#thank you for this ask and sorry it took me so long to respond

[stargirllanaa]

Death Grips. III - R.C

Dark!Frat!Rafe Cameron x f!reader

Warnings: Dv( physical abuse),NONCON, Mentions of Dv, Cheating, mentions of cheating, abusive relationship, gaslighting, manipulation, frat!rafe, blackmail, emotional abuse, underage drinking, he’s an asshole guys

Summary: inspired by ‘death grips’ by Etta Marcus/ After a messy break up with Rafe Cameron your freshman year of college, he can’t seem to leave you alone. Whether you’re awake or asleep

Series Masterlist

A/n: hey guys, I just got back from out of the country so this took me a little longer than I wanted it to but hope u enjoy and pls leave feedback and lmk how u like it whether it’s an anonymous ask, reblog or comment I do read all feedback and try to incorporate what you guys suggest!

Part: III

…….

The beach was alive with noise and chaos. Voices carried across the sand, blending with the pounding of the waves and the crackle of the bonfire. The night should have felt carefree and fun even, but as soon as you saw Rafe leaning against a log near the fire, his easy laugh cutting through the hum of the crowd, it was like every muscle in your body locked up.

You froze, but Mia nudged you forward, oblivious—or maybe just willfully blind. “Come on,” she said with a grin, already scanning the crowd for Topper. “He’s not going to do anything. Just stick with me.”

You didn’t respond. Your eyes stayed locked on Rafe as he glanced up and noticed you. His reaction was immediate—his laugh froze mid-sound, his blue eyes narrowing just slightly before he recovered. He raised his beer in a lazy toast, smirking in your direction.

Mia didn’t notice. “See? He’s being chill. You’re fine,” she said breezily, dragging you toward the fire.

But you didn’t feel fine.

At first, you stayed on the outskirts, keeping your distance and nursing the drink someone shoved into your hand. You told yourself you were just being paranoid, that Rafe wasn’t paying any attention to you. But it was impossible to shake the feeling of his eyes brushing over you whenever you moved too close to the firelight.

It wasn’t long before he was beside you.

“Hey,” he said, his voice casual, almost soft.

You didn’t look at him. “What do you want?”

“I’m not trying to bother you,” he said quickly, hands raised as if to show he meant no harm. “I just—look, I wanted to say I’m sorry. For everything.”

You stiffened. “What?”

“I mean it,” Rafe said, his voice dropping. “I know I messed up. I’ve been… I don’t know. Trying to figure my shit out.” He took a step closer, his gaze steady. “I just want us to be cool. That’s all.”

“Cool,” you repeated flatly. “Right. Sure.”

You wanted to walk away, to shut him down and make it clear he wasn’t welcome. But something in his tone—his softness, his willingness to admit fault made you hesitate. It wasn’t like him.

“I mean it,” he said again, holding your gaze. “You don’t have to forgive me, but I don’t want things to be like this. It doesn’t have to be so… heavy.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t trust him. He’d proven that over and over. But he didn’t press. He just lingered, staying close but not too close, offering you drinks every time your cup got low.

You didn’t realize how much you’d had to drink until you were laughing at something—God knows what—with a girl you barely knew. The firelight blurred, the edges of the world softening as the alcohol worked its way through your system.

Rafe wasn’t far, leaning against a log a few feet away, his eyes on you.

“You’re finally relaxing,” he said, his voice light as he moved closer.

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t make it weird.”

He smirked, holding his hands up in surrender. “Not trying to. Just saying it’s nice to see you like this. You’re always so tense around me.”

“Damn, I wonder why,” you shot back, though your words were starting to slur.

He laughed, low and warm. “Fair point.”

Before you could respond, he tilted his head toward the darker stretch of beach beyond the fire. “Let’s go for a walk. Too loud here.”

“No thanks,” you said immediately, shaking your head.

“Come on,” he pressed, his tone light but insistent. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I just want to talk. No bullshit, I promise.”

You hesitated. Part of you screamed to stay by the fire, to not let him pull you away from the safety of the crowd. But the alcohol muffled your thoughts, loosening your grip on the fear that always kept you guarded around him.

Against your better judgment, you nodded.

The sound of the party faded as you walked, the waves swallowing the noise until it was just the two of you under the moonlight. You stumbled slightly, the uneven sand throwing you off balance, but Rafe’s hand steadied you.

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice closer than you realized.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, shrugging off his hand.

He didn’t let go immediately, his fingers lingering on your arm for a moment too long before he finally stepped back.

When you stopped walking, he turned to face you, his expression unreadable.

“I miss you,” he said softly.

You blinked, the words not quite registering at first. “What?”

“I miss us,” he said, his voice low and almost vulnerable. “I know I screwed up. I know I hurt you. But I want to fix it.”

You stared at him, the alcohol dulling your initial burst of anger. “Are you serious?”

“I’m not asking you to forget everything,” he said quickly. “I just—I want another chance. I can be better. I know I can.”

You laughed, sharp and bitter. “Another chance? Are you insane?”

“I’m serious,” he said, stepping closer. “I’ve been working on myself. I’ve been trying—”

“You’re fucking delusional,” you snapped, cutting him off. The alcohol loosened the words, pulling them out of you before you could stop. “You cheated on me. You hit me. You made me feel like I was nothing. And now you want me to just… what? Forget all of that and give you another chance?”

Rafe flinched, the softness in his expression hardening into something sharper. “I was messed up back then. I didn’t know how to—”

“No,” you said, your voice shaking with anger. “You knew exactly what you were doing. You always knew. And you loved it.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t have a part in it,” he said, his voice rising. “You knew how to push my buttons. You knew how to make me lose my shit.”

You took a step back, your body trembling. “You’re disgusting.”

The silence between you stretched, heavy and suffocating. For a moment, you thought he might lash out, that he’d grab your arm or raise his voice. But instead, he smiled—cold and sharp, the boyish charm replaced by something cruel.

“You’re drunk,” he said simply, stepping closer. “I’ll give you a pass. But you’re not over me. You never will be.”

You turned and walked away, the sound of his laughter following you as you stumbled back toward the fire. You didn’t care if you looked unsteady or ridiculous; all you cared about was putting as much distance between you and him as possible.

