#talk to seam cowards

[jamiethebee]

I'm not saying I want someone to make (slightly unhinged) spinaraki cmv's with,,,,, but,,,, oh how I wish I had some also equally rapid for spinaraki that cosplays in my area

[scoops-aboy86]

If You Were Serious (Secret Admirer pt 7)

Okay, so there will be more than seven chapters. For now, please enjoy Steve on painkillers and creative mix tape shenanigans.

(The crossed out thing after the first "Dear" is the first line of an E.)

wc: 3226 / rated: T / set end of/after season 3 / also on ao3

Dear I

Dear Secret Amdirer,

Sorry, painkillers kicking in. I got pretty banged up in the mall, in the fire. Well, less the fire and more getting hit by stuff. Mall fell down. I have ribs and eye and nose, and concussion this time so I had to stay over at Robin’s because someone had to keep an eye on me sleeping and my parents are still out of town. Dustin said I won at upper body injury bingo but I didn’t even know I was playing, that sounds like really a shitty game. 

Anyway, I haven’t been home so I don’t know if you tried to call. If you did, don’t worry!!! I’m not mad. I don’t not like you anymore just because you’re you. And this isn’t the durg drugs talking because I read your letter first before they kicked in, but I have to write this ASAP so it can get to you faster. 

You could’ve called back that night but if you needed some time to breathe I get it, it’s cool. And I kinda had a feeling after that you might be a guy? Like, shit, man, they’d eat you alive in this town. Not me, I learned my lesson after Jonathan wrecked my face after I called him and his family some bad things. I deserved that. Kinda funny how the next year he stole my girlfriend and now I like you. If you could still be interested in somebody who used to be like that. 

I know I like you because when you hung up I was really worried, you sounded like you were breathing really fast, maybe a panic attack? I have those after nightmares now. Robin too. (Don’t worry, we bonded and she’s like my sister now, she says we’re playdoh soulmates

“Oh my god, I knew explaining who Plato was was a bad idea. It’s platonic, Steve, not Play-Doh.”

“Stop reading over my shoulder! … How do you spell that?”

“P-L-A-T-O-N-I-C.”

“Thanks Robbie.”

she says we’re playdoh soulmates platonic soulmates.) I was worried about you and thought maybe you might be a guy but, that wasn’t as important as wanting you to be okay, you know? You still wrote me all those nice letters. You’ve made me feel really good about myself, why does it have to be different just because you’re not a girl? I can’t tell you why Robin knows about this stuff but she says I might be bysix bisexual. Not sure why I need a big fancy word for it when I didn’t have one for liking girls, I just know I care about you a lot and want you to like me. 

And you’re not a coward, you’re very very brave. You reached out first, you went for what you wanted even when I didn’t get it and tried to ask for too much too soon. And then you kept coming back to try again, even though I kept doing that. That’s so brave. 

I’m not feeling so awake anymore so I’m going to stop and have Robin mail this for me. (No way am I going out dressed like this. Her dad wears grandpa shorts dude, it’s pretty bad.) I’ll write more when I’m feeling better. Are you okay? Hope you weren’t anywhere near the mall the other night. Thanks for the rainbow song I will look for it.

Love Steve 

~

Once Eddie is done reading, he screams into his pillow for a different reason. Several, actually. 

First, he’s been so sure for the past week or so that he would never hear from Steve ever again. The only reason he’d checked his mail today was because he should have another zine coming in soon. He didn’t, but there was a yellow envelope with familiar, if slightly messier than usual handwriting on it. And inside that, stationary with colorful geometric shapes along the edges that Eddie now surmises is Robin’s. 

Second, Steve isn’t even writing to tell him to fuck off right to hell. Because yes, Eddie had heard the rumors about Steve calling Jonathan Byers a queer. The irony does send a seam of semi-hysterical laughter through his screams. It’s fine. It’s fine!

Third, Steve hasn’t been avoiding his calls. He just hasn’t been home. He’s hurt, and it sounds like his head and torso took quite a beating. Eddie remembers seeing him around school both times after the other concussions and that had looked bad enough, and that had just been his face. This sounds worse. 

Fourth, Steve is… still interested? Has talked to someone about this and might be bisexual?! Eddie’s never had anyone talk to someone else about him, has always been completely anonymous with a possible option of becoming a dirty little secret. And then the letter ends with ‘Love Steve.’ Love? Love Steve?!

Fifth, Robin knows he sent Steve that ice cream. Eddie doesn’t know what all “platonic soulmates” entails, but what if she tells him? What if she already has?!

Sixth, despite being injured, and having panic attacks apparently, Steve is still asking if he is okay. 

Seventh, beneath his name Steve had also doodled a lopsided happy face with what he can only guess is an ice pack balanced on top. Or… maybe it’s hair. Or some kind of hat. 

Any of these would be enough to make his head spin on their own, but it’s all happening at once and he doesn’t know what to do. So he screams into his pillow for a while longer, kicking his feet for good measure. 

He wants to rush out and find Steve, wherever he is. Wants to call him, but doesn’t know what he would say even if he did know the number to reach him right now. What he could say. Wants to wrap both arms around him and kiss his poor head better. Hell, if he’s turned Steve gay he doesn’t just want, he deserves to make that guy the little spoon for the first time in his life probably and just. Hold him. 

Except… he’s not sure he’s ready for face to face yet. He will be! Soon. Once all the emotions bubbling in his chest have settled a little. And after he’s pinched himself a few million more times just to make sure. But until then…

A thought occurs to him, and Eddie rolls over to frown consideringly up at the ceiling. He’s sent Steve words to comfort and reassure him before, right? Maybe there’s something else he can send, a different way of offering a part of himself to Steve until he works up the nerve to face him for real. 

It’s just going to take him a little time, and some recording equipment. 

~

Dearest Steve,

I hope this address is still okay to write to you while you stay with your friend, but I don’t know where she lives. 

You have no idea 

Holy shit man. Holy shit. Are you serious? No, strike that, you’ve been nothing but genuine in these letters and I trust you, I do. Holy shit though. It’s you. Clearly I never thought I’d actually have a chance, from the way I approached this whole thing, so you must forgive me for how utterly poleaxed, completely flabbergasted, and genuinely gobsmacked I am. 

And shit, I’m still sorry for hanging up on you. That golden years line—and this heavy secret of the most basic fact of who I am weighing on my shoulders, pressing down so hard I couldn’t breathe. I wish I’d just said something. But you’re right, I needed… space? And a push, to work up to writing the last letter I sent you. I got yours the day I put that in the mail, by the way, and that spun me even more because what if you read mine and took it all back?

But you didn’t. You didn’t, sweetheart. I’m still reeling in the best possible way. Again, axed like a pole, flabbers gasted, and gob thoroughly smacked.

Enough about me. More than enough about me. You’re concussed; I ought to wrap that gorgeous head of yours in bubble wrap and offer to fight all your battles henceforth, even against falling buildings. I’m glad you have someone out there who’s looking out for you though. I guess… you’ve told Robin about some things? Maybe these letters? Which is absolutely fine, by the way. It’s great! Fuck knows it wouldn’t have occurred to me to explain what bisexuality is, since I hardly dared to dream so big and only swing the one way myself. You’re an amazingly open-minded person by the way, Steve; I hope you know how rare that is, especially in a place like Hawkins. And Robin too, apparently. Please give her my highest regards, she is an angel among mortals and an inadvertent champion of this sad wet rag of a human being (me). 

At any rate, wishing you the speediest of recoveries and I hope you’re already feeling at least a little better. My condolences on the grandpa shorts, although personally I’m convinced you could wear a trash bag and still look like an Adonis. 

It’s taken me a little longer than I’d like to send this because I made something for you. Enclosed is a tape with some of the songs from our call that you said you liked, played acoustically by yours truly. Rainbow In The Dark is one of them. You mentioned having nightmares, and whenever I had bad dreams as a kid my mom would play for me until I calmed down. She’d hum instead of doing the words, to make it more like a lullaby. I hope it’s at least a decent distraction, sweetheart. 

Let me know if you like it? I can make one of your favorite songs too, just you let me know what they are. In the meantime, I remain, as always—

Your Secret Admirer

~

“You should tell him that you know,” Robin whispers, at some point during the fourth night in a row they’ve ended up crashed on the same bed listening to the Anti-Panic Attack Metal Mix. 

Her dad sleeps like the dead and her mom sleeps with earplugs in because he snores, so they get away with it, but Steve always insists on laying on top of the covers anyway. The friendship is still new, for all that they’re trauma bonded, and he wants to make sure she knows he’s not getting any funny ideas, that he gets the whole lesbian thing, that even though he’s new to being into a dude he’s committed to it and not wishy-washy or greedy or whatever.

He fiddles with a loose string on the blanket for a minute before answering. “No… I don’t want to freak him out again. It’s all going to be on his terms from here on out, no more pushing.”

“Well you’ve got to do something. Come on Steve, I’m invested now. Ask to meet him.”

He rolls his eyes. “What did I just say?” 

Immediately he gives an inward wince, because that came out bitchy. But Robin just snorts and murmurs “Fine,” sounding amused rather than offended, so he relaxes. 

They exist in silence for a while, side by side. Just close enough to not feel alone, drifting on the soft notes and low, rich hum. It’s soothing. 

“What if,” Robin starts, and ignores Steve’s huff. “What if you go somewhere you know he might show, and then give him the opportunity to talk to you?”

“Oh yeah,” he scoffs, “like what?”

“Summer house party.” Her whisper picks up a little in excitement as she warms to her own idea. “I bet we can find one that’s coming up soon. Everyone knows that Munson sells, it’s one of those never invited but always welcome things. Then if he doesn’t come to you, just buy some weed and see if he says anything.”

“No,” Steve whispers back. 

She rolls over to squint at him in the dark. “Just think about it, okay? You wouldn’t be forcing him to do anything, just… providing an opportunity. Come on, Stevie-evie, this is my chance to see a gay love story go right.”

“Vetoing that nickname.” With a sigh, he rolls onto his side too, facing her. “My face still looks like raw hamburger meat, Robs. I have like zero charm right now.”

The swelling has gone down, at least to where he can open his eye again but the bruising remains spectacular. It looks like a sunset exploded across the side of his face, and not in a good way. 

Robin rolls her eyes. “You’re more than just your face, dingus. It wasn’t your rugged jawline, sculpted cheekbones, or pimple-free forehead that wrote those letters, it was you. Steve.”

He goes to wrinkle his nose at the descriptions, but quickly remembers that’s still a bad idea with a swallowed grunt. “Please, never describe me again.”

“I make no promises. And anyway, if you’re willing to try makeup I think we could get most of it covered so no one’ll ever notice. Not at night, anyway.”

That gives him pause. He rolls onto his back again to think about it, staring up at the ceiling of Robin’s bedroom and tracing imaginary constellation lines between the glow in the dark stars she has up there. Beside him, he feels her settling on her back too without having to look. 

It’s not like when he’d found a little brother in Dustin—who has visited pretty much every day during Steve’s convalescence, sometimes with Erica or Mike, Lucas, and Max in tow, spouting off things he’s read in books about the various still-healing injuries. As annoying as it is, Steve appreciates that the little dork took the time to study what’s wrong with him enough to provide armchair diagnoses and give him advice about things that he already knows. 

Robin is… more of a twin than a sister. (Which, yeah, twin sister, whatever. That’s not the point.) They’re on the same wavelength in a way he’s never experienced before, not with Tommy or Carol or even Nancy. The closest thing Steve has ever had to this was during basketball games, in the heat of a play where everyone on the team knew where everyone was and where they’d be and how to work together as a unit, perfectly in sync. Only with Robin, it’s all the time. Sometimes they can even finish each other’s sentences—though they try not to do that around her parents, in the interest of not wanting them to think they’re a couple. 

They’re more like a pair of bonded kittens at the pound, Robin says. Must be adopted together. (“Okay, but why can’t we be dogs? Dogs are cooler.” “Because, dingus, you have a one-hundred-and-twenty-seven step hair and skin routine and you’re incredibly aloof when you want to be. I could go either way, but you’re one hundred percent cat.”)

“Maybe,” he whispers finally. 

He’s not sure she’s still awake—he’s not sure he’s still awake, with the soothing music lulling him back to a calm he hadn’t felt even before he’d gone to bed the first time. But he wants to think she hears it, just like he wants to think that he’ll run into Eddie and find out what it’s like to hold his hand, maybe even kiss him, all in the same night. He’s worn lip gloss, he can deal with a little makeup. 

“Maybe I’ll go.”

~

Dear Secret Admirer,

Thank you for the tape, it’s perfect. It helps me get back to sleep because it feels like you’re there, watching over me. Like nothing bad can happen. Sometimes the nightmares still come back after but I think it’s getting better. It takes a while, you know? Last time, after the after Billy after my last concussion it took a while to stop having bad dreams. I guess the mind needs time to heal too, even if the stuff that happens to it isn’t as “real” as breaking a nose or a rib. Who knew?

