#sorry this kind of got away from me

[proosh]

❤️thoughts on luvvv

:)

❤ : What are your muse’s thoughts on love? If they are not in a relationship, do they believe that they will ever find a perfect someone for them?

Gil: He's a person who fundamentally believes himself to be unloveable. He's a child of the wire mother. For an upsettlingly enormous part of his life any positive affection or interaction he received was strictly transactional and conditional in return for his subservience and obedience. This bleeds into his relationships: Love is synonymous to him with service, and often loathing, in much the same way violence is twinned with pleasure. He seeks acknowledgement and appreciation for his acts and his performance, but genuinely does not believe that someone can love him in absence of those things. His vision of "love" is to serve and kill and die in service. He tends towards single-minded obsession and tends to fall into relationships that reward his neurotic desire to please and prove himself - which is to say, mutually obsessive relationships that prey on his insecurity and nonexistent self-esteem. In the modern day he learns to temper this, but is still prone to histrionic fits of imploding his own interpersonal relationships out of self-loathing.

He's chronically, terminally starved of anything resembling affection and doesn't believe himself worthy of it if he cannot earn it. It's a long process to convince him otherwise.

Fran: He's more in love with the idea of love than actually having experienced it. He's had everything he's ever wanted from the moment he existed, and through all the mud and blood and ugliness there's always been those who have thrown themselves to him as friends, lovers, sycophants, and everything in between. Love is a beautiful, terribly human thing. He's beautiful, but he has not ever been human. He likes it when humans love him, though. They tend to bore him, but they love him with such an intensity it makes his heart fill with what he assumes is reciprocation. Love is to be reciprocated, no? He will play the part as gracious host and lover and when they bore him he will feel the sting of tragedy (that is in itself, a love of its own) and move on to more exciting fields of play. An ideal love for him is a rivalry of bitterness and beauty in equal parts, a sparring match to keep him invested and deliver new elements and spices to keep it fresh. He plays the part and enjoys the dance, and in the modern day he's allowed to enjoy it and take his time exploring what it means to take it step by step without having it served to him.

He wants to love, wants to bathe himself it in and consume it and chew on the flesh that makes him feel something. Patience and practice makes perfect - or, rather, makes him less selfish about how he chews up and spits out others.

[iamacolor]

Casual touches between Sol and Sunjae 💛

LOVELY RUNNER - EPISODE 16

[aquanutart]

She is offering water to any lost travelers! However, it's so hot that the water has become tea, so she's adjusted accordingly!

[qiekzart]

day 96 drawing len (and rin) until my preorder arrives

hi chat i read daughter of evil cloture of yellow and didnt cry i didnt cry i didnt cry i was fine i didnt cry i didn

requests open! ☆ 5 in inbox

[steeltwigz]

marshbow nation this ones for you!

[astrobei]

for @quinnick: kiss prompt #4 - lips barely touching

The car is out of gas. Will is about ten seconds away from maybe-dying (again). Mike Wheeler has been abnormally quiet today.

At least of late, one of those things is more abnormal than the others. 

The car is always out of gas. Will doesn’t know when the last time they’d filled it up was, but he does know that it’s not his problem trying to figure it out. That’s Hopper’s deal. Or his mom’s, maybe. Or Nancy’s, or Jonathan’s, or–

Whatever! The point is that the car is out of gas, Mike and Will are stranded at the currently closed general store, and they’re probably about to die.

Again.

“Mike,” Will tries, for maybe the hundredth time. “It’s not your fault, okay, it could’ve happened to anyone–”

“Yeah,” Mike grumbles miserably, as they round the corner, from aisle four – cleaning supplies and household items – into aisle five – canned goods. Most of the shelves are empty, turned over. Mike picks up a can of pickled green beans, pulls a face, and puts it back on the shelf. “But it didn’t happen to anyone. It happened to me.”

Will takes a long, deep breath in through his nose. God forbid Mike Wheeler ever let anything go. “You didn’t know,” he huffs anyway. “It’s not your fault.” The store is dark, which is great for being able to roll your eyes without Mike seeing. Will’s flashlight sputters, briefly, the bright circle of light flickering in and out of view. He smacks it against his palm once, twice, and it steadies. “Seriously,” Will adds, as Mike slows to a stop in front of him. “Stop beating yourself up. So we have to wait for a ride. Big deal.”

Mike turns around to face him. His expression is mostly unreadable in the dark, but Will’s flashlight catches the edge of it – worried, a little guilty. “Yeah,” Mike says softly. “Except there are things everywhere and waiting for a ride is just– we’re sitting ducks here, okay,” Mike frowns. “I don’t like it. It feels like tempting fate.”

“Well, the simple fact of my existence feels like tempting fate sometimes,” Will jokes. It works, for a split second – Mike’s furrowed brows smooth out into something halfway amused, and he makes a noise that might be a laugh.

“Not funny,” Mike says anyway. His lips twitch.

“You laughed!” Will insists, smiling. His voice carries down through the hallway in a vibrant echo. “I know you did!”

“Shut up,” Mike whispers, looking away. “Would it kill you to keep your voice down?”

It might. Somewhere in the back of Will’s mind, he’s vaguely aware that they’re not safe here, out in the open, and that the whole point of them coming inside instead of waiting in the parking lot was to hunker down until Jonathan and Nancy could get another car here to pick them up. And also, preferably, get some gas.

Somewhere significantly closer in Will’s mind, though, is the knowledge that this is the most Mike has said – and the closest he’s come to laughing – since the car had stalled on the way from the cabin to the general store ten minutes ago, and Mike had just barely had time to pull into the abandoned parking lot before it had stopped altogether. He knows Mike doesn’t like this – being caught off-guard, out in the open. Even minute changes in the plan – which you’d think they’d all be more prepared for, considering the way things have been going lately – get Mike a little keyed up.

And the sorry, borderline pathetic part is this: despite it all, despite the ever-present threat of danger, and the impending sense of doom that’s been hanging over their heads for what seems like forever, Will feels vaguely pleased with himself anyway, seeing Mike hold back a smile instead of forcing one on his face.

So yeah, it might kill him, if he kept his voice down. That’s okay. Will thinks it would be worth it, sometimes – the danger and the doom and everything else – to hear Mike laugh.

God, what’s wrong with him? That’s embarrassing. That’s so embarrassing.

He shakes the thought off. “Whatever,” Will says instead, praying the cover of darkness is hiding the blush that’s rapidly rising to his cheeks. He angles  the flashlight away from them anyway, just in case, and Mike’s face falls back into silhouette. “You know I’m right. You’re doomed just by being here with me.”

Mike shakes his head. “You know I don’t think of you like that.”

Will frowns. “Like what?”

“Like– like a bad luck charm,” Mike waves his hands around. “Or whatever.”