When you reached the edge of the crowd, Mia was nowhere to be seen. Your stomach twisted, a fresh wave of anger rising as you realized she’d probably disappeared with Topper again, leaving you to fend for yourself.

Your hands shook as you grabbed your bag, your breaths coming in uneven gasps. You didn’t look back toward the dark stretch of beach where Rafe still stood, watching you.

~~~~~~

You slammed the door of your dorm shut, the sound echoing through the small space. Your clothes still smelled faintly of bonfire smoke, your hair damp from the salt air, but none of that mattered. The only thing you could focus on was the lingering sensation of Rafe’s smirk, his words still ringing in your ears.

“You’re not over me. You never will be.”

The audacity made your stomach churn, and as you tossed your bag onto your bed, you couldn’t stop your hands from trembling. You needed to talk to someone to make sense of everything that had happened at the beach. But when Mia walked through the door minutes later, her laughter bubbling over as she scrolled through her phone, something inside you snapped.

She looked up, startled. “Whoa. What’s with the death glare?”

“Where the hell were you?” you snapped, unable to hold it anymore.

The smile on her face faded instantly. “What?”

“At the beach,” you said, your voice shaking. “You said we’d stick together, that you wouldn’t leave me alone, and then you disappeared with Topper like it was nothing.”

Mia’s brow furrowed, her confusion quickly morphing into defensiveness. “Hold on, what happened? Did Rafe—”

“What do you think happened?” you snapped, cutting her off. “He cornered me, got me drunk, and then tried to tell me he wants me back. And you weren’t there, Mia. You left me alone with him.”

She blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Okay, but nothing actually happened, right? I mean, you’re here, you’re fine—”

“Fine?” The word came out sharp, almost bitter. “Are you kidding me? You know what he’s like, Mia. You know how much he’s put me through, and you still dragged me there like it didn’t matter. You’re literally fucking his best friend.”

Her mouth opened, then closed, like she wasn’t sure how to respond. “It’s not like that,” she said finally. “Topper’s not Rafe, and I thought—”

“You thought what?” you interrupted, your voice rising. “That I’d just magically be okay? That I’d be fine hanging out with my abusive ex at a party while you played house with his best friend?”

“Abusive?” she repeated, her eyes widening slightly.

You froze, realizing the word had slipped out before you could stop it. But there was no taking it back now. “Yeah,” you said, your voice quieter now. “He was abusive, Mia. And you still keep putting me in situations where I have to see him. Do you even care how that feels for me?”

Her expression shifted, guilt flickering across her face before she crossed her arms defensively. “Of course, I care,” she said. “But it’s not like I’m dragging you into this on purpose. I mean, what am I supposed to do? Ghost Topper because you and Rafe had a shitty relationship?”

The words hit you like a slap, your anger twisting into something deeper—something closer to hurt. “I’m not asking you to break things off with him,” you said, your voice trembling. “I’m asking you to have some fucking empathy. You’re supposed to be my friend, Mia.”

“I am your friend,” she shot back. “But maybe you need to stop blaming me for everything. I didn’t make you date him, and I didn’t make you stay with him when things got bad. That was your choice.”

You flinched, the accusation cutting deeper than you expected. For a second, you thought about yelling, about telling her to leave and never come back. But instead, you turned away, your chest tight with something between anger and sadness.

“Just… go, Mia,” you said quietly. “I can’t do this right now.”

She hesitated, her arms still crossed. “Fine,” she said after a moment, her voice tight. “But don’t expect me to keep putting up with this shit forever.”

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving you alone in the silence of the room.

~~~~~

You were sitting on your bed, the faint glow of your desk lamp casting long shadows across the walls. The air felt heavy, the silence broken only by the sound of Rafe pacing in front of you.

“Let me see your phone,” he said, his voice low and clipped.

You froze, clutching the device tighter. “Why?”

“Because,” he snapped, facing you with a sharp glare. “I saw Bella texting you earlier. What did she say?”

“Nothing important,” you said quickly, your stomach twisting.

He didn’t believe you. “Show me.”

You hesitated, your fingers trembling as you unlocked your phone and handed it over. He snatched it from your grasp, scrolling through your messages with a storm brewing in his eyes.

His jaw clenched as he stopped on Bella’s most recent text:

“r u ok? im rlly worried about u and rafe. u don’t have to stay with him yk. u deserve sm better. <3”

“Worried about us?” Rafe said, his voice dripping with mockery. “What’s she so worried about, huh? Did you tell her we had a fight? That’s cute.”

“I didn’t tell her anything,” you said quickly, your chest tightening. “She’s just… she’s just being a good friend.”

“She’s not your friend,” he said sharply, tossing the phone onto the bed. “She’s trying to break us up. You think I’m stupid? You think I don’t see what’s going on?”

“She’s not trying to break us up,” you insisted, your voice trembling. “She’s just—”

“Shut up,” he interrupted, his tone cold and final. “You’re done talking to her. Do you hear me? You’re going to block her, and you’re not going to say another word to her. She’s gone.”

“No,” you said quietly, your voice barely audible. “You’ve already made me cut off everyone else. Bella’s the only friend I have left.”

“You still have me... you have Mia,” Rafe said, stepping closer, his shadow looming over you. “That should be enough for you. You don’t need anyone else.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. “This isn’t protection, Rafe. This is fucking control-”

The words barely left your mouth before his hand slammed against the wall beside your head, making you flinch.

“What did you just say?” he demanded, his voice dangerously low.

You didn’t answer.

~~~~~~~~

You woke with a gasp, your heart pounding as you sat up in bed. The room was dark, the faint glow of your phone the only source of light. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, the weight of the dream pressing down on your chest.

Even now, after everything, he still had a hold on you.

~~~~~~~~

It was late when you found yourself outside, the cool night air brushing against your skin. You hadn’t meant to leave the dorm, but sitting in that room, surrounded by memories and silence, felt unbearable.

You ended up at the campus library steps, the faint glow of streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement. It was quiet and peaceful in a way that almost felt foreign.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

You turned, startled, to see Cam leaning against the railing, a book in one hand and a thermos in the other. His smile was easy, and his presence grounding, making you feel like you could finally take a breath.

