

He says that Shinobu makes a disgusted face when she sees him and he likely relates it back to him being breathless and eating demons. In one winged butterfly, after he's unable to find the words to reassure another demon slayer he thinks this: "He really was broken. He couldn't do a single thing properly. This was probably why his brother wouldn't look at him."

Hell, even Inosuke throws in his two cents, calling Genya a "wimp" for being unable to use breathing techniques (of which Genya gets really defensive about and starts a fight). He thinks of himself as weak in the infinity castle and unable to really do anything until he remembers Tanjirou's encouragement.

It's safe to say that Genya's self esteem is in the toilet.

He, arguably, has access to a technique that's far more potent than TCB in that it not only gives him the strength of a demon but also gives him the healing and abilities of a demon without the downside of actually being a demon. But because it isn't TCB, he's constantly put down and belittled.

He's meant to fly to the top of the cliff when his real strength lies in swimming up the waterfall. He can still get to the same places but he's looked down upon for his methods.

But there's a legend about a carp that swam upstream against all odds, that leapt up the falls of the Yellow River at Dragon Gate and became a Dragon. It's a story of perseverance and transformation and it's one Genya achieves in his last moments.

Genya achieves his ultimate power; unlocking a blood demon art of his own while still retaining his humanity (and yes, he is still human at this point, Kokushibou confirms as much). It's the ultimate demon hunting technique, parasitic roots that paralyze the target and suck the blood, preventing the target from unleashing their own BDA.

His only thoughts in that moment being that he won't let any of them die. Genya sacrificed everything for his brother, ultimately achieving the goal he had when he was just a child: to protect his Nii-chan. And his brother finally lets his guard down to, switching to the more babyish language (he refers to himself as Nii-chan, saying "Nii-chan will fix this") and it's only then that Genya lets his guard down too. In his last moments, Genya got to be his true self.

A kind, fiercely protective, and loving boy with strength that went beyond what was ever expected of him. He is, possibly one of the strongest characters in theory with so much unexplored potential. His design is solid, telling viewers a lot without giving everything away, his story is compelling (especially to people who are gifted in the "wrong ways") and his personality is complex.

There's a reason I can make so many posts about this character alone and why I have more planned for the bestest boy. But for now! Happy birthday Genya!

[bobasbn]

𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

1k words | rafayelxfem!reader | Rafayel gets a new lip piercing, cutesy, brat Raf

-

When your boyfriend, Rafayel, sent you an overly thrilled message about some surprise he had, you weren’t really expecting much. Perhaps he was going to showcase a new painting in the works for his next exhibit or maybe a new trick that he taught Reddie the fish. 

What you definitely weren’t expecting was to be met with a foreign sight of metal that adorned the corner of the bottom lip. A small, silver labret that sticks from his skin, glimmering every time he spoke or smiled. You stared at him with your mouth agape for a few seconds longer than intended and almost made him sob when he believed you didn’t like the new feature on his face. 

“I wanted to try something new. I’ve seen countless humans with these tattoos and piercings and I thought it wouldn’t look so bad on me,” Rafayel tried to explain when you asked why he had impulsively gone to pierce his lip. Not that you didn’t like it, in fact, you found it to be an immensely attractive sight. The piercing moved so hypnotically with every motion when he spoke. 

The only downside was that you couldn’t really express your affection with a peck or a kiss due to his healing process. Rafayel’s been going insane without your kisses and everyday he wished the piercing would heal at lightspeed. 

Today you decided to be a thoughtful girlfriend and encourage Rafayel to take care of his health by exercising. His lips were a bit swollen after getting the piercing but now that it’s been a few months it’s been gradually getting better. You’ve become increasingly enticed by the sight. The way it glimmers when he talks, when he plays around with the piercing using his tongue or teeth. It seamlessly fits on his face somehow like a puzzle piece you didn’t even realise was ever missing. Despite that, he’s been flopping around his studio like a fish out of water whining and groaning about the pain in his lips and the lack of kisses he’s receiving. 

“Come on Raf. You need some exercise,” you say, trying to convince him to step outside and go to the gym with you. Rafayel, albeit dressed in workout attire, stands with his arms crossed and a petulant frown on his face. That new lip ring he put on catches your eye, the metal hugging the pliable pink flesh of his lips.

“Exercise is not what I need right now to rejuvenate me,” he protests, stepping closer and wrapping an arm around your waist. You feel the warmth of his body through the thin fabric of his black tank top. He leans his head down a bit but all you see is that lip ring drawing closer. 