“I didn’t say bad luck charm,” Will exclaims. “Ouch! Stop putting words into my mouth.”

Mike grins. “Would you rather have, uh,” he picks up the nearest can to him, something small and vaguely gray, “tinned sardines in your mouth? Tinned sardines in water? Oh, gross. Never mind, actually.”

“I would rather not,” Will decides, even though the shelves are so bare that they might have to suck it up and take home the tinned sardines in water after all. “Would you like some, uh. Tuna?”

“I guess we know why there’s so much fish,” Mike sighs, leaning heavily against an empty shelf. “Nobody wanted it.”

“You mean the ten people outside of our circle of friends that are still left in Hawkins? Yeah,” Will scoffs, then sets the can back down with a soft clink. “I guess not.”

Neither of them say anything for a moment. It’s quiet in the store, the room dark and lit faintly by Will’s flashlight and the display in the corner. It lights Mike up a faint blue, catches the edges of his jaw and where his hair is curling softly over the hood of his jacket. 

Will’s flashlight sputters again. 

When it comes back on this time, it’s more faint than it was before. It’s dark in here, Will realizes, a bit belatedly. Like, really dark.

He takes a deep breath and shuffles closer to Mike, just a little, like the shape of his body all leaned against the empty shelves is a grounding force. Mike gives him a look that Will can’t quite decipher in the dark.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Will breathes out. The proximity is helping, a little. “Just– waiting for our ride.”

Mike leans in a bit closer too, places an arm under Will’s elbow. It’s a light touch, nothing forceful, but the semblance of support is there. “You sure? You look a little pale.”

Sometimes, Will hates how well Mike knows him. He doesn’t get antsy in the same way Mike does in situations like these, but he’d be lying if he said they didn’t affect him at all. It should be expected by now, the automatic fight or flight. 

For some cruel reason, it still isn’t. “You can’t even see me,” he says, but lets himself lean into the touch anyway.

“I can see enough,” Mike says easily. “Do you want to sit down?”

Will shakes his head. The only thing worse than waiting out in the open is sitting out in the open. At least when you’re standing, you can run. “No. I’m fine.”

Will can’t see Mike either, but he’d be willing to bet real money – that he doesn’t have – that he can tell exactly what Mike’s expression looks like. The pause grows, swells and swells and swells, until Will is sure Mike is going to say something–

There’s a clattering outside.

Instantly, Mike’s hand tightens its grip on Will’s elbow. “Did you hear that?”

“Yes,” Will hisses, twisting around to try and see through the windows. “Of course I heard that, Mike.”

“Do you think that’s–”

“No idea,” Will whispers. With no small amount of reluctance, he tugs his arm out of Mike’s grip. He misses the warmth of it almost instantaneously, and the tugging in his stomach is only amplified by the way Mike automatically leans in behind him, places a hand on his back to replace the absent touch, like it was never gone at all. Will swallows, and flicks the flashlight off. “Now be quiet.”

“The windows are boarded up,” Mike says, decidedly not being quiet. Will wonders where the Mike Wheeler of fifteen minutes ago went – the one that was sulking and fidgeting in silence the whole way down the first aid aisle. “They’re boarded up, so nothing can get in. Right?”

“We got in,” Will points out, which Mike seems to realize at approximately the same second he does. It’s getting a little hard to think, with Mike so close to him.

Will really wishes Mike would pull his hand away.

“Right,” Mike whispers, breath ghosting gently over the back of Will’s neck. “Okay. That’s fine. That’s fine.”

Fine, Will thinks. That’s one word for it.

Another clattering. It’s closer this time.

Will freezes.

Jonathan and Nancy are probably about ten minutes out. Twenty if they had to go back to the Wheelers’ for the other car. So they’d probably be fine if they stuck it out here, because the chance of something happening across them now, in the brief period of time where they’re stuck without a ride, in a building equipped with close to nothing that could help, is small.

Small, but not nonexistent.

Will isn’t really feeling inclined to take that chance. “Come on,” he says, then spins on his heel, grabbing Mike’s hand and tugging him in the opposite direction. “Come with me.”

Mike follows easily, stumbling slightly with the sudden movement. “Wh– where are we going?”

“Just come on,” Will says, then tugs Mike around to the back of the store. He yanks open a door, and shoves him inside. “Get in.”

“Whoa,” Mike says, as Will tumbles in behind him. “Will, what–”

“Would it kill you to be quiet?”

“Sorry,” Mike says, then does, at last, fall silent.

Immediately, Will wishes he hadn’t said that. It’s dark in here – even darker than out in the front of the store – and the only noise is the faint hum of a generator, somewhere behind the walls. It’s grating and stilted. Will wonders when the last time it had been repaired was.

Plus, it’s really–

It’s really fucking dark in here.

Will lets out a long, slow exhale, and reaches out to feel for the wall beside him. His palm comes into contact with chipped paint and he follows the shape of it down, lowering himself onto the ground.

“Will?” Mike says, and Will is in half a mind to say that thing about being quiet again, but–

It’s dark. It’s really dark.

“Yeah,” he says, barely audible even to himself over the faint hum of the generator, and the louder hum – demanding, prominent, persistent – of his blood rushing through his ears. “I just– sitting. I’m sitting.”

There had at least been some light out in the front, but this storage closet might as well be a void. It smells vaguely of dust, something stale and unknown and probably untouched for who-knows-how-long. Will takes another deep breath in.

“Where?” Mike asks. “I don’t want to step on you.”

Will cracks a smile. “Here,” he says, and holds a hand up in the air. “Right here.”

There’s a quiet shuffling sound as Mike moves closer, and then Will feels fingertips brushing against his. Mike latches on immediately, gripping tighter onto his hand and sits down in front of him. 

Will still can’t see anything – he can’t see anything – but he can feel Mike’s presence like it’s a tangible thing.

Mike could let go of Will’s hand now. Now that he’s found him.

He doesn’t, though.

“Hey,” Mike says, then there’s another faint shuffling noise. “Where are we?”

“Storage closet.”

“Huh. How did you know it was here?”

Will cracks another smile, despite himself. “My mom worked here, remember? For, like, years.”

“Right,” Mike laughs, and then he’s moving closer, knees bumping against knees in the dark. “I forgot. It doesn’t feel like the same place.”

“Tell me about it,” Will sighs. He’s probably breathing in dust and debris and soot and all sorts of gross stuff, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He presses his knees against Mike’s a little harder, just because he can.

“I remember,” Mike starts, readjusting his grip on Will’s hand – fingers interlocked, a firmer grip – “she’d give me free candy from the front counter. Whenever I came in with my parents, I mean. My mom was so confused about why I kept asking to tag along to Melvald’s with her.”

“That’s not fair,” Will laughs. “She never let me have any candy.”