“Something like that,” you admitted, sitting down beside him.

He didn’t press or ask why your eyes were rimmed with exhaustion or why you were out so late. Instead, he offered you the thermos, the warmth of it seeping into your palms as you held it.

“I saw you at the beach,” he said after a moment, his tone careful.

You stiffened but didn’t look at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He hesitated. “You okay?”

You thought about lying, about brushing it off like you always did. But the words slipped out before you could stop them.

“No.”

He nodded like he’d expected that, his gaze steady as he looked at you. “If you ever want to talk…”

“I don’t,” you said quickly, cutting him off. Then, softer: “Not yet.”

“That’s fine,” he said easily, leaning back against the steps. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You didn’t respond, but for the first time in what felt like forever, the silence didn’t feel so heavy.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

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Wanna see more? Check out my fic ‘i don’t smoke’

[yayll]

heyyy! I just read ur rockstar!Dazai fic and it honestly reminded me of this idea I had!!! (loved the fic btw!) Are you able to write an actor!dazai x fem!actor reader and they r fake dating while secretly being rivals ?? (I’d like 2 be known as 🦎-anon!)

hiiii 🦎 anon hehe

i'm sorry this was quite the wait, i LOVED your idea and i wanted to write it properly and i kind of took some liberties so i hope you enjoy it regardless? thank you for trusting me w your fic idea actor!dazai now haunts me actually dazai in any like, imagine just fucks my shit up that man is a menace in any story i put him in and i'm so glad others agree. i love u baby mwah u get so many ivy kisses

~ a little something about you and actor!Dazai keeping up appearances ~

"You're choking meee!"

"I'm just fixing your tie, Osamu-"

"It's babe, actually."

"It's whatever I want if you want me to keep holding your hand in public, jerk."

He pouts at this. What a cute little meanie you were! Always scolding him and spewing empty threats as if you were hot shit. You were hot shit, and that was only the beginning of his problems... The biggest one right now being backstage with you while attending the hottest awards show of the year.

Just before he can respond, the curtains are drawn and it's a stagehand whisking you two away to present the next award infront of thousands of fans. You're walking side by side, your heels clicking with each step when Dazai leans in to whisper something.

"You should stand on my left, my right side is more attractive."

"We're both facing forward, does it matter?"

He raises a brow and huffs dramatically in typical Dazai fashion. You two had been 'dating' for a year now, everyone was invested in this blooming romance ever since you both started in that drama together, now it's nothing but red hearts for you two.

It wasn't planned, it just kind of happened... It also wasn't completely awful, but it was the goddamn ego on Dazai that really made you want to strangle him sometimes. He knew he was pretty and desired, and what a threat you were with such an iconic streak in all of your latest projects. No wonder you two had to be paired together, on your own you were both dynamite. An unstable formula that needed to be stabilized by combining it together. Thought could that make it worse?

You present the award holding hands the entire time, an act highly encouraged by the need to convince, and yet when it's you two doing it it never feels as forced as you'd like it to be. There is a comfortability in the role of this relationship, you've come to realize yet supress. You'll hold hands for so long you begin to get clammy, and it's certainly not because he dotes on you almost every time he speaks! Which he hates doing... It's just a script, after all. Duh.

You're both making your way out of the venue towards the car that awaits to drive you to the after party when you're ambushed by interviewers and hundreds of flashes that yell out speed questions.

"Does the beautiful couple have time to stop and answer a few things for us tonight!"

Dazai loves that shit. Of course he has the time, he doesn't care if you don't. He has to sell it, obviously, since you don't put in the effort according to him. He flashes the interviewer that sardonic little smirk you hate and speaks innocently.

"Why, us? Sure! Right, honey?"

He turns to you and the crowd loves it. You hold back how badly you want to roll your eyes and simply smile, holding yourself high with grace and a ton of media training.

"We'd love to."

The interviewer is overjoyed as she looks between you and Dazai, taking in that affection that radiates from your false words. She grins as she goes along to ask her question.

"So, I think a lot of the fans are wondering..."

You and Dazai perk up, not even realizing that you're clutching the bottom of your dress so tighty that your knuckles are white. The interviewer looks directly at you.

"The two of you have been the most stunning couple the industry has seen in a while. Any plans for the future?"

You freeze. Ugh, not this again. You shake your head, smirking to yourself at the absurdity of the concept alone.

"Thank you, but honestly we're just taking things day by day. There's no rush between us, we have all we need right here and now."

The journalist smiles again and nods, seemingly impressed by your laid back attitude. Dazai snorts and suddenly interjects, clearly having a cheeky response to give to the crowd of journalists.

"We'll have tons of kids in the future, actually~"

Your panic is so instant that you literally laugh out loud, yet recover quickly by turning your shock into a playful glance at your lover. You manage a more sweet giggle and smack him on the chest a little harder than people would guess.

"Ooh, he's joking, of course."

The journalist rejoices, finding your banter and your overall interaction as a couple cute. The ideal power couple! Dazai grins and turns to you again, leaning in to tease you, his narrowed Hazelnut eyes piercing into you like a promise.

"Not joking. One day we're going to have a massive pack of little kids running around. And it's going to be your fault for being sooo cute~"

And with that, he leans in all the way into a million dollar kiss on your confused and parted lips. You're taken so offguard you almost fall back and of course grab onto him a little tighter... and run your fingers through his disheveled hair you forgot to nag him to cut... As the cameras go off like crazy, you wonder if it's worth ruining your public image for a while just so you can slap him harder than you ever have before.

Everyone's cooing and you're fuming, so you settle for a quick thank you and goodbye as you drag Dazai off the red carpet and into the car. He's giggling the entire time, of course. As soon as the door shuts out the screaming fans watching you drive off, you turn to Dazai and whisper ardently.

"What was that all about?! We didn't discuss this prior to-"

"... You liked it."

"Huh?"

"You liked it when I kissed you."

You scoff, though it sounds like you're choking.

"I did not. I just did what I had-"

"... And you want to have my babies. That's adorable, how devoted of you!"

You smack him on the arm but he's smiling like a cat who's had too much catnip, too far gone into his delusions to care about the repercussions. Love is love, after all...

"I think we should break up, like officially. You're nuts. The press won't let that go, Osamu."