I really am serious, yeah. Even though I’m me. Whatever that means. I don’t really know what to do with myself or what I want right now. (Except you. Kind of cheesy, but maybe you like that about me? I guess it’s something I always tried to hide before because the guys would’ve made fun of me, fuck knows Tommy did all of junior year, but I kind of like the idea that maybe you saw it anyway.) Once my face heals up me and Robin are going to try and get jobs together somewhere else because we’re cats that have to stick together or we’ll get stressed out and claw all the furniture. Other than that I don’t know what I want to do except leave Hawkins someday. But stick around to make sure it’s to see the kids graduate. Dustin’s starting high school in the fall, maybe you could keep an eye out for him? Curly hair, no collarbones, ego bigger than the whole state, total nerd but in a good way, even if he’s sometimes a butthead about it. He plays that game with dragons and those weird looking dice, do you know it? Him and his friends Mike and Lucas are kind of bully magnets. (Max is starting freshman year too but she can take care of herself in that department.) They’ve all been pretty down after the mall and with Will and moving away and everything. Erica, Lucas’ little sister, I guess I’m her “babysitter” now too, is still in middle school but I don’t know if she’d be glad or insulted if I waited around to see her graduate. She can take care of herself too. She and Dustin were with us for most of the Starcourt burning down and it was a lot, but kids are resilient. I don’t think she gets nightmares, not that she would ever admit to anyone if she did even though in her own words “we’ve bled together.” She’s getting into the nerdy dice game too and is planning her campaign for President of the USA as soon as she turns, what, 40? 50? Whatever age you have to be before you can do that. I’ll probably still be in a town like Hawkins with another lame retail job by then, but she’s got my vote. She’d do a hell of a lot better job than Regan, that’s for sure. 

Is your mom My mom never sang to

Also, you are really good at guitar, man. I still think about your hands, I bet you have long fingers. Really… What’s a word for ‘good with his fingers’? I think about that sometimes. I don’t really know what kind of stuff two guys can do together except the obvious but I think about that a lot. I want you to play me like your guitar. I’d let you fight my battles too, at least until my ribs get back to normal and then we can both fight both of our battles. You know I’d do that for you, right? If you ever need me. I really like these letters. I really like you.

Love, Steve

P.S. If you were serious about making me another tape (which you really don’t have to, this was already going above and beyond), my favorite songs are…

Tag list (and if you missed the earlier chapters check the "#secret admirer steddie" tag on my blog): @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @tangerinesteve @steviewashere

@cryingglightningg @theresebelivett @sleepy-steve @rozzieroos @lunaraindrop

@just-my-latest-hyperfixation @wheneverfeasible @swimmingbirdrunningrock @yesdangerpls @matchingbatbites

@ihavekidneys @p0lybl4nkk @grtwdsmwhr @cheesedoctor @whalesharksart

@thetinymm @envyadams-vs-me @practicallybegging @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @dauntlessdiva

@nerdyglassescheeseychick @fuzzyduxk @chaosgremlinmunson @greatwerewolfbeliever @goosesister

@dolphincliffs @friendlyneighborhoodgaycousin @beckkthewreck @pitrsattabhaadmeinjao @kurofuckingshi16

@bookworm0690 @millseyes-world @live-laugh-love-dietrich @the-tenth-mus-e

[kakushino]

Talk dirty to me

Tomioka Giyuu x AFAB! Reader

Prompt: “Look at you. I’ve only started using my fingers and you’re already shaking.”

Tags: sub! reader, fingering, dirty talk, alcohol (Giyuu and reader are tipsy) Word count: 1,1k

Masterlist

AN: Happy birthday, Giyuu! I love you with all my heart and soul.

Hearing Uzui go on and on about dirty talk in bed was annoying, yet Giyuu couldn’t deny being intrigued, especially if he imagined one of such lines being whispered into his ear by you. The full-body shudder that ran through him went unnoticed by his fellow Hashira at the get-together, and he couldn’t be more glad about that. 

Call him a coward, but the first time he really went for it was when you both had a little bit to drink one evening. Liquid courage coursing through his veins and spurring him on to initiate a little more than just kissing. 

Deft hands untied the sash holding your yukata together before he lightly pushed you down onto your back. One forearm laid next to your head to support him while he feasted on your love, the other caressing and groping where he could reach. A light brush over your nipple with his thumb, cradling your breast, soothing fingers trailing down your side to squeeze your waist, and you couldn’t help but roll your hips, so needy for more yet not knowing how to ask for it. 

Everything was hot, and you could not get enough of him, of the taste of sake and desperation on his lips, of his scent and breath - oh-so intoxicating. With him at your side, you felt beautiful. How could you not, when his unsure fingers finally found their way where you needed him the most without a prompt; how could you not, when he braved a previously uncharted territory in an attempt to please you?

Giyuu had listened attentively to Uzui’s many drunken lectures about pleasure of the flesh, so he knew what he was doing - or at least he told himself. The first touch was little more than a caress, trying to convince himself there was nothing to it, it was just you. But then his finger made contact with your wetness and he thought he would cream his pants right there. 

Fuck.

Your hands gripped at his clothes, keeping him in a liplock, craving more of him as he tried to keep a coherent thought to do his best. He wanted to give you the love you deserved, starting with the pearl he found with little trouble. 

What a sight - the shudder rolling through your body was something he wanted to see again and again, he wanted to bring you ecstasy, drive you to heights you had never had the pleasure to see. 

His thumb, wet from your own slick, kept circling your clit in soft slow motion, one of his fingers sinking into your warmth and fuck, he did come a little, didn’t he? Giyuu had to pull back to try to catch his breath; total concentration be damned, he could scarcely breathe normally. 

Soft, hesitant curling of his finger and you quivered all over, and he saw his opportunity.

“Look- look at you- I’ve only just started using my- my finger, and you’re shaking already?” 

He hardly finished the sentence and your hands dug into his shoulders, pulling him closer with a stuttering sigh. 

Your reactions guided him to repeat the motion as he stared at you with half-lidded eyes, your own clenched shut.

“You like- you like this? So needy, aren’t you?” 

His hand pulled back, only to sink a second finger in with the first, curling them in the right place again, earning him a full, though quiet, moan. The visual of your pleasure-laden face and the way your noises sang to him- 

“You look- hot, beautiful, taking it so well for me,” he whispered, trying to keep track of every little motion your body made in response to him. He felt like an artist, for this was a masterpiece before him.

You could only cling to him as he unravelled you at the seams. Wasn’t he supposed to be inexperienced? Your head was spinning at the way he talked dirty to you, your eyes filled with tears as you tried to chase the sweet release his motions promised. “Please-!”

Giyuu had never seen nor heard a more beautiful sight than you begging for him. It was altering his mind, driving him insane, 

“Don’t worry, I’ll take very good care of you. Just let yourself go.”

Your hips bucked into his hand, and your pussy made a low squelching sound, and he could not get enough of it. All of you was an aphrodisiac he was willingly breathing in, tasting on his tongue and absorbing it through his sinuses.

“Do you want more? Need more?” he panted for air, lost in the lust and in you. You mewled cutely when his fingers pulled back only for him to sink in three- “Hah, there you go, love… So w-wet for me.” 

The soppy sounds echoing through the room made blood rush to your face and you felt as if you couldn’t handle it anymore yet you could not run from him. Breathy moans were stolen from your throat and your hands nearly tore the seams of Giyuu’s clothes when his fingers curled again.

The involuntary reaction made his dick throb again. “Moan like that f’me again… Please, c’mon, pearl?” his own voice hitching when you opened your eyes in a daze. It was clear you couldn’t see him, you could only feel. “You should see yourself right now - fuck - I had no idea you could make these faces… all f’me.”

And your cunt fluttered at his words, his mind all over the place at how your body responded to his.

“Fuck, you’re so- Think you can do this on my cock later? P-please? You can… right, lovely?”

Your hands clenched onto his yukata again and you could not bear another word out of his pretty well-kissed mouth, pulling him close to kiss him and muffle any other pathetic noises you didn’t know you were able to make as you came hard on his fingers. Even so, a high-pitched keening left your throat, earning you a moan from Giyuu, a shudder rolling through his body in answer to your trembling. 

His fingers slowly withdrew, and you hid your face in his chest. You behaved like a wanton whore in his arms but… you liked it. A thought flitted through your mind - surely he was pent up after-

You reached for the tie of his yukata, but his hand - his wet hand - stopped you. “What about-?”

Giyuu shushed you gently, “I only wanted to please you.” 

He omitted the fact pleasing you pleased him more than he felt he deserved, his underwear ruined the minute your orgasm rolled through you.

dividers by @hitobaby network: @enchantedforest-network

I couldn't resist... Tell me he wouldn't come in his pants the minute he realizes he made you come

[suavemania]

― ROSE FIELDS.

pairing: leon kennedy x partner!reader summary: leon kissed you during a mission. you confront him, but leon struggles to tell you the truth. that he loves you. words: 861 words, short and sweet. warnings: pretty angsty! leon deals with his trauma & self hate badly. light suicidal ideations. notes: i originally wrote this with my resident evil oc in mind. but i re-wrote this to fit into a reader perspective for tumblr to hopefully enjoy. written from leon's pov in mind. ummm, not super proofread BUT yeah. idk. it just spilled! i have pt. 2 and 3 already written but not sure if theres much interest tisstiss

"Leon, the kiss-"

"Don't."

He knew that the kiss was going to haunt him, that he would never be able to take it back. He placed his lips on yours, feather-like; as if he kissed you too hard you’d crumble under him. That’s all it was, he defended. A moment of weakness. But it was gone all too soon.

He sat on the bed, defeated. His shoulders stiff as he leaned forward, resting his weight on the elbows that were resting on his heavy legs. He felt your eyes burn into him. You were upset, confused, your emotions swirled in your throat, and Leon just sat there, silent. He refused to look at you, he couldn't. 

"Please." you plead.

And the guilt piles in his stomach once more. The canine teeth of his shame sinking in on his shoulders like pure poison, pumping his veins. He felt like he always made you feel like this, always selfishly hinging his feelings like bait, giving you bits of evidence to his true feelings whenever he felt like he would suffocate; whenever his heart burst at the seams. All he could do to defend himself was that this was for your own good, that it's nothing. You shouldn't know, you can't know, it would- it would­- what would it...

Coward.

That's what he thought about himself.

The truth was that Leon was scared of allowing himself to live in rose fields, let alone walk in them. After Raccoon City, he was so used to spending time in the dim and dark. The bright worlds felt foreign, forbidden; like something his mind and body had long forgotten. the light: it felt like a fantasy, you were like a fantasy. But Leon would rather let his heart waste away inside him than chase after a dream. His dream for safety, security, and knowing that his heart would be protected, shielded from his nightmares and guilt.

"Please, just talk to me."

But Leon kept his mouth shut, his head lowered to avoid seeing your silhouette. Had he given in, had he let his mouth confess his true feelings for his partner; he would have simply had to build another cage for his heart to live in: the inevitable fate of heartbreak, disappointing the one he loved the most. Leon had allowed himself to melt into his self-hatred long ago, feeding the insects at his feet and meeting the soil like honey. He would never admit that loudly, though. That would be thoughts he would sink with until the sticky soil met his broken body, his dampened soul melting into the stars. Or so he hoped.

Moments of silence pass, and as you stand in front of him, he notices your hands picking at each other (a bad habit, he knew that about you). For a brief moment, Leon allowed himself to marvel at you, to selfishly gaze at the only thing that mattered in his life. 

You.

The sun, he thought. He bit his tongue even harder, feeling his jaw clench tightly. Don't do this. Don't be so selfish, don't. What makes him think that he could ever pay off his mistakes, his sins that came back to haunt him every night; clawing at his back. The morbid pictures of Raccoon City were carved inside him, deeply imprinted into his body and mind. He couldn’t allow himself to lose another, especially if the person in question was you. 

He had imagined it if you were there that night, if he had lost you to the memory of Raccoon City. In his scenario, he would clammer his hands tightly onto yours. You’ve been infected, sick and weeping as you rot in front of him, your body actively decaying as he tries to fix you, trying to squeeze his power into you. You cried, blaming him for your slow, painful death. But that wasn’t a reality, and it was something he avoided by not telling you the truth, by not admitting that he loved you. Desperately. 

Maybe he was destined to be married to his work and not the person who stood in front of him. Had he thought about it? Absolutely, more than he would like to admit. Whenever he had trouble sleeping at night, his mind would wander into his better fantasies. He had played a ridiculous amount of scenarios in his head, all that would never come true. they would range from holding his partner's hand while they slept, to him taking photos of them as they explored the world together and the beauty that remained. 

“Leon, please-”

You felt your heart in your throat as you begged Leon with desperate eyes to speak, to answer your questions and feelings. You were filled with warmth, and your warmth was all Leon wanted to indulge himself in, to dive into. He wanted to feel you, to allow you to sand down his bones and brain until all he could be was the remains of his love, your love.

And he could just taste it, the sweet taste in his mouth. It was unbearable. He felt himself shred his hearts walls, the sting burning its remains in his chest, and all he could spit out was,

"I love you."

[angeart]

I always want to hear abiut the ghost Hunter Grian & ghost scar au. Hello

Hi hello! Right. So, consider this.

Scar is a ghost. He lives in an abandoned, decrepit house. (It used to be nice once. He built it himself.) The house is famous for being haunted. This attracts two types of people:

One is ghost hunters. They're either amateur ones who fool around, or professional ones that are jaded and know what they came for. In and out, always. They come, they pretend like they care, get their content, pack up and go.