“You were a menace all hopped up on sugar,” Mike points out. “I knew how to behave myself.”

That’s a damn lie, and they both know it. “Liar,” Will says quietly, leaning his head back against the wall. “You’re such a liar.”

“Maybe so,” Mike hums. “But I’m still the one who got free candy, so–”

“Mike!” Will shoves lightly at his knee, and Mike’s answering laugh fills the small space instantaneously. It’s loud – too loud, because they’re supposed to be hiding, goddamnit – but the nagging little voice at the back of Will’s head is vanquished almost as quickly as it came. “Shut up.”

Mike, as always, ignores him. “Why don’t we turn on a light?”

“The fuse is probably blown,” Will responds. “If there’s even a light in this stupid closet.”

“I mean this, idiot,” Mike says, and then clicks the flashlight back on. The batteries must be dying, because it flickers to life weakly, steadying out into a dim yellow-white. “Obviously.”

“Don’t waste the batteries,” Will says at once, trying to grab for it. “Come on, Mike–”

“Jonathan and Nancy will be here any minute and then we can go put in new batteries,” Mike says, holding it easily out of reach. “No point sitting in the dark, right?”

“Mike,” Will tries to protest, but it’s useless. Mike’s made up his mind.

Slowly, and a little far away, Will realizes what Mike is trying to do. He’s not being subtle about it, but subtlety has never been Mike Wheeler’s strong suit. He’s always been exuberant, quick and spontaneous with his actions, and this is no different. Sitting up close, closer than would be strictly necessary in any other situation. Turning the light on, despite the dying batteries. Telling Will about coming here as a kid, all those years ago. Making him laugh. Diffusing the tension.

Jesus, and he’s still holding Will’s hand.

A wave of affection washes over him, sudden and overwhelming enough for Will to feel borderline nauseous.

This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair. Mike can’t just sit here and touch their knees together and hold Will’s hand, and–

“Look,” Mike is saying, and then he’s holding the flashlight under his chin and grinning. “Don’t I look freaky?”

In all honesty, Mike looks fucking hilarious. The direct light casts long shadows across the dips of his cheekbones, the shapes of his eyelashes distorting wildly as he blinks. “No,” Will snorts, rolling his eyes. “You look ridiculous.”

“Really?” Mike grins, in a way that means he knows just how ridiculous he looks. “Not even a little?” He waggles his eyebrows, and the resulting effect is so comical that Will can’t help the laugh that bursts out of him, sharp and sudden and real.

“Mike,” he chides, for the millionth time. “You’re going to kill the battery.”

Mike looks way too pleased with himself. “Worth it,” he says anyway, as he sets the flashlight down. It evens out the sharp angles of his face, now that it’s farther away, lights his cheeks and nose and eyes up into something softer, more open.

Something about the steadiness of Mike’s expression is brighter than any source of light. Suddenly, it’s too much. Suddenly, it’s blinding. 

God. He’s so screwed.  “For what?”

“Getting you to laugh,” Mike says, simple and easy, like he’s reciting times tables instead of proceeding to turn Will’s entire world upside down on its pathetic little axis.

Will feels his lungs stutter on his next inhale. He looks away. “Don’t do that.”

The gleeful expression falters on Mike’s face. “Don’t do what?”

“Don’t,” Will says, “don’t– you’re being so– so–”

Mike looks caught somewhere between confusion and amusement. “So what?”

“So,” Will tries again, and then Mike moves closer, and the difficulty of articulating a halfway decent sentence immediately increases tenfold. “So.”

“So,” Mike echoes, shifting so the side of his thigh is pressed up against the side of Will’s. He’s being slowly backed into the corner, but the thought isn’t terrifying like it might have been five minutes ago. Suddenly, Will is overwhelmed in a completely new way. “So what?”

“Nice to me,” Will gets out. “Stop being so nice to me.”

Mike pauses, then says, incredulously and half-laughing– “What? Why?”

Bad choice of words. “You heard me,” Will says anyway, because he’s nothing if not stubborn. “You’re being too nice.”

“I should hope so,” Mike says. “I mean, you’re my friend.”

Maybe Will is imagining it, but the sentence feels unfinished. Like there’s a second half to it that Mike is keeping for himself: You’re my friend – right?

The obvious answer here is that yes, Mike is his friend. But that answer feels unfinished too, like a lie by omission. Will tries to imagine it, doing these things with anyone else – what it would be like if Dustin was holding his hand, or if it were Lucas sitting next to him this close.

The conclusion he comes to, almost immediately, is that it would be weird.

It would be really fucking weird.

That feels like– something. An admission, maybe. Because the fact of the matter is that things with Mike have always been like this, and they’ve never been like this with anyone else, and Will doesn’t think they can be like this with anyone else without it being the most unsettling thing that’s ever happened to him.

The silence, he realizes, has gone on just a second too long.

“Yeah,” he blurts out at last. “Yeah. Obviously.”

Something settles over Mike’s face. “Will–”

“Forget I said anything,” Will backpedals, a little bit desperate. “Never mind. Be as nice to me as you want.”

Mike bites down on his lower lip. It looks like he’s holding back a smile. “As nice as I want?”

Oh, no.

“Sure,” Will tries. “Do your worst.”

Mike lets out a shaky exhale. He presses in further, leans in closer until their shoulders are almost touching. “How about this?”

“That’s not nice,” Will says weakly. “That’s just an invasion of personal space.”

“Seems pretty nice to me,” Mike mutters under his breath.

Will inhales sharply. “Mike.”

“What?”

“What are you– doing,” Will whispers, stumbling over his words, just slightly, as Mike places a hand on his arm.

Mike’s gaze does not waver. “Is this okay?”

Is it okay? Will thinks his brain might be halfway to leaking out through his ears. This is–

This is–

“Yeah,” he hears himself say. “Yeah. Great.”

“Okay,” Mike whispers. He’s so close now that Will could count all the freckles spattered across his nose, if he wanted to. He could, and the thought is dizzying, dizzying – suddenly, it’s not the claustrophobia that’s making him feel like this. It can’t be, because Mike is in front of him, and he’s so close that Will could just lean forward and–

He could just–

“Mike.” And maybe he’s a bit of a broken record, but he can’t come up with any words other than his name. He clutches at Mike’s knee and meets his gaze and prays – to whatever deity allowed him to get trapped in a storage closet with Mike Wheeler two inches away from his face – that Mike Wheeler will find the courage in him somewhere to close the fucking gap.

He doesn’t, though, which is a sign that the universe must be majorly fucking with him. Not yet, anyway. Not anywhere near as fast as Will needs it to be – if this is what he thinks it is, it’s nowhere near fast enough.