He perks up, snapping out of his stasis and crinkles his nose in disapproval. He shakes his head, his hand on his chin as if in deep thought. Dazai mutters, barely above a whisper.

"... We won't actually break up, though."

"And why not?"

"Because in about 60 seconds we're going to kiss again and you'll be clinging onto me the entire night."

You snort into a laugh, tilting your head in disbelief. The car slowly comes to a halt as you arrive at the after party where a familiar roar of the crowd awaits to greet you once more. You begin your futile argument yet again.

"I don't see why I would do that."

At such a silly reply, Dazai softens his voice, looking at you like he first did when you both met on set a year ago. A lifetime ago. You're so cute when you're playing dumb. He shrugs, carefree.

"Neither do I, which is why I want to know too. I want to know what you're thinking about, if it's me."

You hate the way he sounds so sincere, like a real boyfriend would if he were trying to convince you you're just as into him as he is into you. Mind games is what it is, or at least you hope so. You really hope so.

You sigh, suddenly over the conversation as you open the car door to begin climbing out. Dazai follows suit and the roar of the crowd makes your chest feel tight as overstimulation takes over. You want to be anywhere but here and you wonder if you're having some sort of panic attack, but it just doesn't feel describable.

You turn wildly, disoriented by the camera flashes and instant fuss of the press, only to be faced by your one and only savior: the omnipotent Osamu Dazai. You don't know what it is about him in that moment, you just glide into his arms and complete the prophecy as you hook your arm with his, taking deep breaths as you finally ground yourself. It feels like the right kind of wrong, and you don't care to question it.

You feel a squeeze and a soft velvety voice whisper to you once again, you don't even have to look at him to know he's as smug as ever. But amongst the teasing, there's affection there too...

"So, am I?"

"Are you what, Osamu?"

"On your mind."

"At this point you're practically a permanent resident."

You hear him hum, a smile still present on his lips, the world simply frozen for him to continue his private conversation with you in public.

"Hmm, remind me to have you repeat that to me later."

This causes you to squeeze his arm back and murmur in genuine curiosity, finally daring to face him. He's already looking right at you, so devilish and angelic at the same time that you can't even look away.

"Why?"

"Because your time's up. 60 seconds, remember? Now come and kiss me already, the camera's are waiting~"

The photos of you two that night were the envy of couples everywhere. If only they knew how the ride back to the hotel went, it would be a scandal! Or simply the next step in your future?

[inquisimer]

Hi, happy Friday and thank you for the welcome! Arlow de Riva/Lucanis with “I’m sorry, I’m just—I’m just really tired.” - Anonymous-Inquisitor

ty for the prompt!! Mostly fluff with some hurt/comfort (?) and subtle pining for flavor :3 for @dadrunkwriting - mild da4 spoilers, just Arlow and Lucanis being somft workaholics.

-

“Rook?”

Arlow started, blotting the parchment with the bead of ink that had been waiting too long for her to keep writing. Cursing under her breath, she set the unfinished letter aside and laid down her quill.

“Yes?” she asked, without looking up, or even really registering who had called her name. “What’s happening?”

“Arlow.” The same voice, but quieter, firmer. Finally, her brain caught up to her ears and she sighed, pinching at the bridge of her nose.

“Lucanis. What do you need? Must be serious, to get you out of the pantry.”

“If it were truly serious, I wouldn’t have waited as long as I did for you to respond to your name.” Lucanis perched on the edge of her desk and folded his arms. His brow knit together, concerned. “You need to rest.”

“Hypocrite.”

“My reasons are a little more tangible than yours.”

“Are they?” Arlow challenged. “Tell that to D’Meta’s crossing. Or—“

She broke off, glancing over to where Varric was sleeping. The steady rise and fall of his chest did nothing to ease the guilty ache in her heart.

“You cannot help anyone if you are exhausted beyond reason,” Lucanis said gently. “And what would Viago say, if he saw you so unaware of your surroundings?”

“Viago would clock me upside the head and knock me out to teach me a lesson.”

“Is that a request?”

“You can certainly try.” Her words were snippy, but they lacked their usual bite. She didn’t remember the last time she’d properly slept. Before the Crows kicked her out of Antiva, probably. With a sigh, she picked up her quill and took a fresh sheet of parchment.

“Arlow—“

“Someone has to answer Strife and Irelin,” she snapped. “Unless you have someone else that’s interested in the job, let me handle it.”

Her quill was halfway into the inkpot when Lucanis laid his hand over hers, trapping it there. She clenched her fist, irritated.

“Take a break,” he said firmly, in the voice of the First Talon’s grandson, the one that was used to deference. It made Arlow want to buck on instinct. But there was a weariness in her bones, an exhaustion in her soul that wanted to agree.

“I can’t,” she whispered. “I blink, and the world falls apart, Lucanis. I look away, and every crisis redoubles.”

She closed her eyes and steadied herself with a breath. He was close enough that she smelled coffee and cinnamon, and the odd tangle of herbs that were always drying over his cot. “This is my contract,” she said. “Could you rest until it was completed?”

He pulled the quill up between her fingers and set it aside, cupping her now empty hand in his and gently massaging the cramps she hadn’t even felt forming. “Of course not. But I would at least break for coffee.”

“Is that an offer?”

“It always was,” he said softly. His fingers stilled against hers and it took all of Arlow’s willpower to keep her hand from twitching, lacing their fingers together. She wanted that comfort. But it wasn’t something she could take so easily anymore.

“Are you brewing from your supply, or ours?” she asked, teasing. Lucanis raised a brow.

“Would you even know the difference?”

“I would,” Arlow said, affronted. “Or do you think Viago didn’t drill us in palate sensitivity?”

“There is a difference in tasting for poisons and knowing a quality brew.”

“The two have a surprising amount of overlap. Just because I’m not a snob—“

“The word you’re looking for is connoisseur.”

“Sure it is.” Arlow rolled her eyes. She capped the inkpot and stood, regretting the chill that took her hand when it slipped from Lucanis’ grasp. “Well, if you’re taking me from work, it better be from your stash.”

“It will be,” Lucanis assured her, holding the infirmary door open. “Someone has to save you and Neve from yourselves.”