The second one is young people who come in because they've been dared to by their friends. Thrill seekers, cowards pretending to be brave, etc. You know the lot. They don't care about the ghost that's there. They care about spookiness and fear spikes and proving a point.

Now, Scar is as jumpy as we know him to be. Half the time he scares people, it's because he got scared first. But sometimes, he does it on purpose. Sometimes he likes to scare others. For a laugh. Just to cause mischief. To amuse himself.

But underneath it all? He's watching his house crumble around him, people who know nothing about him keep telling him (or more like, telling each other; very little of the conversation is usually aimed at Scar) that he's scary, that he's evil.

Scar can't do anything about any of it. He can just be.

It's the only thing he has left.

And he's so, so lonely.

Let's throw Grian into the mix. In a way, he does fall into one of the categories - he is a ghost hunter. But it's not as much for content, as it it for the sake of his own curiosity.

So when he's in the house and he tries to talk to Scar? It... feels different. Something about it is shifted. Maybe it's the questions he asks. The way he looks around. The way he speaks into the silence of the house, without knowing if there's anyone to listen.

Scar is there, and he listens.

And he tries to talk to him. It's hard. It's not easy to communicate when you're a ghost, starved and lonely and sad. But he tries. For once, he makes a proper effort.

Grian picks up on it, and maybe they have a halting, broken conversation through various tools. Staticky radios and flickering flashlights and taps on the wooden walls.

Once Scar finds out that Grian's trying to really listen and understand, instead of jumping to conclusions and putting words into Scar's mouth that he never intended to say, Scar tries to say so, so much. Words tumble out, but words are no longer his language, and they refuse to come across the way he shapes them.

He grows scared, then.

Because here's this one person who is trying to understand him, but just like everyone else, he's bound to leave, too. Right? So Scar panics, and he uses his powers to lock the house. He traps Grian inside, if only until the dawn.

At first, Grian freaks out.

This makes Scar panic too, and he strings up apologies and tries to somehow show him that he's not going to hurt him (it's hard. it doesn't work.) - but he's too desperate for company, for understanding, for someone to be there. For someone to act like maybe deep underneath all of this, Scar is still a person.

And maybe Grian catches on, after a while. And maybe they try communicating again.

And maybe it goes better this time.

And Grian comes to understand that this ghost is just lonely and sad.

He makes a deal. He promises to come back to visit again. And Scar... lets him go. He lets him go and he hopes.

It's all he can do.

(Here are supplemental thoughts of how the rest of it could go:)

(Grian does come back. Each time, the communication is easier. Scar tells him how upset he is with the way people come in and treat him. And the way his house is falling apart at the seams. And how everyone acts like he's this evil, demonic thing. How they scare him sometimes. How he doesn't want to deal with it anymore.)

(He doesn't beg Grian to stay again. But he wants to.)

(Now consider: what if Grian ends up buying the house. What if he ends up renovating it with Mumbo. What if they move in. What if they bring in potted plants that Scar offhandedly mentions liking. What if they bring in a stray cat (Jellie). What if down the line, when they're all settled and know each other fairly well, they just start messing with each other like the menaces they are. For entertainment. Always making sure to know where the boundaries are and what lines to not cross. Always making sure to check up on each other if something goes too far or wrong.)

[entomolog-t]

The Shadow We Cast

Author Notes: Content warning, but the CWs make it sound far scarier than it is. Unless you struggle with any of the topics its fairly lighthearted. 

Another finished a G/t July Prompt; Bird! This takes place after Sal and Mark meet for the first time (Loosely based on this comic that I will inevitably redraw) acting as a sort of Chapter Two. The Title for their story is still up in the air and I am more than welcome to suggestion. 

Word Count: 3184

Next Chapter: Chapter 2

CW: Adult language, mild gore (blood, hunting, animal death), derealization/questioning sanity

---

The warmth in the air was uncomfortably muggy. I could feel myself break a sweat and I’d barely started my trek to the outskirts of the property. It reminded me of whenever he got too close. The way he radiated heat… the way he seemed to use up all the air around me, leaving the air feeling used and wet with his breath. Stretching my arms skyward I couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory of the strange human; The shared shock as we saw one another, the way he fumbled over himself to assure me he wasn’t a danger… and that hilarious scream he’d let out at the sight of my innocent little spider. I couldn’t wipe the smirk off my face. I’d never imagine I’d talk to a human, let alone spend the better part of an hour trying to get one to calm down!

The image of him, face flushed and sputtering had been comical. He’d been so embarrassed. Rightfully so. Why would a creature like him be scared of such a sweet little spider? Ridiculous. Picking up my pace, I began to jog towards the tree line, hoping those masked birds hadn’t yet found the berrying tree. Chewing on my lip, I found my mind being drawn back to the human. He’d called himself Mark. Once he’d calmed down he’d apologized up and down for his outburst. He was strange. I had sat down on his window sill as he asked question after question. What was I? Where had I come from? Why was I trying to get into his house?

His… Mark’s house had been empty for so long… was I not supposed to take my chance to see humans up close? There's something invigorating about even just being in the presence of people… When was the last time I’d even seen another being capable of conversation, let alone had a conversation? Sure, it's not like I planned on popping up directly in his line of sight, but … despite my better judgment, I found myself happy I did. I’d had my first conversation in years, and for some strange reason I was feeling as if it had left me bursting at the seams with renewed energy. Whether it was from the interaction or maybe from the strange food the colossal coward had given me… an Or-we-Oh? Was that what he’d called it? It didn’t really look like food… more like two disks made of soil with something unnaturally white between them. While it may have looked wrong, it had tasted far better than it looked.

My stomach growled at the memory. Whether it was the human food or the conversation, I’d made up my mind. I was going back. Though, not empty handed. These stupid tree-berries were always such a hassle to get. 

The trunk of the tree was thinner and smoother than what grew deeper in the woods making them profoundly annoying to climb. Worse yet, the stupid branches only really broke off in a convenient fashion after a sizable climb, and even then, they grew at an such an angle that I could never just stand. The lack of hand and footholds along the lower portion of the trunk always left me exhausted, but the deep red berries were, regrettably, worth the effort. 

Hand over hand and feet pressed firmly on the trunk I climbed up the tree, letting my weight hang downwards effectively anchoring my grip on the trunk. I grit my teeth. Climbing like this was always a pain. I could feel the muscles in my arms swell and ache as I made my way up the trunk. Better sore than hungry. I thought, as my hands finally gripped onto a branch. Hoisting myself up, I surveyed the scene. Those stupid birds had definitely gotten here before me, with one or two of them still darting on and off the branches. Even still, those smooth deep near purple berries were still relatively abundant.

Those stubborn pests ignored my shouts and attempts at shooing them away as I maneuvered along branch after branch, filling the sack I’d brought until it was nearly overflowing. If I had any hopes of trading that human for more of their strange food, I would need more than just a couple berries. 

I sat, letting my feet hang over the edge of the branch as I tied the mouth of the bag. This was weird, right? Wanting to see a human? To spend time with them? I shook my head, ridding myself of doubt as quickly as it came. Mark had been weird, sure, but he could talk!! An unwelcome thought seemed to bubble to the surface…

How long has it been since I’ve heard a voice other than my own? 

Yeah, no. Bad thought. No time for those. Rising to my feet, I heard the sudden flutter of wings as those pesky masked birds took flight, swooping away from me and deeper into the woods. Figures, they’d leave now that I- 

My thought was interrupted by a resounding screech.

Fuck. 

---

The sticky summer air struck like walking into a wall. I made my way out of the sanctuary of my air conditioned house, and into the frying pan my porch had become. Was this real? A tiny man... There had been a tiny man in my house. Sal… that was the name he’d given me. He was a rough looking creature, and I had no doubts after just one glance at him that he had been living outside. He had warm, sunburnt skin, and was covered in an unsightly layer of grime. I found myself wishing I had got a closer look at him, but there was no way in Hell I was getting within arm's distance of that creepy little spider he’d had accompanying him. I shuddered at the thought. The image of it crawling liberally all over him as we spoke made my skin crawl. 

He’d laughed at my reaction too, as if I was the one being weird. 

He’d told me he’d bring me back a treat in exchange for the Oreo. I’d half heartedly tried to tell him there was no need but… if I’m gonna be honest? I wanted him to have a reason to come back. 

I stared up at the sun. The strange little man apparently wasn't very familiar with the concept of hours and had told me he’d meet me when the sun was “around there in the sky” as he pointed vaguely at an angle that seemed to suggest sometime around noon? Maybe?? I took a seat. 

This was crazy. Was I crazy? I mean… a little man… a tiny yet full grown man had just pulled himself up onto my window sill? I ran my hands through my hair, my loose grasp on reality making my stomach knot. It had felt so real… but it couldn’t have been… and yet here I was, sitting on my front porch in this awfully muggy weather waiting to rendezvous with something, someone rather, straight out of a fairy tale. 

The minutes dragged on lazily, as if the muggy weather made time itself move sluggishly. Fuck, was I actually losing my grasp on reality? I mean, I had seen him, heard him, but I hadn’t touched him… I had no pictures, no proof to fall back on. I felt my brow furrow as I swallowed dryly. I’d fucking lost it. Staring up at the sky, I watched as a hawk circled lazily overhead. I’d go into town tomorrow and see if I could get in with a doctor. A solid two days away from the city and I’d managed to develop some form of cabin fever. Just fucking great. 

I closed my eyes and leaned back. Man, it was hot. Somewhere above, the hawk screeched, seemingly in agreement with my thoughts. I thought about going inside to get water… or better yet, a beer, but I couldn’t leave my spot. It was as if I was holding onto a shred of hope, desperate to prove to myself that the miniscule little man had really existed. 

The longer I thought about him, the more doubt seemed to surface in my mind. His voice, while relatively quiet, had been deep. Did that make sense? Surely someone that small would be pitched up? Thinking back, he may have had pointed ears, but everything else seemed perfectly human- 

A strange cacophony interjected into my rambling thoughts; another shriek from the hawk, although this time, much closer. There was the rustling of grass and the puffing sound from flapping wings. I cracked my eyes open and sat up. I knew they were skilled hunters but I’d never seen one in action, and although morbidly curious, I wasn’t so sure I wanted to see the aftermath of whatever poor little creature ended up in its… talons.

Poor little creature…

SAL. 

I sprung up. Reality be damned. What if… what if he really was real… what if he’d been- 

I pushed the thought from my mind as fast as it had surfaced. Don’t think. Just go. I ran down the stairs and out towards where I’d heard the sound, begging that the hawk had just picked off one of the little finches or waxwings that flitted about the property. 

When I saw rustling in the grass it was as if my heart was trying to crawl out of my throat. No. No. No.

Please be alright… My head spun with worry as I moved aside the grass, heart sinking at the sight. A red tailed hawk moved awkwardly on top of something… something small. No feathers were scattered about, no flapping of wings beneath its grip... 

Oh God… 

My throat felt tight. I lunged at the creature, hoping desperately that whatever damage was done wouldn’t be fatal. 

A yelp. 

I nearly fell back from the soft sound of shock that came from beneath the bird. Everything seemed to slow as my brain struggled to keep pace with what I was seeing. There he was. That tiny little man… Sal… Covered head to toe in blood. I felt as my own blood drained from my face, bile rising up in my throat. He was soaked. Oh God, was it fatal? What was I supposed to do? Who was I supposed to call for help? How could I-

He smiled. 

His teeth were bright white against the gruesome crimson that covered him. Why was he… smiling…? The limp weight of the hawk in my hand suddenly felt a good deal heavier. I looked from the hawk, to him and back to the hawk. 

Had he…?

“Well?” He said, placing his hands on his hips and craning his neck to look at me, “Fair trade?”

Things were moving too fast for my brain to keep pace. To start, I wasn’t losing my mind. The tiny man was real… and he had killed a hawk… a dead hawk which I now held in my hand. I swallowed the urge to gag. What had he meant by trade… Oh- Oh no. 

---

His face. Oh man, his face. That near death run-in was worth every cut, scrape and bruise to be witness of the realization dawning across that massive face. He turned his head back and forth between me and the redtail hanging limply in his grasp in rapid succession. He looked uneasy. I felt my smile grow even wider. There was disbelief in his eyes. I liked that. I wanted his gaze on me to stay that way. Looking at the bird in his hands I could only feel my pride grow. Fuck those stupid berries, now that was a meal fit for a human. 

“Don’t worry,” I chuckled, trying unsuccessfully to wipe the bird’s blood from my face, “I’m not that rude of a guest. I’ll prepare it for you. Can’t go bringing unfinished gifts, now can I?” 

I stared up at him, awaiting some kind of response. Wow Sal, that's incredible! Or Oh man, that's a pretty big bird, I doubt I can finish it all, or- 

“Prepare…” The colour drained from his face. I snorted. The last family that lived here hadn’t seemed to have to do much with their meat either. Sure, it wasn’t the most pleasant experience but someone had to do it. He crouched down, staring at me with a strange expression; his brow furrowed and his lips pursed. 