In actuality, what it is is excruciating – the way Will’s heart is beating so loud that he’s sure Mike can hear it, in the proximity. The slow circles Mike is tracing over his other hand – the hand that he’s still holding. He’s so close that Will can discern the warmth emanating off him, the familiar scent of soap, can feel Mike’s eyes trained steadily on his mouth, and yet–

Either Mike is actually moving at a speed of one nanosecond per minute, or time has slowed to a near-stop around them. Mike’s grip on his hand is agonizing, caustic in all the places where they’re touching, each slow circle of Mike’s thumb against his wrist driving him slowly and steadily out of his mind. Do it, Will thinks, like maybe if he thinks it loud enough, Mike will be able to hear him. Do it, do it, do it.

Mike’s lips touch his.

The world stops moving.

It must, anyway. Or maybe it’s just that Will doesn’t think he’s breathing anymore – he doesn’t know if he can find it in him to remember how. All he’s aware of is this: Mike’s hands on his arm, his wrist. Mike’s leg under his own palm, warm and steady and pressed up against him in a smooth, unyielding line. The pressure of the wall behind him, the strands of Mike’s hair brushing against his face, and Mike’s lips – gentle, gentle, gentle, and nowhere near enough.

It’s like Mike is waiting for something. Waiting for Will, maybe.

God, okay.

Fuck it, Will thinks, from somewhere far off in his own head. Fuck it. Fuck this. 

“Will,” Mike whispers, pulling back a precious few millimeters, and that’s it. That’s all Will can take.

Will lifts his hand off Mike’s leg, raises it to his wrist and tugs. Mike topples into him with a small gasp, Will falls backwards into the wall, and then they’re kissing.

God. Okay.

Mike steadies himself quickly, braces a hand on the wall behind them and leans in, firm and enthusiastic. His hand, Will notices, faintly and with no small amount of affection, is shaking. Just slightly. Will’s trapped between them again – Mike and the wall – but this time he can’t find it in himself to care even the slightest bit. As if there’s anywhere he’d want to go that wasn’t here, as if he’d want to be somewhere without Mike’s hand carding through his hair, or without his lips moving softly against Will’s own, or the noise he makes when Will presses forward, too fast, too eager, too betrayed by his own fluttering pulse – something like a laugh, trapped deep in his chest.

Suddenly, it’s not enough. It’s not enough. It’s–

“Mike? Will?”

Shit.

In a flash, Mike pulls away, wide-eyed and pink-cheeked and breathing like he’s just run a marathon.

Shit.

“Yeah,” Mike calls, voice cracking just slightly on the syllable. “We’re in here!”

Shit.

“So,” Will says, aiming for nonchalance. He fails immediately. His voice cracks too. Great. “That–”

Don’t freak out, he thinks. Please don’t freak out.

Mike, to his credit, is not freaking out.

“Yeah,” Mike says, voice a little high-pitched but surprisingly even. He clears his throat. “Um. Yeah. You were–”

“Yeah,” Will finishes, rather lamely. He’s grinning like an idiot. He doesn’t even need to look at himself to tell. His expression is mirrored, perfectly, flawlessly, brilliantly, on Mike’s own face.

The closet door gets thrown open, and there’s a blinding, sudden light– “What the fuck,” Mike exclaims, squinting and throwing a hand up in front of his eyes. “Nancy?”

Jonathan peers around her shoulder. “What were you guys doing in here?”

Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t–

Will can’t help it. He looks at Mike, and they immediately burst into laughter.

Shit.

[yuri-is-online]

Pff dont tell ANYONE from that fish dorm about being lonely. Cant be trusted.

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. You guys feel very strongly about this. And on the one hand I do think there's some truth to the idea you shouldn't tell someone who likes to manipulate people that you are lonely because that makes you vulnerable... I've been through periods of intense loneliness in my life. It has a way of making you feel weird, and behave abnormally. Even when you want to keep it to yourself it sort of just jumps out in conversation, so I somehow doubt those fish people wouldn't notice you were lonely. It wouldn't be a matter of telling because they would know, and they all would prey on it. Azul for labor, Jade for information but Floyd...

He seems to actually like hanging out with Yuu. I just read his birthday boy vignette today (i picked up the platinum bundle :/) and he is constantly inviting Yuu to do things. He wants you to bring him candy, he wants to make takoyaki with you, hell he makes a joke about teaching you to swim in Chapter 4 but I think he'd totally do it. Because it sounds fun and he loves doing random things, so long as there are no stuffy rules to follow. So I do not think he would really see you as being lonely and go "hah gonna make fun of shrimpy till they cry and black mail em" well not too much anyway, but he absolutely would hang out around you more to try and harass you into doing things with him. Cause you're lonely, he knows you will indulge him. And that would make me feel a little less lonely, even if it is kind of toxic.

It's also important to note that longing for friendship and longing for a partner are two different sorts of loneliness. The latter is much easier to mask, and much different. So different I would say that the fish people would not notice it unless you told them... for a different post maybe.

[rawbin-hsr]

Aventurine x reader

You die.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

TW: DEATH, heavy angst, gore, blood, kind of disturbing, a bomb explodes, derealisation/disassociation, graphic, I'll be so honest this fic is kind of fucked up

Lmk if I should add any more specific warnings!

If you're sensitive to violence and dark themes, you probably shouldn't read this.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

This mission had gone terribly awry. 

It was only meant to be a routine checkup. The IPC was planning on allocating resources from this planet, something the locals had not been pleased about. Aventurine understood. He would not be particularly happy to have his planet drained of all that made it worthwhile either. (He had not been happy. But all things considered, he thought he was being generous. Nobody was being directly killed, the IPC merely wanted a cut of the many materials the planet offered. The Avgins on Sigonia had all been very intentionally exterminated. He was not doing that to these people.)

Still, he couldn’t afford to take risks, hence the many IPC assigned bodyguards he had brought along. Deals like this, where the clients were undeniably on the losing end, were bound to go wrong in one way or another. Often violently so. 

He just had not expected the bombs. He had not expected the mass amounts of guns. The people were more capable and vengeful than he had assumed, then. Ultimately, it was his own fault.

Most of his goons were dead. Most of the government officials were dead too. It made sense they’d want to go out in such a loud and proud way. A declaration to their people they wouldn’t lay flat before the otherworldly corporation that had come to essentially take away what made their planet their home. Bold to be ready to kill so many of their own, but he could respect it. 

Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t be very angry. It was fair, all things considered. He’d had this long coming; being killed by the people whose lives he was ruining. In their positions, he’d love to kill him, too. The only issue was that this hadn’t happened under normal circumstances. 

No, you were with him. You’d been just a bit away from him when they opened fire, when they set off the bomb. 

It was so stupid. It was so, so unbelievably stupid that he’d let you come with. It was your job, yes, but he should have reassigned you to some other mission. Something safer. Something that didn’t involve visiting planets to drain them of all their worth. Something that didn’t bring about rage from the clients. 