“I might be at the point of saving. Neve, on the other hand—“

Lucanis laughed, a low, quiet chuckle that warmed Arlow better than any cup of coffee he promised. He slipped past her to lead the way to the kitchen, the silky samite of his vest brushing against her knuckles. She clenched her fist to keep from chasing after it.

“Let’s get something in you before you’re beyond hope, then,” he murmured, eyes twinkling. The corner of Arlow’s mouth quirked. As long as he looked at her like that, she thought, she wouldn’t be beyond anything. But she didn’t say that.

She gestured across the courtyard with her chin. “Lead the way.”

[shrimpyfellow]

Can you draw HIM and Mojo being parents they’re so cute

Sorry it took me so long to respond to this!! I was trying to think of ideas for this :V Also sorry it’s a shitty sketch I was a bit frustrated (cause I can’t draw the rrb right lmao)

Text: HIM: hell yeah we be raising our children well!

MOJO: yk what hell yeah.

ALSO ALSO IDEA BY @thetruetrollxge !! Thank you for the ask and ty trollxge for the idea😭❤️

[pacifistcowboy]

You ever think about how scary an Enerjak Silver would be.

admittedly, i’ve never read archie, but from what i’ve read on his wiki, i can see enerjak is some sorta demigod-spirit that possessed a few echidnas and has practically limitless power? so yeah if silver got possessed by enerjak it would be terrifying. silver’s already powerful as he is, so if he was possessed by this being with god-level strength, psychic abilities, and reality-warping, it’d be all over. he could probably turn the planet to dust with the flick of his wrist. the universe itself would be the thing at risk, the planet would already be gone. enerjak silver would be cool as hell to see. completely undefeatable psychokinetic armoured boy? it’d look so awesome.

anyway since i’ve never read those comics so i couldn’t go too in-depth with this question due to not knowing enough about enerjak, i decided to try design enerjak silver! :]

enerjak’s armour is seemingly inspired by egyptian royalty and armour, and since silver is italian, i decided to base enerjak silver’s armour on roman soldiers! i don’t know if that ended up coming across in the finished design, but i swear the inspiration is there ehfjejfjwjf. i tried to have it so silver’s quills came out the top of his helmet like the crest that some roman soldiers’ helmets had, also i imagine the visor covering his face is moveable, so he can lift it up off his face :]

[trashyshrew]

big admirer of your work! you asked for drawing suggestions–would love to see your take on lawlight snuggled up together relaxing in bed or something! absolutely starved for soft content of these two

[that-was-anticlimactic]

"can you stay?" + atsushi & kyouka

"can you stay?"

atsushi's voice trembles as they speak, and kyouka freezes.

"nevermind."

atsushi laughs almost immediately, blinking away the impending tears and wavng their hands in front of them. "sorry. you don't... that was stupid of me to say. i'm-"

"stop apologizing."

kyouka slides beside them, curling up against their side. she head plops on their shoulder.

they're warm and shakey, and kyouka feels soft on atsushi's neck.

"i don't mind staying."

honestly, she wanted to stay. no matter how many times she watches atsushi - her sibling by everything but blood - get stabbed, the more she fears for them.

it's a little foolish, she knows; she's been familiar with blood and death and gore since her parents died. limbs being torn off and blood slowly oozing out of the body doesn't scare her.

but it does when she sees it happening to atsushi.

(and she doesn't say anything, but atsushi isn't the only one who gets nightmares - she's just better at keeping them quiet)

"you're just a kid..." atsushi mumbles, breaths shaky and uneven. "you shouldn't have to-to comfort me."

even so, kyouka soon feels the cool pads of their compression gloves rubbing her wrist.

"doesn't matter," she says, because she knows you're still a kid, too only upsets them more.

"okay."

they whisper it so quietly the only reasons kyouka hears it is because of her assassin training.

good.

she snuggles closer still and listens to their heartbeat. it starts off quick, but gradually falls until it's steady.

and kyouka is able to fall asleep with the reminder that her sibling is still alive.

(send me a sentence (+ a ship/character) and i'll write the next five sentences)

[perdvivly]

🔥 beauty

*abhumanex0, bubbliterally, perdvivly and tranxio are sitting around a fire*

abhumanex0: 🔥 beauty bubbliterally: How are you doing that with your mouth? perdvivly: I'm trying out beauty. bubbliterally: What does that mean? perdvivly: It means that for a long time a particular brand of brainworms I've had comes from the Platonic conception of beauty as this horrible deciever. I'm trying to shed that. tranxio: That's an anachronistic genealogy of the idea. perdvivly: Huh? tranxio: Plato does talk about the interplay between truth and beauty. Notably in the Ion and in The Republic, books two, three, and ten. Plato is worried that the arts and specifically poetry in the Ion, as Ion of Ephesus was a rhapsode, are persuasive by means of rhetoric rather than an appeal to the truth. Specifically, an account of truth that Plato takes to be his idea of Forms. But Plato is chiefly concerned with the interplay between mimesis, from the Ancient Greek mimos, meaning "imitative" and diegesis roughly meaning "narrative". For Plato, the poets are doing a bad job of representing the beauty of truth; they are unable to capture its virtue. But that doesn't mean that Plato doesn't care about beauty or reviles beauty. Plato considers the Form of Beauty to be very important! He talks about it at length in the symposium and does note the associations in many more dialogues. e.g. phaedo, phaedrus, parmenides. I think this is most obvious when you consider what surviving writings we have from Plato. They're dialogues. He was writing creative fiction. He was engaging in a memetic artform, but one that he hoped would transcend the pitfalls of poetry. A "pure crystalline theatre of the mind". I think that the idea you had in mind dervies from the Neoplatonic tradition as it was interpreted by Christianity. The works of Plotinus come to us by way of his pupil Porphyry-- bubbliterally: --wait! You're saying that Christianity takes its philosophical foundations from Neoplatonism? tanxio: That's right. Dean Inge emphasises this point in his book on Plotinus. He says there is "an utter impossibility of excising Platonism from Christianity without tearing Christianity to pieces." Or if that isn't convincing consider that Saint Augustine-- perdvivly: --the saint who fucked. tranxio: That's right, the saint who fucked. Consider that he says of Plato's system that it was the "most pure and bright in all of philosophy" and he talks of Plotinus as a man in whom "Plato lived again". The early church owes a great deal of philosophical debt in this regard. bubbliterally: That's fascinating, so you're saying that Plotinus distrusted beauty and that's where the seed that Viv is picking up on originates? tranxio: Aha, no. Not quite. There is nothing in the mysticism of Plotinus that is hostile to beauty. But he is the last religious teacher for many centuries of whom this can be said. Plotinus founded the Neoplatonic tradition but he wasn't the sole arbiter of their beliefs. Beauty and all the pleasures associated with it came to be thought to be of the Devil. Pagans and Christians alike came to glorify ugliness and dirt. Julian the Apostate, like contemporary orthodox saints, boasted of the populousness of his beard. bubbliterally: But how did all this happen? tranxio: That's a matter of historical debate. The Neoplatonists found themselves in dialogue with the Gnostics for long while. And Porphyry suggests that there is precident in Plato for turning away from the physical world of matter. Perhaps it happened as an extension or outbranch of these dialogues? I'm not certain. But I can go and do more research on it if you would like? bubbliterally: No pressure, but I'd really enjoy the answer if you could find it! tranxio: Of course! *tranxio leaves, presumably to go to the library*