“Dude, that's gross. I’m not eating hawk?”

Oh. 

That simple remark seemed to puncture something in my chest. I felt deflated. My smile wiped away in an instant. Did humans not eat redtail…? Why... why was it gross? That strange expression on his face suddenly seemed to come into focus in my mind; disgust. 

Not wanting to look at that expression any longer, I busied myself with looking around the grass. 

“Ha, oh yeah, that’s… I had something else. Um,” I felt heat rise to my face. I didn’t get what was wrong with it? What was I missing? “It should have fallen around here somewhere…”

Fuck, I felt small.

I was all too aware that even as I cast my gaze downward, he could see every movement I made. His presence loomed over me. Small. What had felt like an insurmountable feat just a few moments ago was a dismissable nothing to someone like him.

A cruel voice seemed to rise from the ether within my mind. So are you. 

---

Shit. 

He had been really excited, hadn’t he? He’s done the equivalent of slaying a fucking dragon, and how do I react? By saying it's gross?? I mean, the idea of eating a wild hawk most definitely is gross, and questionably legal, but… My thoughts trail off as I stare down at the crestfallen little man. He doesn’t meet my gaze. That borderline uncanny confidence seemingly eviscerated by a single tactless comment. 

I chew my lip and groan, albeit, internally. 

“Sal…” he doesn’t look at me, but I catch him flinching at his name, “You know… Now that I think about it, it’s probably pretty similar to turkey.” His head snaps back to me, eyes full of hope. I offer him a smile. 

“I’ll give it a shot. Can’t let a great catch like this go to waste.” 

It’s as if a switch goes off, and suddenly he’s beaming, his cocksure grin even wider than before. It would be an adorable sight…  if not for the fact he was drenched in the blood of his prized catch. I cringed internally as I offered him my hand. He took a step back, as if unsure of what I was doing. 

“You can use my kitchen to prep the meat, but only if you wash yourself off first…” I paused, “Please.” 

His grin never faltered. 

“You got it, Tree-Top.” Despite absolutely dreading his meal, I couldn’t help but grin right back at him. 

He took a hesitant step onto my open palm, looking back and forth between my face and my outstretched hand as if asking if it was okay. I nodded encouragingly, repressing the urge to gag as I saw the tiny bloody handprint he left on my thumb. Gross. Gross. Gross. 

Instead I focused on the absolutely wild sensation of holding small… human…(?) in my hand. The sensation was beyond bizarre. Nothing like holding a small rodent or lifelike doll could come close to comparing. I could feel how intentional every movement was, as if I could sense the human intelligence behind each carefully placed step. The thought that I was quite literally holding a life in my hands was overwhelming, and I teetered back and forth between excitement and anxiety.  

I stood.  As he rose upwards in my cupped hand, he gripped onto my thumb with an unnerving amount of strength for a being of his size. Looking down at him, my own stomach lurched. With seemingly no instinct for any form of self preservation, he leaned over the edge of my palm on his hands and knees, watching with rapt excitement as the ground disappeared beneath him. He turned his attention to me briefly, shooting me a cheeky little cocksure grin, before going back to watching the ground pass by in awe as I made my way back towards the house. 

In those moments, I was all too aware of every item I had ever dropped in my life, and suffice to say it was more than a few. My heart felt as though it would beat itself out of my chest as he let himself nearly dangle off the edge of my palm. Slowly, I leaned my palm against my chest and curled my fingers inwards. Sal was unphased with the change in position, absentmindedly shifting to standing, his feet perched firmly on my pinky while he leaned precariously over my index finger.

His excitement only seemed to grow as we entered the house. His head was constantly on a swivel, taking in every detail he could catch. Which arguably wasn’t much as I hurried toward the kitchen counter, the sticky feeling of quickly drying blood on my hands leaving my skin crawling. Ew. Ew. Ew. 

“Stay right there.”

Placing him and the bird beside one another on the counter I hurriedly turned on the sink, letting out a deep sigh of relief as the rush of water cleaned my hands. The last thing I needed was a bloodied little man exploring the area where I made my food. I bit my lip, trying my hardest to keep the disgust from forming on my face, not wanting to upset my gruesome little guest. 

“Here,” I grabbed a table cloth and wet it, offering it to the little man. He didn’t hesitate to begin wiping himself down. As I went to lay out a cutting board, I paused, my stomach sinking. Fuck, I thought, am I going to have to … I grimaced. 

“Um, hey man, are you going to need me to-” He cut me off with a wave of his hand, shooing me away as he strode over to my knife block as if this were his kitchen. 

“No, no,” he said dismissively “I got it.” He smiled over his shoulder as he yanked out a serrated knife from the block. Nope. Don't wanna see this. I turned to leave, but a small shout made me pause. Sal stood atop the hawk, knife slung over his shoulder like an oversized video game sword, waving me down with his free hand. 

“Can you grab me a bowl?”

“Why do you-” he cut me off,

“Organs.” I gagged and silently prayed he didn’t notice. Right. Gross. I tried to hide the revulsion as I plopped a bowl down on the counter, averting my gaze from the carnage on the cutting board. I needed a beer. Or four. Not wanting to wait around in case Sal thought I could make myself useful I disappeared down the hall, now more thankful than ever that I had kept my college mini fridge as a beer fridge away from the kitchen. 

[proboblynotstriaght]

Day 4 of Loa-tober and I get to write about my fav and project all my gender issues on him <3

I've really enjoyed doing these and I hope to be able to keep up for at least most of the October month, although expect lowered quality work on Sundays because holy shit do I have a lot to do this Sunday.

Day 4 : Fave (Kremy) vague spoilers for Guys night

Kremy never really cared about his body when he was a child, back when he was called something different, something no one remembered anymore.

His father had wanted a perfect little daughter who would be obedient and wear new dresses and would one day be the perfect house wife to man that would be hand picked by the man of the house.

And then he left and never looked back.

|||||||||| blinked confusedly at her Memaw “is that why papa left?” She asked “Because I don’t like wearing dresses?”

His Memaw laughed, even as young she was she could tell that Memaw was bitter about it “Your Pappy left us because we were poor” She spit “He was poor and he couldn’t handle that, the coward” The old woman gently pet the soft scales on |||||||||| head “his leaving ain’t have nothin' to do with you cher”

||||||||||'s Mama wasn't home all that often. too busy holding down two jobs in order to make ends meet to raise her kids proper. But when she was home she loved dressing |||||||||| up in cute dresses. Kremy remembered excitedly dressing up in a pink, frilly dress, with glitter and everything. |||||||||| loved playing dress-up in these pretty clothes.

"Don't you think you look pretty ||||||||||?" Her Mother asked. |||||||||| nodded and beamed at the reflection in the cracked old mirror. "Your Pappy bought this dress for you y'know" |||||||||| shifted. The older woman's tone had changed, it was almost-bitter and mostly-wistful. |||||||||| didn't like it. She started trying to wriggle out of the dress.

"Let's talk a walk outside ||||||||||, show off your fancy pink dress" All of a sudden, |||||||||| panicked. He could feel every stitch and seam of the dress rubbing uncomfortably against his scales chafing them. His Mom grabbed his arm as he squirmed, trying to get out.

"What's wrong ||||||||||, are you ready to go outside?" It wasn't really a question as |||||||||| was suddenly being dragged towards the door.

"NO!" She cried. "I don' I don' wanna go out- outside" For |||||||||| it was just dress-up just a game. Not something to actually go outside in. In a pink dress that wasn't made for lizardfolk that had a connection to his father that left. "I don' like the dress, I don't- I don't wanna-" He cried as his mother continued to drag him towards the door.

"Oh shut up!" his Mama yelled "You liked the dress a minute ago! Why don't you like it now!" She shot |||||||||| a withering gaze "God your just like your father" |||||||||| was confused, she thought her mom still loved her dad, that's why |||||||||| was dressed in the clothes that he bought so long ago. "Maybe if you just wore your dress like a good little girl your father would still be here!"

Memaw always smelled of what she was cooking. She loved to cook big hearty stews and stir frys, and of course her amazing gumbo. |||||||||| dryed her tears in his Memaw's apron and took in all the smells.

"I don' wanna be like my father" |||||||||| whispered into fabric.

"You, ain't nothing like your father" His Memaw pulled |||||||||| into her lap

"But, but Mama said that he left- he left because I wasn' girly enough"

His Memaw got a faraway look in her eye, "Your Mama is still caught in the past, she doesn't want to blame herself so she blames you" His Memaw looked back down at ||||||||||. "Would you like to hear a story cher?"

|||||||||| perked up, tears now forgotten. Memaw always told the best stories "Yes!" he squealed "Yes please Memaw!"

"Alright, alright, settle down, and let me tell you the story of a little boy in a town called Agwe, except the town wasn't called Agwe yet, and that little boy didn't want to be a boy at all..."

And ||||||||||'s Memaw told her story of how she was born in the wrong body, "I made a deal with the Good Baron cher, and no one knows who I once was"

|||||||||| was silent for a little while. "Memaw..." |||||||||| hesitated, "I don't think I want to be a girl"

"An' you don't hafta be a one hun, when your older you can make a deal just like I did and you can give yourself a name that's actually yours, not one that your good-for-nothin' father gave you"

-------

Kremy twirled around in his red dress "Whaddado fellas!" He stumbled a little bit, he drunk a lot of alcohol. "How do I look?" He grined

"You look like a woman you just got murdered!" Gid laughed, "Ya got fake blood all over ya!"

Kremy laughed a twirled around in the mirror a bit more, and readjusted the silicone breast that was, to Gid’s credit, covered in incredibly tacky fake blood. Even now wearing a dress was just a game to him, but now it went by a different name, Drag.

Kremy made a deal with the Good Baron just like his Memaw before him, and while his life was messy and hard he was living as himself, in a name he really picked for himself.

Kremy was a man who was free.

[autisdicksimmons]

i was reading your disability post n was wondering if you could explain the height/body differences they apparently mentioned grif and simmons having in s14? icr anything about it but i live for those little details

Yes yes yes absolutely!!! So season 14 is technically only sort of canon, but in the episode Room Zero (s14, e1) we do get somewhat animated bodies! However, they’re never, you know, standing right next to each other, so height is hard to gauge in that episode. Still, here’s a still that gives body types

RT are cowards of course, so they didn’t make grif actually fat (he’s like, chubby at best here, he’s barely got a pudge between his chest plate and codpiece) but you can still see differences. Plus them appearing the same height when Simmons is further back implies a little bit of height difference (my personal headcanon puts grif at 5’7” and Simmons at 5’11”).

We also see body type difference in recent stuff with the QvsA, where they used the larger male body type for Grif and the smaller male body type to Simmons (they also feature Simmons’s prosthetics!). It’s really pretty hard to see much difference, though

And these are only the physical evidences, Grif is pretty much constantly getting shit for being fat so like, we know that he’s fat, and since Simmons does A LOT of that teasing, we can pretty much draw the conclusion that he’s at least somewhat thinner than Grif. Also, some additional notes from the Fun Facts section on the RvB wiki for QvsA:

So we know they at least have different body types, and this causes some fun issues with the surgery thing because, well, even if they were the exact same height the likelihood of having the same length of arms, legs, fingers, torsos, etc? Completely implausible. And the wording that Sarge uses is extremely particular when Grif wakes up from said surgery when talking about his hand in season 2 episode 34:

So we know that, at the very least, Grif’s entire shoulder and arm was replaced by Simmons’s. That’s scary enough when you consider the differences in bone lengths and sizes and everything, but Sarge continues his list into different parts of a cow because, well, that’s the anatomical model he’s working with. However, this can give us insight into how much of Simmons Grif has, if only vaguely. So, listed out, we have:

Shoulder (self explanatory)

“Flank” lower belly area

“Made a left turn at the spare rib” the spare rib comes from the plate, which is the area above the flank. I’m taking this to mean that less of his mid chest was replaced than on his lower stomach.

“Up and over the porterhouse” the porterhouse comes from the short loin area, so I’ll call that lower back? Approximately. So we’re likely going up and over his side and replacing parts into the back.

“Brisket” I’m going to call this the upper chest, but just think above the spare rib

“Hocks” refers to back legs/hips

This is where Sarge is interrupted by Grif asking where they got the parts, so the post isn’t necessarily exhaustive, but it definitely gives a start. A very weird one. So, this is about what our model is looking like:

I’ve used maroon to approximately mark out the places we know were replaced with Simmons’s parts based off those lines. So we now have an arm and a leg that are, at the very least WAY skinnier than the rest of his body, which is objectively horrifying to think of on a weight distribution basis (his balance would be BAD) plus the fact that those limbs would very likely not be the right length? That’s rough, and also imagine the seam lines?? Like, we joke about Simmons’s pasty ass compared to Grif but simply put? Having a different amount of fatty tissue between the skin and bone of the body parts you’re sewing together would make it. Interesting, to say the least

(Side note: I believe that, were Grif’s,,, groin,,, replaced, they would make jokes about it, hence why I don’t have that marked. Tex caused him enough testicle trauma I don’t need to add more)

I know this went WAY beyond the scope of your question but! I had too much fun with it, thank you

TLDR: Simmons and Grif are not the same size and Grif having Simmons’s parts is a recipe for disaster

[amessageonthewind]

September Selfship Prompts Challenge

7. Napping/cuddling

Pairing: Adaman/Rachel during Legends: Arceus (spoiler alert for really far along in the timeline)

Author's note: Clue and Hint are OCs that belong to my buddy @kammyclues

          The world felt like it was ending all at once. This wasn’t supposed to happen, everything was supposed to wrap up nicely once Lord Avalugg was quelled. Rachel had everything she could want, respect across Hisui, respect and admiration within Jubilife Village, and loyal Pokémon that would follow her through time and space.