He could see you. He’d been saved from the brunt of the impact, and his luck had once again protected him from serious harm. He had only been slightly grazed by a bullet, had only been slightly burned by the heat of the explosion. Nothing serious. Nothing he couldn’t walk off within a week or two. You had not been so lucky. 

Your arm was outstretched over your head, body lying limply on the floor. Missing the other arm. There was only a gaping, red hole where it had once been attached to your body, a little bit of bone sticking out of the gory mess. The blown off hand with your engagement ring lay close enough to him that he could touch it. Maybe intertwine his fingers with it for the last time. The pinky was missing.  

He pushed himself onto his feet on unsteady legs. He could barely feel his own body at all. One glance down at it told him he’d been right in his initial assumption, though. No parts of him were missing. He was intact. 

He stumbled over to where you lay, your expression calm, almost peaceful. No pained pinch between your brows, no worried frown on your lips. Were you unconscious, or were you dead? Though he knew it was unlikely you’d leave this place alive either way, he hoped desperately for the former. 

He fell to his knees next to you. Something was buzzing beneath his skin. Something was buzzing in his vision. Had the world always been so blurry? Had there always been such a loud noise ringing in his ears? His hands trembled as he carefully reached out, a hand tenderly cupping your cheek. Your face was red, slightly burnt in places. Your hair was singed. You felt hot to the touch. 

No, not hot. Warm. Warm as in alive. He couldn’t hear you breathing, but warmth meant life. Warmth meant life. You were alive, surely.

He brushed his thumb under your eye. Tried to find something to say, but he found his mouth refused to open. Carefully, so carefully, he shifted you onto his lap. He stared at the dust from all the debris that had settled onto you. He couldn’t breathe. 

(He thought back to a time when the dust had been sand. He thought back to the red that had painted the ground then as it did now. He thought back to another body he had pulled closer, with hands much smaller and weaker than the ones he had now. He thought back to the taste of salt as tears fell in an endless stream from his eyes to cover his face and hers.)

He moved his free hand to your neck, gently pressing a finger to where he knew he was supposed to find your pulse. It wasn’t there, but only because he wasn’t searching hard enough. He carefully felt around, and though he couldn’t find it, he knew it was still there. He just didn’t dare press down hard enough to find it. The same applied when he felt your wrist. He was just bad at finding things today. 

(He stupidly hadn’t found a good enough reason to put you out of this mission. He stupidly hadn’t found anything that happened before the explosion suspicious enough to leave early. He stupidly hadn’t found his way next to you quickly  enough to save your life.)

When his hand landed on your chest, absent of a heartbeat, tears started falling from his eyes. But why was that? You weren’t dead. In fact, the longer he looked at you, the more sure he became this couldn’t be you. Your skin wasn’t this hot. Your arms were both still attached. You did not have fresh burns covering your face. Most importantly, you were alive. Alive and well and happy and safe from this little mishap. He had misremembered, you had stayed home during this mission. The hand he’d been so sure belonged to you had been someone else’s, he’d merely mistaken the ring for yours. It was such a bland ring, after all. He’d have to buy you a new, much prettier one once he came home to you, and apologise for his oversight in giving you such a boring design. 

He ignored the repeated whispers of ‘not again, not again’ going through his head. Nothing was happening ‘again’. This was not Sigonia. This was not a person he loved, or even knew. He couldn’t understand why his body curled over the stranger’s, sobs wracking his frame as he pulled them close, soft apologies tumbling from his mouth. He nuzzled his face into your- their hair, hand carefully cradling the back of their head as the other supported their back. 

The body smelled like you. The body felt too similar to yours in his arms. The body had your face, even if your features were a little damaged. The longer he stared, the more he could feel his gut sinking. So he shut his eyes and reminded himself that there was no possible way this was you. It couldn’t be, it couldn’t. The universe would not be that cruel to him, would it?

Then again, maybe he had deserved this. If it was real. He was not a good man. He had not come to this planet with good intentions. Losing the thing most precious to him, the only thing precious to him, after taking away so much from so many others was a befitting punishment. 

But you hadn’t deserved this. Wouldn’t have, if it was real. You were so kind and generous and perfect and lovely, so different from him, so different from the position your job wanted you to be. You didn’t deserve to die. 

Die. Dead. 

Dead. Dead. Dead. 

You were dead. 

(Aventurine had seen so much death in his life. He should have been used to it by now. He was used to it. He had just forgotten how much it hurt when it is someone he loves.)

He held you tighter. If he held you tightly enough, could it piece you back together? If he held you tightly enough, could he replace the parts of you that were missing with his own? The sobs that escaped his lungs were violent, and quickly, some morphing into gagging. He felt sick. He had to turn himself away from you briefly to throw up, not wanting to soil what was left of you further, before he desperately held you again. Would it be the last time he held you?

Maybe if he took you back to the ship quickly enough, something of you could be salvaged. Maybe he couldn’t piece you back together, but he could find someone who would. There had to be something he could do. This couldn’t be it. He couldn’t lose like this again. 

He could barely stand. His body was already weak and your added dead weight made it even harder to balance. He picked up the parts of you strewn about on the ground he could quickly spot. Your hand, your shoulder, what he thought might be your bicep. He couldn’t find your forearm and he didn’t have time to properly search for it. Maybe someone could put all of you back together? Maybe you’d be whole again. He wanted you to be whole again. 

(He couldn’t save his people. He couldn’t save his mother. He couldn’t save his sister.)

(But things had to be different now, surely. He was a different person now. He had power, he had wealth, he had everything. What would it all be good for, if he couldn’t save you?)

Other IPC personnel met him outside the building as he stumbled out, and Aventurine’s mind was so hazy he couldn’t make sense of anything that was happening. He was pretty sure his own, now dead, workers had sent a distress signal. People rushed in to find anyone else from the wreckage. After, Aventurine found out he was the sole survivor. (He always was.)

(You had not survived.)

He demanded you be taken into surgery. That the medical staff on board had to get you to breathe again. For some reason, they had been hesitant. He threatened to have them fired or killed if they didn’t get to it. He set you as first priority, putting the best doctors they had on hand to work on you. 

They sewed you back together as best as possible at his insistence. They got your heart pumping blood again, they hooked you up to machines and forced your lungs to breathe. The surgery lasted for four hours.

It did not change the flatline on the screen signalling your brain activity. 

He could find the best doctors in the whole galaxy, but he already knew the line would remain flat. Nothing was bringing that back.

He stared at you for hours after your surgery. Interlaced his fingers with yours, feeling the artificial warmth of your hand. It did not feel like you. The temperature was wrong. The look on your face was wrong. Your body was wrong. Everything about what remained of you was wrong. 