“How long has it been since you’ve stepped outside?” You ask. His hand trails lower, resting on the small of your back. His mind seems to be wandering somewhere that’s not this conversation you’re having. You decide to negotiate with him. Instead of a strenuous workout at the gym maybe he’ll settle for a walk for some fresh air. Rafayel can read your thoughts through your eyes and it deepens his frown to know that you want to drag him outside his studio.

“Does it matter?” He questions. “Can’t we just stay inside, watch the sea from the comfort of my studio?” He tries to steer you away from wanting to go exercise. 

“I’ll give you a kiss if you come walk-” Before you could even finish your sentence, Rafayel is fixing a black cap on his head and practically skipping out the door. He looks back at you and gestures for you to follow him. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go!” He says impatiently. 

You roll your eyes at his sudden change in attitude. Taking his hand in yours, you two stroll out, the breeze brushing against Rafayel’s face for the first time in who knows how long. He keeps a tight grasp on your hand and leads you to the pristine beach of Whitesand Beach. The sun’s rays are a welcoming warmth against your skin, the light coruscating off the ocean across from you. 

You turn around to admire Rafayel. His soft purple locks wavering in the breeze, pink-blue eyes lovingly staring back at you… and that lip ring. It throws off the entire ‘soft boyfriend’ look he was previously presenting as. Such a small piece of jewellery somehow shifted his entire facade. 

“Are you sure you don’t secretly hate it?” Rafayel asks, giving a small squeeze to your hand. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. I like it,” you reassure him for the umpteenth time. 

Rafayel looks at you in disbelief. His eyes are narrowed and eyebrows curved down as he turns his body to face you. He steps closer, his intention clear as day when he starts to lean down a bit. 

“Can I kiss you? Please?” Rafayel asks. You can’t deny him, you would never. Especially not when he looks like a kicked puppy begging for a kiss. 

You give him a simple nod. He immediately jumps at the chance, arms encircling your body and his lips smash against yours. 

It’s different. It’s exhilarating. The way the cool steel poking at your lips contrasts with his warm, supple lips is dizzying. When you reciprocate a second after, you can feel the small tug of a smirk on his lips as he indulges in you. 

“Rafayel-” You mumble between the kiss, “we’re in- public-” 

“And?” He inquires. He pulls away only a fraction, your lips still about a centimetre apart. 

“And? It’s not empty,” you whisper. Your eyes dart about around Rafayel, spotting a few other people casually lazing around on the beach. Your boyfriend doesn’t seem to really care about anything else but he straightens his back again. 

“Okay. Then let’s take a nice, relaxing walk back to my studio and spend more time together,” Rafayel suggests, a brazen smile plastered on his face. He sensed you were just about to protest so he acted quickly. His arm secured itself around the back of your knees, hoisting you up over his shoulder.

“Wha- Hey! Rafayel!” You almost screech when you find yourself slumped over his shoulder like you’re a bag of potatoes. This was the last thing you were expecting from him.

“Relax, cutie. We’re just going to… make sure my lip piercing is fully healed.” 

-

inspired by the random thought I had that what if Rafayel got a lip piercing bc he already has so many ear piercings. ♡⃕ first post of 2025. hope you enjoy!!!

[azaracyy]

a lesson on good karma digimon survive week 2024 day 4: supporting characters

[volaenii]

Guess who started reading Trigun Maximum and is halfway through the manga and has sustained irreversible emotional damaged? Me… It’s me…

[tiddytrashcan]

Everytime I think I understand the degree to which Ursula K. LeGuin Got It™ she hits me with another life revelation

[iknowwhereyousleepatnight]

oughhhh five million articles with tiny fonts but it's a pdf so i cant increase the text size without zooming in and having to manually scroll side to side to read everything or just suffer with the small font because i can only use half my screen for reading because the other half of my screen for writing in my word doc my DETESTED

[reallygroovyninja]

Empty Nest

The front door creaked gently as Clarke pushed it open, stepping into the familiar quiet of their home. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm, dappled light across the entryway. She let out a long breath, setting down her keys on the small table by the door.  

Her fingers sifted through the stack of mail she had picked up — bills, a couple of promotional flyers, and a postcard from their son’s college. She held the postcard a moment longer, tracing her finger over the bright, cheerful image on the front before placing it aside.  

"Lexa?" Clarke called out, her voice echoing slightly in the empty space. There was no response, just the soft hum of the house. She frowned slightly, moving further into the living room.  