          All that was missing were a number of her memories and a way to get back home to her time.

          And all at once, within the span of a morning, that was all almost ripped away from her. The sky turned red, clouded by strange abstract geometry as though reality itself were tearing at the seams, the rift having grown into an angry shatter in the sky, spitting lightning fiercely. Everyone in the village looked to her for answers, but Rachel had none.

          She had no idea how to fix this, but she couldn’t bear to see everyone so frightened and uncertain. Whatever she needed to do, whatever solution the Galaxy Team came up with to fix this, she would do. If it meant helping these people and this land be free from this curse, she would do anything.

          But she never would have expected to be made an immediate scapegoat by her own Commander. It came as such a shock that Adaman and Irida were quick to reprimand him for such a decision, but Kamado stuck to it. After all, Rachel was the outsider from the rift.

          No matter how illogical it was that she could have had anything to do with this, or that she would dare want to hurt any of these people. The betrayal she felt cut deeper than anything she had ever felt, rage building to a mounting point when in the same breath that he would banish her from the village to survive alone in the wilds, he would task her with the impossible task of solving this catastrophe, but then threaten the Diamond and Pearl Clans with war if they came to her aid.

          Though, should she really be surprised? He did warn her that he would make harsh decisions in order to protect the village. She just didn’t think it would ever come to this. For all his talk of her needing to earn everyone’s trust as an outsider through her actions, none of that mattered now.

          Especially given how quick he was to break hers.

          Her rage and betrayal could not be contained. She couldn’t hold her tongue. After all, Kamado was officially discharging her from the Galaxy Team – she didn’t take orders from him, anymore. So, she berated him for having the audacity to threaten the native people of this land with war if they helped her, berated him for choosing to make her a scapegoat because it was easier to blame the outcast than it was to admit that he didn’t know what to do about this.

          Simply put, Kamado was a fool and a coward and Rachel wanted nothing to do with him anymore, but the deep scars in her heart couldn’t be hidden. Her captain mournfully escorted her out of the village and Rachel wilted under the whispers of everyone. Everyone she had ever helped, everyone she had ever gone out of her way to assist, to help them understand Pokémon and Hisui itself, everyone she had bonded with and made a personal connection with.

          All of that might as well not happened, everyone quick to turn on her and blame her for this catastrophe that had befallen them, never mind everything she had ever done for them. Bitterness broiled in her chest as tears threatened to spill from her eyes, angry like a rushing river.

          The only comfort she could take was that neither Irida nor Adaman’s faith in her were shaken. That was more important to her than the Galaxy Team’s approval. What a twist of irony…an outcast accepted by the natives rather than the outsiders. It would be comical, if every step didn’t feel as though it were driving a dagger into her chest.

          Meekly, she asked Cyllene to let her change and gather her things before leaving, which the Captain granted. After all, she was no longer a Survey Corps member. Thus, she could no longer wear her uniform.

          But with another twist of the knife, the moment she donned the attire she had worn when she fell into this world, Rachel finally saw herself in the mirror as herself. After travelling, fighting, surveying, and slowly regaining her memories and remembering who she was, for the first time since arriving here, she finally felt…whole.

          She finally felt like herself wearing what she had arrived with, Cedric on her shoulder as he had always been. Rachel could only allow herself to shed a few tears as she made to leave the lodge.

          Hanging her head as she left her Survey Corps uniform in her old lodge, Rachel continued to let Cyllene lead her out of the village. When she saw everyone glowering at her as she was escorted to the outside gate, she wanted to shout. She wanted to scream at them, to rake them over the coals for their quickness to betray her. ‘How could you do this to me?! How could you after everything I did for you without ever asking for a thing in return?!’ She wanted to scream and shout at them.

          But she couldn’t. They were just as scared and unsure as her, and even though they were confused and didn’t know what was happening, they were still people. They were mere civilians who didn’t deserve this calamity to befall them.

          This wasn’t their fault. They were merely the sheep following the lead of their shepherd. The words ‘I’m sorry…’ were all she could manage as she was forced to leave the village.

          Outside the gates, it was clear that she was not without allies. Her heart felt empty and hollow, torn apart, but knowing that she had support lessened the sting. Though not by much, for the sting of betrayal burned much deeper than she would have ever thought possible. Rei, Captain Cyllene, and Professor Laventon all expressed their disapproval of Kamado’s decision, but could do nothing to change it.

          Rachel could hardly blame them, so she kept her bitter tongue held so tightly she was sure it would bleed. Anyone who was her ally would be branded an enemy, and the only thing worse than being alone was others getting hurt or punished simply for associating with her. She couldn’t bear the thought of inflicting this punishment on them by simple proximity.

          They didn’t deserve this any more than she did.

          Even if she didn’t have Kamado’s support, she at least had Captain Cyllene’s. That was enough for her. Even if her respect and trust in the Commander had been completely shattered, Cyllene’s remained sturdy and steadfast. Rachel held onto that like it was the only stable ground in a world of shifting tectonic plates.

          She didn’t have the first idea of how to fix this, but she had to try and she couldn’t do it alone. All she could do now was try to ask for help from the Diamond and Pearl Clans. One step at a time…just do the next right thing…

          Pulling out her Celestica Flute, Rachel paused looking at it. It was a gift from the Diamond Clan after she had earned Wyrdeer’s favour. She wasn’t good at flutes, but she put in the effort to learn how to play it so that she could be a part of Hisui’s culture, so she could connect with the sacred Pokémon that viewed her in such high regard.

          Would Wyrdeer even come when called…? There was only one way to know…

          Trying to compose herself enough to play the flute properly, its eerie timbres echoed across the fieldlands. For a moment, Rachel was worried that her worst fears would come true. That even the sacred Pokemon that had granted her their favour would abandon her now, too.

          But to her relief, the familiar white shape bounded across the fields to greet her, bowing his head in greeting. “Solemn greetings, traveler from the rift…” He said to her.

          She couldn’t contain her relief. Once again, she was outcasted by people, but accepted by Pokémon. Rachel felt like she was a weak, snivelling child, again. Reaching out, she held Wyrdeer close by the neck, burying her face into the soft fur to wipe away the tears that threatened to leak out and stain her cheeks. “It’s good to see you…” She murmured to him.

          Feeling a nudge against her cheek, Rachel glanced aside at the familiar dark-furred Zorua on her shoulder. She had learned firsthand how different the Zorua here were from her time. Their fur was white and billowing with hatred and spite, Normal-and-Ghost-Type Pokémon with yellow eyes. Their evolutions were no different, perhaps even more hateful and spiteful than their preevolutions.

          Yet somehow, Rachel had gained the favour of one called Vendetta. The idea that spite, hatred, and rage could be used in service of kindness and compassion was a foreign one that struck her curiosity, so the human allowed her to travel alongside the rest of her Pokémon. And in return, she gained the Zorua, now Zoroark’s unyielding loyalty.

          Cedric was not like that. They were reclusive and shy Dark-types that used their Illusions to avoid people, so protect themselves. They were prone to mischief, but nothing more.

          And yet, people still distrusted them. Still outcasted them. Still misunderstood them.

          In this way, she and Cedric were one and the same. They understood each other in a way no one else did or could. They were each other’s constant friend, never one without the other.

          And now, she clung to him like he was her lifeline. He was the only connection she still had to her own world, and he had been her constant friend since the beginning. She wouldn’t have come this far without him.

          With him by her side, Rachel would be alright. She just had to press onward. “Let’s go. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover and not a lot of time to waste…”

          Mounting Wyrdeer with Cedric firmly in her lap, Rachel’s eyes still burned with tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. She couldn’t stand to be here any longer, simply wanting to move on so she could have a moment of privacy and peace to herself to just…sit and feel without observers. She felt comfortable being vulnerable with her Pokémon in a way she simply couldn’t with most people, especially not right now.

          The sound of one of her Pokémon emerging from its ball triggered a heavy sigh from its trainer and Rachel turned to see that Stormfast, her Samurott, was standing before the professor. “Stormfast, come on. We have to go.”

          But she didn’t move, Professor Laventon staring nervously at the creature. Then, she did something none of them expected. She leaned forward and pressed her black shell helmet against his face, bellowing lowly. None of them could understand them, but Rachel understood what she had said perfectly.

          She could no longer contain her tears, letting them fall from her eyes as she watched Stormfast express her gratitude towards the man who had allowed the two of them to meet, Pokémon and trainer. “What’s…what’s-?”

          “She said…” Rachel blubbered, wiping her eyes as she struggled not to break into a sob, the words being caught in her throat. “‘Thank you for finding me and bringing me here.’”

          Laventon already knew about her ability to understand Pokémon since the day they’d met. He’d kept his promise he made to Rachel to keep her secret, so he was both shocked for her to reveal her secret to Rei and Cyllene this way, and warmed by the sentiment expressed by the Pokémon he had given to Rachel.

          He was a scientist, first and foremost, but he never considered that the Pokémon that helped him with his research would have any sentimental attachment to him. It touched his heart in a deeply profound way he never thought possible.

          Rei and Cyllene did not know this because Laventon had kept his promise. Her trust in the professor could never be broken, he had remained kind and faithful in her since day one, the first to advocate for her and the first to support her. It was clear now that his support didn’t waver.

          He was a true friend in the Galaxy Team.

          Rei seemed utterly shocked, but Cyllene, ever perceptive, did not. The fact that she suspected that Rachel’s connection to Pokémon was stronger than she let on, but didn’t say anything about it and continued to support her proved that her trust in the Captain was not misplaced.

          Exchanging a look with each of them, Rachel recalled Stormfast to her Pokéball and looked ahead towards the fieldlands. It was impossible to tell whether it was still morning or not with the angry crimson sky above them, which only made time more of the essence. “Come on…let’s go.” She ordered Wyrdeer as they left the Fieldlands Camp. She glanced back once more before she turned her eyes to the road ahead.

          Grandtree Arena. That was where they had to go first, to see Lian about if they could get aid from the Pearl Clan. “We’re really on our own this time, aren’t we…?” She said to Cedric as they continued to trek through the fieldlands.

          Looking up at Rachel, Cedric pressed his head into her arm as he curled up on her lap. “Maybe…but at least we’re all together.” He said to her once they were out of earshot of the others. It may have been safe for Rachel to reveal her secret, but not for Cedric to reveal his. Especially with how Zorua from Hisui were already seen and regarded as monsters. “And believe me, I’m not going anywhere. I followed you through time and space and I’ll do it a hundred times over.

          “We started this together, and that’s how we’ll finish it.” His bright blue eyes swirled at her as they sat there together, letting Wyrdeer lead them across the fieldlands. “I promise.”

          She could have teleported to the arena with her Arc Phone, but there was a deep seeded anger in her chest so great that she didn’t even want to bring herself so low to beseech almighty Sinnoh for assistance. Her anger at the deity who brought her to this world, only to have her be forsaken by it was incomparable.

          No, she would not seek a god’s help. He would remain ever silent anyways, ignoring her pleas and cries for answers. Nothing could be gained through prayers but empty air and broken promises.

          But she also needed a moment to just let herself cry. All of the anger, stress, betrayal, everything came out of her eyes and she crumpled on Wyrdeer’s saddle, holding Cedric close to her chest while she cried. How could this happen? How could Kamado do this to her, after everything she did? How could the people of the village forget everything she had done for them and turn their backs on her?

          How could they? How could they?! She trusted them with her life, and they betrayed her when they needed an easy answer to ease their fears!

          None of these questions would go answered, not by mortal nor god. So, all there was left to do was wail and cry for the injustices she was dealt. All she could do was hope that the Diamond and Pearl Clans would be able to help her, would be able to lend her their aid so that she didn’t have to face this impossible task alone.

          Unfortunately, she was wrong. Lian initially blamed her for the rift, but calmed after she asked for his help. Alas, he couldn’t offer her help. How could he? Everyone was in a panic and he was just a boy and Kamado had threatened the Pearl and Diamond Clans if they interfered.

          How could she ask Lian to risk his safety for her sake? He was just a boy.

          Though her hopes to receive help from the Pearl Clan were dashed, her hopes with the Diamond Clan unfortunately were as well. Though Mai was not antagonistic like Lian was initially, she still could not offer aid to Rachel and she was unfortunately right that the last thing Rachel wanted was for the Diamond Clan to go to war with the Galaxy Team.

          She didn’t want anyone getting hurt because of her. She didn’t want to hurt anyone! How could Kamado think that she did this?! How could he ever think that she would ever want to hurt any of these people that she risked her life for time and time again?!

          Regretfully, she had exhausted all of her options. She was homeless, alone, and listless. She had no idea how to fix any of this and no one here could help her.