He eventually laid his head on your chest, and then he cried.

He cried until the black spots in his vision grew so numerous he could no longer see, until everything faded and he could no longer hear the beeping and humming of the machines keeping you hollowly alive. 

(Why did he ever let himself love again?)

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Sorry that was messy I wrote everything today because I am con-crunching tomorrow and won't be available for like at least 3 days after this (usually I write over the span of multiple days so I can re-read for grammatical/spelling errors and so my language will be a little more varied + I get fresh ideas). Sorry this fic was ?? kind of messed up ??? I think ??? I think my perception of what's messed up and not is kind of weird (I grew up on warrior cats HELP.) so to me it didn't feel that fucked up to write about Aventurine literally picking up your body parts after you died but I've realised upon mentally summarising that part of the fic that maybe that was kinda horrific. Just a glimpse into my twisted mind heh 😈.... sorry

My inbox is open, feel free to send in asks or requests, I'd love to ramble about things <3

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

What makes me so sad about Ryuji being reduced to “I am so horny and want girlfriend and also I’m stupid” is that I think he’s pretty much the perfect guy friend for any and all of the main girls to have.

Girls are especially socially expected to hold in anger. Having a best buddy who can and will get angry on your behalf and will encourage that in you and is also a dorky ray of sunshine would be so good for literally all of them.

And the foundations are there!

Ann and Ryuji love picking on each other so much; they’ve so clearly known each other in middle school (which is a time you never want anyone to know you from but if you still do, you probably are bound by blood or something). They have dumbass cousin energy. “Guy you saw in the hallway but never actually got to know until years later and now you’re inseparable and gleefully shoving each other with the greatest affection” energy.

Ryuji jumped in front of a car to help Makoto! On the surface it looks like studious girl and delinquent boy but that’s not it at all, because Makoto is just as gung ho as Ryuji when she gets going. Ryuji has so much respect and a healthy level of fear towards her, and Makoto knows Ryuji of all people is not going to judge her for jumping in headfirst for once… except sometimes her recklessness makes even Ryuji go “whoa, whoa! hold on are you crazy???” And then she tells him to “get on the fucking bike Skull we’re making a getaway” while sirens blare in the palace and Ryuji’s just like “yes ma’am” and trusting that Makoto is not about to get them killed… haha… ha…

Ryuji was probably the most chill with Futaba when they were trying to socialize with her because he was literally just being himself and chatting like he would with anyone else. He’s consistently impressed by her and thinks she’s so cool. Futaba of course loves getting his ass, but that is just how she shows affection. They play video games together for sure.

I still don’t know as much about Haru since I’m still on Okumura’s Palace, but again, I think these two could totally get along particularly because they are so wildly different. Haru is high class, sweet, and she holds back from the full range of her negative emotions for the most part. Ryuji’s mom has to work hard for them both, he’s a lot more aggressive and he’s almost always totally honest about what he feels. I just really think Ryuji could be the one to say “hey Haru, I know you’re being nice and all but that is extremely messed up and I will gladly punch that guy if you want me to” and Haru will pause and say “you know what, you’re right Ryuji, that is messed up. No need for punching, I will grab my axe. :)”

Even Kasumi!!! They’ve barely spoken so far and I already think Ryuji would hear about how hard she takes mistakes and totally cheer her on! Kasumi invites a few people to practice and she’s nervous and then Ryuji starts shouting encouragement at the top of his lungs. He is loud and he will drown out the doubt. (Ren’s next to him and wishes he brought ear plugs. Kasumi is completely mortified but it does, somehow, help.)

And if the game still really wants to make “lol this guy can’t get a girlfriend” jokes, then they literally could with this set up and it would legitimately be so funny. This guy has so many friends who are girls but no girlfriend. He laments this one day. All the girls get up and are like “okay. Operation Get Ryuji a Girlfriend is a go” and Ryuji realizes he’s made a terrible mistake.

Makoto takes it deadly seriously but obviously has no idea what she’s doing. She’s reading from a dating book and trailing off and frowning every once in awhile and taking notes. Ann can give actual good advice on occasion but most of the time she’s just trying various tactics to get free dessert from him. Futaba just wants to witness the chaos. She even brought chips. Haru tries to set the mood but there are rose petals everywhere and the entire movie theater is mysteriously and conveniently sold out so it’s just Ryuji and his hapless would-be date, and the cinema staff are serving 300k yen champagne??? They can’t even drink yet? Kasumi always cheers him on but the cheers slowly become less convincing and eventually peter out to awkward, smiling silence as something inevitably, always, goes horribly wrong. They all return to Leblanc in defeat where Ryuji immediately collapses on the floor and the girls attempt to reassure him that there’s always next time. He remains sprawled on the floor quietly sobbing as they continue to plot yet another disastrous date.

Ren and Morgana walk into this and go “what the fuck”. Yusuke grabs his sketchbook and immediately and eagerly seats himself on the floor as well to capture his best impression of Ryuji’s exhausted despair.

[rrat-king]

I don't know if you still take headcanon asks but if you do, please please talk about Bricker Applebees I just read your fic of him and Aelwyn (ate I fear) and he's so important to me like angry middle child is so important.

i am always taking headcanon asks especially from you cuz your's are so so wonderful!!

bricker is truly middle kid to his core. the thing is that like, he really didn't used to be angry. when he was younger his defining role in his family was that he was the quieter kid, the smart kid, at least to the adults in his life, though his siblings know that he's always been a little shit and smart ass.

bucky and kristen were pretty much raised right alongside each other, but bricker is very much the little brother, which will truly always annoy him to his core though he will never let his siblings know that. i think he's always been a little jealous of kristen and bricker's relationship which only gets that much worse when kristen moves away and bucky is the only one she can actually talk to.

a lot of his anger stems from the fact that literally everything in his life was upset by his sister leaving, and even if he gets why she left that doesn't mean that his life wasn't totally fucked up by it. his family went from being held in high regard in their community to being pitied and shunned. kids he grew up with in church won't talk to him anymore and even at home things are so much worse.

he went from being the quiet middle kid that could slip into the background and do his own thing to being watched constantly by his parents. all of a sudden, they were paying attention to the fact that he says stuff under his breath and rolls his eyes and makes shitty jokes and they Do Not like it.

he is angry because his life used to be good. it used to be easy when he could exist in his sister's shadow, but that shadow is gone now. he has questions he's not allowed to ask and a sister that he isn't allowed to see even though bucky gets to and his parents eyes on him constantly and. he's just angry.