bubbliterally: That was an interesting historical perspective, but can you say more on what you meant Viv? You're "trying out beauty"? perdvivly: Right. I grew up in a pretty heavily Christian dominated soceity and personal environment. My grandparents were missionaries and I went to Sunday school. And because I grew up in England, you can bet that that sect was Anglican. Protestantism is... Austere. It's in a really sharp contrast to Catholicism. You know, you imagine these elaborate ornate robes, the alters decked-out with gold and you have these huge buildings with complicated architecture... And then you have, what I was raised in, which is, sort of an extreme embodiment of the famous saying "simplicity is the ultimate sophistication" so imagine like, wooden pews so upright they could fix quasimodo's posture, plain homespun clothing, nothing ornate or elaborate just this very bare aesthetic. And gradually through a sort of cultural osmosis I think I took some of this in without meaning to or critically evaluating whether or not I wanted to. abhumanex0: So, that's a more personal etiology, it doesn't really answer the question of what you mean though. perdvivly: I know, and I don't want to mess you about, but let me give one more take on why this feels so forceful to me before I expand on what I mean and why I want it. abhumanex0: Go ahead. perdvivly: Have you ever seen something really beautiful and been compelled by it? Or, someone even? bubbliterally: I think we all know about being horny. perdvivly: Right! Sexual desire is actually a really good use-case here. abhumanex0: Not what use-case means but continue. perdvivly: It feels deep down gut-level wrong to be forced by my own body to want something without regard for its... wholeness? Without regard for all of it and all of its interactions with me... Have you ever been compelled against your better judgement to eat junk food that you know will make you feel ill? That to me feels like the same pernicious facet of force that beauty compells. Beauty in this way, sort of forces a passitivy of choice. bubbliterally: the same kind that David Foster Wallace was talking about with Eric the other day? perdvivly: Exactly! Think Catullus 85. I am beset on all sides by emotion and the waves of those emotions are bigger and stronger than I am. I'm afraid of being drowned by them. I'm afraid of being killed by them. Beauty is chief among these emotion makers. abhumanex0: Have you considered that when you say "It feels... wrong to be forced by your own body" that's an extension of the cultural Neoplatonism you absorbed through Christianity? Seeing this sharp distinction between mind and body? perdvivly: I... Hadn't... That's actually a really astute point. bubbliterally: I see... So that's why the issue is so forceful for you. But you want to try beauty out? Okay, maybe I don't see. You love and you hate beauty at the same time? perdvivly: There's no escaping it. So what I mean when I say, "I'm trying out beauty" is that I'm trying to integrate an appreciation for beauty into my life. And there are so many things I find beautiful. That I'm slowly realising I can appreciate without being destoryed by... It''s a long and hard journey. And I'm nowhere near being very good at it yet. But I think it's probably a pretty crucial step on the path of fully realising my own autonomy. bubbliterally: I think it's interesting that this whole discussion has had the locus it's had. That you've situated yourself as the desirer in world of objects to be desired, but you haven't really talked about the effects of being desired. perdvivly: Oh, well. One thing at a time. But I pretty much think that the feminists of the 80s were right about most of it. I could say more but maybe that's a story for another time. *abhumanex0 and bubbliterally both nod* perdvivly: So, how about you guys? bubbliterally: Us? perdvivly: Yeah.🔥 beauty bubbliterally: Okay seriously, how the fuck are you doing that with your mouth?

[incesthemes]

TW CSA

So I know it’s not implied anywhere but I like to project. Sams demon blood arch and being “dirty” since he was kid resonates a lot with me as someone who has csa. Like you are no longer holy no fault your own and your biggest fear is becoming like them.

the narrative of the show and the general ambiguity of the characters and their backgrounds often lend themselves to alternative readings just like this. the symbolic usage of blood especially allows for interpretations of queerness, rape and sexual assault, incest—things that are generally seen as impurities that make a person dirty and tainted. the thing is inside you and it's part of you and you can never get rid of it. it's not you, not inherently, but it's with you, an inextricable brand on your soul that you'll carry with you forever. blood is equally immutable, inside of you, tied to your essence yet just a part of your complete self. blood represents bonds and relationships. blood kin, blood oaths and sibling pacts, the heart is the source of love and emotion. if the blood is corrupted then so is the self. you've become impure and dirty and you can never remove the dirty thing because it's infected every part of you. it isn't you, but it's in every part of you and when you bleed everyone will know.

it's a strikingly poignant symbol that allows for such varied yet overlapping interpretations, especially in all the ways it's utilized in the show. sam is made impure as a baby; he's not born with it, it's not him, but it's forced onto him and he has to carry that with him forever even though he never consented to that burden. the desire to repent and be good and scrub himself clean is just as resonant: the vain hope to undo what's been done to you and return to a state of innocence even though you can't change the past and you can't retroactively stop what happened. in the end all you can do is become strong enough to carry that weight.

combined with the recurring theme of cyclical trauma and abuse it creates a compelling narrative that strongly resembles CSA. sam may not have been literally sexually assaulted as a child, but the themes and liminality of the narrative generates an anxiety that lets those connections be drawn. the emotions are the same. and that's what stories do: they let us see ourselves through abstracted and symbolic narratives. they let us connect with others through our shared emotional experiences. it's what it's all about.