          Even on Wyrdeer’s backside, she no longer had the strength to go on. Stopping the Pokemon by the river, she dismounted clumsily, staggering on her feet. Even Cedric couldn’t stay on her shoulder with how unsteadily she was walking. This wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair! She felt excruciating pain in her stomach and in her chest, but at the same time she felt so numb.

          She trembled as she walked. What could she do? How could she fix this? Why was it her responsibility to fix this? Why did it have to come down to her?! She didn’t do this! This wasn’t her fault!

          Why was she being punished for a crime she didn’t commit with no evidence?! Why did the burden of proof have to fall on her when she wasn’t the one who made the accusation?!

          A beeping sound called out to her from her pocket. That accursed phone…her lips curled into a snarl as she clawed it out of her satchel like prey being pulled out of a burrow, holding her catch in her hand so tightly she was surprised she hadn’t broken it.

          Not a word of comfort, not a directive for how to proceed, not an answer for how to fix this.

          Just silence. An empty map with nothing in it worth investigating.

          “Is this what you want, almighty Sinnoh…?” She snarled lowly with enough venom to put down an alpha Hippowdon, practically spitting it with such vitriol that the deity’s name would be coated in it. “You want me to beg? You want me to beg for your help? You want me to beg you to help me? Well, I won’t! I will never beg for help from a god as cruel as you! You want me to suffer?! Fine! You got what you wanted, now leave me the FUCK alone!”

          Winding up her arm, she wanted to throw the damn thing into the river, free herself from Sinnoh’s curse and flee. If she could, she would burn down the heavens right now for the cruelty that fate had shown her in one morning. Or was it afternoon? Was it nightfall? No, the Drifloon hadn’t come out, yet.

          Gripping the Arc Phone tightly, angry tears pouring out of her eyes like the hot lava that spilled out of the volcano on Firespit Island, Rachel growled with the pain of a thousand wounds before she threw it to the side. Even if she destroyed it by throwing it in the river, she would not be free from this. Arc Phone or not, Sinnoh’s help or not, she was trapped here. She had no family to turn to, no friends to rely on.

          Her only company was her Pokémon, and they counted on her to know what to do, and she was so lost.

          Lost, alone, and stranded in a world she didn’t belong in where nothing was familiar. The despair began to claw at her very, like it was going to skin her and then empty out her insides and leave her a hollow husk. She was never going to see her family again…was she? She would never see her friends again, she would never see Clue again, and she would never see Cynthia again.

          She would never see Zinnia again.

          The words she had spoken to her at the top of Sky Pillar, once a source of melancholic nostalgia burned like hot iron against her cheeks as she raised her head to the sky. Zinnia, Rachel’s beloved, looked up to the sky so that her tears wouldn’t fall when she was so grief-stricken that her heart felt like it was going to break.

          Rachel couldn’t even take comfort in the words of the woman she loved. Because when she looked up at the blazing scarlet sky, her tears practically scalded her face as she cried. No amount of staring up at the sky could stop her heart from shattering into a million pieces.

          It was over…she lost. She did everything right…and she lost everything.

          From the depths of her chest and her upturned churning belly, a raw scream ripped itself free from the woman’s throat, pure unfiltered anguish echoing loudly across the fieldlands so sharp and so painful that the Pokémon turned tail and ran at the sound of it.

          Heartbreak was never so loud.

          It was so loud that it echoed across the fieldlands all the way to Adaman and Irida. They were about to part ways after informing Lian and Mai of the situation with Kamado and the Galaxy team when they heard it, louder than anything he had ever heard despite it being so far away. It was the most painful sound he had ever heard.

          The sound of a heart breaking.

          He remembered what Rachel had said to him when he expressed a moment of doubt in his leadership in the Crimson Mirelands, when she helped him find Arezu after she had gotten injured. ‘The mark of a good leader is one who does what’s right no matter the risk.’

          Glancing aside at Irida after they heard the unmistakable sound of Rachel’s raw pain and anguish, he knew that they had the same thought. She had impacted both of their lives in a way that brought change to their very ways of life, of seeing the world, of leading their peoples. She remembered the exchange she had with the woman after Lord Arcanine had been quelled and she expressed doubt in her contributions. ‘A strong leader does what she thinks she should do, not what others expect her to do. She does what she thinks is right, not without council, but without the pressure of expectations.’

          They knew she was right on both accounts. Irida could feel how wrong Kamado’s decision as leader was standing in that room while he accused Rachel of being responsible for frenzying the nobles and cursing the world with this crimson sky. And Adaman couldn’t stand hearing Kamado blame her for something that clearly wasn’t her fault and not bothering to lift a finger to help her with the impossible task he saddled her with.

          No. They both knew what the right thing to do was. “We can’t just sit idly by, can we?” Irida said, speaking the shared thought out loud.

          “For once, we agree.” Adaman said, affirming their resolve as they looked off into the distance of the fieldlands.

          Barely a moment of silence passed between the two clan leaders before Irida spoke once more. “Then what are we waiting for? We have to help her, and there’s no time to lose.”

          Raising an eyebrow, he was surprised to hear her say that. He couldn’t help but laugh a little, warmed that she was extending the branch to him by speaking to him in his language. “And we’ve got a lot of space to cover, so let’s go find her.”

          Where they found her was a painful sight. She was surrounded by all of her Pokémon, clutching Cedric tightly as she sobbed. Even Wyrdeer was offering her his comfort, lying beside her and her Pokémon while she wept. That was the one comfort that could possibly be had.

          When you had a bond with Pokémon, you were never truly alone.

          Irida and Adaman spotted Volo approaching her and before they could approach, their own Pokémon stopped them. Leafeon and Glaceon forbid their respective clan leaders from going forward, imploring them to wait and observe instead.

          Adaman didn’t want to just wait, but Irida thought it would be best to. After all, they didn’t want to scare Volo away or overwhelm Rachel. They needed to take a moment to be cautious.

          The Ginkgo Guild merchant was as plucky as always, interrupting Rachel in the middle of her darkest hour. Oddly enough, the lack of change in his attitude was a comfort. The odd man was the most normal thing for her right now, so she clung to that normalcy like driftwood in a storm at sea. Though he was rather odd, his passion for history and ruins reminded her so much of Cynthia.

          It was very easy for her to see him as a big brother. It was likely that they were related, somehow. He and Cynthia did bear a striking resemblance.

          Volo was the only familiarity that hadn’t been soured by the pain of being outcasted and left to fend for herself, so naturally, she let him lead her. If he had a place for her to stay and shelter, she had to take it. If there was no home for her among the Diamond or Pearl Clans, she needed to find somewhere and she couldn’t afford to be picky about it.

          Accepting his offer to give her somewhere to go, Rachel recalled all her Pokémon and took Volo astride Wyrdeer, prompting him to lead the way.

          “Where is he taking her?” Adaman grumbled from their hiding place.

          Irida shook her head. She had intimate knowledge of the vast expanse of Hisui, but she had no idea where Volo could be taking Rachel. “I’m not sure.”

          That wasn’t a good enough answer for the Diamond Clan leader. And if they wanted to know, they needed to act now. “There’s only one way to find out.”

          Agreeing, the Pearl Clan leader pulled out her Celestica Flute. “Since we can’t summon Wyrdeer, who should we summon?”

          “Braviary.” Adaman decided immediately. “It’ll be the best way to keep up with them without lagging too far behind.”

          Quivering a little bit, Irida shuddered. “We have to fly?”

          “Do you want to help Rachel or not?” Adaman asked Irida.

          “Of course I do! Just…give me a moment, will you?”

          It was a bit odd that they had to travel so far. They had to travel across the Obsidian Fieldlands and the Crimson Mirelands to get to where Volo was leading them. Once they crossed it and approached the small clearing, Rachel spotted a tent similar to the ones in the Diamond and Pearl Clan Settlements. Only one person lived here. Was this where Volo lived?

          Adaman and Irida were equally as dumbfounded when they followed them on Braviary. Adaman rode on the bird Pokémon’s backside while Irida took the gliding sling he was carrying. Her eyes were sharper than Adaman’s, so he trusted her sight better than his. How come they had never seen this retreat, before?

          Regardless, they approached.

          Which was how Adaman ended up here, on Wyrdeer’s backside with Rachel in front of him. Instinctively, the Diamond Clan leader had his arm around the woman’s waist while she drove Wyrdeer. They were on their way to Lake Valour, the first of three due to its close proximity to the Ancient Retreat, but for some reason despite time being of the essence, Rachel was taking her time getting there on Wyrdeer’s back.

          And he knew her well enough to know that she had her reasons for everything she did, even if her reason was as simple as ‘it’s fun and it makes me happy.’

          “Is there a reason you’ve decided on Wyrdeer to chaperone us to the lakes rather than Braviary?” He decided to ask, wanting to at least try to help ease her worries or take her mind off things.

          There was a lot going on in her mind. So much Rachel couldn’t properly express. But mostly, she was just exhausted and tired. She had no idea if a day had passed, but she felt like she hadn’t slept in multiple days. Simply put, she was running on fumes and struggling to continue her quest. She wasn’t even doing this for Kamado, really.

          She was doing it for the same reason she did everything she had thus far. It needed to be done, so it would be.

          Rachel was just glad she finally had a way forward. Miss Cogita was very kind to let her and her Pokémon shelter at her retreat for the time being, and her depth and wealth of knowledge she provided at least gave her some answers. She, like Volo, was incredibly familiar and in her own way, reminded her of Cynthia. Her calm coolness and the way she held herself reminded her so much of her sister, though perhaps an older visage of her.

At the very least, Miss Cogita gave her a lead to follow to fix this crimson sky and that angry crack in reality.

          But there was a catch. The only way to fix this was to close the rift, and that rift was her only way home. Which meant…her time in Hisui was quickly coming to a close. She would finally be able to go back, reunite with her friends, her family, with Zinnia again.

          She would finally be back where she belonged. All she needed to do was face each Pokémon at each lake in order to craft the Red Chain in order to bind the world at the Shrouded Ruins, and then she could go home. It didn’t make much sense, but it was the only lead she had and it was as good as any at this point.

          So, she had to take it.

          Yet, with Adaman at her side throughout this quest, a heavy feeling sat thickly in her stomach. By going home, it meant saying goodbye to him. Him and everyone she had ever grown to care about in this region. Adaman, Irida, and the various members of the Diamond and Pearl Clans.

          Volo, Hint, and Ingo. A sharp needle of guilt wedged itself into her chest. If she was going home, she needed to find a way to get him home to where he belonged, too. He had just as much a need to go through that rift before it closed as she did.

          Rachel couldn’t leave him stranded here. She just couldn’t.

          But her trepidations at saying goodbye to the allies and friends she’d made here left her unwilling to rush to Lake Valour. Maybe that was why she was taking her time…she wanted to savour whatever was left of it. “I have every reason.” She said, unable to mask the exhaustion in her voice with even a shred of playfulness she was so used to speaking to Adaman with. “If the world has a chance of ending and I have to go home before I save it, I want to spend as much time as I can with the people that matter most to me before I go.”

          That reason made his breath waver as he held her. He had grown used to the way his heart lurched and fluttered when it was around her, but never did it do as such so strongly as when Irida and Adaman finally made their entrance into the Ancient Retreat to meet Rachel there. Knowing where Rachel was, Adaman took the opportunity to reassure his people that all was handled and Irida did the same, passing a message on to the rest of the wardens at their respective nobles’ seats.

          His responsibility as leader didn’t change because he had another responsibility to take.

          But all thoughts of he and Irida’s plans to help her were completely forgotten once their eyes met. Though her eyes were still raw and red from all the crying and anguish she had been suffering, she couldn’t stop herself from breaking into another set of tears as she practically ran forward into the two clan leaders, stumbling before them and collapsing onto the ground before she could reach them.

          Not even a thought crossed their minds before Adaman and Irida both moved to envelop the poor woman in their embrace, Irida holding her from behind and Adaman letting Rachel cling to his chest by his haori. He held her tightly as she sobbed into his chest, blubbering apologies and admitting to her fears as he simply held her, letting her unload. It was one thing to cry alone, but another to cry to another.

          She needed this, and he was glad to be a beacon of safety for her. He and Irida both. She had grown incredibly dear to the both of them, so they both had to do everything they could to help her overcome this grievous injustice dealt to her and help her put the world right, again.

          While both the Pearl and Diamond Clans couldn’t openly help Rachel, they could still both do something to help. So, he left that choice up to her. She decided that Irida’s cautious and careful leadership style would be best suited to help Commander Kamado see reason, while Adaman’s direct and efficient leadership style would be best suited to help Rachel with her task of crafting the Red Chain.

          So, here he was, holding onto Rachel like she was the last person alive in the whole world. “Is that why you wanted me to come with you instead of just meeting me at the lake?”

          Rachel nodded, barely moving as she kept her eyes on the path ahead. Her eyelids felt like lead, straining against exhaustion and her eyes hurting from the harshness of the bleeding sky. “I don’t know what’s going to happen once we craft the Red Chain…I don’t know what it means to ‘Bind the World,’ and I don’t know if this will even work…” She paused, struggling to think of how best to say what she was feeling under the pressure of how tired she was. “But regardless of what happens…I know that I want to spend as much time as I can with you…there may not be much of it left from here on out…”

          Adaman was quiet. Though he shared the sentiment deeply, he didn’t want to think in such a catastrophic way. They would succeed. They would do this. If anyone could, it was Rachel.