[impactdial]

i'm always a huge sucker for childhood friends aus because that's one of my favorite narrative tropes (childhood best friends to lovers) but with sanuso it makes me feel so insane. i already headcanon that usopp and sanji wish they could've been in each others' lives as children, that maybe if they had each other then things could've been different. the loneliness and isolation wouldn't have hurt so much. that maybe if they had been childhood friends, it would explain the ache they feel whenever they're apart from one another.

when they dock on an island and are on grocery shopping duty together, sometimes the villagers selling them supplies are taken aback by how comfortable they are with each other, bantering, bickering and chatting in their typical dynamic. someone watching them comments that they must have grown up together with how close they are, and while usopp is laughing it off and plays along, it weighs kind of heavy in sanji's mind.

like, yeah, why does he feel so comfortable around usopp, even though he hasn't even known him for that long? which then leads to more thoughts, more daydreaming about scenarios where he's far away from germa. zeff's settled them on a small island where he sets up a restaurant. he meets another little boy who loves playing pirate, always has a fun story to share, lashes so long they remind him of dandelion fluff. he's never once made fun of sanji for being a clumsy crybaby. always shares his snack with sanji despite not having much.

it then happens one night, sanji's quiet but honest confession while they're alone together, laying on the deck of the sunny taking in the constellations. it's not been long since usopp reunited with them after water 7, so the pain is still there, that sanji could've lost him in such a way. that despite their closeness, his own protectiveness of their sniper, sanji couldn't save usopp from his own worst enemy: himself.

"i wish we could've been friends as kids," sanji says abruptly, his face getting hot when he can't help but just blurt it out what he's thinking, especially when he notices something sad pass over usopp's features. he suddenly thinks of usopp alone in his childhood home, nobody to cook him a meal or bandage his scraped knees. usopp then swallows around something difficult, unable to articulate a response but he nods in agreement. he sits up, scrubbing at his face with his still bandaged arm. sanji sees the wet shine of unshed tears clinging to those remarkably long lashes in the dull lantern light, but doesn't point it out. he just continues sitting with him and silently rubs his back.

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

questioning sexuality is so exhausting

[fallloverfic]

@tired-of-life-86 replied to your post "Thinking about how people assuming Seth isn’t into men is also a big reason why. . .":

I feel like Seth doesn't have too much interest in sexual relationships. He wants love more than anything and since lust is a form of love, he doesn't mind that too much either (if it's with the person he loves.) Seth has been hurt, betrayed, defiled, and tortured. He also has not been allowed to mourn. Since he hasn't mourned or focused on healing. His thought process and emotions are just messed up and jumbled. My poor baby, I just wanna see him happy! ❤

I've generally thought he doesn't have much active interest in sex, like I don't think he proactively seeks it out, but he doesn't mind it with partners he enjoys if they want it. He does very much want to just be loved, and he likes making his partners happy. The problem is that we don't have much of him being in a relationship he seeks out on his own. Just one panel of him kissing Nephthys in the past(?) in S01E18, and the time he spent with Horus in Abu Gorab in S02E70 onward. We don't know why or how he fell in love with Nephthys. We only know how he's fallen/falling in love with Horus, and that relationship hasn't been centered on sex, but involves physical intimacy (e.g., the kiss in S02E70). It involves sex, too, but Horus initiated it that time.

I also don't know that I'd agree that "lust is a form of love". Lust is a desire, and physicality can be a way to express love. But it doesn't have to be (e.g., Osiris, Kuentamen, Fenu). It's one reason people differentiate being "in love" and being "in lust" and a commonish-ish phrase is something like, "you're not in love, it's just lust". I again think Seth doesn't mind physicality with people he likes, particularly if it makes his partner happy.

CW: discussion of mental illness, mention of canon cannibalism

I'm not precisely sure what you mean by he's not allowed to mourn? What is he mourning? Do you mean losing Anubis (or at least the Anubis he knew)? Anubis isn't dead and he's working on getting Anubis back.

Or maybe mourning the brother/siblings he thought he knew, or losing his marriage? He hasn't been supported through the difficulties and trauma he's experienced. But I think he had plenty of time to mourn his siblings if he felt the need to during the hundreds of years of his being king (I think it's one major reason he treats Isis the way he does during the trial; her turning her back on him still hurts, but he's had years to deal with and accept it's just part of their relationship, even if he still hates it and feels hurt by it). He definitely still has issues processing his relationship with Nephthys, which he mostly handled through putting distance between them. His attempting to process/attempting to not process everything is likely part of why he was so focused on getting drunk and drugged out of his mind. I think he might have mourned the loss of who he was before he discovered what Osiris was, but what we've learned in recent episodes leads me to think he's used to giving up versions of himself (e.g., changing to a god of war) for what he believes is necessary (e.g., someone had to guard everyone and he wasn't good at anything else).

I also want to see him happy, which is why I'm glad we actually have in many recent episodes. In Abu Gorab when he and Horus were talking, with the kiss, and to a degree I think with Seth fighting the attacking men, and with Seth hanging out a bit with Anubis in Abu Gorab, and with the cat in Hermopolis. I think he's also been more comfortable with Horus in places. It's important to remember no one is happy all the time. It's just not how people work. We find what happiness we can in between the rougher parts of our lives. I don't think Seth will end up fully happy all the time, no matter how the story ends. I think he'll end up happy to a degree, at least, if not much happier than he's been for a lot of his life, particularly since he and Horus seem to be increasingly honest with each other in a way Seth seemingly wasn't with Nephthys, and it's something Seth values (he likes feeling seen).

I think this leads into an important point (that's not really what you're talking about, and apologies for the text spam, please ignore if you don't care, but I felt like going down the rabbit hole): the idea that Seth wasn't happy after the night of usurpation because that (and following events) messed him up, but that he potentially was happy before that, and that doesn't seem true, not just because of what I said about his being happy at points afterward, but also because of what we've seen of who he was and what he did before. We have a lot of evidence Seth wasn't happy even before the night of usurpation. Like yes, he was with Nephthys, they had a kid he loved, he was friends with Isis and got along with Osiris, and he was a very successful war god and had appreciation from the humans, as well as temples. But even when he was with his family, as Sekhmet notes in in S01E36, the four siblings acted "like they were the happiest family on the planet". How much of that was an act, at least on Seth's part, is up for debate. But even outside Sekhmet saying at least some of it was an act, Seth wasn't happy in his life.

The way Seth describes becoming a war god in S02E89, that it was his duty and there was no liking or disliking it, speaks to me of someone who doesn't have a particular interest in what he does for a living (outside being good at it). We're shown later on that he seems to take pride in his martial prowess and winning fights (e.g., in S01E56, in that panel of Seth catching Horus, I honestly think he's having fun), particularly during the trial, but part of that is his arrogance and bluster and trying to convince people he's an egomaniac who needs to be put down, along with his distaste in losing because Osiris told him that he's weak (e.g., how he reacts in S01E56 to Horus at the idea that it was due to Seth's weakness that Horus assaulted him). In S01E05, Seth tells Anubis that being the god of war is not respectable, and that war itself is awful, and he hopes Anubis doesn't become a god like him. This is reflected in how he talks about the horrors of war in S02E88-9 and how he mentions hearing the cries of humans who died in war calling to him in S01E48.