The cushions on the couch were neatly arranged, just as she had left them that morning. Clarke's gaze swept across the room, the familiar decor somehow accentuating the silence. "Lexa, are you home?" she called again, a hint of concern threading through her tone.  

With a growing sense of unease, Clarke began to walk through the house. The kitchen was pristine, the countertops clear except for a vase of fresh flowers that Lexa must have put out. Clarke paused, admiring them for a brief moment, before continuing her search.  

She moved down the hallway, her footsteps soft on the hardwood floor. The door to their home office was ajar, and Clarke peered inside. The computer was off, the chair pushed in. No Lexa.  

Finally, she reached the door to their bedroom. It was closed, which was unusual for this time of day. "Lexa?" Clarke’s voice was softer now, tinged with a mix of worry and confusion. She reached out, her hand hesitating briefly before turning the knob and pushing the door open.  

The door swung open quietly, revealing their bedroom bathed in the soft afternoon light. Clarke's eyes immediately found Lexa, sitting on the edge of their bed. Her posture was slumped, a stark contrast to her usual upright, composed demeanor. Her eyes were downcast, fixated on her hands folded in her lap.  

Clarke's heart clenched at the sight. The air in the room felt heavy, laden with an unspoken sadness. She stepped inside, closing the door gently behind her. "Lexa?" she asked, her voice a mix of concern and caution.  

Lexa didn't look up. The silence stretched between them, filled with a thousand unasked questions. Clarke moved closer, taking tentative steps until she was just a few feet away from the bed. "Hey," she said softly, trying to catch Lexa's eye. "What's wrong?"  

There was a palpable tension in Lexa's shoulders, a visible effort in the way she kept her gaze averted. Clarke could almost feel the weight of Lexa's thoughts, the burden of whatever was pressing down on her.  

Clarke sat down on the bed, close enough to be there for Lexa, but giving her space. She resisted the urge to reach out, to bridge the gap with a touch. Instead, she waited, her own heart pounding in her chest.  

Finally, Lexa lifted her head, her eyes meeting Clarke's. There was a depth of emotion in her gaze, a mixture of weariness and something else Clarke couldn't quite identify. But Lexa remained silent, the words she needed to say trapped behind a barrier Clarke couldn't see.  

The room was quiet, save for the distant sounds of life outside their window. Clarke watched Lexa, a growing sense of helplessness settling over her. She wanted to help, to understand, but the distance between them felt like a chasm too wide to cross with just words.  

"Lexa, whatever it is, we can... we can talk about it," Clarke said, her voice a gentle plea. But Lexa just continued to sit there, her eyes now fixed somewhere beyond Clarke, lost in thoughts she wasn't ready to share.  

After a few moments, heavy with silence, Lexa's voice finally broke through, quiet yet laden with a weight that immediately captured Clarke's full attention.  

"I don't know," Lexa began, her voice barely above a whisper, "I don't know if I'm still in love with you." Her words hung in the air, stark and raw. She paused, taking a shaky breath. "I love you, Clarke, I do. But... I'm just not sure it's the same as it used to be."  

Clarke felt as if the ground had shifted beneath her. She struggled to process Lexa's words, each one echoing painfully in her mind. Her heart raced, a mix of fear, confusion, and a deep, aching sadness.  

"But... how?" Clarke managed to say, her voice trembling. "What changed, Lexa?"  

Lexa looked up, her eyes meeting Clarke's. There was a vulnerability there that Clarke had rarely seen. "I don't know when it happened, or how," Lexa said, her voice steadier but still tinged with uncertainty. "It's not something I decided. It's like... slowly realizing that the way I feel about you has shifted. It's more like a deep care, a respect, but the... the passion, the in-love part, it's not like before."  

Clarke felt a lump forming in her throat, her mind racing with memories, questions, doubts. She wanted to reach out, to find a way to fix this, to turn back time to when things were simpler, happier.  

"But we've been through so much together, Lexa. We've built a life, a family," Clarke said, her voice laced with desperation.  

"I know, and that's what makes this so hard," Lexa replied, her expression pained. "I've been trying to understand it myself, to figure out if it's just a phase, or if... if this is really how I feel."  

The room was filled with a heavy stillness, the kind that comes after a storm, when the world is still reeling from the impact. Clarke felt numb, unable to fully grasp the reality that the person she loved, the person she had spent two decades with, was questioning their love.  

"Is there... is there someone else?" Clarke asked, the question slipping out before she could stop it.  

"No, no, it's not about someone else. It's about us, about me," Lexa assured quickly, her eyes earnest. "I'm just trying to be honest with you, and with myself. I don't want to keep pretending that everything is okay when it's not."  