          But not if she could barely stay sitting up straight. He could feel her teetering on Wyrdeer’s saddle. “You should try and rest. We have plenty of time before we reach Lake Valour.” Adaman said gently to her, resting his chin on her head. “And if you want, you can rest in the Diamond Settlement. I’ll make sure no one interrupts you.”

          Though she knew he was right about how tired she was, Rachel shook her head. They couldn’t afford to stop. They had to keep going. “We can’t afford to stop.”

          “Then at least rest here. You need it.” Adaman insisted, holding her even tighter against him.

          When her eyelids fluttered closed for a moment and she had to snap them open, she knew there was no longer any fighting with the Diamond Clan leader. He was right, and that was that. “Alright…” She relented, nudging the dark-furred Zorua in her lap. “Hey, Cedric? Can you drive the rest of the way to the lake? I can barely keep my eyes open…”

          Sitting up, he nodded. “Go ahead and take five.” He said in his Pokemon tongue so as to not startle Adaman with his human speech. “It’s night and he’s right. You need to rest after spending so much energy today.”

          She sighed, already instinctively leaning backward against the man. “It’s hard to tell what time of day it is with this damn sky…” Rachel murmured as she got comfortable.

          Cedric quickly hopped up on Wyrdeer’s head, keeping watch as they navigated through the mirelands towards the lake. As he let her shimmy, Adaman tried to hold and cradle her in a way that would let her properly rest as she slept in his arms. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall off.”

          Chuckling weakly, she nestled her head into the crook of his arm, already being soothed and lulled to sleep by his warmth and the comfort of his soft clothes. His comforting scent did much to relax her, the scent of earth and wildgrass from the mirelands he thrived in.

          Even just being near Adaman, she had an easier time trying to sleep than she did any of the nights she spent in her lodge in Jubilife Village. Here, she knew she was safe. Here, she knew she wouldn’t be judged harshly. Here, her acceptance wasn’t conditional.

          Adaman cared about her no matter where she came from or who she was. She helped him and his clan, sure, but that was simply how they met and got to know each other. She didn’t have to pretend around him. She didn’t have to hide from him.

          She was completely safe with him. “You know what’s funny?” Rachel murmured as she let her eyelids fall closed in his arms.

          “Mm?” He hummed, glancing down at her to make sure she wouldn’t fall off of Wyrdeer. He melted when he looked at her. She already looked so peaceful, like she hadn’t had a good sleep in weeks. He didn’t like the thought that that could be true. Every time he arrived to be briefed by Kamado about a new noble that needed quelling, she always complained about having a rough sleep.

          Shifting once more to get even more comfortable, Rachel reached out to hold his right hand in hers, keeping it close to her chest as though she were holding onto a stuffed toy like a child. “I already feel like…I can sleep easier…knowing you’ll be there when I wake up…” She muttered, pressing the back of his hand to her face.

          Breathing evenly in an attempt to calm the rapid beating of his heart, he held her hand, softly rubbing his thumb along her knuckles. It wasn’t right what the Galaxy Team did. She didn’t deserve this.

          But he’d make this right. He’d do whatever it took to right this wrong and bring justice. They would fix this.

          Together.

[nerosdayinanime]

reminiscing about a life left behind

this is after the reunion at the bar, when Giyuu left Makomo tried to talk to him & figure out why he faked his death (then came back??) and left pretty soon after when he not so subtly brushed off her questions and vaguely apologized for disrupting things. Tengen & Kyojuro got extremely worried about him immediately ordering as many drinks he could at a time and being his usual happy-go-lucky self after Giyuu- the quietest and least confrontational person in the whole office -sent him to the floor in a fit of cold rage. They watched (and joined, though not to the same extent) as he got absolutely wasted, his suddenly saccharine attitude showing off just how much of his personality is just a performance.

Between the revelation that hes a demon slayer- a hashira just like them -and finally noticing the seam in his otherwise perfect mask, the both of them figure he's just as fucked up as they are from their job. Tengen has his own guise of extravagance, Kyojuro always being loud and proud to hide his insecurities- but Sabito was subtle about it. He was happy and playful, but not too much so like Kyojuro was- he also became a master of diverting attention from himself, they didn't know much about his personal life or hobbies- or anything outside of when they hung out or stopped by the little grocery store he worked at. Didn't know his favorite color, what genre of music he liked, what his favorite movie was- didn't know if he's ever had a partner or other friends, nothing about his school life or parents or if he had any siblings- nothing! He was a ghost of a person, like he merely popped into existence when they met him. That's probably not too far off- they didn't meet Sabito that day, they met his empty smile. Without ever realizing there was nothing behind it.

Thoroughly disconcerted by the realization and very worried about Sabito chugging alcohol like he had nothing left to live for while laughing like there was nothing wrong, they kept a close eye on him. When he starts getting quiet they force him to stop drinking and drag him back to his apartment and stay the night crashed on the couch & floor. In the morning Sabito was fucked. Absolute shit time. Had a vague feeling he shouldn't think about anything so he didn't, just fucked around with a worried Tengen & Kyojuro until they left. Continued not thinking about anything, did a bunch of chores and errands so he didn't have to think about Giyuu. Even fixed a neighbor's ac unit with the help of a youtube tutorial. As soon as the sun started setting he donned his slayer uniform and ignored painful sting in his heart at the sight of his old fox mask hanging on the wall, settling his face into the same empty smile as the default slayer mask he uses now. That night he was a beast- merciless and scathing strikes, chasing down terrified demons like he had a score to settle. Completely ignored other slayers he ran into, simply pushing past them dealing the kill and moving on.

This little routine continued for a few days- overworking himself desperately trying to keep out of his head, deflecting and straight up ignoring Tengen & Kyojuro asking about how he's doing, fleeing any of the other hashira or water-fox squad trying to ask about him and what all he's been doing the last several years, pissing off lower-level slayers he steals kills from. He works until he passes out from exhaustion, getting up and doing all it again when he wakes. A few weeks later and it catches up to him despite his attempts at running.

Giyuu hates him.

Rightfully so, he left him to burn like a coward and a fool. And did what with his time? Do nothing but make more mistakes? How many people hes lied to and let down? He's done nothing but run.

He knew it'd happen. As soon as he stopped moving he would never want to start again, as soon as he stopped running, as soon as he tripped- as soon as he hit the ground he'd never want to get up again. Years of grief stress and denial hit him all at once, he doesn't know what to do. Walls too high to see over, too deep to dig under, too thick to simply power through. No one on the other side who really needs him anyway.

Why does he even bother?

He stares at his fox mask. Hand crafted by the man he thought of as a father, who took him in and taught him to defend himself and protect others. Real good job he did of that. All he's done since he started running was hurt hurt hurt. The people he cared about and respected the most- abandoned. Everyone else left in the dust like they were nothing.

What fucking good..

...

He thinks of the better days. When he was a son, helping his mom water the plants so they'd bloom bright and vivid. When he was a brother, helping his little sister reach the top shelf for candy. When he was a student, fueled by his grief and anger with a promise not to let anyone else lose as much as he had. When he was a friend, pulling Giyuu out to see a meteor shower in their favorite clearing. When he was a boyfriend, feeding popcorn to Giyuu laying across his legs watching a movie together. ...He threw that all away and for what? So he wouldn't have to face his failures? How fucking pathetic.

He'd never have any of that again. Burned his bridges, destroyed the foundations, turned the ground to shifting sand. His head thunked against the wall behind him, why did he have to fuck everything up?

[cosmically-alive]

i hold this video dear in my heart for very different reasons than i used to. i used to hold it dear to my heart because it was one of few times i felt that the person i loved had admired me. now i love it because im seeing myself through those eyes, full of admiration for myself, full of bittersweetness at how much i miss her... her who saw the world full of beauty and hope and saw the best in people, but also full of pride for the person ive become, how ive persevered through so much and still manage to hold on to an inkling of her, of who i used to be.

how although ive had to put my pieces back into place, and how i can tell i'll never have her again, i'll never BE her again, i have finally started to feel some of her with me, buried, but she's in there and she sends me little pangs of hope and sweetness and laughter. and she soothes me when im angry and bitter and hurt and feel broken and want to tear at the seams..soothes me when i want him to hurt how he did me. she reminds me to love people, to romanticize my life, because thats always been part of me and no one can take it away from me.

i realize now i've been fighting the most for her... to bring HER back.. the nights ive cried and told my therapist i want to be happy again, the time ive spent feeling like something is out of place has all been because i lost her, no, because she was taken from me, stripped. i raised my younger cousin telling her made up fantasy stories that we would then play pretend of. we'd be princesses, warriors, fairies, villains... the patio of my grandparents house would burst with color and breeze and otherworldliness. in summers when i'd spend time at my family's beach apartment with my parents i would swim in the pool by myself and pretend, genuinely imagine, a sea of mermaids and talking sea animals, the world was bright, playful, warm

and the more i grew the more i felt i had to leave this behind, to tether myself to a reality of grey... the same sinking feeling that convinced me when i was with the person who was bringing me down most that that's normal, that that grey and sinking feeling is part of adulthood

i watch that video and it warms my heart to see her, to know that at least in that moment she felt happy, and loved, and admired. i want that for her again. i want that for me too. i may be more prickly, less trusting, hurt, bitter, angry at the world but i, we, deserve happiness regardless. she's with me and always will be. and although i wont be what she was anymore, she taught me so much love and understanding and beauty... she taught me to live my life because its the one chance i get to be cosmically alive. she taught me to see a world beyond the one i live in, to imagine, to escape. she taught me to love and to do so unconditionally, with a huge cowarding fear of rejection and abandonment, but nevertheless unconditionally. she taught me to smile, and to be loud... as if being quiet would make the cosmos forget her existence. she taught me to laugh and to hurt when my presence bothered others because she only wanted joy for those around her even when she didn't know how to bring it

and i will fight for her. i will fight for the pieces of her that no one was able to take from me, that are still here with me. by god im gonna fight for her if its the last thing i do. and with my newfound prickliness and lack of trust, with my newfound anger and fire and frustrations, i will protect her. and maybe one day both our wounds will heal enough to meld us back together again. maybe one day i'll fully feel her again, here with me. till then. i'll fight

[cleliacleliadatura]

The importance of closure....

Whether its the death of a loved one or a relationship, closure is something the psyche needs to heal and usually at the most painful junctions in life where loss occurs, this elusive concept rarely is gifted to the person or people needing it most.

It can be emotionally painful to experience the abrupt sudden loss of a person or situation in your life with little to no explanation. Just a random act of violence from the laws of time, nature and entropy.

In some societies and cultures, people mourn and grieve for the death of someone for two weeks. Here in America, they throw a big party, get drunk and carry on, even if they're falling apart at the seams on the inside.

There's no guidance it seems, no community feel. Maybe an insular family one, but in general, once the casseroles stop pouring in, if that-you're pretty much on your own.

As far as relationships, most people have a nuanced way of saying "get over it".

I find that in life, what you put out always comes back to you, and sometimes its learned from the way someone treated you. It could stem back from as far as 8th grade, being rejected by someone who played you for a fool, a placeholder til' their sweetheart returned, setting up a lifetime of untrustworthy relationships showing up.

The worst is when someone shows up in your life, asks you to dance with them, takes you to the movies, wants to keep in touch every second of the day, says they want to marry you and tells you they love you, invites you to their parent's house and tells you all sorts of intoxicating lies about your future together only to suddenly disappear.

Then cite more than just creative differences as the reason... literal actual philosophical and idealogoical approaches to life.

"Youre not bubbly enough", to start.

Maybe I'm not fucking bubbly because I don't have the energy left in my countenance, and haven't for a long time (at least not artifically) to make you feel energized when so much has been drained from me, so much ineffability. Maybe I'm not bubbly because I keep meeting assholes like you who only reflect in me the pain of the person before, and I would honestly rather spend a lifetime alone than ever put up with the bullshit of someone's lies ever again.

That's what closure does and doesn't do for people, and its easier to talk about relationships than death. At least with relationships you know the pain was just internal.

I hope whoever reads this understands that toying with people's emotions is not okay, pretending to love someone is not okay, hoovering people in then discarding them is not okay. If you've been a recipient of this kind of behavior, I hope you don't perpetuate it, it can be tempting to become a callous person once you've been treated callously and with little to no respect, including being cheated on with no warning. There comes a time when someone has to tell themselves enough is enough, I choose me, without taking it out on others in the form of passive aggressiveness, self-pity and vindictiveness.

Lying to people is the worst, just be open and frank. It can spare a lot of heartache.

It is okay to not be interested, just don't keep pretending you are to gain something from someone, usually an ego boost.

A true sign of a coward, in my honest opinion, is someone who does this to someone else without having the gumption to face up to it in the form of a formal apology and goodbye, that is more than just a one-lined text message or hang up. If you spent hours knowing someone, listening to their issues, being their friend, loving them for who they are, and then they just abruptly cut you out with hardly an explanation, it is more than just ghosting.