[ssreeder]

Hoii!

I'm kind of new, has been finished with LIAB a few weeks ago and I'm reading RIA now

Just a question/recommendation, have you heard about the song Leave it all behind by Cult to follow? Not only in title, but the song itself really vibes with LIAB in my opinion!

HIIII!! Sorry for the late reply but OH MY GOSH YES THE VIBE IS SO THERE.

seriously, it’s wild how well this song fits into the overall vibe of the story. It’s so my kind of music too so thank you very very much for this. I hope you continue enjoying the insanely long fanfic haha <3

[lu-sn]

lu, I didn't know you watched my school president until I saw you comment on a post. Please tell me if you have Thoughts™️ about the show. Because mine is just 😩🥺😭💗

HI MILKTEA I SURE DO HAVE THOUGHTS

so here's the thing, okay. MSP hits every BL trope that i'm so tired of. school setting, main character plays guitar and sings, main character is in a band, band is trying to win A Very Important Competition. love interest is So Charmed by the main character and his one-of-a-kind guitar playing but cannot reveal his crush, gasp, so instead they antagonize each other.

so many BLs fit this? like, all of them??? did i just describe the plot of 2gether? do you really need to watch the 2930730472037th thinly-veiled 2gether remake?

(answer: yes.)

because some genius scriptwriter finally did it right. MSP isn't just a grab bag of tropes and caricatures duct-taped together. it's not just banking on hot actors and smoulders to carry a flimsy story.

it's about a kid, and his friends, and their small but precious dream. it's about a kid looking for understanding and connection, finding it in the most unexpected person, and then doing everything possible to make that person happy. it's about kids and their moms, and what it means to watch your kid grow up, and what it means to grow and change with them. god, it's about FRIENDSHIP, so much goofy stupid lovable friendship. it's about reaching for dreams and failing to grab hold of them and having no regrets anyway.

it's so genuine.

and fuck!!! it's funny!!!!! IT'S SO FUNNY. literally every single gag landed. when they first panned to that chinzilla plushie on the altar i busted a lung laughing. props to the cast and crew for just nailing the comedic delivery and timing.

good pacing, good writing, great characters with complex needs and wants. and fourth and gemini are a fantastic lead pair, they're strong actors and they're so effortlessly comfortable with each other on screen and they're a straight shot of serotonin 🥹🥹🥹 I WOULD KILL FOR THEM

cough. anyway. tl;dr i loved it 😩🥺😭💗 it's in my top five BLs for sure, if not top three. everyone should watch it immediately. this has been a PSA.

[yoinkschief]

Hello Jay, I would like to hear your headcanons about Tom and his mom 👀👀👀 Go on, speak into the mic 🎤

AAA HI NEIL I'M SO GLAD YOU ASKED

Taps mic 🎤 ahem

Buckle in cause this got absurdly long I did not expect to get this long omll

So I guess I'll begin when he was younger,, when his mother and father first got married they were just going into their 30s, and while weren't actually trying for a kid they did end up having one: Tom

Barbara (Tom's mom) was ecstatic at having a kid whereas Peter (Tom's dad) was terrified, he knows he has anger issues and is very aware of how he's gotten easily frustrated with children in the past and doesn't want to get angry towards his soon to be son (though Barbs has been a dear with helping him and his anger, truly he'd be in jail by now if not for her)

Fast forward a bit, Tom's born and while Peter isn't magically cured of any anger issues, Tom is just the sweetest little guy and he, genuinely throughout his fatherhood, has not once gotten angry at his son. Gotten angry a good few things, but his son and wife weren't in that list

Tom is also born completely nonverbal (this is a little reference to how 2004 he's drawn without a mouth,,, I know that all the characters are at this time because mmm animation but in most fanart of 2004 only Tom is the one kept without a mouth because that and his one eye gives him creechur vibes I love it so I incorporated it like this) due to his autism, and he did get formally diagnosed early on due to this

It's a bit of a struggle trying to figure out what he's saying but he's a quick learner for how to read and write so if he can't get what he's trying to say through hand motions or actions he'll go and write it down (at least when he gets around 5yo, the years before were hard and they had to learn a weird, Tom version of sign language,, to clarify not actual sign language just learning what motions of his mean what)

One interaction I think about a lot with Tom and his mother is in Tom's youth when he's, maybe, 4? And he sees his mom shave her hair for the first time. Tom didn't like the sudden change as she looked like a different person and was having trouble understanding why it was gone

It took Barb a while to fully understand what he meant, why he was crying and whatnot, but finally able to sit him down in her lap he started making a lot of motions towards his own hair and then Barb's, and the interaction goes something like this:

"Are you talking about my hair?" Barbara quietly concerns, gesturing to her now bald head.

Tom made small grunts with wide eyes, rocking in his mother's lap incessantly.

"Okay, okay," She nodded holding her son's hand gently in her own- less so holding and more resting them in her own. "It's gone, baby."

Tom didn't seem to like that answer, shaking his head no with his hand reaching up to grab and tug at his his in distress. His eyes were screwed shut, why would his mom do that? But Barbara was quick to respond with carefully holding her son's hands again, their fingers interlaced as he squeezed on her hands instead in his temper.

"You don't like that it's gone?" She tilted her head to the side, bringing Tom's hands away from his face and towards her chest.

He shook his head no with an upset grunt, swinging his hands (and by proxy his mother's) side to side to drive the point further.

"Ohh,, pumpkin," Barbara gave Tom a sad smile, resting their hands in her lap as she gave him a small, reassuring squeeze.

"It’ll be alright-”

Tom hated that answer more, giving a frustrated noise as his eyes started welling with tears.

“Honey,” Barbara frowned at the tears coming out of her child’s eyes, it hurt to see him so upset, gently running her thumb along his cheeks to swipe them away. “I’m still mama, I’m still you mom.”