Clarke nodded, a silent tear rolling down her cheek. She knew this was just the beginning of a long, difficult conversation, maybe even a series of conversations. But in that moment, all she could feel was the heartbreaking realization that the love of her life was slipping away, and she didn't know how to hold on.  

Clarke sat there, motionless, the words echoing in her mind like a relentless tide. She stared at Lexa, searching her face for something, anything, that might suggest this was just a momentary doubt, a fleeting fear. But Lexa's expression, open and pained, told a different story.  

"This can't be happening," Clarke murmured, her voice a mix of disbelief and despair. Deep down, she had sensed the growing chasm between them, the subtle changes in Lexa's demeanor, the quiet evenings that had become too common. Yet, acknowledging these silent warnings felt like giving in to a reality she wasn't ready to accept.  

"Clarke," Lexa reached out tentatively, her hand hovering in the space between them, unsure. "I'm so sorry. I wish I could make this easier."  

But Clarke couldn't focus on Lexa's words of consolation. Her mind was reeling, grappling with the realization that the foundation of their life together was not as solid as she had believed. "How long have you felt this way?" she asked, her voice breaking.  

"I don't know," Lexa admitted, her voice heavy with regret. "It's been growing for a while. I tried to push it away, thinking it was just a phase. I didn't want to hurt you, or our family."  

Clarke felt a deep, hollow ache in her chest, as if the ground beneath her had given way. She had imagined many challenges they might face, but the thought of losing Lexa's love had never crossed her mind. "So, what does this mean for us?" she asked, the fear of the answer making her voice quiver.  

Lexa sighed, a sound filled with sorrow. "I don't know, Clarke. I'm so confused. I don't want to lose you or the life we've built, but I can't keep pretending everything is the same."  

Tears welled up in Clarke's eyes, blurring her vision. She had always prided herself on being strong, on being able to face any challenge head-on. But this, the potential unraveling of their two-decade-long love, felt like an insurmountable obstacle.  

"I can't believe this is happening," Clarke whispered, her voice barely audible. The life they had carefully crafted together, the dreams they had shared, now felt like distant memories, slipping through her fingers like grains of sand.  

As Lexa reached out, finally bridging the gap to gently touch Clarke's hand, Clarke pulled away, not out of anger, but from a need to protect herself from the pain that the touch now represented. She needed time to process, to understand how the love that had been her anchor was now the source of her deepest heartache.  

In the silence that followed, filled with unspoken fears and uncertainties, the realization settled in: their journey ahead would be fraught with challenges, and the future they had envisioned together was no longer a certainty.  

Clarke felt a suffocating tightness in the room, the walls seeming to close in around her with each passing second. The air was thick with the weight of Lexa's confession, and Clarke found herself struggling to breathe, to think clearly. She needed space, air, anything but the oppressive atmosphere of the room that had once been a sanctuary for them both.  

"I need to think," Clarke said abruptly, her voice strained. She stood up, her movements rigid and mechanical. "I need to process this... I can't stay here right now."  

[clambuoyance]

I’ve never been so obsessed with a character so bad that I literally can’t do anything else I’m like the squidward meme watching SpongeBob frolic outside the window stretching a hand out to all the pretty paintings and animations and comics I see in my head but being unable to feel any motivation for it . If only i could use the energy spent to create 20 kon doodles to sit down and concentrate on a single finished full piece I used to be able to make like 5 page comics what happened to me

[calico-kiwi]

sometimes dreams are insightful. like the time i had a dream where i fell asleep on the shoulder of my former best friend and realized it was because i missed hugging her.

sometimes they’re stupid though and mean absolutely nothing. like the one i just had about a weird marionette doll and her frankenstein like husband having to flee their adams family style house to some random italian countryside to escape the police while trying to figure out how to be parents to their newborn child

[sskk-manifesto]

(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

Another day of getting paid to eat fries and read my little gay books

[strawberryfaced]

world please be kind this fall and winter. I appreciate you dearly please do not let me in a unrequited love with you

[violetwolfraven]

God I hate Pinterest and I really need to stop reading the comments on literally any post on there

I just saw someone straight up say they’re afraid that show fans who haven’t read the books are going to take over and dominate the fandom and they’re afraid that their memories of the books are going to get overridden by memories of the show because of new show fans, and that’s a good reason to gatekeep.

Like okay, just say you’re a party pooper and go home.

Yeah this is about Percy Jackson but I’m not gonna tag it as that cause I don’t wanna get hunted for sport