It is a form of narcissistic abuse, in my opinion.

It is possible to set boundaries without engaging in passive aggressive forms of the silent treatment, including the permanent kind.

went for a walk yesterday...

[nervousbiscuitalienmug]

I haven't been on this on this account for years, I didn't think I would need a reason too. I made this account for when things get too much because I can't talk to anyone else around me and it seams safer to talk to an obese of random people who can easily swap passed me then to try and talk to anyone of worth over here.

I made this account after I tried to you know, and I was a coward. I can see that now, years later. I knew it then but I'd be damned if I admitted that it wasn't an accident.

I never felt the need to come back here. I tried so hard to distance myself from this but here I am again. Relapsing. They say you need an addiction to relapse on something. I don't think so. I think that if you willing to clutch onto something hard enough, to live, breath, and all using it as a living clutch, to the point it carried the very beating heart in your chest then it could be considered a relapse. Not all addictions are bad. I used this as a way to avoid the very thing I tried. and now I'm here again because I found myself asking that very, numbing question.

"Why am I still here?"

I can't answer that. I can. But I don't want to.

I know why I'm here. Because I know no one else will be here for him. my bro, little and small in my arms who now stands taller then me with a. dorky smile who never seams to face their wrath as hard as I do. A boy who cry when the oven stove flame licks at his skin because he's never felt anything worse while I smile and coo over him while standing in a room of fire, purgatory would smile in my agony because it was never enough. it never stopped them from throwing on more fuel to ensure the 'eternal' stayed true.

I think it got bad again because for the first time last year I left home. It as temporary I knew that. but I left, I hated every moment but I did it. And I'm proud of that. But then I got a fresh breath and, what fro you do when you realise you weren't the problem?

What do you do when you finally get a moment of life realising your free, to breath, walk, and do whatever you want without someone hovering over your shoulder dictating your life.

It got worse because I realised having returned home that I was no longer used to it. I got that taste of freedom and came back and realised, I hated being away but I hated this so much more.

So I guess the question really is.

Why am I still here?

[illumiiiz]

opinions I have about various music-related things. if you wanna discuss/dispute any of these please hmu (I need music friends)

skillet is not bad. their discography as a collective might not be that good, but they’re definitely not bad. go listen to psycho in my head, monster, rise, sick of it, cycle down, victorious, and save me and I dare you to come back and tell me with complete sincerity and a straight face that they suck

whoever says skillet is bad even after doing this is just a fundamentally unhappy person. and I will pray for you

nickelback is also not that bad. in fact I would venture to say nickelback kind of fucks

same for maroon 5

as a follow up to the last point, you could get white girl wasted to moves like jagger, maps, one more night, or wake up call but some people are just cowards

if you’re wearing a band shirt you SHOULD be able to name at least three songs or one album by that band

if you see someone wearing a shirt for a band you also like you should not ever ask them to name any number of songs to prove their allegiance to the band or whatever. if you’re gonna talk to them at all, you should ask what their favorite song by that band is, and then share your own. you have now made an acquaintance and opened the floor for friendly conversation. otherwise leave them alone

my chemical romance should do a cover of two songs: sister golden hair by america and unbelievable by emf. after that they should drop mcr5

when mcr covers unbelievable, they should make a music video parody of the after credit scene from barbie & the three musketeers. this is exponentially more important than the sister golden hair cover

if you say you dislike a genre (country, rap, edm, etc) you should be required to name every song and artist you’ve listened to from that genre that you disliked, and should magically be given an equal number of recommendations of songs or artists from that same genre with a different vibe that you might like better by your personal genie.

if you always skip the intro and outro songs of the shows/animes you watch no matter what, I diagnose you with unfun show watcher disease. and I will pray for you

you should at LEAST watch through the intro and outro songs of a show once per season or whenever there is a new intro/outro song. this is like “seasoning” your meal exclusively with salt and pepper and is the absolute bare minimum

people who make good character playlists are the backbone of our society

if you don’t like an artist as a person you can still like what they create. you can also like something without knowing anything about the creator as a human being, even if you avoid this knowledge on purpose. go on, be free

if you exclusively listen to soundtrack/music without any lyrics at all, I am a little bit afraid of you. do you even have voices in your head? or do you just have so many you can’t stand to listen to any more even in music?

there is no such thing as having “basic” taste in music

everyone has heard a fall out boy song

I once told a coworker from my old job I was going to their concert and she was like “oh I’ve never heard of them, have fun tho!!” and this other (older) coworker and I were both like whaaat everyone’s heard a fall out boy song before, you probably just don’t know them by name. and she was like “mmm no I’m pretty sure I haven’t tho, sorry.” miss ma’am. you’re 27, you’ve heard of fall out boy. not an opinion just something I thought was funny

songs about love and sex and murder are cool but people need to start making songs about weird little dudes they made up in their heads named things like grimpus nimbbee that live in acorn houses and do things like take all your doors off their hinges and take random seams out of your clothes while you’re asleep

— to be continued indefinitely as I think of more

[inun4ki]

"I can see you struggling. Take your time. I'm listening." //Yanna

for muses who can't open up

They'd been sitting on a park bench for what'd felt like hours - talking, as if anything Kaede'd had to say had mattered. Maybe it was merely Yanna's nature to listen, to participate, to sit beside him and know something was wrong - she was good like that, maybe better than he deserved. Makeshift family, the closest thing he had to a grandmother that might've loved him once, found by chance circumstance long after the damage had been done and the dust had settled. There would be no repairing what's broken, burying the truth, ignoring the pain, pretending, hiding, sneaking, lying--

He owed her an explanation, he owed her something. Surely, Yanna could only take so much of his reckless abandon in combat, his incessant and inevitable self-mutilation as necessary and extra curricularly, his occasional blackouts and failing memory, crude and vulgar malcontent, flashbacks, anxiety--

What would she think of him, if he told her...? Would she still fight alongside him? Would she trust him to protect her as she protects him? Or would her opinion of him change, morph from the almost-tender and pleasant into paranoia, judgment, and uncomfortable tension that crackles and burns? Would she think him weak and foolish, clawing at himself to distract himself from his responsibilities and the pain he'd caused? Would she think him a coward...? Fingertips nervously tugged through long violet strands, catching on too many tangles at a time - he yanked his fingers through. Again, and again, silently drifting further and further into the agonizing cess pool poisoning his mind. He didn't want her to point all the same fingers at him as Kurai - he didn't want her to think he'd have been better off dead, too, that everything would be fine and everyone would still be alive if he'd never taken his first breath. He didn't want her to see his shame, his inaction, his cowardice. He didn't want her as the frightened and inept child he really was. He couldn't bear it. The idea of it alone caused his chest to tighten, his throat to sorely close, his body already screaming in its preparation to run.

But he owed her. He owed her something.

Gnawing on his lower lip, head bowed, gaze affixed to dirt and the sparse tuft of grass just beginning to peek through it, he made himself smaller. Shoulders sloped forward, thighs and calves firmly pressed together, spine slouching...with his hair to hide every bit of his face as his toes curled into the dirt. But his breaths caught on the knot in his throat and his teeth chattered, fear sparking into a roaring flame that burned and burned and burned in the pit of his stomach. Ripping the band-aid off and telling her was all he could do, and no matter how kind and gentle to him she'd been, she expected an answer... Why did this have to be so hard? Why couldn't he trust in turn, trust that he might be held with warmth and care and understanding and acceptance and-- Why couldn't he let it go?

He swallowed again, trying his damnedest to maintain any semblance of stoic composure, fingers shifting from his hair to the fabric concealing his wrists and picking at the seams, but he was failing - and he'd no choice anyway.

"T-twenty years ago," he rasped shakily, words like ash in his mouth. "Twenty years ago, there was... a massacre. Over sixty members of my clan were slaughtered and fed upon by curses and I...I watched them. I hid under the dining room table and cried, watching as my cousins were taken one by one and killed by my grandfather. I was stronger than they all were - I didn't know how to wield it, but still, I was stronger than them. I could've-should've done something, but I let them die... My grandfather was also killed, by the time the bloodshed had come to an end. He'd brought those curses into the estate and unleashed them upon us all, and no one knew why - but that was my fault too. He was already showing signs of severe mental instability, but the facilitation of my birth sent him spiraling. I only fanned the flames of his paranoia, the terror he already had that one day, he'd be usurped and any threats to his hold over the family must be dealt with. He planned to use me as a vessel in some desperate vie, to take my strength for his own, and in the midst of enacting this plan, the curses he'd aligned with turned on him and ripped him limb from limb. He left...a journal, outlining his plan in great detail. I found it hidden beneath the estate one night when I'd been punished for covering for Aoi and Terin again, tucked under the straw and floorboards in the cell - where no one else could possibly find it or bother to go looking."

He couldn't stand being vulnerable like this, couldn't stand talking about his family history, being seen, heard, known for even a moment. He wanted to trust her. Wanted to believe this would be okay. It was far too late to back out now. His heart and stomach lurched in tandem, his ears beginning to ring.

Please don't change your mind... Please don't turn your back on me.

His thoughts were beginning to get to him, a childlike urge to crumple and cry washing over him. The longer he dragged this out, the more pathetic and miniscule he felt, the more cowardly and weak. Kurai would've turned him away, and Aoi vowed never to speak to him again after Terin's death... They blamed him for it all, and rightfully so. Had he been able to do something, he could've used their techniques to exorcise the curses quickly and no one would've had to die... Had he not been born, Taisho would've been dealt with sooner. Terin would still be alive. Mom, too...

"I took the journal to my father - everyone deserved to know the truth behind what my grandfather was planning. I thought it would be closure for them, to finally have a real explanation... I even thought the same for myself. I didn't realize, at the time, that I was handing them my own confession. Everything begins with Taisho, but ends with me. I may as well have killed them all myself. I've no right to sit beside you now, when there's so much blood on my hands, because it's not just them I'm responsible for but countless others... People who were simply doing what they needed to in order to survive among curses and killers and the other perils of every day life, working to achieve their dreams no matter how benign or totally fucked-- I'm just as guilty. I fight to redeem myself, but I can't wash away the stains. Yet, even-even so... I don't want you to think of me as any lesser. I don't want you to see me as the sort of person who would condemn his family to death through inaction and cowardice."

[lovesickmochi]

Memory

re: Dear You. I logged into this account for the first time in a long time. I deleted the app on my phone, and completely logged out of it on my computer.

I know he posts on here every now and then, and for a while, I couldn't help but not look at anything he wrote about us. In hopes that it would help me move on after everything that had happened.

I read the letter he wrote to me.

It took me a while to process it, and also find the words to make an attempt at responding to him in the most mature way possible.

So, here it is.

A couple hours ago, I found out about a Bruno Major concert that's happening in a week at the Warfield in San Francisco. Listening to some of his albums, I remembered a cover a former friend of mine wrote here on Tumblr. He changed up the lyrics of Nothing - Bruno Major into something relating to how our friendship was at the time.

I was reading the cover a couple minutes ago, and it brought me back to who I used to be, who he used to be to me.

He said I used to be his sun and moon. He said I was the gold in between the seams of his life. He said I saved his life. The person he could go to for anything and everything. We were inseparable.

But... Why aren't I that person anymore?

There was a situation that occurred over a year ago, now. I'll take the blame for the most part, I know now that I was the problem in that whole thing. It's my fault that it became so much of a big deal. It's my fault that our friendship had to end.

I know better than to cover up my side of the story with lies, just to point out who the bad guy is. So in this, to you and her, I'm sorry.

I feel like a coward for not messaging this directly, but I hope this finds you in good health. I hope this message can come through as a truce, maybe as a notice that I'm ready to talk and try things again. That is, only if you want to reignite what was lost, or start over with a blank page. I have a pen to give to you, we can start writing a new story together. If not, that is okay. I don't want to force you to do anything you don't want to do. It's your path, your decision.

Every now and then, my Snapchat memories show me videos of us. Of our friendship, of our adventures. I would look at them and say to myself, "When is the next time we can have an adventure like this again?" But then I remember, it's not that simple anymore. I will admit that I haven't matured as much as you expected me to. There are some things in my life that I still have to fix, or make a move on, but I promise I'm getting better.

I've been in a relationship with someone for almost half a year now. And in all honesty, you're still one of the main people I want to introduce him to. Not for any judgement, but to express how much you both mean to me to a point where I can comfortably introduce you to each other.

I've also been on the look out for jobs. There's a restaurant that's hiring waitresses and hostesses for $24 an hour, so I might apply to that. In the meantime, after I get my first paycheck, I'm going to start working on my GED. I have to pay for four classes that I can easily do online, which isn't that bad really, it's like taking a unit test.

After receiving my GED, I'm going to pursue massage therapy. It's something I've been looking into for the past year or so, and I want to see where the studies can take me in the future.

Things have been pretty great, really. I'm starting to get a move on in my life, but I wanted to take a moment and think about you.

I miss you. I miss all of the talks we would have so late in the night, and all of the laughter and the crying, everything. If there's any way I can make it up to you, or make the chances of getting to know you again more likely, I'm ready for it. There's still so much love in my heart for you, and I'm willing to give things a second chance if you are too.

I love you. I hope you haven't forgotten that.

<3

Shelby