She led Tom’s hand over her heart, letting him feel the steady beating of it. The constant and steady pattern of thumping seemed to entrance him for a moment until his mild rocking and distressed noises slowly came to a halt.

“See? It’s still me, baby.” She cooed, running her thumb along the back of her son’s hand. “My hair is gone, but I’m here.”

“Sometimes, in life,” Barbara began, setting Tom’s hands down in his lap again now that he was calmer. “things change, and we can’t control it. Like my hair, you couldn’t control that, could you?”

Tom looked up from watching his hand feel the steady movement of her heart pumping, looking up at his mother’s face. He still looked displeased and upset, but less so, even going as far as to reach for where her hair used to be, trying to grab at the air around her head like it was still there. Fruitless.

She held his hand again, pressing it against her cheek with a broad smile, one she gave him often. He couldn’t keep his resentment for long, giving his own goofy smile back with a giggle. The way her gap tooth showed when she smiled that big was forever burned into his memory, only disappearing from her face so that she could kiss the palm of her son’s hand.

Tom shook his head, frowning at the thought but keeping a wide eyed expression to his mother as she continued her lesson. She smiled to him once again.

“Well, that happens a lot in life.” She sighed, cupping Tom’s cheek in her hand. “And no one likes it, you’re not alone for thinking that. But what you can control is how you deal with the change. Like how you showed me how upset you were, so now we’re talking about it. Do you feel better about it now?”

Tom took a moment, eyes casted down as he thought on it. He gave a small nod as he looked back up at her.

“Good.” She beamed. “And from now on, I’ll do my best to let you know beforehand when I make a change like that, alright?” She kissed Tom’s forehead, causing the child to give a small giggle. That was her favorite noise.

Now, Tom was always a Mama's Boy (not in a derogatory way, he just loved his mom a whole hell of a lot) but even moreso after his father died. They both were grieving and so it caused them to cling closer together because of it, to the point that had it not been for his friend (at the time only Matt, but later Edd too as this was before Tord was introduced to the friend group) he probably would've completely self isolated

They do a ton of things together as Tom gets over and they both eventually heal from Peter's death, baking, sewing, shopping, watch movies, anything they can do when they have the chance to hang out together

They were so close in fact that Barbara was genuinely the first person he came out to for being nonbinary (He/They pronoun user :) ) and of course she loved him unconditionally, but he didn't even tell Matt, Edd or Tord (now in Highschool and having been introduced to delinquent) that yet

However, later in his highschool years, around late Junior year (11th grade) or early Senior year (12th grade) of highschool his mother dies as well. Not from a freak bear with a gun attack though, instead from Pneumonia, which is something she tends to get a lot and always had in her youth, and while it usually isn't fatal and there is treatment and whatnot and she definitely took as much as help as she could, this time just hit different it seemed.

This really fucked with Tom during some of his most important years of his life and caused him to go into a BIG depressive episode for a long long time

Side note that I guess also kinda applies: Had it not been for Tord being just as stubborn of a jackass as Tom, he would've completely self isolated. Edd and Matt helped a lot in his youth but he also had his mom to encourage him, but now with his immediate family all gone he didn't see much of a reason to interact with people. And where Edd and Matt lack in persuasion, Tord more than makes up for in the lack of giving a fuck and would literally drag Tom outside even if he was kicking and screaming. This is mostly because Tord is second only to Tom himself in how durable he is, like a brick shithouse (built like one, too) and not afraid to make Tom hate him if it meant getting him better in the long run (a running theme I have for their relationship :) they're less so "GRR I HATE YOU I HOPE YOU DIE /GEN" and more of like have this weird understanding with eachother where like "I'll literally kill you if you touch me but I'd kill anyone you touched you" type beat, unafraid to get the other to hate them for the greater good because they have the understanding that they wouldn't do something so wildly stupid for no reason. Yes that plays into The End and the future events of WTFuture)

I love them so much oh my god you have zero idea

Anyway, TL;DR

Tom and his mom are extremely close and helped each other get through the worst of times while Tom continues to learn the lesson of "everything changes, it's out of your control, and you can only control how you proceed with it"

[dantoru]

Can this an chiaki sticker?(i just don’t know the text)

but I am sorry if thats lazy though

SHE IS SO CUUUUUTEEEE SHES LIKE A LITTLE GUMMY BEAR I LOVE HER SO MUCH!!!!!!!

[juicyyyboxxx]

yiPPEEEE happy valentines day!! <3

Joke's on you Sun, I can't dance.

[future-crab]

Please..tell me everything that’s on your mind about hesitant alien, I’ll start: Haunted house is underrated

Haunted House IS underrated, you’re so right anon

Anyway, I have SO many thoughts about Hesitant Alien that I don’t even know which ones to focus on (hence why it took me like 2 months to answer this ask) but one thing that I’ve been thinking about a lot recently is tracks on Hesitant Alien that feel like sister songs to stuff from mcr. I’ve already talked kind of a lot about Drugstore Perfume and Kill All Your Friends, but the ones I’ve been thinking about lately are How It’s Going to Be and Foundations of Decay. They both evoke for me (tho obviously there’s multiple ways to interpret them) the specific feeling of, like, “I spent my whole life thinking I would die young, and then I didn’t, and now I’ve reached an age I never thought I’d get to and I have to figure out what to actually do with this life.”

And there’s something I find so fascinating about the contrast of Foundations, a song with a very dark, moody sound that is, at heart, deeply life-affirming (“you must fix your heart,” and all that) vs How It’s Going to Be, a song that sounds on the surface really saccharine and lighthearted but that has an undercurrent of deep anger and resentment (“You said we’d all be dead by twenty-five,” “Your disappointed sighs,” “We’re just bored you’re still alive,” etc). Idk. Much to think about.

[runawaymun]

Hello! Random driveby ask for no reason except funsies: Which wedding in the lotr universe would you have most liked to attend and why?

Ohhhh interesting!

Okay so if we're talking the Peter Jackson movie universe, I would like to see Eowyn and Faramir's wedding purely because apparently Eowyn's wedding dress was the most complex, beautiful piece that the costuming department made for the films, and it never actually made the final cut. I think about that dress every day!!!

Outside of that, hands-down it would have to be Elrond and Cel's wedding, because they are my blorbos. :D