Seth looks so bitter, angry, and pained about this. Perhaps he was able to tolerate it because he had the love of Nephthys, Anubis, and his siblings to sustain him. Perhaps that's part of why he was so desperate they not forget him, because it's what got him through things. As he says in S01E05, "War is sometimes necessary when you need to protect your family, your land." He did all this out of necessity, not love or enjoyment. And he suffered through it. There's a manic gleam in his eye as he looks at Osiris while the dead are screaming for him in S01E48.

And we know at least part of the reason he doesn't like eating (particularly meat) is because his soldiers had to turn to cannibalism (S02E88). He saw a lot of horrible things in war long before Osiris assaulted him, and he just sort of lived with it, seemingly keeping it apart as much as possible from his life in Heliopolis and the people he cared about. Even Osiris seemingly doesn't know Seth can hear the dead calling to him, nor did potentially Isis.

He also doesn't seem to care about his followers at all (even before he starts slaughtering them en masse), and his awareness of them is quite distant, even before the night of usurpation (e.g., he had no idea who Kuentamen was, despite Kuentamen being the/one of Seth's high priests in Heliopolis, and gods having, allegedly, perfect memory/minds). They're convenient when he needs them, and an irritation when not. So while I imagine he appreciated being worshiped (and while he notably still expects humans to respect him), it wasn't that big a deal. As Seth says to FG in S02E85, "What do you mean, how will [humans] worship [gods]? Humans don't doubt us."

And of course we know that he was afraid of being forgotten, and that this is a fear he had that predated the night of usurpation.

As he explains to Osiris in S01E41, "I always just acted angry so that I wouldn't have to hear what [Nephthys] had to say. She was probably afraid of things ending up this way..." He had anxiety about his marriage - and his fatherhood - from numerous angles before he had confirmation that Anubis wasn't biologically his, and that Nephthys had sought out another man. It's not clear if he and Nephthys fought, or if he was verbally abusive, but he used anger to avoid talking to her directly. To avoid her admitting that she was moving past their relationship in some form. Their relationship was messy even before he knew why Nephthys had made it messy on her end.

So his marriage was a mess, he was at times distant from his son (their relationship is shown to be loving, but it had its complications), he didn't care much for his work, and he was distant if not uncaring to his followers, he had anxiety, he had some anger management issues, he had self-esteem issues, he wasn't communicating well with people, and he was prioritizing other folks in ways that were unhealthy for him all before the night of usurpation.

Isis describes the era before the four siblings ruled Egypt, before Seth became a god of war, as "a quiet, peaceful, beautiful era" in S02E80.

But we also know she was completely oblivious to Osiris' lust for Seth and his experiments and Nephthys seemingly being in love with Osiris at some point. Even in the peaceful era image, Osiris looks kind of upset/embarrassed. He might just be reacting to whatever Isis and Nephthys are laughing about, but I think it's notable he's behind her, where she can't see him. Perhaps for Isis it was beautiful. The question is if it was beautiful for Seth.

A lot of Seth's unhappiness seems to come from his being a god of war, and obviously things that came after that with Nephthys, Sekhmet, Osiris, Isis, Anubis, himself, etc. Perhaps he was happier in that time, before he became the god of war. We don't know. But what we do know is that Seth has been unhappy, in various ways, long before Osiris assaults him, and long before the events of the manhwa in present happen.

Why any of this matters: as someone who's dealt with depression and family members and friends with depression, it's very meaningful to me for various reasons that we have a character who might have some form of depression and/or other mental health problems and who also has happy moments, and I like to emphasize moments where he does find happiness. That not only is it possible for him but it also does happen. His being unhappy a lot does not negate the moments he is happy, or at least stable. A lot of folks in fandom look at Horuseth as it exists and are like, "well Seth's clearly not happy; he needs to not be around Horus to be happy." It's the main reason the Seth x Happiness "ship" exists. They expect him to always be happy, as if that's attainable and not kind of exhausting. As if no relationship ever has ups and downs (heck, even the purportedly "happy" relationship he had with Nephthys had downs from Seth's side due to his own insecurities and worries; love doesn't solve everything). But Horus has made him happy. Seth has reached out to him. Seth kissed him while being a bit overwhelmed by his own happiness at Horus seeing him. Seth finds joy in learning. He finds some joy in being good at fighting. He finds joy in protecting people and being useful.

He is happy in the manhwa, at least in moments. And I believe he'll be happier in future, too.

[our-aroace-experience]

can i still identify as aroace/aromantic?

i'm asexual and demiromantic, and feel pretty comfortable with aroace (to avoid long descriptions or explanations, also to have one word for my identity) and im pretty comfortable with aromantic (can be shortened to aro! also due to demiro communities harder to come by, it's easier to go with an aro label)

i still use ace/demiro as my main labels, but im just wondering if its offensive or not allowed in any way

you are absolutely allowed to use aroace/ aromantic as a label!

i don’t usually like to tell people what they can or can’t identify as, since i’m not any sort of authority on that, but i will say: using broader labels to help explain your identity is perfectly fine!

i saw a good post about it recently, and though i can’t find it, it said something to the effect of “it’s like telling people you live in a big city, even though you’re from a small town, because most people won’t have heard of that small town, but they will know the city” labels are just tools to help people explain how they feel (or don’t feel) they aren’t boxes with rigid edges you have to fit neatly in! use whatever helps you!

[fisherrprince]

oh so alisaie’s exaggerated bully behavior is 80% fanon. saying this she casually picks up a large rock

[lenorahills]

Hi! I know you're not active right now, but I just wanted to say that I love your blog and your art. I love your takes on Mileven, I also like the fact that they're not a neurotypical couple, and I think that's something that rarely gets talked about. Your art is lovely too :)

Hello! I am active, but only slightly! It was real nice to see a message in my inbox! Thank you for taking the time to send me some nice words. If you would like to see more of me actively I am more-so over on the platform “formerly” known as Twitter under the user @/starcourtmaii.

I did post some Mileven day art over there actually, just a splash of colour on a very old sketch. Tumblr is just not the ideal spot for me to post much pertaining to them, which is why I really haven’t been active all that much. The environment here is just very hostile. Maybe in the future I will get back to using this site but for now, it doesn’t seem likely. I’m also just a bit at an arms length with ST in general. I’ve been very busy with work and my evolving taste and interests which still includes ST of course.

I’d like to publish more meta here someday about El’s neurodiversity. That’ll be for another day. Thank you again 🤍